The Keys of Hell Read Online Free PDF

prow sank into the waves. Noci sat up, head to one side as he listened. The only sound was the lapping of the water against her hull.
    It was some sixth sense, a product of his years of treachery and double dealing, of living on his wits, that warned him that something was wrong. He swung his legs to the floor, reached for the canvas grip, unzipped it and took out a pistol. He released the safety catch and padded across to the foot of the companionway. Above him, the door opened and shut, creaking slightly as the boat pitched in the swell.
    He went up quickly, one hand against the wall, paused, and raised his head cautiously. The deck seemed deserted, the drizzle falling in silver cobwebs through the navigation lights.
    He stepped out and, on his right, a match flared and a man moved out of the shadows, bending his head to light a cigarette. The flame revealed a handsome devil’s face, eyes like black holes above high cheekbones. He flicked the match away and stood there, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He wore a heavy fisherman’s sweater and his dark hair glistened with moisture.
    “Signor Noci?” he said calmly in fluent Italian.
    “Who the hell are you?” Noci demanded.
    “My name is Chavasse—Paul Chavasse.”
    It was a name Noci was completely familiar with. An involuntary gasp rose in his throat and he raised the pistol. A hand like iron clamped on his wrist, wrenching the weapon from his grasp, and Guilio Orsini said, “I think not.”
    Carlo moved out of the shadows to the left and stood waiting. Noci looked about him helplessly and Chavasse held out his hand.
    “I’ll have the envelope now.”
    Noci produced it reluctantly and handed it across, trying to stay calm as Chavasse examined the contents. They could be no more than half a mile from the shore, no distance to a man who had been swimming since childhood, and Noci was under no illusions as to what would happen if he stayed.
    Chavasse turned over the first sheet of paper and Noci ducked under Orsini’s arm and ran for the stern rail. He was aware of a sudden cry, an unfamiliar voice, obviously Carlo’s, and then he slipped on some fish scales and stumbled headlong into the draped nets.
    He tried to scramble to his feet, a foot tripped him and then the soft, clinging, stinking meshes seemed to wrap themselves around him. He was pulled forward onto his hands and knees and looked up through the mesh to see Chavasse peering down at him, the devil’s face calm and cold.
    Orsini and Carlo had a rope in their hands and, in that terrible moment, Noci realized what they intended to do and the scream rose in this throat.
    Orsini pulled hard on the rope and Noci lurched across the deck and cannoned into the low rail. A foot caught him hard against the small of the back and he went over into the cold water.
    As he surfaced, the net impeding every movement he tried to make, he was aware of Orsini running the end of the line around the rail, of Carlo leaning out of the wheelhouse window waiting. A hand went up, the Buona Esperanza surged forward.
    Noci went under with a cry, surfaced on a wave, choking for breath. He was aware only of Chavasse at the rail watching, face calm in the fog-shrouded light and then, as the boat increased speed, he went under for the last time.
    As he struggled violently, water forcing the air from his lungs, he was aware of no pain, no pain at all. He seemed to be floating on soft white sand beneath a blue sky and a beautiful suntanned girl waded from the sea to join him, and she was smiling.

FOUR
    C HAVASSE WAS TIRED AND HIS THROAT was raw from too many cigarettes. Smoke hung in layers from the low ceiling, spiraling in the heat from the single bulb above the green baize table, drifting into the shadows.
    There were half a dozen men sitting in on the game. Chavasse, Orsini, Carlo Arezzi, his deckhand, a couple of fishing boat captains and the sergeant of police. Orsini lit another of his foul-smelling Dutch cheroots and pushed a