Man on a Rope (6 page)

“Yes, sir,” Eddie said. “Out beyond the playing-fields.”

He stepped on the starter, but as he shifted gears, Barry recalled that Amanti had been at his office earlier that evening. Maybe, in the light of what had happened, Amanti had returned to his work.

“Let's try the office first, Eddie,” he said. “It's closer.”

Eddie cramped the wheel and they rolled along Main Street, taking the jog near the center of the city that brought them to High. Here the street was divided by grassy strips and a narrow canal, across which the government buildings were located. Beyond them, on the right, Eddie stopped the car in front of a two-story wooden building that had an outside stairway leading to the second floor.

When he first stepped from the car, Barry thought the office windows adjacent to the second-floor landing were dark, and then, as he moved ahead, he saw the cracks of light behind the lowered shutters of the room on the left. Thus assured, he mounted the wooden stairs, at the same time visualizing Amanti's suite with its private office on the left and the outer room where Lynn Sanford worked and through which one entered.

The door to this was wooden. The lettering on the upper panel said: L
OUIS
J. A
MANTI
—B
ARRISTER,
though at the moment darkness made the letters unreadable.

Barry knocked once and reached for the knob. When it turned easily, he opened the door and stepped forward into the blackness beyond. Only then did he understand that something was wrong, and now he stopped in his tracks, his back stiff and a sudden coldnes gripping his spine. It was not the silence, nor even the darkness of the room that startled him, it was the fact that the room beyond—he could make out the open door diagonally ahead of him—was also dark.

Before he could call out or retreat he heard the clicking sound. At the same instant, light exploded in his eyes, half blinding him. It was all over in another second, but even then he knew that the light came from a conical desk lamp that had been swiveled in his direction. He could see the vague figure beyond it, but most of all he saw the protruding hand which held the gun.

“
Hey!
”

It was the only word he could think of, and he yelled it instinctively as his muscles recoiled and sudden fear flooded his veins.

“Hey!” he said again, looking right down the muzzle but calmer now that there was no shot. “Take it easy, will you? Is that you, Amanti?”

Beyond the lamp the gun wavered and a man sighed heavily. The metal reflector swiveled to focus downward and now the rest of the room took on size and shape. Barry swallowed and began to breathe again, but as reaction struck at him he felt the surge of anger.

“What the hell is the idea?” he shouted. “I saw light in your office. I come up here and knock at the door—”

“I'm sorry,” Amanti said, his voice thin. “There was someone here before you. Someone waiting when I came. I thought he had come back.” He pushed back in his chair. He laid the gun on the desk—the typewriter desk that Lynn used. “Come in,” he said. “Close the door. There is a light switch beside it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

W
HEN
B
ARRY
D
AWSON
had obeyed his instruction and the dome light in the ceiling was on he saw that Amanti had a bruise on his forehead. He also noticed that the drawers of the four-decker filing cabinet stood part way open, the top one forcibly bent near the lock.

“Why did you come here?” Amanti asked.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“You expected to find me here at this hour?”

“I didn't expect anything. I didn't feel like going to bed after what happened tonight, so I thought I'd take a ride. What happened to you?”

Louis Amanti still wore his three-piece white drill suit, and now as he came round the desk and moved to the water-cooler, he removed a clean handkerchief, soaked it, and held it against his forehead. When water began to trickle down his round face he squeezed the handkerchief a bit and made a pad of it. He went back behind the desk and sat down heavily, his bespectacled dark eyes peering suspiciously through the lenses that distorted them, his free hand beginning to stroke the nape of his neck.

“Somebody slugged you,” Barry said, “is that it?”

“Not here.” Amanti touched the bruise. “This must have come when I fell. I was paralyzed. I could hear and I knew what was happening, but I could not move.

“It was here,” he said, indicating the back of his neck. “I had come in and was feeling for the switch when it happened. I heard him and tried to grapple with him, but he. spun me aside and then I was hit. By the stiff edge of his hand, I think. It was like my head was coming off.”

