The Game Played in the Dark | Page 5

speaking a little of the
language would serve us here."
"I suppose you have the coins for disposal then? You can show them to
me?"
"My husband retains them. I will take you, but you must first give
parola d'onore of an English Signor not to betray us, or to speak of the

circumstance to another."
Carrados had already foreseen this eventuality and decided to accept it.
Whether a promise exacted on the plea of treasure trove would bind
him to respect the despoilers of the British Museum was a point for
subsequent consideration. Prudence demanded that he should
investigate the offer at once and to cavil over Madame Ferraja's
conditions would be fatal to that object. If the coins were, as there
seemed little reason to doubt, the proceeds of the robbery, a modest
ransom might be the safest way of preserving irreplaceable treasures,
and in that case Carrados could offer his services as the necessary
intermediary.
"I give you the promise you require, Madame," he accordingly
declared.
"It is sufficient," assented Madame. "I will now take you to the spot. It
is necessary that you alone should accompany me, for my husband is so
distraught in this country, where he understands not a word of what is
spoken, that his poor spirit would cry 'We are surrounded!' if he saw
two strangers approach the house. Oh, he is become most dreadful in
his anxiety, my husband. Imagine only, he keeps on the fire a cauldron
of molten lead and he would not hesitate to plunge into it this treasure
and obliterate its existence if he imagined himself endangered."
"So," speculated Carrados inwardly. "A likely precaution for a simple
vine-grower of Calabria! Very well," he assented aloud, "I will go with
you alone. Where is the place?"
Madame Ferraja searched in the ancient purse that she discovered in
her rusty handbag and produced a scrap of paper.
"People do not understand sometimes my way of saying it," she
explained. "Sette, Herringbone--"
"May I--?" said Carrados, stretching out his hand. He took the paper
and touched the writing with his finger-tips. "Oh yes, 7 Heronsbourne
Place. That is on the edge of Heronsbourne Park, is it not?" He

transferred the paper casually to his desk as he spoke and stood up.
"How did you come, Madame Ferraja?"
Madame Ferraja followed the careless action with a discreet smile that
did not touch her voice.
"By motor bus--first one then another, inquiring at every turning. Oh,
but it was interminable," sighed the lady.
"My driver is off for the evening--I did not expect to be going out--but I
will 'phone up a taxi and it will be at the gate as soon as we are." He
despatched the message and then, turning to the house telephone,
switched on to Greatorex.
"I'm just going round to Heronsbourne Park," he explained. "Don't stay,
Greatorex, but if anyone calls expecting to see me, they can say that I
don't anticipate being away more than an hour."
Parkinson was hovering about the hall. With quite novel officiousness
he pressed upon his master a succession of articles that were not
required. Over this usually complacent attendant the unattractive
features of Madame Ferraja appeared to exercise a stealthy fascination,
for a dozen times the lady detected his eyes questioning her face and a
dozen times he looked guiltily away again. But his incongruities could
not delay for more than a few minutes the opening of the door.
"I do not accompany you, sir?" he inquired, with the suggestion plainly
tendered in his voice that it would be much better if he did.
"Not this time, Parkinson."
"Very well, sir. Is there any particular address to which we can
telephone in case you are required, sir?"
"Mr. Greatorex has instructions."
Parkinson stood aside, his resources exhausted. Madame Ferraja
laughed a little mockingly as they walked down the drive.

"Your man-servant thinks I may eat you, Signor Carrados," she
declared vivaciously.
Carrados, who held the key of his usually exact attendant's
perturbation--for he himself had recognized in Madame Ferraja the
angelic Nina Brun, of the Sicilian tetradrachm incident, from the
moment she opened her mouth--admitted to himself the humour of her
audacity. But it was not until half-an-hour later that enlightenment
rewarded Parkinson. Inspector Beedel had just arrived and was
speaking with Greatorex when the conscientious valet, who had been
winnowing his memory in solitude, broke in upon them, more
distressed than either had ever seen him in his life before, and with the
breathless introduction: "It was the ears, sir! I have her ears at last!"
poured out his tale of suspicion, recognition and his present fears.
In the meanwhile the two objects of his concern had reached the gate as
the summoned taxicab drew up.
"Seven Heronsbourne Place," called Carrados to