returned by now. She called out.
“Just one minute, my dear. I’m up.”
She had left a table lamp on and the fringe of the shade rippled as she
passed it causing a flickering of minute shadows on the wall.
She reached the door and began to unbolt the latch. Remembering the field
accountant, she halted momentarily.
“That is you, isn’t it, my dear?”
There was no reply.
She automatically snapped bark the bolt.
“Janet? Mr. Canfield? Is that you?”
Silence
Fear gripped Elizabeth. She had heard the sound; agehad not impaired her
hearing.
Perhaps she had confused the clicking with the unfamiliar rustling of the
thin English newspaper. That was not unreasonable and although she tried to
believe it, she could not.
Was there someone else in the room?
At the thought she felt pain in the pit of her stomach.
As she turned, to go back into the bedroom, she saw that one of the large
french windows was partially
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opened, no more than one or two inches but enough to cause the silk
draperies to sway slightly from the inooming breeze.
In her confusion she tried to recall whether she had closed it before. She
thought she had, but it had been an uninterested motion because she hadn’t
taken Canfield seriously. Why should she? They were seven stories high.
Of course, she hadn’t closed it. Or, if she had, she hadn’t secured the
catch and it had slipped off. Nothing at all unusual. She crossed to the
window and pushed it closed.
And then she heard it.
“Hello, Mother.”
Out of the shadows from the. far end of the room walked a large man dressed
in black. His head was shaved and he was deeply tanned.
For several seconds she did not recognize him. The light from the one table
IkLmp was dim and the figure remained at the end of the room. As she became
adjusted to the light and the object of her gaze, she realized why the man
appeared to be a stranger. The face had changed. The shining black hair was
shaved off; the nose was altered, smaller and the nostrils wider apart; the
ears were different, flatter against the head; even the eyes -where before
there had been a Neapolitan droop to the lids–these eyes were wide, as if
no lids existed. There were reddish splotches around the mouth and
forehead. It was not a face. It was the mask of a face. It was striking. It
was monstrous. And it was her son.
“Ulsterl My Godt”
“If you die right now of heart failure, youll make fools out of several
highly paid assassins.”
The old woman tried to think, tried with all her strength to resist panic.
She gripped the back of a chair until the veins in her aged hands seemed to
burst from the skin.
“If you’ve come to kill me, there’s little I can do tim”
‘-fou’ll be interested to know that the man who or. dered you killed will
soon be dead hunpelf. He was stupid.”
Her son wandered toward the french window and checked the latch. He
cautiously peered through the glass and was satisfied. His mother noticed
that the grace with which he had always carried himself remained but there
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was no softness now, no gentle relaxation, which had taken the form of a
slight aristocratic slouch. Now there was a taut, hard quality in his
movement, accentuated by his hands-which were encased in skintight black
gloves, fingers extended and rigidly curved.
Elizabeth slowly found the words. ‘Why have you come here?”
“Because of your obstinate curiosity.” He walked rapidly to the hotel phone
on the table with the lighted lamp, touching the cradle as if making sure
it was secure. He returned to within a few feet of his mother and the sight
of his face, now seen clearly, caused her to shut her eyes. When she
reopened them, he was rubbing his right eyebrow, which was partially
inflamed. He watched her pained look.
“The scars aren’t quite healed. Occasionally they itch. Are you maternally
solicitous?”
“What have you done to yourself?”
“A new life. A- new world for me. A world which has nothing to do with
yours. Not yeti”
“I asked you what you’ve done.”
‘~You know what I’ve done, otherwise you wouldn’t be here in London. What
you must understand, now, is that Ulster Scarlett no longer exists.”
“If that’s what you want the world to believe, why come to me of a people?”
“Because you rightly assumed it wasn’t true and your meddling could prove
irksome to me.”
The old woman steeled herself before speaking. “It’s quite possible thin
that the instructions for my death were not stupid.”
