An Affair For the Baron (11 page)

“I believe you,” he said simply.

“Then also believe that the microfilm you are preserving for the man Alundo could destroy America, and all our Western way of life. Now
there
is your evil man, Mr. Mannering.
There
is your evil incarnate. Professor Arthur Alundo. I believe he is the most evil man alive.”

Chapter Thirteen

Break-Out

Ballas's words seemed to echo and re-echo in Mannering's mind. “Now there is your evil man, Mr. Mannering.
There
is your evil incarnate. Professor Arthur Alundo. I believe he is the most evil man alive.” There could be no doubt that Ballas meant exactly what he said.

Gradually a mental picture came to Mannering – not of Alundo but of his daughter, Ethel. If she were here, what would she do? Or say?

Did the accusation make any sense at all?

Ballas raised his hand again, and Cyrus refilled his glass.

“You heard me, Mr. Mannering?”

“Yes, I heard you. But I've also been told that Alundo is a man of peace.”

“He is a man who will sell his country, even the whole of the West. That makes him a traitor. Do you know what I would do with traitors?”

Mannering said dryly: “What you would do with cattle, presumably. I doubt if Alundo would willingly kill a fly. And you – how many men have you killed, or had killed? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? If you were both on trial, he for treason and you for murder, he would be exonerated and you would be found guilty. I doubt if you could even buy yourself a reprieve.”

He was taking a chance, a desperate chance, of angering the old man and risking an outburst of rage. But the calm of Ballas remained unbroken.

“Justice is blind,” he said.

“And the law is an ass, I know that one too. What makes you think Alundo is a traitor?”

“Don't pretend you don't know.”

“Señor Ballas,” Mannering said coldly, “I don't expect you to lie to me and I won't lie to you. I know nothing, apart from what I have read in the newspapers, about Alundo – I know nothing about the microfilm. I came to America to find the Fentham necklace and bracelet – which I have strong reason to believe were stolen by your nephew Enrico – and also to bring a small collection of Mexican
objets d'art
to the HemisFair in San Antonio. Your nephew led me to Alundo and his daughter. Until she told me about a mysterious package, I knew nothing about it. Why is this film so important? What
is
it all about?”

Ballas was drinking his second whisky more slowly.

“You did not come to Chicago to seek me out?”

“I came to try to discover the missing pieces of jewellery, which I understood had been stolen by your nephew. I assumed they were for your collection.” Mannering glanced towards the nearer showcase, filled with diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires.

Ballas said very slowly: “For my collection – yes, I suppose so. Yes.” He paused. “I am coming to trust you, Mr. Mannering, to believe you are a truthful man. You really do not know why the microfilm is so important, do you?”

“No,” Mannering said. “Why is it, Señor?”

With great deliberation, Mario Ballas answered: “It is the record of a scientific discovery – a discovery which could be used as a weapon to destroy America – to destroy the whole world.”

Mannering absorbed this statement slowly, pondering with one part of his mind, as he asked: “Who made this discovery – and what, actually, has been discovered?”

“A scientist in an Anglo-American research company discovered it by accident, as so many vital discoveries are made. It is the introduction of a gas into the air which destroys the oxygen. So, people suffocate. Once released in any area, the effect is cumulative and expanding – it cannot be stopped.”

As Ballas talked, the light in the room dimmed as if a great shadow had covered the sky; the shutters were in fact sliding silently over the windows with almost theatrical precision. Cyrus moved, and Mannering saw him put a box on a small stand.

“… the scientist who discovered this, made a precise record of all the experiments which led up to the discovery, and reported to a colleague. The two men repeated the experiments several times in sealed rooms, always with the same result. Convinced that this secret must be kept, they agreed to destroy all records of the weapon. One believed they were destroyed, but the other took a film of the records. I want you to see part of it for yourself, Mr. Mannering.”

A movie-projector suddenly shone its bright beam on to a screen. A coloured picture appeared – of mice, then of cats, then of rats; whole colonies of them. One moment they were alive, moving, busy, eager to find food; the next they were gasping, tumbling about, writhing – and suddenly they were still.

