The Wrong Venus by Charles Williams Page B

in the kitchen, still arguing, still addressing each other by name. In a few minutes a door slammed and there was silence except for an occasional banging of pots and pans by Gabrielle. They had gone to phone Dudley. He shook his head. In a deal like this, give him professionals every time; these blousons noirs were careless and reckless enough to freeze his blood except that he’d been lucky enough to sell them the Chicago story.
    In the twenty minutes he’d been here he’d learned enough about them for the police to locate the farm in an hour, with nothing but a copy of the tax rolls and the telephone numbers of the local gendarmeries . It was owned by a man named Anatole, who’d been away somewhere on a trip and who had a nephew named Jean-Jacques. Jean-Jacques had a friend named Rémy, whose girl friend was called Gabrielle. They’d pick them up in an afternoon. Well, it didn’t matter; he’d convinced them nobody was going to the police.
    With his hands bound behind him, there was no way to get comfortable in bed. After awhile he sat up on the side of it, wishing he had a cigarette. The bonds weren’t tight enough to cut off circulation, and he could probably have worked his way out of them if he’d tried, but it would be stupid. He would accomplish nothing except to antagonize them, which was the last thing he wanted now that success was in sight.
    There was nothing to do but wait, as he had a thousand times in the Army. He had no idea how many hours later it was when he heard the kitchen door fly open and then the sound of their voices, all three talking at once. He started to grin, but it faded. Something had changed. He leaned forward, listening intently. He could make out only a word now and then, but there was some quality in the voices that hadn’t been there before. A chill moved slowly up his spine as he began to place it. It was panic.
    What could have gone wrong? They must have the money by now, and certainly there couldn’t have been any police in the area. But several times he heard the word among the shouts and violent recriminations. They were scared to death, and blaming each other. The flap went on for what could have been ten minutes, and then the key turned in his door.
    “You. Get up.” It was Jean-Jacques’ voice, and there was an unnecessary toughness in it again, as there had been when they’d picked him up. There was no doubt he was scared.
    Colby stood up. “The money was delivered?”
    “Yes. We have it.”
    “And there were no police, just as I promised?”
    “We saw none.”
    “So you’re going to release us?”
    “Of course we’re going to release you, salaud! What do you think, we want to adopt you?”
    He’s lying, Colby thought. For some reason now they think they have to kill us, and they’re trying to work themselves up to it. But what had happened?
    He was marched along the hallway. They were apparently back in the kitchen, judging from the odors, though he could no longer feel any warmth from the stove. He could hear the voices of Rémy and Gabrielle somewhere behind him.
    “How about untying my hands?” Colby asked.
    “Shut up! We will untie your hands when we get there.” Then, apparently to the others, “Her handbag, everything! Be sure nothing is left.”
    He heard a new sound, the clicking of high heels along the hall. Gabrielle hadn’t worn them, so they were bringing Kendall Flanagan. He was marched ahead, heard the door open, and they were outside in the barnyard. “Her first,” Jean-Jacques ordered. “Now this one.” He was pushed forward. A hand forced his head down. Getting in was awkward with his hands tied, and he fell over against Kendall. He was hauled into the position he’d been in before, kneeling with his face down on the seat. Kendall was on his right. “Stay down!” a voice commanded. He heard the three of them get in the front seat. The car shot backward, swung, and surged ahead. Almost immediately there was an explosive curse