“What do you think he wanted?”

“Who knows?” Amanti waved a pudgy hand to indicate the rifled cabinets. “He broke into my files. It is likely that he searched them as he did my desk in the other room.”

“Was there anything valuable in them?”

“If you mean intrinsic value, no.” He stood up and opened a wall cabinet, disclosing a small safe. “Such currency and things of value that I have are locked in here. It has not been touched.”

“What about the will?” Barry said, following a hunch.

“The will?”

“You said you had drawn up a rough copy.”

Amanti's gaze moved to the filing cabinet and he put aside his makeshift compress. Without a word he rose and began to paw through the folders in the second cabinet. Apparently satisfied, he went into his private office and turned on the light. Barry stayed where he was, but he could hear drawers being opened and closed.

“The original of that draft is gone,” Amanti said when he came back, “as is the only carbon copy. What else is missing I will find out in the morning. Now perhaps you will tell me why you thought the will would be missing.”

“I didn't,” Barry said. “It was just a thought.”

“Also,” Amanti said, as though he had not heard, “I am still confused as to your reasons for coming here tonight at all.”

Barry thought it over because it was not an easy question to answer. It wasn't enough to repeat that he was restless and that he had come here on nothing more than a hunch. Put simply, he wanted all the information from Amanti he could get and he intended to keep talking and asking questions as long as he could.

“I wanted to talk to you because I figured you knew more about Lambert and the background of this case than anyone else. Until the diamonds are found, or until the police make an arrest, I'll probably be under some suspicion.”

“Knowing Superintendent Kerby,” Amanti said, “I would say anyone connected with the case would be under some suspicion.”

“With me it's a little different,” Barry said. “I've got a flight ticket to New York by way of Trinidad next Wednesday. I want to get back and get on the job. Unless I'm in the clear by that time, Kerby may decide to ground me.” He sat down on the edge of a chair and put his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward. “The way it looks, someone killed Lambert to get at the diamonds. But it doesn't have to be that way, does it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, with no will, how will the estate be divided?”

Amanti considered this. “I would not care to be quoted,” he said, “but in my opinion Ian might receive one third after debts and taxes; a third will go to his sister, Jessie, in Barbados; a third to Lambert's brother in England.”

“So as things stand, Ian's future is considerably brighter than it would have been if his father had lived to sign the will. The same goes for his sister and this guy Holt, who happens to have his schooner in port.”

“I suppose that's true. But—”

Barry cut him off. “Tell me,” he said. “Who else could have known about those diamonds? You knew—”

“Only that he had them.”

“I knew,” Barry continued. “Hudson knew. How about Muriel Ransom?”

“It is quite possible Lambert may have told her. If so, she might even have told McBride, since the two of them were something more than friendly at one time.” He paused and his voice thinned out. “I'm not at all sure they are not still quite friendly…. Also,” he said, “it would not surprise me if the authorities were at least suspicious that some such horde existed. In my opinion, that was why Lambert was so eager to sell them to an outsider.”

“Oh?”

Barry spoke the word quietly and waited, sensing a change in the lawyer's attitude and hoping that if he did not break the spell Amanti would explain himself. Presently he did, his tone reminiscent as his thoughts focused inward.

“Anyone who knew Lambert would know that he would rebel at such things as royalties, taxes, and duties. It was his nature to evade the law when he could. He has traded in diamonds—quite aside from his own mining activities—for years and yet only a modest amount were ever properly declared. As you know, it is a simple matter to smuggle diamonds across the boundary rivers into either Brazil or Venezuela. The police force at Lethem can do no more than make a token effort at patrolling the boundaries. Even the Commissioner knows that smuggling is not difficult. But you also know that the price of diamonds is about the same here as it is there.”

