Mayne went on drinking and allowed the flood of Italian invective to pass over his head. His manner was one of studied insolence. Carla suddenly stopped. There was a wild look in her eyes. ‘I hate you,’ she stormed. ‘Do you hear? I hate you.’
‘Do you, Carla?’ He laughed. ‘And it was such a 14.1 short time ago that you were telling me you loved me. Don’t you still love me?’
His supercilious, jeering voice seemed to hurt her. ‘Why did you leave me, Gilbert?’ Her voice was suddenly desperately quiet. ‘We might have been very happy. Why did you leave me?’
‘Because, as you very rightly guessed, you were no longer useful to me,’ he answered coldly. ‘You don’t even know where the gold is, do you, Carla? Your poor Heinrich, who loved you so much, never told you. He killed a lot of men to get that gold. He shot them and buried them up here. After taking all that trouble, he wasn’t going to tell his secret to a little prostitute he’d picked up in a Milan dance hall.’
‘You—’ With a quick movement of her wrist, Carla broke her tumbler against the brass rim of the bar and slashed at him with the broken edge.
It all happened in a flash. But even so, Mayne was quicker. He caught her wrist as she jabbed at his face and twisted it so that she spun round on her heels. He held her there, with her body arched in agony and her left hand clawing for his face with her blood-red nails.
It was at that moment that Valdini and Keramikos returned to the bar. I do not recall seeing Valdini get that gun out. It was a practised movement and very quick. I saw him come in out of the tail of my eye. He came in behind Keramikos. And, like the Greek, he stopped dead at the strange scene by the bar. Carla called to him something in Italian — or it may have been Sicilian, for I did not understand it. And in the same instant Valdini had that little black automatic in his hand.
‘Keep very still, please, gentlemen,’ he said, and his suave voice had an authoritative snap in it that went with the gun. ‘I am a very good shot. Nobody move, please. Release the Contessa, Mr Mayne!’
Mayne let Carla’s wrist go and she fell to the floor. She got to her feet in a single quick movement and picked up the broken tumbler. As her hands closed on the jagged remnant, she looked at Mayne. Her face was disfigured with rage. Her teeth were literally bared and her eyes smouldered. There was no doubt in our minds what she intended to do with that broken tumbler. She went slowly towards Mayne, her movements deliberate and sinuous. Mayne’s jaw, where the scar showed, twitched nervously and he swallowed twice. There was nothing any of us could do. There had been something about Valdini’s manner that had convinced us that he would not hesitate to shoot.
And it was at that moment that Joe came quietly in. He was looking at some negatives he had in his hand. The first he saw of the scene was the gun in Valdini’s hand. ‘Good God!’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t point a gun at people like that. Might go off. Let’s see if it’s loaded.’ And he stretched out his big hand and took the gun away from Valdini.
We did not move. We were so surprised. And the most surprised of all was Valdini. I know it sounds incredible. But that, I assure you, is exactly what happened. Joe Wesson walked in and took the gun out of Valdini’s hand. And Valdini let him. The only explanation is that Joe had no fear. It never occurred to him that Valdini was prepared to shoot. And because he had no fear, Valdini lost his confidence.
Joe pulled out the magazine and then looked quite angrily at Valdini. ‘Do you realise this thing is loaded?’ He shook his head, muttered something about ‘Damn fool thing to do,’ and handed the gun and the magazine separately back to Valdini.
His complete unawareness of anything serious behind the gun in Valdini’s hand acted like a douche of cold water. The tension eased. Mayne picked up his drink again. Carla relaxed. We all began to move and talk naturally again. It was as though a group of puppets had suddenly come to life. The room itself seemed to sigh with relief. ‘Just in time, Joe,’ Engles said. ‘Valdini was showing us how a Sicilian gangster draws a gun. What are you having?’ he added, ignoring the black look Valdini gave him.
‘I’ll have a cognac,’ Joe grunted. He had a puzzled frown on his face. ‘Why ever did you let that little bastard play around with that gun?’ he whispered as he pushed his way between Engles and myself. ‘I suppose everybody carries a gun in this damned country. But they ought to know better than to fool around with them.’
