It was from Professor Zuckerman.
Adolf Zuckerman had a problem. A very large problem. He was seated in the office of Armand Grangier, and Zuckerman was so terrified of what was happening that he discovered he had wet his pants. Grangier was the owner of an illegal private casino located in an elegant private villa at 123 Rue de Frias. It made no difference to Grangier whether the Casino Municipal was closed or not, for the club at Rue de Frias was always filled with wealthy patrons. Unlike the government-supervised casinos, bets there were unlimited, and that was where the high rollers came to play roulette, chemin de fer, and craps. Grangier’s customers included Arab princes, English nobility, Oriental businessmen, African heads of state. Scantily clad young ladies circulated around the room taking orders for complimentary champagne and whiskey, for Armand Grangier had learned long before that, more than any other class of people, the rich appreciated getting something for nothing. Grangier could afford to give drinks away. His roulette wheels and his card games were rigged.
The club was usually filled with beautiful young women escorted by older gentlemen with money, and sooner or later the women were drawn to Grangier. He was a miniature of a man, with perfect features, liquid brown eyes, and a soft, sensual mouth. He stood five feet four inches, and the combination of his looks and his small stature drew women like a magnet. Grangier treated each one with feigned admiration.
“I find you irresistible, chérie, but unfortunately for both of us, I am madly in love with someone.”
And it was true. Of course, that someone changed from week to week, for in Biarritz there was an endless supply of beautiful young men, and Armand Grangier gave each one his brief place in the sun.
Grangier’s connections with the underworld and the police were powerful enough for him to maintain his casino. He had worked his way up from being a ticket runner for the mob to running drugs, and finally, to ruling his own little fiefdom in Biarritz; those who opposed him found out too late how deadly the little man could be.
Now Adolf Zuckerman was being cross-examined by Armand Grangier.
“Tell me more about this baroness you talked into the sunken-treasure scheme.”
From the furious tone of his voice, Zuckerman knew that something was wrong, terribly wrong.
He swallowed and said, “Well, she’s a widow whose husband left her a lot of money, and she said she’s going to come up with a hundred thousand dollars.” The sound of his own voice gave him confidence to go on: “Once we get the money, of course, we’ll tell her that the salvage ship had an accident and that we need another fifty thousand. Then it’ll be another hundred thousand, and—you know—just like always.”
He saw the look of contempt on Armand Grangier’s face. “What’s—what’s the problem, chief?”
“The problem,” said Grangier in a steely tone, “is that I just received a call from one of my boys in Paris. He forged a passport for your baroness. Her name is Tracy Whitney, and she’s an American.”
Zuckerman’s mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips. “She—she really seemed interested, chief.”
“Balle! Conneau! She’s a con artist. You tried to pull a swindle on a swindler!”
“Then w-why did she say yes? Why didn’t she just turn it down?”
Armand Grangier’s voice was icy. “I don’t know, Professor, but I intend to find out. And when I do, I’m sending the lady for a swim in the bay. Nobody can make a fool out of Armand Grangier. Now, pick up that phone. Tell her a friend of yours has offered to put up half the money, and that I’m on my way over to see her. Do you think you can handle that?”
Zuckerman said eagerly, “Sure, chief. Not to worry.”
“I do worry,” Armand Grangier said slowly. “I worry a lot about you, Professor.”
Armand Grangier did not like mysteries. The sunken-treasure game had been worked for centuries, but the victims had to be gullible. There was simply no way a con artist would ever fall for it. That was the mystery that bothered Grangier, and he intended to solve it; and when he had the answer, the woman would be turned over to Bruno Vicente. Vicente enjoyed playing games with his victims before disposing of them.