1966 - You Have Yourself a Deal by James Hadley Chase Page A

attractive. Life ahead seemed full of interest, he thought.
    They arrived at Dorey’s villa a little after ten a.m. The road from the airport had been crammed with holiday traffic and fast speed had been impossible.
    “This must be it,” Girland said as he saw a finger post marked Villa Halios which pointed to a steep, narrow lane, cut into the side of the mountain. He changed down to bottom gear and sent the car slowly up the incline which twisted and climbed through Sea Pines and eventually broadened to a large circular turnaround to the right of which stood massive, iron-studded, wooden gates. The ten-foot high stone and ivy-covered walls completely hid the villa. Girland surveyed the gates from the car, impressed and surprised.
    “Quite a place,” he said as he opened the car door and got out. “Looks like a fort.”
    He approached the gates and seeing a bell chain, he tugged it.
    Almost immediately, a judas window opened and a young, fair-haired man regarded him with searching eyes.
    “This villa belong to John Dorey?” Girland asked, now not quite sure if he had come to the right place.
    “What of it?” The young man spoke French with a strong American accent.
    “The name’s Girland. That mean anything to you, sonny?”
    “Please identify yourself Mr. Girland.”
    Then Girland knew he had come to the right place. So Dorey had called in O’Halloran’s bright young men, he thought as he produced his driving licence. There was a slight delay, then the big gates swung open.
    He was a little startled to see an Army sergeant, an automatic rifle under his arm, come out of a small stone lodge nearby.
    Chained to a hook in the wall was a savage looking police dog who eyed him balefully.
    The sergeant whose name was Pat O’Leary, a massively built man with a red, freckled face and strong, blunt features, nodded to Girland.
    “Drive right in,” he said. “We have been expecting you.”
    Girland grinned at him.
    “So Dorey’s taking no chances.”
    “No. We have six men here. You won’t have any trouble. Trouble will be our business.”
    Girland returned to the car and drove it through the gateway.
    “You’ll find the villa straight ahead,” O’Leary said, looking curiously at the sleeping woman, propped up in the back of the car. His eyes shifted to Ginny and he cocked his head on one side with approval. Ginny stared impersonally at him, sniffed and looked away.
    Girland drove up the drive, turned a sharp corner and then saw the villa which was built on two levels into the face of the mountain with a big upper, overhanging terrace. There were window boxes of cascading flowers at every window and the villa was shaded by Sea Pines. It was compact, modern and very de luxe .
    “Well! Look at this!” he exclaimed, stopping the car.
    A tall, loose-limbed coloured man, Girland guessed would be from Senegal, wearing a white housecoat and white cotton trousers, came running down the steps to open the car door.
    “Good morning, sir,” he said, his black face wreathed in smiles, his splendid white teeth gleaming. “I am Diallo, Mr. Dorey’s man. You are very welcome, sir. Everything has been prepared for you.”
    And everything had been prepared.
    Two hours later, Girland in shorts and sandals, provided by Diallo, lolling on a chaise lounge, the hot sun relaxing him, was talking on the telephone to Dorey.
    “Quite a place you have here,” he was saying and reached for the glass of Cinzano bitters and soda that stood on the table by his side. “You know, Dorey, you have taste. I’m surprised. I thought you . . .”
    “All right, Girland!” Dorey snapped. “Cut the comedy. How is she?”
    “What do you expect? She was shot full of dope by the Commies and she has had a whiff of your efficient gas. But she’ll survive. Give or take three or four days, she should be as good as new or nearly as good.”
    “Should the doctor see her?”
    “The nurse says no.”
    “I want some action, Girland. Don’t just