Keeping out of sight behind a big rhododendron shrub I surveyed the front of the house for any signs of activity.
Row upon row of shiny glass windows stared back at me. No one looked out. The house was as quiet and as lifeless as a chorus girl at getting-up time.
I moved out of the shrubbery and on to the esplanade. On its broad, naked vastness I felt as conspicuous as a man shouting ‘Fire!’ at a firemen’s convention. There were no cars on the tarmac, no Filipino chauffeurs to sneer at me, no regal butlers to take my hat. I plucked up enough courage to walk on tiptoe the length of the esplanade to the loggia and look in.
She was sitting in her wheel chair, decked out in a blue kimono and quilted mules trimmed with ostrich feathers on her feet, a tray across her knees. She was munching buttered toast and staring blankly before her, and had that lonely, unhappy look people who are left on their own for long stretches of time get when they don’t think anyone is around.
My shadow fell across her feet. She didn’t look up immediately. A wary expression chased away her depression, her neatly made-up mouth tightened, and she put down the piece of toast. Then without moving her head, she lifted her eyelids and her eyes swivelled in my direction.
‘Hello,’ I said, taking off my hat. ‘The name’s Malloy. Remember me?’
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded and sat up, taut as a violin string, her eyes angry.
‘I looked in to see your father,’ I said, leaning against the doorway where I had a view of the esplanade in case reinforcements should come galloping up. ‘Would he be around?’
‘Did Mills let you in?’ she asked. It was extraordinary how hard her eyes were for a girl of her age.
‘Is Mills the bright boy lounging at the main entrance? The one with the pretty buttons?’
Her mouth tightened and two little spots of red showed on her thin, pale cheeks.
‘How did you get in here?’ she demanded angrily.
‘I climbed a wall,’ I told her. ‘And look, don’t let’s waste a nice morning getting cross with each other. I want to see your father.’
‘He’s not here. Will you please go away?’
‘Then perhaps I could have a word with Mrs. Cerf?’
‘She’s not here either.’
‘That’s too bad. I have a diamond necklace of hers.’
The spoon she was toying with clattered into the saucer. I saw her clench her fists.
‘Will you please go!’ she said, raising her voice and leaning forward in her chair.
‘But I want to return the necklace. It’s valuable. Can’t you tell me where I can find her?’
‘I don’t know nor do I care,’ she cried and pointed with a shaking finger towards the main entrance. ‘Now get out or I’ll have you thrown out!’
‘I don’t want to annoy you,’ I said, ‘but this is a lot more serious than you realize. Your father hired a woman operator of mine to watch Mrs. Cerf. While she was watching Mrs. Cerf she was murdered. Mrs. Cerf’snecklace was found in the girl’s room.’
She turned suddenly so I couldn’t see her face and reached for a holdall, dipped into it and produced a cigarette case and lighter. She lit a cigarette with a hand that was not too steady, keeping her face turned from me while she did so.
‘I’m not interested in Mrs. Cerf’s affairs,’ she said in a much quieter and subdued voice. ‘I told you to get out.’
‘I thought you might possibly be interested to know that the police didn’t find the necklace,’ I said casually. ‘If you’ll tell me where I can find Mrs. Cerf I’d like to put her mind at rest too.’
She looked up sharply, her face as expressionless and as white as a freshly laundered sheet. She started to say something then stopped and her eyes narrowed, and she looked like a cat that’s seen a movement and knows there’s a mouse around. I swung round on my heels.
The bright boy, Mills, was standing a few yards to the right and behind me, his black gauntlets, doubled into fists, rested lightly on his slim hips. He looked faintly amused, the way Joe Louis might have looked if a midget had socked him on the nose: full of confidence, too much confidence: the kind of confidence that made you wonder what was coming and wish you had a gun or a club instead of just your bare fists.
‘There you are, Mac,’ he said. ‘I thought I told you to fade.’
‘See him off the premises!’ Natalie snapped as imperious as a heroine in a Victorian novel. ‘And he’s never to come here again!’
Mills looked at me out of the corners of his eyes. There was a half-smirk on his thin mouth.
‘He won’t,’ he said languidly. ‘That’s one thing you can bet on. Come on, Mac. Let’s take a little walk to the gate.’
I glanced at Natalie, but she was buttering toast, no longer interested, the blank, lonely look back on her face. If they ever handed out an Oscar for a brush-off they’d give it to her without even a show of hands.
‘I don’t want to be a bore about this,’ I said to her, ‘but it would save time and trouble if you could tell me where Mrs. Cerf is to be found.’
I might just as well have addressed the Great Wall of China for all the attention she paid me.
The bright boy began to close in on me.
‘On your way, Mac,’ he said coaxingly. ‘You and me together.’
‘Now look...’ I began, but stopped short as his fist hit me in the mouth. It wasn’t what you call a heavy punch, but it was fast. I didn’t see it coming, and that should have warned me. It hurt as it was meant to hurt, but it didn’t even rock me.
‘Okay,’ I said, touching my bruised lips. ‘Let’s go down to the gate. If that’s how you feel maybe I can sublimate your repressions.’
I was so mad I didn’t even look at Natalie Cerf — I went down the steps fast. He followed me. I was sure I could take him. I was four inches taller and about twenty pounds heavier and was thirsting for his blood.
He kept his distance, and we arrived at the main entrance still two or three yards apart. At the gate I turned and waited for him. He still looked languid, and that irritated me, because guys don’t look languid when I’m going to sock them.
He moved in lightly, and I feinted with my left to bring his hands down and let go a right to his jaw that should have taken his head off his shoulders. It was a nice punch; one of my very best, and one that had never been known to fail before. It was well timed and it didn’t travel more than a foot. It wasn’t telegraphed and was a shade faster than a flash of lightning, but it missed him by a good three inches and the impetus brought me forward so all he had to do was to step in close and hit me. He slammed in five quick ones a little south of my belt with the force and speed of a rivet-gun.
I was out on my feet. My breath exploded at the back of my throat, my knees went and I stood there, trying to stand up. The right he tossed over was a languid affair. I could see it coming all the way, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It exploded on my jaw with the impact of a sledgehammer. I came out of a black wave of nausea to find myself lying flat on my back, staring up at the cottonwool clouds that floated serenely in the morning sky.
‘Don’t call again, Mac,’ a voice said a long way off. ‘We don’t like your kind around here, so spare us the visit.’
I vaguely made out the dapper figure standing over me, then something that could have been his boot smashed into my neck and I went out like a flame in the wind.
IV
There was a cop sitting astride a motor cycle when I pulled up outside my cabin. He had the resigned, bored look on his big, fleshy face of a man who expects a long wait, and is going to wait come snow, come sunshine.