Thefts of Nick Velvet (17 page)

She brushed a hand through the texture of her hair, loosening it a bit. “King Felix is the prince’s father. He is an old man, and very ill. No one ever sees him any more. He is confined to a hospital in Athens.”

“I see.” Velvet had walked up to the little stage that overlooked the empty dance floor, and now he stood upon it, visualizing the room as it would look with a thousand costumed revelers crowded into it. “And I suppose the crown is up here.”

“That’s right,” she said.

“Do they guard it well?”

“Who’d want to steal it” She seemed truly puzzled by the idea.

“I hear the Germans did once, during the war.” Velvet smiled down at her. “That’s what you told me, anyway.”

“That was different. So many things were different, during the war.”

“You could hardly be old enough to remember.”

“I was a child in London,” she said, breaking the contact with his eyes. “During the blitz.”

Nick Velvet jumped down from the platform. “Could you get me an invitation to the ball?”

“You really want to come?”

“I’d like to see it; for my article on New Ionia.”

“Just where is this article going to appear?”

“One of the big American travel magazines. It’ll be great publicity.”

She smiled then. “You may escort me if you’d like. I have two tickets.”

“It would be an honor,” Nick Velvet said, returning her smile.

On Sunday evening, Nick Velvet met with Vonderberg at a little waterfront cafe near the place where the Corfu ferry docked twice a day. For some reason, the monocled man seemed much more at home here than he had during their first meeting in New York. It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was. Perhaps until now, Nick Velvet had not really believed him to be a part of the tourist business and the aging monarch and the rest of this strange little island.

“Are you ready?” Vonderberg asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Where shall I meet you?”

He considered the question carefully. “The last ferry leaves at ten for Corfu. That wouldn’t give you enough time, would it?”

Nick Velvet shook his head. “It’ll be almost ten when we arrive at the ball.”

“All right, then. I can’t risk being on the island when the robbery takes place. I’ll come over on the Tuesday noon boat from Corfu, and I’ll remain on the ferry. They can’t touch me there. You bring the crown on board for me.”

Nick Velvet smiled. “You mean I have to keep it till Tuesday noon?”

“That’s what you’re being paid for.”

“Just who is paying me?”

Vonderberg grunted. “That doesn’t matter. Let’s just say the next king of New Ionia. I’ll be waiting for you Tuesday noon with the money.”

“All right.”

Nick Velvet left him and walked back to the hotel. The island kingdom was still the vacation paradise he’d first seen, but now, after a few days, some of the gloss was wearing off. He noticed a beggar in a doorway, and perhaps a prostitute beneath a rundown bar’s neon glow. New Ionia was only the world, and he wondered why anyone would want to be its king.

Nick Velvet spent the early hours of the following evening preparing his costume, and when he called for Vera Smith-Blue in a rented car he was wearing the bright baggy overalls of a circus clown. It covered him from wrists and neck to ankles, and he’d taken some time carefully painting his face into a grotesquely grinning contour of clownish delight.

Vera Smith-Blue gasped as she opened the door, then relaxed into a smile. “That’s very realistic, Mr. Velvet. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Thanks. I figured I should go all out.”

Vera herself was wearing a somewhat standard ballet costume, which allowed her to show off the firmness of her well-shaped legs while remaining reasonably decent. On her face she wore a tiny domino mask that did nothing to conceal her identity.

“I’m almost ready,” she told him. “Come in.”

“You have dancer’s legs,” he commented admiringly.

“I went in for ballet a bit at school. But that was a long time ago.” She fluffed out her brief skirt as she spoke. Then she ran a comb through her hair and sprinkled a bit of sparkling stuff in it. “There! Shall we be going now? They always expect me to be among the first arrivals. I have certain duties.”

When they reached the summer palace it was a blaze of lights, a different world from the empty shell he remembered from his first visit. The walls and the gate were patrolled by uniformed royal guards, and colored footmen opened doors as each car rolled up to discharge its passengers.

The hilarity of the evening was already beginning as each arriving group added to the melange of knights and angels, warriors and wantons. Nick Velvet saw a near-naked nymph in the grip of a bearded pirate, but for the most part the females were modestly costumed, perhaps in deference to the presence of Prince Baudlay.

