Free The Malaspiga Exit by Evelyn Anthony Page A

whispered. ‘Oh God—why didn’t Harper tell me?’
    â€˜Because you didn’t need to know it then; you had a strong resolution. He kept the ace in my sleeve. You know why they killed him, don’t you?’
    She shook her head. She found a handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. Raphael was leaning over the table, holding her hand.
    â€˜It’s the mark of the Malaspiga operatives. Anyone who tries to give it up is dangerous. They might go to the police, identify the pusher. Especially an addict like your brother with a rich family and connections. So they killed him to make sure.’ He let go of her hand, lit a cigarette and passed it to her.
    â€˜How do you feel about your cousins now? Still guilty about deceiving them? If you have any doubts left now, about yourself or anything else’—his voice was pitched low, but full of emphasis—‘then you’d better go back to the States tomorrow.’
    Katharine opened the bag, and put the handkerchief away. She drew on the cigarette he had given her, and then as suddenly stubbed it out. She looked at him.
    â€˜You’ve played your ace,’ she said. ‘You know the answer. I blamed myself and I blamed my brother. I thought he’d just given in again. Now at least I know he tried. What you’ve just told me makes my cousin Malaspiga his murderer.’
    â€˜As surely as if he shot him dead,’ Raphael said. ‘Policies like that are made at the top. Would you like to tell me what you’ve found out?’
    â€˜I went to tea with them,’ she said. ‘The old Duchess, my cousin, his wife and a Canadian, a sculptor, who lives with them. The Duke is his patron.’
    â€˜Yes, we know about him. He came over from Toronto about four years ago. His background is routine, farming family, no money, artistic talent. It would amuse those sort of people to have him around. They love to imitate their ancestors.’
    â€˜My cousin took me out to lunch today,’ she said. She felt sick and shaken but in command of herself. He had given her a brutal shock, and at the same time she felt curiously relieved. Peter had tried. The tragedy at the end was not because of his weakness. There was a cold sensation inside her and it was spreading as she talked.
    â€˜He told me a lot about himself,’ she said. ‘He loves talking about the family and he feels I’m interested. I discovered a lot.’
    Raphael interrupted her. ‘You’re looking very pale,’ he said. ‘Are you feeling all right? Shall I get you a drink …?’
    â€˜No, nothing. I’m fine. Just let me go on talking; I don’t want to forget anything important.’
    â€˜What did you find out?’
    â€˜The Duke said they were poor after the war; he said he’d financed an antique business with his wife’s money and was making a great success of it. It certainly seemed as if they’d plenty of money. The villa was full of lovely things, there were servants all over the place, and he had all those little extras that go with the rich. Hand-made cigarettes, Cartier watch and cigarette case—that kind of thing. I’d say there was a great deal of money there.’
    â€˜If our suspicions are correct,’ Raphael said gently, ‘he must be a multi-millionaire. Which is what they were before the war. Like all the top Fascists they were only interested in protecting their money against Communism. Do you mind if I smoke? That cigarette I gave you seemed to upset you.’
    Katharine shook her head, and he lit a cheap cigarette and sucked at it.
    â€˜So, there is evidence of a considerable fortune. That’s very interesting. The antiques couldn’t account for all of it, but at any rate they’re a good cover. What else?’
    â€˜He has an antique shop in New York,’ Katharine said. ‘It’s called Florence Antiques, 1143 Park Avenue, and the name of the man