“Mat’s very brave. I wonder, though, if you’ve thought about the others?”
“What others?”
Scarlett sat on the couch and spoke in a biting Italian dialect. “La
Famiglia Scarlattil That’s the proper phrase, isn’t it? … Eleven members
to be exact. Two parents, ~h grandmother, a drunken bitch wife, and seven
children. The end of the tribel The Scarlatti line abruptly stops in one
bloody massacrel”
“You’re madl rd stop youl Don’t pit your piddling, theft against what I
have, my boyl”
“You’re a foolish old womant We’re beyond surn . It’s only how they’re
applied now. You taught me thad”
213
“I’d put them out ot your reachl I’d have you hunted down and destroyedt”
The man effortlessly sprang up from the couch.
“We’re wasting time. You’re concerning yourself with mechanics. That’s
pedestrian. Let’s be clear. I make one phone call 4nd the order is sent to
New York. Within forty-eight hours the Scarlattis are snuffed outl Extin-
guishedl It will be an expensive funeral. The foundation will provide
nothing but the best.”
“Your own child as well?”
“He’d be the first. All dead. No apparent reason. The mystery of the
lunatic Scarlattis.”
“You are mad.” She was hardly audible.
“Speak up, Motherl Or are you thinking about those curly headed moppets
romping on the beach at Newport, laughing in their little boats on the
sound. Tragic, isn’t it? Just one of theml Just one out of the whole lot
might make it for you, and the Scarlatti tribe continues in gloryl Shall I
make my call? It’s a matter of indifference to me.,,
The old woman, who had not moved, walked slowly toward one of the
armchairs. “Is what you want from me so valuable that the lives of my
family depend upon it?”
“Not to you. Only to me. It could be worse, you know. I could demand an
additional one hundred million.”
“Why don’t you? Under the circumstances you know I’d pay it.”
The man laughed. “Certainly you’d pay it. You’d pay it from a source that’d
cause. a panic in the ticker rooms. No, thank you. I don’t need it.
Remember, we’re beyond sums.”
“What is it you want?” She sat in the chair, crussing her thin arms on her
lap.
“The bank letters for one. They’re no good to you anyway, so there should
be no struggle with your conscience.”
She had been rightl-The concept had been rightl Always trace the practicaL
The money.
“Bink letters?”
“‘Me bank letters Cartwright gave YOU.”
“You killed him! You knew about our agreementT’
“Come, Mother. A Southern ass is made vice-president of Waterman Trustl
Actually given responsibility. We fol-
214
lowed him for three days. We have your agreement At least his copies. LeVs
not fool each other. The letters, please.”
The old lady rose from the chair and went into her bedroom. She returned
and handed hun the letters. He rapidly opened the envelopes and took them
ouL He spread them on the couch and counted them.
“Cartwright earned his money.”
He gathered them up and casually sat down on the sofa.
“I had no idea those letters were so important.”
“They’re not, really. Nothing could be accomplished with them. All the
accounts have been closed and the money … dispersed to others, shall we
say.”
“Then why were you so anxious to get them?” She remained standing.
“If they were submitted to the banks, they could start a lot of
speculation. We don’t want a great deal of talk right now.”
The old woman searched her son’s confident eyes. He was detached, pleased
with himself, almost relaxed.
“Wbo is ‘we’? What are you involved in?”
Again that grotesque smile from the crooked mouth underneath the unnatural
nostrils. “You’ll know in good time. Not by name, of course, but you’ll
know. You might even be proud but you’ll never admit it.” He looked at his
wristwatch. “Down to business.”
“What else?”
“What happened on the Calpurnia? Don’t liel” He riveted his eyes on the old
woman’s and they did not waver.
Elizabeth strained the muscles in her abdomen to help her conceal any
reaction to the question. She knew that the truth might be all she had lefL
“I don’t understand you.”
“You’re lying!”
“About what? I received a cablegram from a man named Boutier concerning