The corners of his eyes crinkled and his neat little figure was swelled out. He was enjoying himself. ‘You think you can make the fool of me,’ he said to her in English. His tone was violent. ‘You think I have no pride. Once you were glad to say, Si, si, Signor Valdini. That was when I owned you and fifty girls like you. And when I permitted you to call me Stefan — how you were overcome with delight! I did not mind Stelben and all those others. That was business. But this is different. I do not trust you now.’
‘You say Mayne was in Venice,’ Engles said. ‘What was he doing there?’
‘Making love to Carla,’ Valdini replied, and his lips were drawn back from his discoloured teeth in an expression of disgust.
Carla hit him then. She hit him with the back of her hand, and the big diamond ring blazed a trail of blood across his cheek.
But he caught her wrist and, with a quick stoop of his body, threw her over his shoulder. Her head hit the bar rail with a sickening thud. He rushed over to where she lay groaning and began to hack at her ribs with the pointed toe of his shoe. ‘You leave me for a dirty little English deserter who does not care for anything but the gold,’ he screamed at her in Italian. He was beside himself with rage, literally crying with anger. ‘Why didn’t you trust me? I would have found it for you. But now—’
Before any of us had begun to move, Mayne had crossed the room. He caught Valdini by the collar of his jacket, swung him round and hit him with his fist between the eyes. The Sicilian was flung back against the wall, where he slowly subsided like a sack. Mayne turned and faced us. His eyes were watchful and he had his right hand in the pocket of his jacket.
‘Be careful now,’ Engles whispered in my ear. ‘The pot has boiled over and he’s got a gun.’ His voice was excited. He turned to Mayne. ‘Those two Germans,’ he said. ‘Would their names be — Wilhelm Muller and Friedrich Mann?’ He shot the names out like a prosecuting counsel making his final point in a murder trial.
And the effect on Mayne was noticeable. His face looked pinched and grey in that cold light and he kept nervous watch on the whole room.
‘You put Carla in touch with those two,’ Engles continued. His voice was cold and matter-of-fact. ‘She introduced them to Stelben. And Stelben was glad to use them because they were gangsters and there would be no questions when they disappeared. He did not know they were your men. When they had found out what you wanted to know, you had them arrested with Stelben.’
‘And I suppose I arranged for them to be shot in that prison riot?’ he sneered.
‘You were in Rome at the time,’ Carla suddenly said. She had struggled on to one elbow and was watching him malevolently.
‘It could have been arranged,’ Engles said, ‘if you had known the right people. And I think you did know the right people.’
‘And why do you think that?’ Mayne was watching only Engles now. He was not sure of himself. I wished Engles would leave it at that. The situation was getting ugly.
‘Because,’ Engles said slowly, ‘you are not Gilbert Mayne.’
‘And who am I, then?’ Mayne’s left hand was clenched.
‘You’re a murderer and a gangster,’ Engles snapped back. ‘We nearly caught you in Naples in 1944. You had deserted during the Salerno landing and were running a gang in the dock area of Naples. You were wanted for murder and robbery. You were also wanted for smuggling German prisoners through the lines. That was why I became interested in your activities. We got you in Rome three months after the city fell. You and your girl were picked up in a trattoria. That’s where you got that bullet scar. I interrogated you. You recognised me when I arrived here, but you thought I might not recognise you because your head was bandaged when I last saw you.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Mayne said. He was struggling to regain his habitual ease of manner. ‘You are mistaking me for someone else. My military career was quite straightforward. I was a captain in the Artillery. I was taken prisoner and after my escape I joined UNRRA. You can check the War Office records.’
‘I did that before I left England,’ Engles said quietly. ‘Captain Gilbert Mayne was reported missing in January, 1944. He was believed killed in action near Cassino. Two months later he is recorded as having escaped from a German prison camp. You pretended to be suffering from shock when you reported for duty as Captain Mayne, and were allowed to join UNRRA. You applied to be sent to Greece, where there was little likelihood of your meeting up with any of the officers of Gilbert Mayne’s ack-ack regiment. I suggest that Gilbert Mayne was, in fact, killed in action. Your name is Stuart Ross — and Muller and Mann were members of your Naples gang.’
Mayne laughed. It was a wild laugh. He was white and very tense. ‘First you accuse me of trying to 164.
murder Blair and planning to murder Carla. Now you—’
