‘Tricky alarms wired direct to the cop house. Each drawer automatically locks when he throws a switch when he isn’t in the stamp room. The switch is in a steel box built into the wall and he always has the key. There is a closed circuit TV and the monitor is watched by Security Guards, night and day when he isn’t in the room.’ She grimaced. ‘He takes care of his stamps... that’s all he cares about.’
Vin turned this information over in his mind. After a long pause, he said, ‘Okay... but suppose I got in the stamp room without raising the alarm, how do I find these eight stamps?’
She stared at him, then laughed.
‘You don’t get in.’
‘I said suppose I did.’
She shrugged.
‘You’ll find something like eight hundred drawers all containing thousands of stamps, all under glass and the drawers wired to the cop house and watched by Security Guards so if you touch just one of the drawers you’ll get a lapful of fuzz.’
Burglar alarms, closed circuit TV and police didn’t bother Vin. He was an expert in his field, but what did bother him was the thought of getting into this stamp room and then trying to find eight particular stamps.
‘Look, baby,’ he said, ‘your old man can’t have a miracle memory. Suppose he wants one particular stamp among all these thousands? He must have a system of finding it fast.’
‘He has. He and I worked it out together... that was before mummy died and before I realized there was more to life than fooling around with a lot of crappy stamps.’
Vin felt his pulse rate quicken.
‘What’s the system then?’
‘It’s simple. Each drawer has a number. He keeps a register. For instance U.S.A. stamps are in drawers numbered one to a hundred and fifty. These drawers are broken down into dates and again into rare stamps. During the day he carries the register around with him and at night he locks it in a safe in his bedroom.’
‘What’s it look like?’
‘A little leather loose leaf book he carries in the inside pocket of his jacket Short of knocking the old buzzard on the head, no one will get it.’
Vin finished his drink.
‘So suppose we knock him on the head?’
‘Not a chance. He only goes out once a week to play golf, otherwise he’s in the stamp room. When he goes to the golf club he has a chauffeur with him. The road to the club is always busy with traffic so no one can hold up the car. There’s no chance of getting into the house. He has a staff of five and they’re always around. You can forget it Without the register, you can forget the stamps... so you can forget the million dollars.’
Vin now had most of the information he wanted. There was no point in wasting further time with this chick.
‘Okay... I’ll think about it. If I come up with an idea, do you and me make a deal?’
‘What deal?’
‘I get the stamps. You give me the name of the buyer and we split the take.’
‘That’s not my idea of a deal, Superman,’ she said and finished her drink. ‘I take seven-fifty and you have the rest.’
Vin grinned.
‘Okay... okay.’
‘And I handle the buyer, Superman.’
Just for a moment he hesitated, then, knowing she had him where she wanted him for the moment, he grinned again.
‘It’s a deal.’
She nodded.
‘Well, let’s go.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ve got business. How about tomorrow night?’
‘What’s the matter with tonight?’
He shook his head.
‘I’m tied up. Tomorrow night I’ll take you to the Low-Life Club. Dress the part, baby... it’s your thing.’
‘Who’s tying you up tonight?’ She was studying him suspiciously.
‘Oh, a guy... come on, baby, let’s go.’
She went with him to the Jaguar.
‘Want me to drop you off home?’ he asked as he started the car.
‘Who wants to go home? Drop me off at the Plaza Beach. I’ll spend the day there.’ As he set the car in motion, she went on, ‘Give me some money, Superman. If I’m not seeing you tonight, I’ve got to eat Give me a hundred dollars.’
‘Your kid friends can feed you. I only give money for value.’
‘Haven’t you had value, you mean sonofabitch?’ she demanded.
‘Not yet.’ Vin grinned. ‘You, me and a million bucks is my idea of value.’ But when he dropped her at the entrance to the Plaza Beach he gave her thirty dollars. She snatched the money out of his hand, put her tongue out at him, then walked away, swinging her hips.
For the first time since he had become secretary to Herman Radnitz, Holtz failed to carry out his master’s instructions.
He had been told to have Don Elliot watched and to submit a daily report on Elliot’s activities. Back in his office, he had telephoned Jack Lessing who was in charge of a team of experts specializing in this kind of work. Lessing had said there would be no problem and he would put four men on the job right away.
