Free Final Reckonings by Robert Bloch Page A

with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. As for Maitland, his eagerness mounted. He ran his hand along the reticulated back of a jadeite tao-tieh and licked his lips with very much the same expression as adorned the face of the Chinese image of gluttony.
    Old Marco was here. That meant something pretty special in the way of acquisitions. Perhaps Marco wasn't exactly the kind of chap one invited to the Club — but he had his uses. Where he laid hands on some of the things he offered for sale Maitland didn't know; he didn't much care. That was Marco's affair. The rarity of his offerings was what interested Christopher Maitland. If one wanted a book bound in human skin, old Marco was just the chap to get hold of it — if he had to do a bit of flaying and binding himself. Great character, old Marco!
    "Mr. Marco, sir."
    Hume withdrew, a sedate shadow, and Maitland waved his visitor forward.
    Mr. Marco oozed into the room. The little man was fat, greasily so; his flesh lumped like the tallow coagulating about the guttering stump of a candle. His waxen pallor accentuated the simile. All that seemed needed was a wick to sprout from the bald ball of fat that served as Mr. Marco's head.
    The fat man stared up at Maitland's lean face with what was meant to be an ingratiating smile. The smile oozed, too, and contributed to the aura of uncleanliness which seemed to surround Marco.
    But Maitland was not conscious of these matters. His attention was focused on the curious bundle Marco carried under one arm — the large package, wrapped in prosaic butcher s paper which somehow contributed to its fascination for him.
    Marco shifted the package gingerly as he removed his shoddy gray ulster. He did not ask permission to divest himself of the coat, nor did he wait for an invitation to be seated.
    The fat little man merely made himself comfortable in one of the chairs before the fire, reached for Maitland's open cigar case, helped himself to a stogie, and lit it. The large round package bobbed up and down on his lap as his rotund stomach heaved convulsively.
    Maitland stared at the package. Marco stared at Maitland. Maitland broke first.
    "Well?" he asked.
    The greasy smile expanded. Marco inhaled rapidly, then opened his mouth to emit a puff of smoke and a reply.
    "I am sorry to come unannounced, Mr. Maitland. I hope I'm not intruding?"
    "Never mind that," Maitland snapped. "What's in the package, Marco?" Marco's smile expanded. "Something choice," he whispered. "Something tasty."
    Maitland bent over the chair, his head outthrust to throw a vulpine shadow on the wall.
    "What's in the package?" he repeated.
    "You're my favorite client, Mr. Maitland. You know I never come to you unless I have something really rare. Well, I have that, sir. I have that. You'd be surprised what this butcher's paper hides, although it's rather appropriate. Yes, appropriate it is!"
    "Stop that infernal gabbling, man! What is in the package?"
    Marco lifted the bundle from his lap. He turned it over gingerly, yet deliberately.
    "Doesn't seem to be much," he purred. "Round. Heavy enough. Might be a medicine ball, eh? Or a beehive. I say, it could even be a head of cabbage. Yes, one might mistake it for a head of common cabbage. But it isn't. Oh no, it isn't. Intriguing problem, eh?"
    If it was the little man's intention to goad Maitland into a fit of apoplexy, he almost succeeded.
    "Open it up, damn you!" he shouted.
    Marco shrugged, smiled, and scrabbled at the taped edges of the paper. Christopher Maitland was no longer the perfect gentleman, the perfect host. He was a collector, stripped of all pretenses — quivering eagerness incarnate. He hovered over Marco's shoulder as the butcher's paper came away in the fat man's pudgy fingers.
    "Now!" Maitland breathed.
    The paper fell to the floor. Resting in Marco's lap was a large, glittering silver ball of—tinfoil.
    Marco began to strip the tinfoil away, unraveling it in silvery strands. Maitland gasped as he saw what