A Perfect Night to Break Your Neck

'We won't argue about this,' Stephen Collier said firmly, whisking the bill away before Willie Garvin could pick it up. 'If I have any trouble I shall invite you and that female bruiser to step outside with me and put your fists up.' He stared menacingly at Modesty Blaise.
His Canadian wife, Dinah, small and shapely with honey-coloured hair, said, 'That'll fix 'em, Tiger. How do they look?' Dinah had been blind since childhood.
'White-faced,' said Collier, counting notes on to a plate. 'Modesty's cringing and Willie's moistening dry lips.'
It was four days since the Colliers had come out from England to spend a few weeks with Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin at the villa Modesty had rented on Cap d'Antibes. Tonight they had spent dining and dancing at the Boule d'Or, which lay a mile or two inland on the road to Biot. It was well past midnight now, and most of the guests had gone.
Modesty put down her glass and said, 'Don't be silly, Steve. You're on that idiotic travel allowance. This will make an awful hole in it.'
'But this isn't our travel allowance, darling,' Collier said as the waiter picked up the plate. 'When we left London my unscrupulous wife carried a little wad of currency secreted on her person in a manner she refused to disclose even to me, her master. Possibly it was in the soles of those Army surplus boots she favours for casual wear.'
'He said if they caught me he was going to swear he'd never seen me before in his life,' said Dinah. 'He's a cowardly bum, that's what.'
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'Prudent, my pet, a prudent bum,' Collier amended. His eye caught two men as they moved across the restaurant to a door which led to the lounge bar. 'Hallo, there's the mad playboy.'
Caspar came bounding towards them. He was dark and wiry, with short cropped hair, a young but wrinkled face and darting brown eyes. He had appeared on the Mediterranean playgrounds of the rich quite recently, and had quickly become an accepted character. Caspar was at home in several languages, but since he spoke them all with a foreign accent nobody knew what his native tongue was. His conversation was confusing, being peppered with irrelevant exclamations and with foreign phrases often literally translated.
His companion, McReedy, made a strange contrast. A compact man, he looked no older than forty but was completely bald. His eyes were pale grey, set in a square humourless face. His whole manner made him the most unlikely companion for a playboy. He hung back a little now, halting and giving a stiff nod of greeting as Caspar rushed up to the table. Collier watched, intrigued. He had been introduced to the two men between boat and quayside, but that was all.
'Modesty, my old!' Caspar snatched up her hand and kissed it. 'I am possessed by a brilliant idea. Let us get married tout de suite, old bean. Heute! Oggi! As captain of the Delphine, I will perform the ceremony. Tovarich Garvin shall be best man. God save the Queen! The inglese Collier can give you away, and his beautiful squaw lady shall be bridesmaid. Sacred bruises! We will honeymoon on the yacht. What say you, Contessa?'
'I don't quite know how to tell you this, Caspar,' Modesty said, 'but no.'
Caspar yelled with laughter. McReedy said to him stolidly, 'Matron of honour. Mrs Collier can't be bridesmaid. A married lady can only be matron of honour.'
Caspar rolled up his eyes. 'You have reason, my brave,' he said soothingly. 'So we make another suggestion. Excelsior!' He turned to Modesty again. 'Come to my party tomorrow night. All of you. Best bibs and tuckers, by jingo. Everybody will be there. I wish to have a very scintillating affair.'
Willie Garvin grinned. 'Is it going to be like that party you
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'ad on the Costa Smeralda?' he said.
Caspar beat his brow with the heel of his hand. 'The robbers! Ah, not that again! Sons of a bitch. But no. Dormer and blitzen will not strike twice in the same place. Wear your gold sock-suspenders without fear, Willie, old fruit. God bless America!'
Modesty said, 'We'll let you know. A million thanks for the invitation, and vive I'Empereur.'
Caspar was convulsed. He released her hand and said, 'The good McReedy and I are having a drink in the bar. Join us when you are finished here, bellissima.' He turned away. McReedy said, 'You'll want to know the venue of the party, Miss Blaise. It's the Coromandel. Caspar has taken the terrace lounge overlooking the sea.' He inclined his head, then turned and followed Caspar.
'The venue...' Collier echoed wonderingly. 'What a magnificently stodgy word. How on earth does he make the same scene as Caspar?'
Modesty shrugged. 'Maybe Caspar employs him as a kind of stabilizer.'
'What happened at this party on the Costa Smeralda?' Dinah asked.
'A hold-up.' It was Willie who answered. 'The same mob have done three this year. They chose Caspar's party for this one. Usual ritzy bunch. Gilded youth, middle-aged ravers, ageing jet-set. Suddenly there's 'alf a dozen blokes wearing hoods. And with guns. They take a collection. Walk off with a tray-load of cash, gold accessories and jewellery worth nearly a hundred and fifty thousand quid. Disappear out to sea in a couple of fast boats.'
'And nobody stopped them?' Dinah said.
'One of Caspar's crew from the yacht was acting as bouncer to keep out gate-crashers. He tried, soon as the mob showed. Got shot in the leg. It made everyone else think twice.'
'It wouldn't have made me think twice,' Collier said reflectively. 'Or rather it would only have confirmed my first thought. The price of a whole skin is above rubies. My skin, that is. Our family crest is two white feathers, couchant, on a
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field of bilious yellow. Our motto, Don't shoot, I'm coming out with my hands up.' He glanced at Modesty. 'If we go to this junket, you'll have to take on the job of describing the dresses and their inhabitants for Dinah. I lack the vocabulary.'
Modesty smiled and said, 'All right. Willie?'
'I'm all for it, Princess.' He looked hopeful. 'I might find meself a bit of talent there. It's quite a while since I went trapping for mink.'
'It's three weeks,' said Modesty. 'What about that Italian sardine-canner's daughter?'
Willie shook his head. 'Squirrel, maybe. Not mink. But you couldn't fault 'er for effort.'
Collier laughed and said, 'Lechery most blatant.' He glanced round the restaurant. 'I notice the band has gone home, we're the only customers left, and the head waiter looks as if he's going to put his pyjamas on any minute. Shall we take the hint?'
Modesty nodded. 'Willie and I will go and tell Caspar we'll be along to his party. You and Dinah go on ahead to the car, then we'll have an excuse to get away from Caspar. Otherwise he'll keep us till die bar closes.'
'OK.' Collier got up. 'We'll see you in a few minutes.'
They had no coats, for the night was warm. A long dark drive ran down die side of the Boule d'Or to a car park area at die back. Collier strolled contentedly, holding his wife's arm. Then, for a moment, his contentment faltered as the grey problems at die back of his mind stirred restlessly. He wondered, with a sense of emptiness, how long it might be before Dinah would be able to enjoy herself again in the way she was enjoying herself now. They both knew that diese few weeks were a last fling. The years ahead held little promise, except of pallid monotony. Perhaps he had been a fool to do what he had done...
He was suddenly angry with himself, realizing mat he had come close to self-pity, and afraid diat Dinah might sense his mood. He squeezed her arm gently and said, 'Happy, sweetheart?'
She nodded. 'It's good being widi Modesty and Willie. I
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guess it's because we always feel right deep down at home with them.'
Collier said slowly, 'When you go through a pretty fair imitation of hell with people, and you're damn sure you're all going to die, I suppose personalities get stripped down to the bone. And then, if somehow you come through it and find you're still alive ... well, you discover you've forged bonds that are a bit special.' He gave a little laugh to dispel any weightiness in his words. 'Like an Old Comrades Association.'