The prince himself made his appearance shortly before ten, interrupting the dancing and drinking with a heralding blast of trumpets. He wore a princely sort of jerkin, which for all Nick Velvet knew might have been his daily costume in the kingdom of New Ionia. He took his place on a sort of raised throne, and almost immediately four attendants appeared carrying the glass domed case which housed the crystal crown.

There was a murmur soft as a whisper as the crown appeared, and then near silence. Nick Velvet and Vera Smith-Blue were near the platform, so he had a good view of it—a coronet of glassy spikes resting on a velvet pillow. It looked as if it would break at the slightest touch.

“Do they have an unmasking at midnight?” Nick Velvet asked, spinning Vera off into the intricacies of a Mediterranean folk dance. “Like in the fairy tales?”

“Of course!”

“I think the whole thing is a publicity gimmick,” he said. “New Ionia can’t be for real.”

“Does it matter?” she whispered, so close that he felt her smudge his makeup.

Just after eleven, when they were seated with a group of Vera’s friends, Nick Velvet excused himself and went off to the men’s room. He knew he had to be fast. He was allowing himself only five minutes for the entire operation.

Before the door had fully closed behind him, he was unzipping the clown’s costume and stepping out of it. Beneath it, he wore a tight-fitting devil’s suit in vivid red, complete with a tail that had fitted down the pants-leg of the clown outfit. From a pouch secured under his left arm he withdrew a rubber devil’s mask that fitted over his entire head, red gloves and a small pistol.

He slipped the mask over his head, careful to smudge the clown makeup no more than necessary. Then he slid a silencer onto the gun barrel. He didn’t really need it, but it made the small weapon seem bulkier. He opened the window and stuffed the clown suit into the waste basket next to it. The whole operation had taken just under two minutes.

Then he was out of the room and up the stairs. He came out near the raised platform and was onto it before anyone even noticed. Prince Baudlay turned in his seat to smile, and Nick Velvet brought the gun up from his thigh.

“Stay right there,” he said.

A woman nearby screamed, but no one else seemed to notice. He swung the pistol against the protective glass bell and felt it crack. Another blow and it shattered perfectly around the crystal crown.

Prince Baudlay was out of his chair now, hurling himself at Nick Velvet. He grabbed onto a red-clad leg and the tail, but Velvet brushed him away with a glancing blow from the barrel of the gun. The others had seen it now, and a growing wave of panic swept backward through the throng of dancers. Somebody pushed a button, and the wail of a siren added to the screams.

But Nick Velvet had the crown in his hand. He dove for a window, hoping it was the right one. Someone grabbed again at his costume, and he felt the tail rip away. But he was free and through the window. He hit the ground on the run, still clutching the glass crown in his left hand.

There was just one guard, too near to outrun. Nick Velvet shot him in the fleshy part of the leg.

Then he was around the corner and back through the basement window of the men’s room. This was the dangerous part, and if there had been someone else in there, he would have had to use the gun again. But he’d guessed correctly that the screams from the upper floor had brought everyone running. In an instant he had the clown suit out of the basket and was zipping it up.

The mask and gun and gloves went into the tank of one of the toilets, with the crystal crown placed gently within the protective rubber devil’s face. He closed the window, touched up his makeup, and headed upstairs. His body could now pass a hand frisking, and he doubted if the police would have reason to go about unzipping costumes. He glanced at his watch—six minutes and twenty seconds. A bit longer than he’d planned, but he was satisfied.

In the ballroom all was bedlam, and no one had noticed his absence. He told Vera he’d been almost back to her when the thief appeared, and she had no reason to doubt him. Women were still fainting from the near-panic of the crush, and from outside came the chatter of occasional gunfire. Nick Velvet smiled and hugged Vera protectively.

Almost immediately, the island kingdom had become a fortress. American-made jeeps crisscrossed the highways, with grim-faced men seated at the ready behind fifty-caliber machine guns. Nick Velvet dropped Vera Smith-Blue at her place, and then drove to his own room to change into his street clothes. There was still the problem of transporting the crown from the summer palace to the Corfu ferry, and he was beginning to think it would not be an easy job.

