Bolt - By Dick Francis Page 0,96

conviction I could summon. ‘Goodbye,’ I said.

I turned away. Walked several steps. Wondered if he would be too scared to call my bluff; wondered if anyone would have the nerve to risk it.

‘Come back,’ he yelled. There was real fear in the rising voice. Real deadly fear.

Without any pity, I stopped and turned.

‘Come back …’

I went back. There was sweat in great drops on his forehead, running down. He was struggling frantically still with the knots, but also trembling too much to succeed.

‘I want to make guns,’ he said feverishly. ‘I’d make millions … I’d have power … The de Brescous are rich, the Nanterres never were … I want to be rich by world standards … to have power … I’ll give you a million pounds … more … if … you get Roland to sign … to make guns.’

‘No,’ I said flatly, and turned away again, showing him the starter.

‘All right, all right …’ He gave in completely, finally almost sobbing. ‘Put that thing down … put it down …’

I called up the mews, ‘Litsi.’

The other three stopped and came slowly back.

‘Mr Nanterre will sign,’ I said.

‘Put that thing down,’ Nanterre said again faintly, all the bullying megatones gone. ‘Put it down.’

I put the starter back in my pocket, which still frightened him.

‘It can’t go off by itself, can it?’ Litsi asked, not with nervousness, but out of caution.

I shook my head. ‘The switch needs firm pressure.’

I showed Nanterre the contracts more closely and saw the flicker of fury in his eyes when he saw the first page of each was the same sort of form he’d demanded that Roland should sign.

‘We need your signature four times,’ I said. ‘On each front page, and on each attached document. When you sign the attached documents, put your forefinger on the red seal beside your name. The three of us who are not in any way involved in the de Brescou et Nanterre business will sign under your name as witnesses.’

I put my pen into his shaking right hand and rested the first of the documents on top of my car.

Nanterre signed the French form. I turned to the last page of the longer contract and pointed to the space allotted to him. He signed again, and he put his finger on the seal.

With enormous internal relief, I produced the second set for a repeat performance. In silence, with sweat dripping off his cheeks, he signed appropriately again.

I put my name under his in all four places, followed each time by Thomas and Sammy.

‘That’s fine,’ I said, when all were completed. ‘Monsieur de Brescou’s lawyers will put the contracts into operation at once. One of these two contracts will be sent to you or your lawyers in France.’

I put the documents back into their envelope and handed it to Litsi, who put it inside his coat, hugging it to his chest.

‘Let me go,’ Nanterre said, almost whispering.

‘We’ll untie you from the mirror so that you can remove what you put in my car,’ I said. ‘After that, you can go.’

He shuddered, but it seemed not very difficult for him, in the end, to unfix the tampered-with wiring and remove what looked like, in size and shape, a bag of sugar. It was the detonator sticking out of it that he treated with delicate respect, unclipping and separating, and stowing the pieces away in several pockets. ‘Now let me go,’ he said, wiping sweat away from his face with the backs of his hands.

I said, ‘Remember we’ll always have the Bradbury messenger’s affidavit and the tape recording of your voice … and we all heard what you said. Stay away from the de Brescous, cause no more trouble.’

He gave me a sick, furious and defeated glare. Sammy didn’t try to undo his handywork but cut the nylon cord off Nanterre’s wrist with a pair of scissors.

‘Start the car,’ Litsi said, ‘to show him you weren’t fooling.’

‘Come away from it,’ I said.

We walked twenty paces up the mews, Nanterre among us, and I took out the starter and pressed the switch.

The engine fired safely, strong, smooth and powerful.

I looked directly at Nanterre, at the convinced droop of his mouth, at the unwilling acceptance that his campaign was lost. He gave us all a last comprehensive, unashamed, unrepentant stare, and with Thomas and Sammy stepping aside to let him pass, he walked away along the mews, that nose, that jaw, still strong, but the shoulders sagging.

We watched him in silence until he reached