'Something like that,' Dinah said soberly. 'Anyway, it gives just a little clue about what Modesty and Willie feel for each other--' She broke off abruptly, for he had stopped short and she could feel that his whole body had gone rigid.
He said in a quiet, despairing voice, 'Oh, God. I've got to stop them. Get Modesty, quick! Don't argue!'
He was turning her to face the way she should go, and before she could speak he gave her a little push and said frantically, 'Go on I' Then she was running, arms outstretched ahead of her. Her lips were pursed, making a series of almost noiseless whistles which her hypersensitive ears could pick up as the sound was reflected back from any object in her path. In her mind was her own strange audio-tactile impressions of the route she must take to reach the entrance of the restaurant. She ran fast, without stumbling, holding down the fear that surged within her.
There were only two cars left in the car park. One was Modesty's. Collier had seen the man go down near the other car, on the edge of the pool of light from the single lamp fixed to the old stone wall. He thought it was McReedy, for he had glimpsed the smooth bald head as the blow was struck.
There were two attackers. The smaller man stood back, watching. The other, a big man, had kicked hard and deliberately at the limp body as Collier sent Dinah on her way. Now he kicked again, viciously.
Collier ran forward. His mouth was dry, his heart pounding. Fighting hand to hand against another man was something he had known only once in his life, for a few brief seconds. And this might be worse than hand to hand. His quick imagination cringed away from the mental image of a knife slicing into
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his flesh, of a bullet hammering into bone.
He covered the last few yards fast. The man standing back saw him first and uttered a quick warning word. Collier swung a foot, aiming for the groin of the bigger man, who was shaping to kick again. There was blood on the victim's heavy square face. McReedy's face.
Collier's kick landed glancingly. He heard a gasp, as much of anger as of pain, and then his own impetus carried him to close quarters. The man had not gone down, but was bent over a little, coming up, his head a good target.
A Modesty Blaise dictum from some idle conversation in the past sounded in Collier's mind. Never use your fist on anyone's head, Steve, it's bone against bone. That's strictly for television...
He lunged, striking with the heel of his hand to the side of the jaw, and was astonished at the result. The man reeled dizzily away and fell to his hands and knees. Collier moved to place -himself between the unconscious McReedy and his assailants, suddenly feeling at a loss.
The smaller man was moving forward, crouching a little. The blade of a knife gleamed in the lamplight. Collier's stomach contracted and the sweat of renewed fear broke out on his body. The knife ... the sharp steel sliding through muscle and gut... through the soft organs...
A Willie Garvin comment: Villains 'ave it dead easy most of the time, but if you make it look dodgy for 'em they're not so keen ...
Collier's hand darted under his jacket. When he brought it out, something thin and steely projected from his fist. He held it low, angled upwards, his thumb on the sharp steel. At the same moment, feeling slightly idiotic in some part of his mind that remained aloof and observed the scene, he bent his knees in a crouch and extended his bent left arm forward a little, palm down, hand flat and rigid. It was a very reasonable imitation of a knife-fighter's posture.
His right hand weaved back and forth menacingly, never still. He found that without willing it his lips had drawn back from his teeth in a snarling grimace.
The knife man stopped short. Then, after long seconds, he
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began to inch forward again, very warily. Beyond him, the other man was coming slowly to his feet. Collier felt the onset of despair. His meagre resources were just about used up. So far he had held his own by surprise and bluff. But surprise was over now, and his bluff was about to be called.
His legs twitched, trying to run. But McReedy lay helpless and vulnerable. Collier held his unwilling body rigidly in its menacing pose, held the aching snarl. He could only play it out to the end now.
A whisper of sound from behind him. Sudden new alarm in the face of the knife man. Modesty's voice said, 'All right, Steve. Back off now, darling.'
They came past him, one on each side, almost soundlessly, Willie in crepe soles, Modesty barefoot, free of her flimsy evening shoes, clearing McReedy's body with a raking stride, her short skirt riding up high on the long beautiful legs.
She went straight for the knife man. Collier let out a shuddering breath and watched limply, without anxiety. He had seen too much to doubt the outcome. The blade drove forward. He saw her body curve sweetly as her hips swung sideways in a lovely flowing movement, outside the thrusting arm, so that the knife passed four inches wide of her ribs. Collier heard himself snigger foolishly. Then her right hand shot forward with the impetus of her body behind it, and the heel of her hand smashed up under the man's chin in a jolt that rammed his head back and sideways with such force mat it seemed his feet must be lifted clear of the ground.
He fell bonelessly. Modesty was already turning away. She knelt over McReedy and began to examine him gently. Collier shifted his gaze. Willie Garvin was holding the bigger man against the high stone wall with one hand, with the other he was rummaging unhurriedly under the man's jacket. He produced a gun. Its owner showed neither interest nor resistance. Willie let go of him. He slipped limply down against the wall, fell over sideways and lay still. Collier realized that he must have missed some significant part of the engagement.
Modesty straightened up and moved towards him, looking at him strangely. 'For God's sake, since when did you start carrying a blade, Steve?'
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Collier looked down at his clenched hand. It still held the silver pencil. He had gripped it in his fist by the extreme end, keeping his hand moving to prevent a clear view of it.
'Held him off for a bit,' he said in a voice which did not sound like his own. He showed her the pencil. 'It was all I could think of.'
She went on staring at him. 'For a man with your family crest, it wasn't bad. Go and tell Dinah you're all right. She'll be worried sick about you.'
'I've been bloody well worried sick about myself,' Collier said with feeling, and heard Willie's deep-throated chuckle as he turned away. He was halfway across the car park when Dinah appeared from the end of the drive, running. Caspar held her arm. Two of the restaurant staff hurried behind diem. Dinah was calling, her voice a little high-pitched with anxiety. 'Steve! Modesty, is he all right?'
'Unscathed,' Collier said, and took her in his arms as she ran to the sound of his voice. Then, to Caspar, 'A couple of thugs were putting the boot in on your friend McReedy. Modesty doesn't seem too worried about him, but you'd better lend a hand.'
Caspar swore and ran on, the two waiters following him. Dinah said, holding Collier tightly, her cheek on his chest, 'I didn't know what was happening. I only knew it was something horrible. When you stopped and spoke ... I could smell the fear.'
'A lesser nose than yours could have done that, my sweet,' Collier said ruefully. He was neidier surprised nor offended. He knew that Dinah lived in a world of smells and sounds and touch. She could identify by scent as readily as a dog, and could even sense strong emotion. Tonight she had scented his fear.
She said, 'Those thugs. Did you have to - to fight them?'
He laughed, suddenly feeling on top of the world. 'By the time I've worked this story up, there'll have been nothing like it since Stalingrad. But between ourselves, there wasn't much physical contact. I held them off with a pencil.'
'A pencil?'
He explained briefly. 'To be honest, I don't think they were
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top quality thugs, darling. It was strictly Amateur Night out there until Modesty and Willie came along.'
'They're OK?'
Collier laughed again. Before he could answer, Modesty and Willie came walking away from the lamplight and joined them. Modesty held the shoes she had kicked off. She said, 'McReedy's coming round already. I've told Caspar to take over. We'll be on our way. If we get involved with French policemen taking statments, we'll grow old here.'
