Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [151]
I was inspecting the bathroom, hoping to find a used razor blade or a nail file, when I heard the bedroom door open.
‘He’s on his way. He telephoned a few minutes ago.’
Her eyes glowed. Little flecks floated in them like the dead insects in amber. My heart couldn’t sink any farther; it was already trying to shove through the sole of my shoe.
‘So,’ Mary went on briskly, ‘we must get ready to receive him, mustn’t we. Sit down in that chair. Not the big carved armchair. That one.’
It was a straight chair, the seat and back covered with faded gold brocade.
‘No, thanks,’ I said, backing away. ‘I’d rather stand.’
‘If you prefer it this way.’ She turned to the door. ‘Hans. Come in.’
Hans’s face wasn’t capable of displaying subtle emotion, but I got the impression that even he was beginning to wonder about little Mary. ‘Aber, gnädige Frau, Herr Max hat mir gesagt – ’
‘From whom do you take your orders? I’m not going to hurt her,’ she added unconvincingly. At least it didn’t convince me. Poor bewildered Hans shrugged, setting off a miniature avalanche of muscles, and advanced on me.
Just for the look of the thing, I picked up a bowl from the table and heaved it. To my surprise it hit him square on the chest. Not to my surprise it didn’t halt his advance.
So I sat down in the chair and Hans took the cord Mary had foresightedly brought with her, and he tied my wrists and ankles. He worked with slow deliberation. The knots weren’t painfully tight. Hans didn’t get any jollies from hurting people. He just killed them.
‘Larry isn’t going to like this,’ I said.
‘Larry knows I’m here.’ Mary assisted Hans out the door and closed it. ‘My darling husband is an ingenious swine, and as I pointed out to Larry, it would be foolish to take unnecessary chances.’
‘Are you really married?’
‘Bell, book, and candle.’ Mary leaned against the table, hands in her pockets. ‘Not for long, though,’ she went on conversationally. ‘I regret that, in a way. I shall hate wearing black. It’s not my colour. And sharing his bed was quite an interesting experience.’
‘Oh, come off it,’ I said. ‘You’re wasting your time with that routine, Mary. He could hardly stand to touch you. It was always you hanging on to him, instead of – ’
I wouldn’t have believed a soft little hand like that could hit so hard. When my ears had stopped ringing I said, ‘Did Larry authorize beating me up?’
‘He took my knife away.’ Mary’s voice deepened and the golden eyes glittered. ‘But he can’t object to this. A few bruises will have a persuasive effect on John. You’ve got him trained like one of Pavlov’s dogs. I don’t understand how you accomplished it – ’
She examined me curiously, from head to foot and back again. I could see her problem; the idea that any normal man could resist a cuddly little cutie in favour of a six-foot Amazon with a sarcastic tongue and the disposition of a hedgehog absolutely baffled her. To be honest, it baffled me too – not that he could reisist little Miss Mary the Ripper, but that he had stuck with me so long.
With an abrupt movement she pulled the lovely little Greek heads from her ears and flung them at me. ‘These were meant for you, you know: I made him give them to me. Did you enjoy seeing me wear them?’
‘I did wonder. They aren’t your style.’
‘But they were clearly a love token, weren’t they? Something distinctive and different, carefully chosen for a woman who would appreciate them.’ Her thumb caressed the gaudy diamond on her finger.
I knew what she intended and I was contemptibly relieved when she decided to try a little mental torture first. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know how your other friends are faring?’
I shrugged. ‘You haven’t got Schmidt or you would have said so. Feisal . . . I assume Feisal is dead.’
‘Oh, no,’ Mary said softly. ‘He’s still alive. He may never walk again, but that won’t concern him after they hang him for treason.’ The tip of her little pink tongue showed between her parted