Mannering felt touched by the horror of what he saw.

“Mr. Mannering,” Ballas began again in a measured voice, “that can happen to all mankind if this secret is ever released – which it can be, by Professor Alundo.” The old man's gaze was unwavering. “The research worker concerned was an associate of Alundo's in a Peace Movement. He made a copy of the film and gave both copy and original to Alundo.
Listen.”

There was a click.

Then, a voice sounded – obviously on tape. A man spoke, gasping, as if afraid; tormented.

“I gave them to Alundo – yes,
both
copies … No, there are no others … Yes, the gas can be made very simply if you know the basic secret … A little released in any area will kill everyone in it, and will spread until it can be sealed off – and only the oceans and deserts can seal it off. If you had seen those mice and rats … No, there
are
only two copies. I don't
know
what Alundo did with them
… I tell you I gave them to Professor Alundo.
I—No …
No …
!”

The man screamed.

The tape recorder stopped abruptly.

Mario Ballas said: “Such a man had to die, Mr. Mannering. The other research worker also died. I had been watching Alundo very closely, and after they had met, I had this man questioned – as you heard. What he said was true – he did give both copies of the microfilm to Alundo. Alundo gave one of these copies to a friend for safe keeping – that copy I have already secured. But Alundo still has the other. We do not understand the formula shown on the film – only research physicists can do so. Our American physicists, or Russia's. Or China's. I do not believe that
anyone
should ever be able to possess such a weapon. The secret must be destroyed.” After a long, tense pause, Ballas went on softly: “Don't you agree, Mannering?”

“If it is all you say it is – yes, I do,” Mannering said slowly.

“It
is
all I say. And so long as Alundo has his copy of the film, God knows what might not happen!” Ballas's voice sharpened, touched again with anger. “He preaches peace and deals in war. You talk to me about the few people I have killed. My God, a man like Alundo will see millions dead, in the name of peace!” For the first time, Ballas began to push his chair back, and immediately Cyrus moved to help him; so Cyrus was a personal servant as well as a personal bodyguard.

Ballas hardly seemed aware that his man was there, He moved slowly, and Mannering realised that he was very, very old.

“I know exactly what I am doing,” Ballas asserted. “In the past, I have acted blindly. I killed men because they were in my way. But not these days – never, these days. If I order a man to be killed it is for a purpose I believe in.” He stood in front of Mannering, speaking with quiet vehemence: “I kill no man without giving him warning and an opportunity to change. You think of me as a murderer, but a hundred dependents of men I have killed come to me for their livelihood. Ask Cyrus Lake—Cyrus! How many years have you worked for me?”

“Twenty-seven,” Cyrus answered.

“And do I ill-treat you? Do you live in fear of me? I command you – tell Mannering the truth.”

“I don't fear you,” Cyrus said. “I serve you.”

“And there are hundreds like him, their wives and families dependent on me, confident I will treat them well and fairly. Have I ever given you a raw deal, Cyrus?”

“Never, Mario.”

“Or anyone who served me loyally?”

“Each according to his desserts,” Cyrus said; and Mannering accepted the statement with the simplicity with which it had been uttered.

“Judge for yourself.” Ballas was walking about now, very slowly and awkwardly, carried away by what he was saying. “I am not a cruel man although sometimes I have to be cruel. I am not a hard man although sometimes I have to be hard. Do you know
this,
Mannering? Apart from the great foundations, like Ford and Rockefeller, I give more money to good causes than anyone else in America. Cancer research, heart diseases, the poor, the sick – I am a great giver, Mannering. Do you think any of those I have robbed would give so generously?”

It was obvious that an answer was expected.

“I doubt it,” Mannering said.

“You are right to doubt it. Each—” Ballas broke off, looking straight at Mannering. “I tell you Alundo is a hypocrite and a fraud, and a deadly danger to the American way of life for so long as he has that microfilm. I must have Alundo's copy, Mannering, and I mean to obtain it. There are only these two copies in existence. One I have – and to obtain possession of the other I will, if necessary, kill, torture, maim, spend all my fortune. Only when both copies are destroyed will there be no danger to America –
or
to Britain –
or
to the world. Where is it, Mannering? I have been patient with you, because there is some quality in you which I like, but—where
is
it, Mannering? To find it, I will tear your body apart.”