They moved to where their car was parked. As Collier opened the rear door for Dinah he realized that Modesty and Willie were looking at him, smiling, and with something in their expressions that made him feel suddenly embarrassed. 'Look,' he said hastily, 'for God's sake don't make a thing of this. The only reason I didn't run was because my blasted legs wouldn't move.'
'They were kicking him and you ran towards them,' Dinah said, 'I think you're a living doll.'
'Just get in,' said Collier. 'And nobody goes to bed tonight until I've re-enacted the whole scene for you, move by move. Wait till Modesty and Willie see my snarl and my knife-fighter's crouch. It'll turn their hair white. You'd better have some smelling salts ready for them, darling.'
Modesty Blaise was wrestling with a caught zipper at the back of her dress when Willie knocked and entered at her call. He freed the zipper, then went and sat on the bed, looking absently out of the open window at the dark sea.
'Steve was in form when we got back,' Modesty said. 'That fight scene was a classic, even for him.'
'Yes. More like 'is old self.' Willie pondered for a moment. 'That's the first time since they got 'ere. I know he's been doing his funny bits like always, but you could see it was an effort.'
Modesty took off her dress, went into the bathroom, and came out a few moments later wrapped to the chin in a long jade-green dressing-gown. Willie gave her a cigarette and she sat down beside him. 'I know he's been a little quiet,' she said, 'but I didn't like to ask why.'
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'I've dug it out of Dinah a bit at a time, playing it crafty so she wouldn't realize.' Willie inhaled moodily on his cigarette. 'It's money.'
'Money?' She turned her head to stare at him. 'Steve was never loaded, but he has a good steady income from those mathematical text-books he writes. Enough so he can run around all over the place on his psychic investigation hobby.
'Not now,' Willie said. 'Soon as they were married he set out to see if there was any way Dinah could get 'er sight back. She didn't want 'im to, she's been through it all before, but Steve wouldn't listen. Took 'er to doctors in Sweden, Germany, the States, South Africa ... all over. Some genius in the States 'ad Dinah in a private nursing 'ome for six weeks and charged two thousand quid for saying there was nothing could be done.'
Modesty got up and moved to the window. 'We know how he feels about Dinah,' she said. 'If he had it all to do again, I guess he'd do the same thing. Is he really broke, Willie?'
'I know there's a big bank loan. He's got to assign all future royalties in the bank's favour, to clear it. The 'ouse in Surrey, that's got to go.' He shrugged. 'Dinah's got no money of 'er own, so it looks like Steve takes some teaching job and chucks up everything else while he spends the next few years trying to get back to square one. Trouble is, Dinah feels she's to blame for it all.'
'He'll have to give up his real work, and she knows what that means to him,' Modesty said. In the field of psychic investigation Collier was among the world's top experts, but it was an activity that paid no money. She flicked her cigarette out of the window and said with quiet anger, 'Goddam it to hell. Why is it you can help your friends, people you love, with anything but money?' She came back to the bed and sat down, frowning. 'We could make them a present of ten or fifteen thousand and never miss it. But...'
'That's right. But.' Willie shook his head. 'We've only got to suggest it and you'll never see 'em for dust.' He paused, and when he spoke again his voice sounded tired. 'It's not a disaster, I s'pose. There's lots worse off, and all that. But it's
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going to 'urt bad. I feel lousy about it, Princess. I mean, you can see what's going to 'appen.'
Modesty nodded. She could see it clearly enough. If your friends fell on hard times, if they could not afford even a token return of hospitality, then diey ducked out, quietly cut themselves off. You lost them.
She was silent for a full minute. Then - 'I was thinking about something else when you knocked, Willie. How do you figure that McReedy business tonight?'
The change of subject did not surprise him. He knew she had compartments in her mind, and that the Steve-Dinah problem was now simmering in one of them. He said, 'Just one of those things, I reckon. Caspar and McReedy dropped in for a drink. McReedy went out to the car for some of those fancy fags Caspar smokes, and the muscle jumped 'im.'
'But they didn't rob him. They were working him over. Why?'
Willie rubbed his chin. 'We don't know enough to make guesses, Princess. Want me to look into it?'
'No.' She spoke rather quickly and got up from the bed. 'It's not important. I was just curious.'
He looked at her sharply but could read nothing in her face. Yet, when he wished her goodnight and went to his room, for no valid reason some of the heaviness had lifted from his spirits.
At noon the next day, Collier sat in the stern of a big powerboat and looked along the hundred and twenty feet of tow-rope which angled up over the sea. At the far end, the great blue-and-white sail of the kite shimmered in the sun.
Willie Garvin, a brown figure in faded blue trunks, hung from the trapeze bar beneath the sail, thirty feet above the quiet, sun-dappled water, a slalom ski on his feet. The smaller figure of Dinah rode on his back. Collier could see her face over Willie's shoulder. She was catching her breath, laughing with exhilaration as they flew at a steady thirty-five mph. Half an hour earlier he had watched Modesty and then Willie as they performed tricks with the kite - toe hangs and knee hangs, 360 degree turns, and dramatic free layouts in which
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the kiter hung horizontally below the bar without touching it, suspended only by the harness.
Willie was doing no tricks now, only an occasional gentle slalom from side to side, for to carry a passenger was no easy task, even a lightweight like Dinah, and this was her first tune up.
His hand hovering over the tow-rope release gear, Collier saw her wrap her legs more tightly round Willie and then lift one hand to wave. He almost waved back. Dinah made so light of her blindness that it was easy to forget.
Modesty sat at the wheel of the boat, her head turned, watching the kite carefully. Collier lifted his voice above the surprisingly quiet growl of the twin 35 hp engines. 'She's loving it,' he said. 'She must be out of her little pink mind.'
Modesty smiled. 'You'd love it, too. It's like champagne.'
'I'll settle for a bottle of Bollinger, thanks.'
The kite swept down wide on the port quarter. Willie's ski was almost touching the sea when he moved his weight along the bar. At the same moment Modesty opened the throttle wider. The kite zoomed up and across, soaring sixty feet in two seconds as Willie slalomed to starboard.
She eased back the throttle and said, 'That's something you won't get out of a bottle. And don't worry, Steve. She's Dresden china as far as Willie's concerned.'
Collier nodded. 'I know. I'm not worried about Dinah, I'm worried about me.' He looked at the release gear. 'If the kite goes wild I have to wait till it's almost down before I hit the release. If I do it too soon they'll cop a few bruises hitting the sea. But it's nothing to what I'll cop. You'll all be on to me, baying like dogs, quoting instructions, debating my sanity.' He rubbed the inside of one thigh broodingly. 'I remember how it was two days ago, when you tried to get me up on skis from a wet start.'
A small explosion of laughter escaped Modesty. 'But we told you a dozen times to hold the bar in front of your knees, not with the rope between them.'
'That's my point. You told me about a million things a dozen times. Only a computer could have absorbed them all. I forgot just one. Next minute I was lying flat on my back with
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lacerated thighs, floating in my own gore.'
'It was only a graze!' That was true, but when the returning boat reached Collier he had demanded an immediate heart transplant.
Again Willie viraged with the kite, the lightweight Tery-lene of the sail curving tautly in the wind.
