He hustled around to the front door. Earlier, he’d noticed a gun case in the ground-floor salon. He reentered the villa and heard the bear foraging upstairs. He found the case, which was locked. Eight rifles stood at attention inside. He grabbed a nearby chair and shattered the glass, removing one of the single-barreled shotguns. In a cabinet beneath he located shells. He slid five inside, then pumped the weapon, chambering a round, readying himself for the climb to the third floor. He didn’t want to kill the animal but would if necessary.
He climbed the stairs again to the third-floor landing.
The bear remained in the bedroom from which he’d escaped out to the ledge. Judging by the noise, the animal was continuing to wreak havoc on the décor. He approached the open door. The bear’s attention was elsewhere, which allowed him to scoot past to the other side, near the open window at the end of the hall. He was cornered, but it seemed the only way to herd the animal toward the stairway and down to the front door, which he’d left wide open.
A quick count to three and he stepped back into the doorway, firing a blast of the shotgun into the far wall. The bear jumped with a start, then roared in fright. Cotton fled back toward the open window in the hall, pumping another round into the chamber. The bear rushed from the bedroom, tossed a quick glance his way, then turned and loped down the third-floor hall in the opposite direction. To make sure the animal kept going, he fired again into the ceiling. Wood splinters and plaster dust showered down.
The bear disappeared onto the stairs.
He followed to the second-floor landing and watched as the animal rushed out the front door.
That worked.
But at a cost of noise that somebody might have noticed.
* * *
The knight heard two gun blasts.
The villa’s owner had told him that what he sought waited inside a small study on the third floor. He’d watched as Malone had worked his way off the ledge, found solid ground, then reentered the house. The two gunshots were surely Malone’s, so he had to assume his adversary was now armed.
At least the bear was gone.
The animal had fled the villa, running as fast as its bulk would allow into the trees beyond.
He was pleased. This might be the place.
Everything pointed in the right direction.
In his escape attempt Mussolini had taken many documents north with him, presumably those of the greatest importance, papers that could be used for political advantage. He’d been seeking refuge in a neutral country, one that had worked hard to stay out of the war. Hitler had wanted to invade Switzerland, but Mussolini had taken the credit for stopping him. Il Duce had been betting that Swiss authorities would be grateful enough to grant him political sanctuary. Historians all agreed that he probably brought with him written proof of his efforts to save the Swiss from the Germans. But apparently he’d also brought his legendary correspondence with Churchill, which had drawn the current interest of the British.
His hope?
Maybe, just maybe, there might also be something else within the villa owner’s cache. Something special. What he’d sought for a long time. The appearance of the ring had encouraged him. This could, indeed, be the right place.
Was it there?
Only one way to find out.
* * *
Cotton set the shotgun down and lifted one corner of the Turkish rug that covered the third-floor study. He examined the wooden floor planks, each pitted and weathered, and at first glance nothing seemed unusual.
Everything nailed in place.
He dropped to his knees and began to softly tap the surface, searching for the hiding place that he’d been told was there. Finally he detected a hollowness. He kept tapping, defining the outline of a square-shaped cavity. To get it open he’d brought along a hefty pocketknife he’d bought yesterday on his way north from the airport.
He opened the blade.
It took a few minutes but he managed to free a panel composed of fused planks. From the lack of dirt and grit in the joints it seemed that it had recently been removed, then replaced. Below the floor he discovered a small cavity that contained a tattered satchel, made of elephant skin, he’d been told, with a broken clasp bound by a sash cord.
He lifted it out.
Etched into the side was a perched eagle, wings extended, clutching a bundle of sticks with an ax.