Six hours later, Lessing, short, thin, with foxy eyes and thinning hair, came into Holtz’s office. Without wasting time, he reported that Elliot had disappeared and his men could find no trace of him.
‘I’ve got ten men hunting for him but up to now there’s no sign of him,’ Lessing said. ‘He hasn’t left the City by rail or plane but he could have used his car. His Alfa is missing. We can’t get a thing from his servants. So what do you want me to do?’
Holtz stared at him and the expression in his eyes made Lessing shift uneasily.
‘Find him!’ Holtz snarled. ‘That’s your job... that’s what you get paid for! It can’t be difficult He’s known everywhere. Get the syndicate working on it... get every available man on it... but find him!’
When Lessing had left, Holtz sat wondering if he should wait another six hours before telling Radnitz. There was every chance that with the whole of Lessing’s organization hunting for Elliot he would be found, but he decided he would have to tell Radnitz there was a hitch.
He went out on to the terrace where Radnitz was talking to Berlin on the telephone. He was arranging a currency deal and Holtz waited until he had replaced the receiver.
‘What is it?’ Radnitz asked, turning to stare at Holtz.
Holtz told him and went on to explain what action was being taken. Radnitz listened, his fat face darkening and his hooded eyes gleaming angrily.
Holtz expected to receive vitriolic criticism. He was even prepared to be dismissed and he was startled when Radnitz seemed to control his anger and pointing to a chair, said quietly, ‘Sit down.’
A little uneasy because he had never sat down in Radnitz’s presence before, Holtz took the chair.
‘How long have you worked for me?’ Radnitz asked, taking a cigar from a pigskin case and cutting it with a gold cutter.
‘It will be five years next month, sir.’
Radnitz nodded
‘You have given satisfaction. You have my confidence. I think I had better tell you why Elliot must be found.’
Holtz stiffened. This was the last thing he expected and because he was surprised, he decided to say nothing.
Radnitz lit his cigar, then stared at the distant beach, crowded with people sun bathing and swimming.
‘I am searching for eight Russian stamps,’ he said. ‘They come from a lot that was never issued to the public. They got into the hands of a Russian scientist who had fallen in love with an American woman he had met in East Berlin. He was warned to have nothing further to do with her. Outwardly he agreed, but inwardly he planned to defect. He knew the stamps would be valuable and he had to provide for himself and this woman once he left Russia. He drew up a report of his work. This report is of considerable value to the enemies of Russia. He made eight microdots of this report and each dot went on to each of the eight stamps, making them priceless. We needn’t go into the details about the report but it is something the C.I.A. would pay enormous money to have. This scientist persuaded a friend to smuggle the stamps out of Russia and to East Berlin and the American woman got them but the scientist had left it too late and he was arrested. Under torture he revealed what he had done. Having been warned of her lover’s arrest, the woman fled to Paris. She sold the stamps to a Paris dealer and with the proceeds went to New York. The dealer, knowing nothing about the microdots, sold the stamps to a client who was kidnapped, but died of a heart attack before the kidnappers could find out what he had done with the stamps. The stamps have vanished.’ Radnitz paused while he tapped ash off his cigar. ‘As you know I have considerable and profitable dealings with the Soviet Government. They asked me if I could help. I have promised to do so. Financed by them, I have made a very thorough search for the missing stamps. Unfortunately, the news has been leaked to the C.I.A. and they too are searching for the stamps. I have to move carefully. At the moment the C.I.A. are concentrating their search among the smaller collectors — especially the Russian collectors. My search has narrowed down to a man called Paul Larrimore who lives in this City. I believe he has them and I have made him a generous offer which he has ignored. This means nothing. He either has the stamps and won’t sell or he hasn’t got them and hasn’t the politeness to say so. It would be a simple solution to kidnap this man and force him to admit he either has or hasn’t got the stamps, but this would produce publicity and would alert the CI.A.’ Radnitz puffed smoke, his face stony. ‘I have now approached Claude Kendrick who knows this movie star, Elliot, who seems to be Larrimore’s only contact. Elliot is desperate for money and has agreed to try to get information about the stamps. I have reason not to trust Kendrick. If Elliot got the stamps and gave them to Kendrick, Kendrick might try to find a higher bidder than myself so it is important for me to know when Elliot gets information and when he gets the stamps. So Elliot must be found at once.’