Watching intently, Collier said, 'You know, it baffles me. I wouldn't have said that you and Willie were notably cautious, but for this kiting you wear crash helmets and inch-thick safety jackets of expanded neoprene. And you check all your gear as if you were making a moon-shot.'
'Willie made the framework collapsible, and we don't want it to collapse in the air. We don't want to get hurt, either. What on earth makes you think we're reckless?'
Collier shot a quick, wondering glance at her, knowing she was quite serious. She wore a very dark blue swimsuit that matched her eyes, and her black hair was bound in a short club at her neck. Her body was very brown. From where Collier sat he could see only one faint scar, on her right arm and a few inches below the shoulder, but in days gone by he had counted others. Not long ago he had witnessed the sword-thrust that had made the wound in her arm, and the memory of that long savage duel under a desert sun could still bring sweat to his brow.
'My sweet,' he said helplessly, 'by no wish of my own I've been involved in two very rough capers with you. Dinah in one of them. I've seen you take risks beside which going over Niagara in a paper bag would seem attractive. So I can't rate you very high for caution.'
'You don't understand, Steve,' she said absently, her eyes sweeping the empty sea ahead. 'I save up my luck for when I need it. You've never seen me take a serious risk except to save my neck.'
Without reflection Collier could think of four occasions. Her own neck had not been at stake, but if she had not taken appalling chances, other people would have died. Collier himself for one, Dinah for another. But it was pointless to argue. The simple fact was that if you had Modesty Blaise for a friend, then your neck was counted as her own.
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'It's too hot to argue,' he said lazily, and glanced towards the land. 'Hazard approaching. That's Caspar's boat, isn't it?'
A red and blue speedboat was hurtling out towards them, hydroplaning over the glassy water. Modesty glanced quickly towards it, then up at the kite. Til bring them down,' she said. 'Can't watch the kite with Caspar screaming around.'
She waved a hand to Willie and throttled down, keeping the boat into the wind as she had done throughout the run. The headwind gave more lift for Dinah's extra weight, and with Willie carrying her as passenger it was important to take no chance of catching a crosswind on the turn.
The kite descended steadily. Willie's ski touched the surface. He skimmed along smoothly for a few seconds, Dinah still clinging to his back, and then, as Modesty closed the throttle, the two of them sank down into the water. The kite settled, supported by the two cylindrical floats on the fore and aft members of the dural NS 4 framework. The sail slanted up like an awning above the heads of Willie and Dinah. The polypropylene tow-rope floated on the surface.
Collier hauled in and reached down to help Dinah aboard. Willie began to dismantle the framework of the kite. Breathless, her face alight, Dinah said, 'Boy! Did you see me, Steve? It's out of this world!'
Caspar made a spectacular turning halt, then eased the speedboat gently alongside. His smile and his eyes were as bright as ever, but there was a hint of strain under the surface, as if the shock of last night had left its mark.
'Long live Chairman Mao!' he cried. 'I bring word from the good McReedy, my little cabbages. He is suffused with gratitude to you all, and will shortly render same personally in toto and with flowers, by God--'
'Did the police find out why those two worked him over?' Modesty broke in.
Caspar gave a crow of pained laughter. 'Ah, sacred thunder! Will you be very angry if I tell you they escaped, Modesty, my small?'
'Escaped?'
'In my own car, madre de Dios I And by my own fault. It
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was while we waited for the police to come. I had their gun which you gave me, but I dropped it.'
Collier said, 'Jesus, man! Are you joking?'
'No joke, my old. I was trying to spin it on my finger, as one sees on the movies. When it fell, the bigger one was very quick.' He screwed up his face, wincing. 'The police were not pleased. A la Bastille! I thought they would arrest me.'
Modesty said, 'You could always plead insanity, Caspar.'
He gave a yelp of laughter. 'Who would believe me? But to confirm. You will come and scintillate at my party tonight, nicht wahr?'
'It's still on?'
'Certainly! Le monde dore will be there. Come and out-glitter them, car a mia. I insist.'
'All right. Now shove off with that fire-cracker while we sort ourselves out, will you?'
Caspar flourished a hand, edged the speedboat clear, shouted 'Till soon!' and went roaring away.
'Spinning it on his finger,' Collier said blankly. 'I'll bet McReedy was charmed. If the thug who grabbed the gun had put a bullet through Caspar's head I doubt if we'd notice any difference.'
That evening Collier brought his wife into the sitting-room and said, 'I've told her that her lipstick's on straight and that all hooks and zippers are done up, but she wants a second opinion.'
Dinah was wearing a short black dress. It was not expensive but it looked very good on her. She said, 'He means well, but he's not very bright. He let me go out with a price tag on the other week.'
Modesty looked Dinah over carefully. 'You're fine,' she said. 'But that dress needs a bit of jewellery for this kind of party. Have you got anything with you?'
'We travelled fight,' said Collier. 'At home she has a magnificent diamond brooch I bought for her in Algiers from a one-legged mendicant. He swore the rocks were genuine. If he lied, I've been swindled out of three pounds ten.'
'She can borrow something,' Modesty said, and moved to
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the door. For a moment her hand touched her throat and she lifted an eyebrow at Wilh'e. He gave a quick nod of approval. When she came down from her bedroom she carried a pearl necklace. 'Here. If Caspar wants glitter he'll get it. Better than glitter. There'll be plenty of sparklers about, but this will knock them cold.'
'God, no!' Collier said hastily. 'Not those!'
'What is it?' Dinah felt the pearls and looked startled. She knew them, knew their history, had been a part of their history. She knew that the necklace was insured for over thirty thousand pounds, and was unique. It was a present to Modesty from Wilh'e Garvin. There were thirty-seven pearls, ranging from a hundred grains down to twenty-five grains, and they came from all the major pearl beds of the world. Willie had not bought them, he had dived for them, spending five or six weeks on the task each year for seven years, unknown to Modesty.
To find the selection of matched and graded pearls he wanted, he had lifted more than fifty thousand shells.
'I can't!' Dinah said. 'My God, I didn't know you kept them around, Modesty. They ought to be in a bank!'
'I didn't give 'em for that,' Willie said amiably. 'They're for pleasure, not shutting away. Now turn around so the Princess can put 'em on for you.'
By midnight Caspar's party was in full swing. At one end of the long terrace room a five-piece band thumped out beat music. Caspar was darting about, uttering yelps of laughter and chattering feverishly to his guests. Willie was dancing with Dinah.
'I shall ask you to dance,' Collier said, refilling Modesty's glass and his own with champagne, 'as soon as I've managed to analyse what's expected of me. I'm out of touch, of course. I don't know if this is the frug or watusi or whatever. But no two dancers seem to agree on its execution. The lady there with the blue hair is alternately sagging at the knees and throwing her arms in the air, while the heavy gentleman with the gleaming jowls seems to be riding an invisible horse. Which method do you favour?'
Before Modesty could reply there came a sudden untimely
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crash of the cymbals, very loud. The music faltered and faded. The chattering voices rose sharply, then dwindled to a hush.
A man stood on the low platform occupied by the band. He wore an ankle-length plastic mack, and the whole of his head was covered by a hood. There were no eye-holes. The fabric could presumably be seen through from within, though it was opaque from without. He held a sawn-off shotgun.
Another hooded man stood by the door from the landing stage, a third by the door leading through to the hotel. Both carried sawn-off shotguns. Collier saw the dancers fall back as three more men, similarly hooded, moved briskly down the length of the floor. These three carried service revolvers.
