‘Bene.’
The taxi turned into the Corso Buenos Aires, and I sat, watching the street lamps flash by, hugging to myself the thought that I had Sansevino alive and in my power. It was a mood of elation that took me back to my hotel and stayed with me when I reached my room. I was too tensed-up to think of sleep. I paced up and down, my imagination running ahead of time, picturing just how I would handle the situation.
Looking back on it now I think my mood must have been a very queer one. I was excited, fascinated and afraid, all at the same time. For over a year I had lived in daily fear and dread of what this man could do to me. I had thought him dead. And now I knew that he was alive. Unless I were stark, raving mad, the man I had met was Sansevino. It was a frightening thought.
But even whilst my nerves cringed the mood of elation in which I had returned to the hotel still remained with me and I kept on repeating to myself: Sansevino is alive. I’ve got him now. This time he is in my power.
What should I do? Go to the police? No, no. That would be too straightforward. Let him learn what it was like to be afraid. Yes. That was what Zina Valle had said — I think he is afraid of you. Afraid! That was the thought that filled my mind. Sansevino was afraid of me. And he’d go on being afraid. All the rest of his life he’d be afraid.
I laughed out loud at the thought. No, I wouldn’t go to the police. They might not believe me, anyway. I wouldn’t say anything. But I’d keep in touch with him. And from time to time I’d let him know that I was still alive, that I knew who he was. Let him sweat it out through the long nights as I had sweated it out in the heat of summer on Como. Let him know what it was not to sleep for fear — fear of the rope that I could put round his neck.
And then I thought of Tucek. God! Has he anything to do with Jan Tucek’s disappearance? I remember how Sismondi had been waiting for him that night. Was there some connection there? A man who could do what Sansevino had done — who had cold-bloodedly organised….
There was a sudden knock at the door.
I swung round, my breath caught, gazing at the plain painted panels. Was it a knock, or had I imagined it?
Then it came again. It was real enough. Suppose it were Sansevino? The palms of my hands pricked with sweat and I was trembling.