He’d even got me interested now and the silence in the salon wouldn’t have been out of place in a cathed-ral cloister.
‘It was when Colonel Burke and his men arrived that I discovered an amazing thing. One of them was the capo’s grandson, a young man named Wyatt.’
The ball was well into Barbaccia’s court. He caught it neatly; had, I suspected, been waiting for it.
He coughed and managed to look serious. ‘You all know my daughter and her son came to live with me after her American husband was killed in Korea. She died as the direct result of the action of some filthy assassin who had intended to end my days. Unfortu-nately my grandson blamed me in part for what had happened to his mother.’ It was obviously the night for the baring of souls. ‘We became estranged and the boy, then aged nineteen, ran away. I lost sight of him for some time, then learned he was serving in the Congo as a mercenary. He came to see me the other night with this man Burke and told me why they were in Sicily. I was astonished at his story because I couldn’t under-stand why Karl had not come to me for help, but I presumed he had his reasons.’
‘Help?’ Hoffer spread his arms again, appealing to the assembled Council. ‘How could anyone help? My only hope lay in Burke and his men.’ And then, as if it had only just occurred to him, he turned rather uncer-tainly to Barbaccia. ‘I had nothing to hide. It seemed to me, under the circumstances, that the fewer who knew about the affair, the better for the girl’s sake.’
‘No question of that.’ My grandfather nodded. ‘After all, my grandson gave me a full account of what they intended to do. Parachute into the Cammarata-a daring conception.’
By now, of course, the atmosphere had changed and there was not a man there who didn’t realise that be-neath the surface something special was going on be-tween Hoffer and my grandfather.
‘I’m sorry the girl was killed,’ Barbaccia said. ‘I know she was close to you, Karl. To lose a daughter gives more than pain. I know.’
‘Capo!’ Hoffer’s voice was hoarse. ‘God knows how, but I must tell you. In the fight-the gunfight between Colonel Burke’s party and Serafino’s men-your grandson also met his end, dying I understand in a vain attempt to save my stepdaughter’s life.’
I saw it all then, the reason for Hoffer’s performance, his detailed account of the whole affair leading up to this final, devastating blow delivered in public before everyone who counted.
My grandfather shrivelled, dropped his stick, became an old man in an instant. ‘Stacey?’ he said hoarsely.
‘Stacey is dead?’
Hoffer didn’t actually smile in triumph, but even he couldn’t control the tiniest quiver at the corner of his mouth. My grandfather chose that precise moment to descend. He produced a fresh cigar and struck a match, his old self again.
‘Very good, Karl, excellent. You could have gone a long way in the Society if only you hadn’t been so stupid.’
Marco tapped me on the shoulder, but I was already on my feet and moving into the salon. There was no thunderclap as Jove descended from heaven, but the result was about the same.
Hoffer had gone very pale, mostly from shock, but also, I suppose, at the instant realisation that his goose was cooked. To the other I was simply an intruder and the fattest, most harmless looking man there produced a Mannlicher automatic with all the speed of a real pro.
My grandfather waved him down. ‘My grandson, Stacey Wyatt, gentlemen, who, according to our friend here, died gallantly on Cammarata this morning in a vain attempt to save the life of Joanna Truscott. As a matter of interest, that young lady is under medical care in another part of the villa at this very moment.’
Hoffer’s hand dropped to his pocket and death stared out at him from the Smith and Wesson in my left hand.
‘No, Stacey! Not here. Here he is inviolate,’ my grandfather called. ‘It is the law.’
The gentleman in the flashy braces relieved Hoffer of a Walther and I pushed the Smith and Wesson back into its holster.