They split up, one moving to each side and the third continuing to the end of the room. There was silence. The man by the band spoke in French, slowly and with an accent. 'Listen carefully, please. I shall say this only once. In a few moments one of die waiters will be passing round with a tray. You will place your valuables upon it. If you resist or refuse, you will be hurt. That is all.'
He signalled to the band. After a moment or two of hesitation diey began to play. His free hand beat the air impatiently, commanding them to play louder. The noise rose.
Caspar stood holding his hands to his head, eyes closed, lips moving. Suddenly he ran at one of the hooded men. The report of die revolver was almost lost in the noise from the band. Caspar stopped short, wincing. He clapped a hand to his arm and went down on his knees, a startled look at his face. The band blared. Nobody moved.
A white-faced waiter was beckoned forward and a tray was thrust in his hands. Collier saw Willie and Dinah standing close together halfway down the room. Willie was looking towards Modesty. Collier turned his gaze to her. Her face was impassive, her eyes on Willie. She shook her head, and began to unpin the emerald brooch she wore.
Collier looked towards Dinah again and saw that her face was milk white, her hands pressed against her chest high up near her throat. It was then he remembered that she was wearing Modesty's pearls, and he felt the blood drain from his own face with shock.
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The waiter was in front of Dinah now. Willie Garvin gently drew her hands away, unfastened the necklace and dropped it on the tray. Collier felt sick with despair. Some time later he put his own slim wallet on the tray, and saw Modesty's emerald brooch join the glittering pile of jewellery and gold there.
The withdrawal was as efficient as the rest of the operation. Two men with shotguns remained by the terrace door while the others moved out on to the long landing stage. There came the roar of an engine. The two men turned and disappeared. As the band stopped playing and a bedlam of voices rose, there came the sound of a powerful boat racing away into the darkness.
Caspar still knelt in the middle of the floor, head bowed, blood creeping between the fingers of the hand clamped on his arm. Modesty was beside him now.
'Again ...' he said dazedly. 'Oh God, it has happened again!'
'Let's see to your arm, Caspar.'
'My arm? It's nothing ... a gouge in the flesh.' He looked at her with blank eyes and got unsteadily to his feet. 'There is a goddam doctor here I invited...' He suddenly wrenched away, his face twisting with rage. 'The manager - where is the bastard? Where is he?' His voice rose. 'Where are the useless goddam police?'
He lurched through the milling, babbling crowd. Modesty turned to find Willie at her side, Collier with an arm round his shivering wife. 'Might as well get out of 'ere, Princess,' Willie said.
She nodded. 'We can make our statements in the morning. Let's go.'
Willie drove the car. Modesty sat beside him. In the back, Dinah huddled against her husband. She had stopped crying now but he could still feel her small body shaking.
'Oh, my God,' he said tiredly. 'Oh, sweet Jesus. Those pearls.'
'No good fretting,' Willie said philosophically. 'We've lifted a bit of loot in our time, the Princess an' me. So we can't squawk when it works out the other way round.'
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'I was wearing them,' Dinah said in a muffled voice. 'If I hadn't worn them--'
'I practically made you,' Modesty said. 'If I'd worn them myself it would have been just the same. And if we'd started trouble there'd have been a massacre with those shotguns. You haven't a shred of responsibility for what happened, Dinah. And Willie's right, I'm in no position to complain.'
'I know.' Dinah's voice was weary, defeated. 'But everyone who's nice to me gets hurt. I'm a Jonah. I'm bad luck.'
Collier had never felt so sad or helpless. He lifted his wife's face and kissed her. He could think of nothing to say.
During the next two days Collier came slowly to realize that Modesty and Willie were not putting on an act for Dinah's sake, that they genuinely felt the way they had spoken. But Dinah was inconsolable.
A very subdued Caspar telephoned to apologize and declare his distress. His arm was healing well, he said. It was only a flesh wound.
On the third day, in the afternoon, Collier drove into Cannes widi Dinah to do some shopping at the market. They returned early, Collier driving fast, and ran down to the boat house where Modesty sat watching Willie as he finished servicing the engines.
Collier's rather lean face was alight, and Dinah looked a different girl.
Willie laid down a spanner and stared. 'What's the excitement. Somebody at the market understand your French?'
'We ran into McReedy,' Collier said. 'Just for a minute or two.' He looked at Dinah. 'You tell them, sweetheart.'
'I'd never been close to McReedy before,' she said tensely, 'but it's him! I mean, the man with a hood who went round with the waiter and the tray - he was standing close when Willie took the necklace off and put it on the tray. That was McReedy!'
Modesty and Willie looked at each other. Modesty said, 'You're sure, Dinah?'
'I know I Oh lord, I can't prove it. But I'm never wrong about a scent, you know that. McReedy smells like...' She
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screwed up her sightless eyes. 'Like a half-inflated balloon feels. I know he was the man in the hood.'
They were not surprised by her simile. For her, the sensory impressions of sound and touch, taste and smell, were a unity. They knew that in Dinah's dark world Modesty's scent was as the taste of brandy, and Willie's as the sound of a muted trumpet.
'McReedy,' said Willie. He sat down on the gunwale and began to smile, watching Modesty.
After a long silence she sighed and shook her head. 'I've been slow. It's a little tortuous, but it was all there. Now Dinah's come up with the one piece that makes all the rest fall into place.'
'What rest?' Collier asked, perplexed.
'Little things. The Costa Smeralda. Best bibs and tuckers. The terrace room. A playboy yacht with no girlie guests. McReedy getting beaten up. Caspar spinning the gun on his finger. Casper getting a scratch from a .45.'
'She's gone potty,' Collier said to his wife. Til hold her nose while you pour castor oil down her throat. It's a sovereign remedy.'
'Shut up, idiot.' Dinah shook his arm impatiently. 'What are we going to do, Modesty?'
'I'm going to fix lunch.' Modesty got up. 'Come and give me a hand, Dinah. And we may need you when we pay a visit to Caspar's yacht tonight.' She paused. 'We'd better keep an eye on it. Will you and Steve take turns, Willie love?'
It was half an hour after sunset that day when Collier rang from the harbour. His voice was very controlled. 'They've just up-anchored,' he said tautly. 'They've bloody well up-anchored and they're pulling out.'
Modesty said, 'Check their direction if you can, Steve, then come straight back here.'
Twenty-five minutes later Collier reached the villa. Willie was waiting in the drive, wearing a warm waterproof jacket. 'They turned east,' Collier said, 'or a bit south of east. Should be passing here.' His face was a little drawn with anxiety. 'Where are the others?'
'Boat house,' said Willie. 'Come on.' He led the way with
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long strides. As they came round the corner of the villa he pointed seaward. It was dark now. A yacht was passing a mile off-shore, brilliantly lit. Caspar's yacht.
'They could be going anywhere,' Collier panted as they ran down the narrow path.
'I know. That's why we can't afford to lose 'em now.'
The powerboat waited by the jetty, showing no lights. Modesty was wearing a wet-suit and hood of black neoprene. There was a small winch in the stern. Dinah was bulky in sweaters and a waterproof jacket. As Modesty started the engines Willie opened a locker and brought out more clothes.
'Get into these,' he said to Collier. 'It's going to be a long wet night.'