He settled down in his chair and said: “At one time there was a man in Brazil, on the Río Branco—some said he was a Russian—who would pay more, particularly for good industrials. Unfortunately for Lambert, he paid in cash—but in cruzeiros, and you know what happened to them when inflation hit Brazil. So Lambert built up his collection and trained Albert to polish them. After that he could only wait until he could unload them because he must have known that when he left here, as he planned to do next week, his baggage and all personal effects would be searched with great thoroughness. I understood he was making this transaction for American dollars. How he intended to handle them I do not pretend to know, though I understand he had made arrangements to hire McBride and his plane on Monday.”

Amanti spoke easily and well, and as the story unfolded Barry listened with part of his brain while the other assessed the things he knew about the lawyer—not the personal idiosyncrasies that came from Lynn Sanford as part of her job, but the background of the man which had evolved from casual conversations over drinks with some who knew him.

He was native born, the color of his skin and the wiry hair suggesting that there was an East Indian strain somewhere in his heritage. He had been educated locally and in Trinidad and had been reasonably successful before the bar, though much of his practice had to do with business affairs. Some years earlier he had married somewhat above him socially and had never quite been allowed to forget it. For his part he had brought solvency to an old but impoverished colonial family, though this was never referred to by his blonde and buxom wife, who had produced no children and apparently existed for the long bi-yearly trips to England which Amanti dutifully provided even when somewhat pressed for cash.

That he was a clever man no one disputed, but to Barry it seemed that there was something else less wholesome. He did not know exactly what it was, but when the word “sly” occurred to him he accepted it as suitable. But if scandal had touched Amanti, Barry had not heard of it; if there was a streak of larceny in his system, it had never been exposed. To this Lynn Sanford had been able to add only that Amanti was a secretive man, but never offensive. Now, aware that the lawyer had finished and was watching him, he spoke quickly.

“What happens to them if they're found?”

“They become part of the estate, subject of course to the taxes and fees Lambert forgot to pay.”

The word “estate” triggered Barry's thoughts anew and he recalled the list of holdings he had scanned on Lambert's desk just before Amanti had arrived. Amanti hoped to be the administrator of the estate and, with his background and familiarity with Lambert's affairs, it seemed likely he would be so appointed. Who, then, could say exactly what belonged in the estate and what did not? Who was there left to check on Amanti? Certainly Lambert would have demanded an accounting before he sailed. Perhaps Lynn Sanford—

“What?” he said, aware that the lawyer had spoken and watching him get to his feet.

“I said it was getting late,” Amanti said. “When I find out what else may be missing in the morning I'll report this to Kerby.”

Barry stood up and said it might be a good idea. There were other questions he wanted to ask, but time had run out on him and he voiced but one: “How did the guy get in here?”

Amanti pointed. “Through the door. It is the only way he could have entered.”

“You mean, he forced the lock?”

“I could see no sign that he had done so.”

“Wasn't it locked?”

“Certainly it was locked,” Amanti said. “I distinctly remember locking it when I left earlier.”

Barry did not know whether to believe this or not, but when he saw Amanti turn off the desk light he knew it was time to go.

“How many keys?” he asked.

“Three. This one.” Amanti patted his trousers pocket. “Miss Sanford's. A spare one I keep at home.”

CHAPTER SIX

B
ARRY DID NOT START TO WORRY
about Lynn Sanford until he was in the taxi, but once started, his uneasiness mushroomed quickly. When Eddie Glynn cut across High Street at the next intersection and started back toward the hotel, Barry said he had changed his mind and gave him Lynn's address.

The bungalow stood in darkness as the cab stopped, and Barry sat a moment in his uncertainty, listening to the soft throbbing of the motor and aware that Eddie was watching him curiously. He understood that what he was about to do could easily be misunderstood by anyone who might witness it, but his desire to know that Lynn was all right was even stronger than his feeling for convention, and now, because the hotel was within easy walking distance, he took some bills from his pocket and paid what he owed, adding a dollar tip. He made no attempt to explain his actions because he knew appearances were against him. Eddie could think what he wanted, but Eddie would probably keep it to himself.