Da Silva slipped into the jacket and dropped the revolver into a pocket. On second thought he withdrew it and tucked it under his belt, pulling the jacket straight over the bulge. “I don’t mind the man seeing me leave, and I don’t care if he thinks I’m portly; but I’d hate to have him think I’m one of those sloppy people who go around with sagging pockets.”
He winked at Wilson and moved toward the door; his image suddenly sprang at him from the wall mirror, and he paused, amazed. His bowtie, despite the exertions of the past hour, had not succumbed to the inducements of the exù charged with messing up neckwear. He tipped a hand in silent sardonic congratulation to the neat bow in the glass, unlatched the door, and closed it quietly behind him.
Wilson frowned at the closed panel a moment and then moved back of the bar; a picture there was swung aside, and the safe that was disclosed was opened. He withdrew a second revolver, checked it carefully, and then relocked the safe, dropping the picture into place. He walked to the coffee table, dropping into a chair, laying the revolver down before him. The brandy bottle winked at him, but he shook his head. This New Year’s Eve was going to be a dry one, at least until the matter of Jill’s abductor was cleared up. A pity, but that’s how it went!
There was a burst of noise from one of the other apartments in the buildings; someone had turned on the radio, listened to it a moment, and then turned it down. He glanced at his watch; eleven forty-five. My Lord! Had all that hectic action taken place that quickly? Fantastic! It seemed ages since they had found Jill on the beach! He shook his head, reaching for the cigarette pack; there was the sound of a key being turned in the kitchen, the faint squeal of the hinge as the door was closed, followed by the rasp of the chain bolt being slid into place.
Wilson grinned, lit his cigarette, and shook out the match. Leave it to Da Silva not to waste time, probably didn’t trust him alone with the girl! Well, at least the trap was baited; now to see if the rats walked into it. He swung around to greet his friend and then froze, the grin locking itself on his lips a moment and then instantly disappearing. A short, fat stranger was smiling at him quite brightly from the kitchen doorway, a revolver held steadily in his hand. Behind him, in the shadows of the darkened kitchen, was the outline of a thinner companion.
The stranger advanced into the living room, walking stealthily, his sharp eyes studying the room carefully, checking it for the unexpected. Wilson sat rigidly, silently cursing himself and Da Silva equally and wholeheartedly. So their nasty friend would come up the front way, would he? Because what doctor ever came up the back! Some deduction! If it was any satisfaction to know the rest of the assumptions were correct, he failed to sense it. The trap had been baited, all right, but the trapper had been caught. Damn! Not only was Da Silva locked out by the chain bolt, but all their brilliance had done was to put Jill in an even worse position! Filho de mãe! What a sad pair of so-called detectives!
The short stranger seemed as satisfied with the appearance of the room as he was unperturbed by the black expression on Wilson’s face. He tipped his head over his shoulder. “That gun on the table. Get it.” His voice was low, almost musical. The thinner man slipped by him silently without blocking his line of sight, picked up the service revolver, checked it in a matter of seconds, and then stepped to one side, training the muzzle on the seated man. His rotund companion smiled proudly.
“Not bad, eh? You notice how he went about it? Chico’s getting to be quite professional — and only with me a relatively short time.” He tucked his own pistol into his pocket and shook his head sadly. “And just what were you planning to do with that gun? Shoot me?” His voice was mocking. “Dear, dear! I shouldn’t have liked that at all!”
Wilson’s jaw was locked painfully, his mind racing. He forced himself to sound harsh, a bit frightened.
“What do you think you’ll get out of this bit of thuggery? Breaking in to rob a man with a sick wife! What do you think you’ll find here that’s worth the effort?” A sneer was added to the harshness, a touch of bravado. “I don’t keep money in the house. The most valuable thing you could steal is my revolver, and you already have that.”
“Very touching,” said the fat man sadly. “A marvelous performance but — unfortunately — wasted. The lady in the other room is certainly not feeling well, that I’ll grant; but she is also certainly not your wife.” He glanced at his wristwatch and then walked over, seating himself almost daintily across from Wilson. “Eight minutes to midnight — that’s how long you have to live, you know. One might as well be comfortable while one waits.”
Wilson remained silent, seething. And where the devil was Da Silva? The very least he should have done was try to get in! Unless, of course, the two had taken care of Da Silva downstairs... The fat man smiled at him in quite a friendly fashion.
“In eight minutes — seven by now — I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. You are going to undress, and I shall turn on the radio and bring up the volume. Then we shall go into the bedroom, and you will crawl into bed with that beautiful girl. And in the lovely noise of all the good people of Rio celebrating the New Year’s, I shall shoot you both.” He beamed, as if hoping the other appreciated the cleverness of the scheme. “A man and a girl, nude, dead in bed together! A suicide pact? A jealous husband or lover? The newspapers should have a picnic! I’m afraid it will come as quite a shock for your friends.”
Wilson’s face was expressionless. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why?” The fat man shrugged delicately. “Because I’m paid to. You work for money; so do I. It’s my profession. I arrange to have people killed.” His face fell momentarily. “Admittedly, the three I hired to handle the raft did a very poor job, and I further admit that I dislike taking a direct hand in these matters; but at this stage, what can one do?” His tone seemed to invite Wilson to commiserate with him on the poor quality of help available in these difficult days; then it turned pensive. “Actually, I’m throwing you in for free; I won’t get an extra cruzeiro for you.”
“And if I paid you more than the other party?”
The fat man sounded genuinely shocked. “My dear sir! There is such a thing as honor, you know. Besides, one could scarcely stay in business very long on that basis.”
Wilson took a deep breath. “Wonderful! Well, since I’ll be dead in seven minutes — or probably five by now — do you mind telling me what this is all about? Who is paying you for this? And why?”
“My dear sir,” said the fat man chidingly, “you’ve been seeing too many movies! Giving you that information would gain me nothing, and all it would do to you is confuse you.” He glanced at his watch once again and then rose to his feet. “I think we should begin to get ready. The radio goes on in two minutes.”
Wilson eyed him evenly. “And if I refuse to cooperate?”
The fat man shrugged. “Then, of course, we shoot you where you are sitting and undress you later. A bit distasteful, but quite workable, I assure you.” One finger came up. “However, I should like to point out that in that case, Chico might well want to make love to your beautiful friend before we dispose of her. One could scarcely blame him. On the other hand, if you cooperate, we’ll shoot her first. You have my word of honor on it.” The faint smile returned. “That should clear your conscience, if nothing else.”