Collier obeyed. The powerboat was picking up speed, hugging the coast. He realized that Modesty intended to tail the Delphine at long range, probably waiting until the dark early hours before she closed on it. But he could not imagine what came next.
'She cruises at twenty knots,' he said, bewildered. 'We can catch her, but we can never run alongside and board her. You'd have to be a grasshopper to make it. Besides, they'll see us or hear us, or both. And they've got guns.'
'We're not going to get close enough for them to see or hear us,' Modesty said. 'There's very little moon, these engines are pretty quiet, and I'm using the black kite.'
Kite? Collier sat very still. His eyes had grown used to the darkness now, and he could see the slender lengths of duralumin lashed along the side of the powerboat - the framework for a kite.
'You're mad!' he said. 'You'll never make it!'
'It won't be too bad.' Modesty had given the wheel to Willie and moved to the stern, checking the winch. 'The sea's reasonably smooth for take-off, and there's a good steady wind, which means I can fly at low speed. I'll be on a long tow, and that will let Willie stay well clear of the Delphine.''
'Long? How long?'
Dinah said unhappily, 'She says seven or eight hundred feet.'
What?'
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Modesty turned from the winch. 'Stop jittering, Steve. There are some Australian kiters who've flown a thousand feet up on a two-thousand-foot tow-rope. That was by day, but we need darkness anyway and it's a perfect night for the job.'
'It's a perfect night to break your neck! The boat's going to need slide-rule handling, and Willie won't be able to see you!'
'I'm wearing a throat-mike, Willie has a receiver and headset. I can control things from my end. In theory it ought to work all right.'
'Never mind the blasted theory--!'
'Oh, don't nag, darling. You're always the same. It only makes me nervous.'
Collier gave a wild laugh. 'Nervous? You haven't the bloody sense to be nervous!'
Dinah said, 'Don't, Steve. You know it's no use.' She moved to sit close beside him, groped for his hand and held it tightly. He let out a long breath and slumped in his seat. Their faces grew wet with fine spray as the boat surged steadily on through the night.
By two hours past midnight the sea was dark under a thin moon. The yacht lay almost three miles astern. Only her navigation lights showed now. Willie Garvin killed the twin engines and began to assemble the kite framework, securing the long alloy spars with interlocking joints. Modesty pulled goggles over her eyes and slipped over the side. At a word from Willie, Collier began to unfold the Terylene sail. Five minutes later the kite floated astern, with Modesty holding the bar beneath the slanting sail.
Collier felt very cold. She would wear the harness until she was airborne and in position, and she would make a few practice manoeuvres well away from the Delphine, to test the handling of the kite and communication with Willie. Then she would free herself from the harness. She would hang by her hands from the trapeze bar with no other support while Willie made the approach. He would cross the wake of the yacht at least a hundred yards astern, at an angle of thirty or forty degrees to the Delphine's course, heading straight into the favourable wind. It was unlikely that the boat would be heard
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or seen. Apart from the navigation lights and a faint glow from the wheelhouse the yacht was in darkness now. There would be one or perhaps two men in the wheelhouse, but they would not look aft except by remote chance.
The floating kite was forty feet astern of the boat now, almost lost against the darkness of the sea. Willie had the receiver headset on, listening. He opened the throttle. Collier could just make out Modesty's dark figure rising up out of the water on her slalom ski, the kite a great gash of blackness above her. She skimmed the surface for a few seconds then lifted into the air.
Willie called, 'Pay out.' Collier gripped the winch control, letting the line run out slowly but steadily, watching Willie for any signal. Dinah sat very still, enclosed in her own world of permanent darkness, wishing they would tell her what was happening from moment to moment, but biting back the questions for fear of causing any distraction.
A full two hundred yards astern, her face cold, her body warm in the wet-suit, Modesty sailed a hundred and fifty feet above the sea. The tow-rope angled down ahead of her, vanishing into the darkness. Beyond she could just see the wake of the boat. The rounded surface of the throat-mike rested against her larynx. She said, Tm going to try a few left-hand slaloms, Willie. Here we go.'
She shifted her weight on the bar, and the kite planed smoothly down to her left. Down, down, far wide of the boat with this enormous length of tow-rope. The wind plucked at her and whistled through the framework. Just before her ski touched the water she moved again and said, 'Up!' The kite soared, carrying her up and to the right in a two hundred yard traverse. Three times she slalomed, then settled at a hundred and fifty feet again and said, 'All right. Make the run, Willie.'
During the fifteen minutes of practice manoeuvres they had operated far out to port of the yacht, and it had passed them by. She had lost sight of it, but as Willie brought her round slowly, carefully, in a great circle, she picked up the navigation lights a mile or more ahead now, and to her right.
She kicked off the ski, dropped the gloves she had been wearing, freed herself from the harness, and hung by her hands
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from the bar. Willie was closing on the Delphine from out on the port quarter. She would have to time her long slalom to begin well before he crossed astern, slanting down so that she would reach the after deck at the exact moment when the tow-rope brought her in line with it.
She began to speak. 'Slower, Willie. Slower still. There's a good headwind up here and you can go down to ten knots. Good. Now starboard a little. Hold her like that. Hold her...' She moved her weight. The kite began to drop smoothly, as if sliding sideways down an invisible slope, moving obliquely down towards the stern of the yacht.
Fifty feet up now. The length of the Delphine showed clearly ahead and to her left. She was going to undershoot. 'Throttle, Wille. Just a touch. Right ... ease off. Steady. Steady...'
The afterdeck, which had looked impossibly small, grew suddenly larger. She swept down, twisting her body to face forward along the deck. Her feet passed over the stern rail. Too high. She would hit the windows of the saloon, or the speed of the tow might even whisk her over the starboard rail. Too late to compensate. She shifted her weight to tilt the sail, snapped 'Up!' and dropped to the deck ten feet below as the kite flashed up and away over the stern.
Her body was limp, already curling as her feet hit the deck, and she plunged forward, rolling in a loose somersault and then slithering to a halt against the saloon.
She lay there for a full minute, conscious now of the ache in her shoulders, alert for any sound, any movement. Then she mouthed softly, pressing the mike against her throat, 'Tell Steve he can stop biting his nails. And stand by, Willie. I might be a little while.'
She unzipped her wet-suit jacket and switched off the pencil-sized transmitter clipped inside. Her movements were deliberately slow, for her hands were still a little unsteady from the long minutes of physical strain and total concentration. One side of her face was sore, and she knew she had picked up a graze slithering along the deck.
A small flat packet, neoprene wrapped, was tied to her thigh. She loosened the nylon cord and stripped off the sealing
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tape. Inside was a Colt .32 revolver, a box with a hypodermic, a roll of surgical plaster, and an aerosol spray containing ether. She got to her feet and eased silently round the corner of the saloon.
Half a mile off, the powerboat held a parallel course.
Dinah said, 'How long before we can move in, Willie?'
'When she gives me a call. Allow 'alf an hour, love. She's got to get the crew buttoned up, an' there's eight of 'em.'
'Will it be tricky?'
'No. The tricky bit's over. They sleep in the lower cabins. Caspar and McReedy 'ave got a deck cabin apiece. Caspar showed us over the yacht a couple of weeks ago, so Modesty knows the layout. And she's got a box of tricks with 'er. A squirt of ether and a yard of plaster each. That'll keep 'em quiet.'
