He stared at me in shock, too dim-witted to understand how easy it had been to find him. My sudden appearance at his door in itself was almost enough to win the battle; he was unnerved from the start and, wisely or not, decided the best response was to say nothing at all. All he could manage, however, was a look of bovine incomprehension that made him look so stupid it was hard not to burst out laughing.
'May I sit down?' I did not wait for an answer, but occupied the only chair in the room, a rickety thing which felt very insecure. To make a small point, I took out the gun and placed it on the table. Not touching it, but making sure it was pointing in his direction.
'The Countess is concerned you were not paid your last week's wages,' I said. 'So she asked me to pay a visit and make sure you are well.'
He briefly seemed to think that he might be off the hook, despite the gun; then even he realised that there was more to come.
'And she was concerned that you may have inadvertently taken some of her possessions. She wants them back.'
'I didn't take anything.' He had a low, oddly well-spoken voice; it almost sounded as though it came from a different person entirely.
'Now, Simon. We both know that is not so. I have come to take these things back. In return, I will pay you the wages you are owed.'
He shrugged, his confidence returning. 'I have nothing. What are you going to do? Call the police?'
I considered. 'No, I think not. You know as well as I do that would be a bad idea.'
'You're out of luck, then.'
'No. I will shoot you.' I picked up the gun and made a show of checking it was loaded.
'Knees first, elbows second. Where do you want to start?'
I editorialise. I was not calm as I said all this; I was sweating profusely and I only just kept my voice from shaking. That may have helped; it did much, I believe, to convince him that I was serious. A nervous man with a gun is much more dangerous than a calm, reasonable one.
Simon was not overly intelligent, but he was good at calculating his position. He had nothing to gain from resisting. Only stubborn pride might have stopped him from falling in with my wishes.
'Where are those diaries?' I said.
'I don't have them.'
'But you stole them?'
'She's no Countess.'
'Of course she isn't,' I replied evenly. 'She's just a whore. You don't really think that anyone will pay for that, do you? Where are they?'
'Oh, there's more. There's much more than that,' he jeered at me. 'There's a lot about her you don't know.'
'No doubt; but I can't say it bothers me. Where are they?'
He grinned. 'I told you; I don't have them.'
'Who does?'
'A man. Friend of mine. A good friend. He's looking after them for me.'
Oh, really! It was late; I was tired. I sighed with exasperation and picked up the gun.
'Who is he?' I repeated.
'Ten thousand,' he said defiantly.
'Just to tell me where they are? You must think I'm a fool.'
'It's worth that to you, Mr Cort,' he said. 'I've been reading about you, as well.'
That was a mistake. I picked up the gun, thought for a moment, then shot him in the leg, the way I had been taught. Simon collapsed onto the floor, gripping his thigh, and screaming; I stuffed a piece of cloth into his mouth and held him down until he stopped, avoiding the spreading pool of blood flowing across the floor as much as possible. I was now entirely calm.
'Who is he?' I said once more.
It took a long time to get it out of him, but what he eventually said made my heart sink. Arnsley Drennan was back in my life. A man calling himself Lefevre, he said. Fifties, fair hair. Thin scar on his face. He had met him in a bar, they'd talked. He'd offered to help, he'd been very persuasive . . .
I sat down on the chair again, oblivious to his moaning. This was bad news. An opportunist thief turned blackmailer like Simon was a simple problem; Arnsley Drennan was another thing entirely. A much more formidable challenge.
'Where is he?'
Again, it took a long time to get a coherent answer. 'I don't know. I really don't,' he moaned as I raised the gun in warning. 'I told you, I met him in a bar.'
It was the bar where Drennan had taken me once. It was too much to hope he still occupied the same room, but it would be worth trying. I looked at Simon, doubt in my mind. He might tell Drennan of my visit. He knew a very great deal about Elizabeth. And about me.
The building was quiet as I walked down the stairs and into the street a few minutes later. No one paid any attention to the second shot either.
