I stopped. It was very quiet in the room. The sound-proofing apparently extended to the windows facing the street. Not a murmur of traffic reached us from the great city outside. Vadya looked at the black leather noose, and licked her lips.
"Why… why, you are serious, Matt. You are really threatening to torture and kill me-"
"Good," I said. "That's much better. You're really catching on. I knew the idea would penetrate eventually. However, I'm not going to torture you, not in the ordinary sense of inflicting pain in the hope of breaking you down. I do know you, Vadya. I know you're pretty tough. I don't expect you to spill anything just because it hurts. Therefore I'm giving you a clear-cut choice. If you talk, you live. If you don't talk, you die. It's as simple as that."
"I don't know where your wife is! I didn't even know she was… missing. I don't know anything about it!"
"Sure, sure," I said. I walked around the chair and dropped the belt over her head and drew the loop up tight enough so that she was pulled against the back of the chair. "Can you breathe?" I asked.
Her voice was strained: "Yes, barely. Matthew, I swear-"
"Just one thing more," I said. "When I cut you off, you obviously won't be able to talk. Hit the arm of the chair with your hand when you're ready to give me what I want. Okay? Are you ready for the question?"
"Matt, I-"
"Here it comes," I said. "The show is now on the air, and no extraneous dialogue is permitted." I drew a long breath and leaned forward to speak in her ear. "Where is Winnie?"
"Matt, you're making a terrible mist-"
I took a strain on the belt. Vadya's voice was cut off abruptly. She started to try to pull the noose free; then she remembered and beat one hand quickly against the chair arm. I slacked off. I heard her breathe deeply and raggedly.
"I told you," I said. "I warned you. Don't give me any of that innocent crap, Vadya. Here we go again. Where is Winnie?"
"Darling, how can I possibly tell you what I don't know-"
The noose cut her short. She started beating at the chair immediately, but I gave her several seconds before I eased off and let her breathe.
"I'm getting tired, doll," I said. "Third time coming up. It could be the last one. I can't spend all night on you."
"Matt," she cried. "Matt, you must believe me. I really don't know… I haven't any idea…"
I said, "Your Moscow alma mater will be real proud of you, honey. Maybe they'll even put up a little posthumous plaque in the hall for other trainees to see: In Memory of Vadya, Dumb to the Death. Hell, I know it's the prescribed routine, but is it really worth it? Would your employers hold you to it if you could ask them? Is one lousy little blonde worth the life of a trained, experienced agent?" I put a little pressure on the strap and leaned forward. "Where is she, damn you? Where's Winnie? Where are your people holding her… No, keep your damn hands down!"
"Matt, please, I can't breathe!"
"For God's sake cut it out!" I snapped. "Can't you get it through your head that you're going to die if you don't come through? For the last time, where's my wife?"
"Matt," she gasped, "Matt, I swear… Matt, don't!"
She was pretty good, all frightened and desperate. Well, I'd been pretty good, too, all mad and menacing. We were two old pros hamming it up for each other, but I was the guy holding the end of the noose.
"Goodbye, baby," I said. "When you get to hell, give my regards to your friend Max. He thought I was bluffing, too."
She grabbed for the belt with both hands as I yanked it up tight. She was too late to get her fingers under it. She came to her feet, clawing at her throat, and lunged away from me. I felt the loop pull even tighter, and let go rather than risk breaking her neck or some essential part of it.
I came around the chair fast, expecting to have a fight on my hands. Instead, I found her on her knees, clawing desperately at the strap about her neck. The soft black belt, instead of releasing when I let it go, seemed to have locked into place as if obeying some murderous impulse of its own. Vadya's eyes were bulging and her face was darkening. She fell to the floor, rolling about convulsively, while her frantic nails ripped the collar of her blouse and drew blood from her neck but made no impression on the taut black leather.
It was going a little farther than I'd intended. I mean, no matter what threats I'd made for effect, she was no use to me dead; and while I did owe her something for the fun she'd had with a hot soldering iron a couple of years back, it wasn't really a debt that weighed heavily on my mind.
I managed, after a couple of tries, to pin her to the floor. It took all my strength to hold her down while I shoved the loosened hair forward so I could get at the noose. I tried to free it, and it wouldn't release. I looked at it more closely-as closely as her violent struggles would let me-and realized at last just what it was I had found among Winnie's gloves and hose and hankies. It was no wonder she'd "accidentally" managed to leave it behind. It wasn't something a shy young bride would normally carry in her trousseau. It could have betrayed her, if her captors had got a good look at it.
Apparently I wasn't the only one in the organization who liked trick belts. This was a new one on me: an efficient, camouflaged garotte. The fancy buckle was actually a locking device, designed to jam solid when a certain amount of strain was put on it. Of course you could wear the thing as an ordinary, decorative belt, if you had a twenty-one-inch waist, until you needed it for other purposes. That was the idea.
Vadya's struggles were diminishing. I searched for a release catch and couldn't find one. I reached into my pocket for my knife, but realized I'd practically have to cut the girl's throat to free her, the way the strap was embedded in the flesh. While I hesitated, she stopped moving altogether. I took advantage of her stillness to make another quick study of the flashy buckle, and saw at last how it worked, and pressed the right decoration the right way. The belt came loose. I pulled it off and rolled Vadya over.
She looked very bad, but it hadn't been much over a minute, and they've been brought back from much farther away than that. I got her arms going, the way artificial respiration is done these days. It used to be you could sit on the victim comfortably and just push at the ribs, but this new method is supposed to be more effective. I haven't got a great deal of faith in it, but either it worked or she was getting ready to breathe anyway: pretty soon her chest started to heave and the ugly, congested color began to die from her face. Presently her eyes came open.
"Damn you!" she whispered. Her voice was a hoarse croak.
"Sure," I said. "Can you sit up?"
With my help, she managed to sit up against the end of the bed. She fumbled the tangled hair out of her face and felt of her bruised and lacerated neck. Her hand made contact with the dangling collar of her blouse. She grasped it with vague curiosity and held it out for identification. The sight of the torn rag of silk seemed to shock her. She let it fall and looked down at herself, dismayed by what her violent struggles had done to her Madame Dumaire disguise.
"Oh, God, what a mess!" she croaked. Then she shrugged fatalistically. A funny, wry little grin came to her lips. "Ah, well, as you say it is a working costume and expendable. But you will have to lend me your coat to go home in. Help me up, darling."
I helped her up and steadied her as she swayed. I said, "Don't get your hopes up, doll. There was a little matter of an address, remember?"
I heard her breath catch. She looked at me with an expression of horror. Her blue eyes were big and dark in her pale face.
"Oh, you can't…!" she whispered hoarsely. "I… I really don't know… Matthew, you can't, not again!"
There was real fear in her voice-at least it sounded very real. Doubt crept back into my mind. She was good, I knew, but was she good enough to keep up the act after being choked almost to death? For a while I had been absolutely sure she had the answer, but now I felt my assurance wavering.