Willie stretched, arching his back, and exhaled. His hands on the wheel were relaxed.
Collier said accusingly, 'You were worried. You sound different now.'
'I didn't like it too much,' Willie agreed. 'If she misjudged that long slalom she could've come down right into the screws.'
'Then why the hell didn't you help me talk her out of it?'
Willie smiled. Dinah said, 'Don't be a dope, honey.'
Collier sniffed. He felt a lot better now. 'All right,' he said sourly. 'But if it had to be done, why didn't that Cockney layabout do the tricky bit? Where are his manners? You don't say "After you" to a lady when it's a matter of being chewed up by propellers.'
'But I'm chicken,' Willie explained.
Dinah giggled. 'He's more than half as heavy again as Modesty. With the same sail, that means a lot more speed to keep him up. A landing at that speed just wasn't on.'
Collier knew that perfectly well. He said scornfully, 'Excuses, excuses.'
Caspar came drowsily awake. A hand was shaking him by the shoulder. He grunted, 'What the hell is it?' The bedside light in his cabin clicked on. He blinked at the Colt held in
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front of his eyes, then looked past it to the black-clad figure bending over him.
He felt suddenly cold, and his thoughts were in fragments. Modesty Blaise ... in a wet-suit with the hood thrown back ... one smooth cheek marred by a raw graze ... holding a gun in his face. He lay stiffly, looking up at her with dazed eyes. Her own eyes were like two cold, dark-blue stones. He tried to work out what had happened, to frame the lies that were needed.
She said softly, 'Apart from the man at the wheel, everyone else is asleep. And I've made sure they'll stay asleep. Don't fidget, Caspar, or I'll put a bullet through your arm. A real one, not a blank like McReedy used the other night. You won't have to break a sachet of pig's blood to pretend you're wounded.'
She saw that he was wide awake now. The first shock had passed. He was watching her narrowly and did not seem to be afraid. 'You are in trouble,' he said coolly. 'Bad trouble, my old. Assault, piracy, God knows what else.'
She said, 'We won't waste time. I'll tell you what I know. McReedy's the boss, not you. He chartered this yacht, I've checked that. He organized the raids. You're the playboy front. The actor. You made a lot of jet-set friends and got them all together at a party on the Costa Smeralda. Best bibs and tuckers. All competing with their most glittering rocks. And then you took them. The bullet-wound your bouncer got then was as phoney as the wound you got the other night. But it stopped any other heroics.'
She stepped back and sat down on a locker, the gun held steady. 'Then you pulled one or two other raids. Outside jobs. I'm guessing the next bit, but it's a good guess. McReedy wanted to try the same idea again, to get a big haul. You got scared. Another raid at a Caspar party and somebody just might begin to wonder. You begged McReedy to lay off, but he wouldn't listen, and you're too frightened of him just to walk out. So you got a little desperate, Caspar. Now I've stopped guessing. You tried to put him out of action, maybe for good. You laid on those two thugs for the job, but Steve Collier stopped them before they really got going.'
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Sweat was gathering on Caspar's forehead, and there was panic in his eyes now.
She said, 'Yes, McReedy's a rough man, isn't he, Caspar? You were afraid the French police might make those thugs talk, and that meant McReedy finding out what you'd done. So you played the clown, let them grab the gun and escape. I never really believed your act, I just thought it was harmless. But that escape bit was too much. So was the party, held at a place with a sea getaway, as before. So was the bullet that grazed you but didn't hit anyone behind you.'
Caspar said, dry-mouthed, 'Try to prove any of it.'
'I'm not going to.' She studied him thoughtfully. 'You and McReedy aren't buddies. He's your boss, and you're very, very scared of him. Now, what do you think he'll do to you if I tell him that it was you who had him beaten up? I wouldn't have to prove it, Caspar, just give him the thought. He'll figure it for himself.'
Caspar seemed to have shrunk. His young wrinkled face looked like an old wrinkled face. He said hoarsely, 'If you've got a deal I'll play along. What do you want?'
She said, 'A little cooperation, Caspar, that's all. And the loot, of course.'
The yacht lay rolling gently in the swell, her engines stopped. The man in the wheelhouse slept, his wrists bound with surgical tape, his feet with nylon cord. Willie Garvin brought the powerboat alongside. The gangway had been lowered. He made fast and went up on to the deck. Dinah followed, Collier guiding her.
As Collier reached the deck he saw Modesty with Caspar beside her. She was saying to Willie, 'Thank God we brought Dinah along, or we'd have wasted the whole damn trip.'
The deck lights were on now. Willie put a hand out and turned her head a little to peer at the graze on her cheek. He made no comment but said, 'The loot's aboard?'
'Yes. But I've boobed.' She was frowning, annoyed with herself.
'Foolish woman,' Collier said reproachfully. 'What have you done wrong?' He felt wonderful now.
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She looked at him. 'McReedy's the top man and he doesn't seem to trust his colleagues very much. He's the only one who knows where the loot's stashed away. Because he's the danger-man I gave him a shot that will keep him out for hours.' She shrugged. 'I doubt if we could have made him talk, anyway. We're not the thumb-screw types.'
She put a hand on Dinah's arm. 'That lays the whole thing on you, Dinah. Searching a ship is murder, even one this size. We'd need about a week, and we've only got hours. If you can't find the loot for us ... well, we've lost.'
Dinah smiled and wiped her spray-wet face. In the light from the deck lamps Collier saw that she was bubbling with an eager happiness that he had not seen in her for a long time now. 'I wore those pearls for several hours,' she said, 'so I have a sense of what I'm looking for. And anyway, there was quite a bit of gold with the loot. I can't miss. Let's have the locators, Willie.'
Two minutes later she was walking slowly along the deck, near the starboard rail, her hands held in front of her. In each hand she gripped a short length of copper tubing. A piece of galvanized wire, bent in a right-angle with one arm longer than the other, rested in each piece of tubing. The longer arms of the two wires pointed forward.
Collier moved behind her, guiding her with a gentle touch. The strange gift never ceased to fascinate him, even though he was deeply familiar with all forms of psychic phenomena. Until a year ago, this had been Dinah's occupation. She had worked for construction companies in North Anierica, locating pipes, cables, sewers. She had worked for mining companies, locating copper, silver and gold. It was this gift which had put her into appalling danger and had led to those grim days in the Sahara which Collier would never forget, the days when Dinah had been forced to seek a vast treasure buried when the Romans held Numidia. There she had searched a small city; here there was only the deck area of the yacht to cover.
As they turned and moved aft to cover another strip of deck he saw that Willie Garvin was in the wheelhouse now. Caspar stared with a strange, bewildered look as Dinah passed. Modesty was watching Caspar sharply.
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It was twenty minutes later, in the saloon, that the two wires resting loosely in the tubing Dinah held in each hand swung smoothly towards each other and crossed. Dinah stopped, her eyes closed, a frown of concentration on her face. She edged a little to the left and stamped a foot.
'Below here, Steve. About ten feet down, maybe less.' 'Hold on, I'll get Modesty.'
It took several minutes to ascertain that Dinah stood directly over a between-decks bulkhead and that this divided the air-conditioning unit from a combined workshop and paint store. Willie stayed on deck while the others went below. Dinah moved slowly about the little workshop with her locaters. The wires swung together again.
'Here,' she said, standing facing the bulkhead. 'About deck level.'
