"No," said Grierson. "He means it."
Nono's head lolled on his chest; he snored. Quack, quack. Grierson circled Murano and looked out for Nono's island. There was a tiny one near by, a sliver of beach, a house, another powerboat, and a tangle of garden, nothing more. Grierson edged the boat up to a half-rotted jetty, stopped the engine, and hauled Nono upright. He was still out cold.
The house door was open, and he walked straight in. It should be easy—hand Nono over to the girl, borrow some clothes, borrow the boat. If she were all that fond of Nono, and she must be, to come out here, she'd be too busy pouring coffee down him to argue. There were lights just off the hall, and he pushed open another door. Two women were waiting for Nono, two tall, cool blondes in slacks and blouses of heavy silk. They sat facing each other in icy silence,
Mice a sister act after a quarrel, and whatever they had expected to see come through the door, it had not been a masked gentleman in crimson with a rapier over his hip, carrying the devil. They rocketed out of their seats like cool, blond pheasants, and Grierson laid Nono tenderly on a divan and turned to the two women, who had begun to scream. Grierson took a very deep breath.
"Shut up," he roared, and the noise of it blotted out the screams for a moment, but the screams went on. Grierson took another breath, and the screaming stopped. The women watched him, wary as cats at a dog show, but terrified that he might roar again.
"Look," Grierson said. "Nono wasn't feeling well—"
"Drunk," said one blonde.
"Again," said the other.
"He asked me to drive him home. Under the circumstances I thought I'd better."
"Who are you?" the blondes said together.
"My name's Philip Grierson," he said. "Nono and I were at school together. Who are you?"
"I'm Angelina Visconti," said one blonde.
"And I," said the other, "am the Countess di Traverse. Now that we're introduced, don't you think you should take off your mask?"
"Yes, of course," said Grierson, and did so.
"And your sword," said Angelina. He obeyed once
more.
"It was a costume ball, you see," said Grierson. "I know," said Angelina. "He promised to take me." "And me," said the countess.
"I think he went alone," said Grierson, and hoped, for Nono's sake, that this was so.
"Would you mind taking him into the bedroom?" Angelina said. "I don't terribly want to look at him."
"We have to talk," said the countess.
"Nono won't be able to talk for days," Angelina said. "You shouldn't let him drink."
"I shouldn't—"
"After all you are his wife." She turned to glance at Grierson, who felt suddenly chilly. "Well!" she said.
I'll put him to bed with pleasure," Grierson said, and the countess giggled, then scowled. This was serious business, after all.
"Then do so," said the countess.
"The only thing is—how do I get back to the mainland?"
"In the boat of course," the countess said. "Nono stole it. It's mine."
"It goes very nicely," Grierson said.
"Who bought it for you, darling?" asked Angelina.
Grierson picked up Nono again, and hauled him into the bedroom.
Nono lay where Grierson dropped him, but incredibly his eyes opened.
"Old chap," he whispered. Grierson bent over him. "Was my wife there too?" Grierson nodded. "Oh dear God," said Nono.
"I said you'd passed out," Grierson whispered. "You'd better do that until I take your wife away."
"That's awfully decent of you," said Nono. "Anything I can do—"
T would rather like a change of clothes," said Grierson.
"Help yourself," said Nono, and gestured to a wardrobe.
The clothes in it fitted Grierson admirably and the coat he chose was just loose enough to hide the bulge of his Smith and Wesson. There were cigarettes too, in the bedroom, and Scotch. Grierson helped himself and went back to Nono. He looked down at the death-pale face, cunning with pretended sleep.
"What you told me about Swyven and Dyton-Blease, is it true?" he asked.
"Gospel old chap, every word," said Nono. "For God's sake keep your voice down."
"But they kept it all secret, didn't they?" Grierson whispered.
Nono, very weakly, nodded. "Then why did they tell
you?"
'They wanted me to join them. I was supposed to be going into the Diplomatic Service, but all I was any good at was women. I can't drink."
"Just as a matter of interest, whom did you go to the ball with?"
"A Swede, old chap. Name of Helga. Trouble was her husband turned up." Nono's hand reached for Grierson's glass, sipped at his Scotch. "She's nearly as tall as I am. So fair her hair looks white."
"You seem to like tall blondes," said Grierson.
Nono drained the glass. "Who doesn't?" he said loudly, and passed out cold. Grierson poured himself another drink and went back to the blondes.
"I heard Nono speak," said Angelina.
"He came to just for a moment. Said I might borrow these clothes," said Grierson.
"No doubt," Angelina said. "They are my husband's." She hesitated. "I suppose you really did me a favor—bringing Nono back to me. You keep them."
"Thanks," said Grierson.
"He brought Nono back to us," said the countess.
"Poor Nono," said Angelina. "I'll bring him over to visit you when he is stronger, darling."
"Oh, very well," said the countess. "I suppose we have to be seen together sometimes." She rose. "We really must go now, Philip dear."
Grierson, who had risen too, moved to the door, watched the two women kiss, and went outside, then pulled the plug from Nono's powerboat. It was a crime, he thought, a lovely job like that, but he couldn't afford to be followed, and maybe Nono had it insured. He got into the other one, revved it up, and waited until the countess came.
"I'm awfully sorry," he said. "Yours is out of petrol."
The countess grinned. "Never mind," she said. 'This one is much better. Can you get to Lido di Jesolo?"
"I think so," said Grierson, and helped her aboard, then let in the power. The thrust of the engines was tremendous.
The countess fussed with charts, and Grierson looked at the stars, found northeast and kept going.
"Angelina's husband bought this boat," said the countess. "He bought mine too." The powerboat swerved, and went back on course. "I like you, Grierson," the countess said. "I find you simpatico." She switched to Italian then, and Grierson told her how beautiful she was, because what else can you say in Italian?
Then the countess went below, and Grierson still steered by the stars. Half an hour later, her head appeared and she said: "You'd better come down. There's an anchor thing around somewhere." Grierson hove to, and went below.
Next morning, looking at once sick, seedy, and Italian, Grierson anchored in Lido di Jesolo and left the countess asleep. He put a call through to Rome from a cafe on the waterfront, and the man who answered it was not happy at all. Even so, he said he'd try. Seven hours later, Grierson was in London.
* Chapter 14
When Craig came round, his neck and right shoulder were a mass of pain, intense, throbbing, apparently unending. He was aware of it as completely as if it were the act of love; so long as it existed there was room in his mind for nothing else. He lay face downward, and perhaps a minute passed before he heard the groans, and another minute at least before he realized that they were his own. When he knew that, he began to fight, first to stop the noises he was making, and then, at the cost of appalling effort, to find out where he was, what was happening.