Mannering had no doubt at all that he would.

“I will help you find it,” he said, stiffly. “When—”

“There must be no conditions!”

“But there
are
conditions,” Mannering said.

“Are you deaf? Didn't you hear what I said I would do to you?”

“You can't get Alundo's copy without me,” Mannering retorted; but his heart was thumping. “If you keep me a prisoner here, you will have no hope at all of getting it. I've told you that. I will help you find it as soon as I believe you're right about Professor Alundo. I want to talk to him.”

Ballas gasped: “Are you
mad?”

“Are you going to let me leave here?”

“Not until I have the film!”

Mannering eyed the old man levelly for a few moments, then turned to Cyrus.

“May I have another whisky?”

“Sure.”

“I mean what I say,” Ballas insisted. “It is quite impossible for you to get out of this house alive without my permission. And if you do get out, a barren land stretches for a hundred miles in all directions. You would perish.”

“Whisky helps me to think,” Mannering said. He waited until Cyrus came with the glass, took it – and before the man could move away, seized his wrist in an agonising grip. At the same time, he jumped up, and flung the whisky straight into Ballas's face. As the old man staggered back, Mannering spun Cyrus round, then chopped the edge of his free hand down on the nape of the man's neck. Cyrus did not even groan as he dropped to the floor. Mannering sprang at Ballas, who was groping blindly for the other side of the desk where, possibly, there was a hidden alarm. It wasn't pleasant to ill-treat an old man, but Mannering dealt as summarily with him as he had dealt with Cyrus.

Ballas dropped like a stone; suddenly, the room was silent.

Mannering straightened Cyrus's body and ran through his pockets, finding nothing of interest until he came to a small leather case, rather like a key-case. Inside was a tiny, fine-pointed awl, and a small phial, sealed with plastic, containing a colourless liquid. Mannering had no doubt these were the knockout drops. He unstopped the phial, dipped the point of the awl inside, and then pressed it on to the inside of Cyrus's forearm. The arm fell limp. Then he did the same to Ballas. Standing up, he carefully replaced both stopper and awl, closed the leather case and slipped it into his breast pocket.

Now, virtually alone, he was still in acute danger.

He might even be watched at this moment.

He did not think it likely—surely, if anyone
had
been watching, an alarm would have been raised?—but there was no certainty. He looked about the room and up into the raftered ceiling, examining its supporting beams.

There
could
be spy-holes in any of these; and others, round the walls.

He moved towards the door through which he had come. Was it self-opening? Or was there some trick? It could be electronically controlled; it was even possible it was protected by a ray. There was such treasure in this room – treasure measured in tens of millions of pounds. No risks would be taken with it.

Mannering studied the door. It appeared, from inside the room, to be made of brass-studded wood, but Mannering felt sure it was of metal, almost certainly bullet- and sound-proof, and possibly impervious to fire. Neither of the men had touched it—ah! It had been closed from the outside. And locked? If
he
owned such treasures as these, and had two guards outside, what would he do?

With half of his mind he was calculating how long he had before these two men came round. Not much more than half-an-hour, he judged. That should be time enough. He studied the big, brass lock, and the three bolts, one at the top, one at the bottom, one in the middle. All were shot, so they must close automatically to lock people both in and out. There must be a control both inside and outside the room.

What would
he
do? He would have a buzzer at the desk, one which could be manually operated.
One buzz: come in. Two: I'm coming out.
And now he recalled the buzz when the lock was released and he and Cyrus had been admitted. That had been
one
buzz. His heart began to beat very fast. He reached the far side of the desk, and lowered himself into the golden chair. There was no bell-push in sight. He ran his fingers gingerly along the desk's underledge, but found nothing. He examined the floor, and then shook his head. It wouldn't be there. Ballas's legs were too short.