'There's a ventilator grid in the bulkhead, down by your feet,' Modesty said. 'Steve, get a screwdriver.'
The four screws came out easily. In the shaft beyond the grid lay a leather satchel. Collier drew it out. The mass of jewellery and gold within was carefully wrapped in cottonwool and oilskin.
'You've done it, sweetheart,' he breathed. Dinah's face puckered. Her eyes brimmed suddenly. Collier hugged her with his free arm and laughed exultantly.
Caspar said, looking at Modesty strangely, 'That's a good trick. Now what?'
'Back to your cabin.' She motioned with the gun. 'We're leaving. If you want, we'll give you a barbiturate shot, the same as I gave McReedy. Let one of the others be the first to come round and wriggle free. It shouldn't take more than an hour now, and it might be safer for you.'
'It would,' Caspar said bleakly, and turned towards the door.
Fifteen minutes later the silhouette of the Delphine faded into the darkness as Willie sent the powerboat planing over the long smooth swells, heading north-west. He had put up the rain hood and it was cosy in the little boat now. Collier lit cigarettes and passed them round. Willie produced a half-bottle of brandy.
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Collier said, 'I feel in a dream. A very pleasant one. When are you going to hand over that bag of beads to the police?'
'I'm not.' Modesty took a few sips from the bottle and passed it to Dinah. 'I'm no fan of the McReedy-Caspar bunch, but if I send them down it will be a bit like dog eating dog. So this story can't be told. And if I turn up with the loot and say I found it hidden in a cave on one of the lies de Lerins, I'll be suspect. My dossier may be dusty, but the French police won't have thrown it away.'
She yawned suddenly, then put out her cigarette with care, lowered the back of the seat, and curled up with her head on a cushion. 'You and Dinah will have to turn the loot in, Steve,' she said. 'But not just yet. For one thing I want you to find it in front of witnesses, and for another I want to wait until the insurance companies have got together and published an offer of reward.'
Collier blinked. 'Reward? I hadn't thought about that.'
Willie gave a chuckle. 'It won't be less than ten per cent. Dinah, my old darling, you can reckon on twenty thousand quid in your pocket, tax free.'
There was a silence. Then Dinah said in a startled voice. 'My pocket? Don't talk crazy, Willie.'
Tm not. You fingered McReedy. You found the loot. Without you, we'd never 'ave found it. And with no proof against Caspar we could've been in dead trouble for tonight's effort. Right, Princess?'
There was no answer from Modesty. Collier leaned forward to peer down at her. 'Good God,' he said indignantly, 'she's asleep.' There was no pretence. He had seen her in sleep before. She always looked very young and curiously defenceless. Tonight, with her hair tousled, her face grazed and dirty, she looked like a tired urchin. He knew now that she had had the reward in mind ever since Dinah had pinpointed McReedy, and a sudden wave of measureless affection for her stirred within him. He gave a disgruntled snort and said, 'Asleep, and with guests present. She's got no bloody manners, that's her trouble.'
He found Dinah's hand and looked at Willie. 'All right. Dinah found the loot. But Modesty put us on the yacht.
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Modesty risked her neck with that damn kite.'
Willie shrugged. His face was serious. Somehow he was holding down a huge admiring grin. 'If you've got the nerve to offer 'er half, go ahead,' he said doubtfully. 'But she'll be 'opping mad, I can tell you.'
It was on a morning two days later that Stephen Collier and his wife made a trip to He Ste Marguerite with a number of tourists on an excursion arranged by a travel agency. At eleven o'clock, sitting on one of the rocky beaches while photographs were taken, Dinah felt a piece of tarry rope beneath her. She pulled on it. The rope ran down some two feet into a crevice filled with loose stones. Attached to the end of the rope was a leather satchel. The contents of the satchel set the whole excursion buzzing with excitement, and the mystery of why the gang responsible for the recent jewel robbery had chosen to hide their haul in such a place caused endless speculation.
While Collier and Dinah were at the police station handing over their find, Wiltie Garvin lay extended on a lounging chair on the terrace of the villa, enjoying the sun and thinking. He heard the click of Modesty's sandals as she came from the big lounge.
She was wearing a bright yellow swimsuit, her hair was loose, tied at the nape of the neck. She perched on the end of his chair, facing him. There was a slight uncertainty in her manner, as if she wanted to say something but found it difficult. Willie sat up, moved his feet to make more room for her, and said, 'Well, twenty thousand quid ought to see Steve and Dinah in the clear. And with a bit to spare.'
She nodded absently. After a few moments he went on, 'Mind if I ask you something, Princess?'
A quick smile. 'When did I ever mind?'
'Well... I've been wondering why you didn't say anything to me about it. I mean, about knowing the hold-up was coming off, and that McReedy and Caspar were be'ind it.'
She stared. 'You guessed?'
'Not till after Dinah smelled McReedy out. I suddenly knew it wasn't news to you. Then I figured that maybe you 'ad them tagged all along.'
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She was looking at him oddly, and with an air of relief. 'Not really tagged. But after that night at the Boule d'Or I had a pretty strong hunch. There were all those things that didn't add up unless you added them up a particular way. If I was guessing right, then there was bound to be a hold-up at Caspar's party. Afterwards, I was going to wait for the reward offer to be published and then come up with the bright idea diat Caspar and McReedy were the villains. A hunch, but with enough substance to carry it. When Dinah smelled McReedy out, that was a bonus. It made her the one who got us going.'
'You were going to 'ave us clobber 'em and make the search hi harbour one night?'
'Yes. When the yacht sailed without warning, it meant improvising a little.'
Willie smiled. 'And Caspar knew where the loot was?'
She made a wry grimace. 'So you figured that, too?'
'You put McReedy out for hours. That didn't make sense unless you were setting up a situation for Dinah.'
'I was. Caspar knew where the loot was hidden, if you could call it hidden. It was in a locker in McReedy's cabin. Caspar didn't hold back when I leaned on him - anything rather than have me tell McReedy exactly who hired that muscle to beat him up. But just picking up the stuff the easy way wasn't any good. It left Dinah out. So I hid the satchel in that ventilator shaft for her to find, and told Caspar to keep his mouth buttoned.' She frowned suddenly. 'For God's sake, Willie, why didn't you tell me you knew? I've been feeling guilty as hell all this time.'
He stared at her in surprise. 'What for? Only reason I didn't say anything was because you didn't, Princess. I couldn't figure why, but you always know what you're doing. Then ... well, you seemed a bit troubled these past couple of days, so I thought I'd ask.'
She looked at him wonderingly. 'The pearls, Willie love. I couldn't be sure what the hold-up would yield and I wanted to boost it for the reward.'
'So you made Dinah wear the pearls. Sure. Marvellous idea.' He looked at her, still baffled.
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'Willie, I gambled them. It worked out, but I gambled the pearls you sweated to give me. It was an impulse. And I've felt like the world's biggest heel ever since.'
Understanding dawned on him. The pearls. He began to laugh. He had fished them up from the sea bed and made a necklace for her. It had taken seven years and given him infinite pleasure. That would always remain. Nobody could steal the sweat. He saw that she was smiling back at him now, more than smiling, laughing at herself with him, and he knew that she understood.
'They're only pearls,' he said, 'and it was a good cause.' He got up. Til go and put some champagne on ice so we can celebrate when Steve and Dinah get back.'
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