He waited till daybreak to drive back to the palace, wanting the crown in his possession no longer than necessary. The police and government guards still seemed at a complete loss to explain the vanished thief, but their search had not yet turned inward toward the palace itself.

The man in the devil suit had been seen to leave, had actually wounded a guard, so there was no reason to suspect that he had returned. Two innocent guests in devil costumes had been questioned through the night, but finally released. Both had been in plain sight of witnesses during the holdup.

Continuing his pose as a reporter and writer, Nick Velvet talked to several of the guards and inspected the ballroom once more. One guard accompanied him at all times, but it was not difficult to stop in the men’s room on the way out. He left the mask and gun and gloves where they were, but the crystal crown went out on his head, resting lightly beneath the soft felt of his hat.

At five minutes to noon, Nick Velvet stood on the dock watching the ferry from Corfu drift slowly but accurately into its slip. He still felt the weight of the crown beneath his hat, but now the tension was gone. In a few more minutes the thing would be delivered and he would be out of New Ionia for good. He’d decided that princes and masked balls and fairy tales were not for him.

“Stop him!” somebody shouted. He turned and saw two army trucks pulling up at the end of the dock. Soldiers, and police—and Vera Smith-Blue was with them!

Nick Velvet watched the ferry drawing closer. Ten feet, nine, eight. He could wait only a second longer. Gripping the crown and his hat, he ran a few paces and launched himself at the narrowing gap. He made the ramp of the ferry boat with a foot to spare, and kept going. People stared and someone shouted, but he didn’t look back.

“Velvet!” It was Vonderberg, waiting in the shadow of a stairway.

“All right,” Nick told him. “Here it is.”

“And you’ve brought the entire New Ionian army with you!”

“You said we’d be safe on the boat,” Nick Velvet said.

The girl and the police had paused at the ramp, and there was much conversation taking place. Finally the ferry’s captain waved his arms in despair, and the pursuers came aboard.

“That one,” Vera said, pointing. “His name is Nick Velvet. And the one with the monocle is Vonderberg.”

“You are on Greek territory,” Vonderberg said, holding the crown Nick had given him.

“We have Greek officials with us,” Vera Smith-Blue said firmly. “This is no longer a New Ionian matter. Our king was assassinated in an Athens hospital this morning. Two Communist agents have been arrested.”

It was then that Vonderberg moved, when he realized that the ferry was no haven for him after all. He put down the crown and stepped back, revealing a gun as if by magic.

“Stay there, all of you!” he shouted.

“You can’t kill us all,” a uniformed guard said, moving closer.

“No, but Miss Smith-Blue will get my first bullet.”

There were a number of things Nick Velvet could have done. He considered three of them in the instant before he acted.

Then he scooped up the crystal crown and hurled it at Vonderberg’s face.

The monocled man fired as the crown shattered against him, but his shot was wild. Two officers brought their guns up before he could aim again, and Vonderberg toppled backward as the bullets staggered him like unseen fists.

“That one too!” an officer shouted, pointing his gun at Nick Velvet.

Velvet smiled and put up his hands. “Miss Smith-Blue, I just saved your life. Won’t you return the favor?”

She walked up to him, waving away the guns. Someone had gone to tend to Vonderberg, but his blood was spreading too fast over the ferry’s deck.

“Yes,” she answered, “I’ll save your life—so you can rot in a New Ionian jail for the next twenty years.”

“I don’t think so.” He dropped his voice so only she could hear. “You’re going to get me out of this, lady, or I’ll tell them all it was you who paid to have the crown stolen. And you must know very well I can prove it, too.”

Vera Smith-Blue’s face had gone white with his words, and that was all the assurance he needed that his guess was correct. He led her a bit away from the watching men, and offered her a cigarette.

“Did Vonderberg tell you?” she asked.

“I could say that he did, but it was really most a guess. You knew where to find me this morning, and you knew I was the thief. You also knew Vonderberg’s name. That got me to thinking just now. I remembered thinking the whole thing was a publicity stunt, and I was right. You thought it would be a great idea, didn’t you? The theft of a crystal crown during a masked ball at the New Ionian summer palace. It would have made every paper in the world, and would have brought tourists flocking, just to see what this place was all about.”