Chapter 26 Chapter Twenty Six

Biarritz, on the southwestern coast of France, has largely lost its late-century, early-century charm.The Belvedere Casino, which was once famous at the time, has long been closed due to years of disrepair, and the Metropolis Casino on Mazageang Road is now on the verge of collapse, reduced to a few small shops and a dance school.The ancient villas on the hills are all in a listless and unlucky color, like the country gentlemen who have lost their power. But despite this, during the peak tourist season—from July to September every year—European celebrities and rich people still gather in Biarritz from all directions to try their luck, bask in the sun, relive old dreams, and get unlimited fun from it.Those who do not have their own manors or villas in the area stay at the luxurious Palace Hotel at 1 Queen Street.The hotel was once the summer palace of Napoleon III. It was built on a promontory jutting into the Atlantic Ocean. It may be one of the most beautiful environments that nature can provide: there is a lighthouse on one side of the hotel, and the lighthouse is surrounded by mountains. Huge rocks, they rise abruptly from the sea, like prehistoric monsters; on the other side of the hotel is a path paved with thick sleepers.

One afternoon in late August, the French baroness Marguerite de Chantilly walked into the living room of the Palace Hotel like a gust of wind.The baroness is a graceful and elegant young woman, with silky and shiny blond hair that is slightly smoky gray. She is wearing a green and white geschichi silk dress, which just sets off her slender figure. Women have to turn their heads when they see it When I went to look around, I was envious and jealous, but when the men saw it, they were all dumbfounded and at a loss. The baroness went straight to the desk. "Give me the key to the guest room, please," she said, with a pure and beautiful French accent.

"Yes, Baroness." The waiter handed Tracy the key and a few telephone message notes. As Tracy walked toward the elevator, a wrinkled, bespectacled man approached her.He jerked sideways, out of the way of the silk scarf display case he was about to bump into, and bumped into Tracy, dropping her wallet to the floor. "Oh, my God," he said, "I'm so sorry." He picked up his wallet and handed it to her. "I beg your pardon." He spoke with a Central European accent. Baroness Marguerite de Chantilly nodded haughtily to him, and left without saying a word.

A waiter greeted her into the elevator and took her up to the third floor.Tracy booked room 312 because she knew that the choice of hotel room was often as important as the choice of hotel.In Capri, it has to be room 522 of the Quasisana Hotel.In Mallorca, it must be the royal room of Shang Vida Hotel, overlooking the mountains and the bay in the distance.In New York, you should stay in Tower Suite 4717 of the Hemsley Palace Hotel, while in Amsterdam, Room 325 in the Emstel Hotel is the best choice, where the sound of the canal gently lapping on the bank can Accompany you to fall asleep early.

Room 312 of the Palace Hotel has a panoramic view of the sea and the city.Standing in front of any window, Tracy could enjoy the spectacular view of the waves hitting the rocks, the eternal reefs protruding from the sea like figures about to drown.Directly below her window is a large waist-shaped swimming pool. The bright blue water forms a strong contrast with the dark sea. There is a large platform beside the swimming pool.Colorful sun umbrellas shelter people from the scorching sun in summer.The walls in the room were covered with a blue and white silk jacquard veneer, with marble tiles running around the base, and the carpet and curtains were a pale rose color.Original wood doors and shutters have a soft sheen from age.

Tracy locked the door, took off the wig that was tightly wrapped around her head, and gently massaged her scalp.Dressing up as a baroness is one of her fortes.She had hundreds of titles to choose from from the Debright Noble History and the Gosser Almanac.These books record the family histories of princes and nobles in more than 20 countries, and each country lists dozens of ladies and duchesses. What is especially precious is that the family histories recorded in the books span hundreds of years. , providing detailed information about their parents, children, schools, real estate and home addresses.In fact, it is easy to say, as long as you pick a famous family, you can act as a distant cousin-especially a rich distant cousin.These days, people are most impressed by titles and banknotes.

Tracy smiled as she thought of the stranger who bumped into her in the hotel lobby.The play has begun. At eight o'clock that night, Baroness Marguerite de Chantilly was sitting in the bar of the hotel when the man she had collided with came towards her table. "I'm sorry," he muttered, "but I must apologize again for my unforgivable clumsiness this afternoon." Tracy gave him a reasonable smile. "It's nothing, just a coincidence." "You are very generous," he said hesitantly. "I'd feel better if you'd agree to let me buy you a drink."

"Well, if you will." He sat down awkwardly on the chair opposite. "Please allow me to introduce, I am Professor Adolf Zukerman." "Marguerite de Chantilly." Zuckerman greeted the head waiter. "What would you like to drink?" he asked Tracy. "Champagne. Maybe, though..." He waved his hands confidently. "I can afford it. In fact, in the not-too-distant future, I can afford even the most expensive things in the world." "Really?" Tracy smiled at him. "You can do it." "Yes." Zuckerman asked for a bottle of Bollinger, and turned to Tracy. "One of the most bizarre things happened to me. I shouldn't have talked about it with a stranger, but I was so excited that I couldn't help but want to talk about it." He moved closer and lowered his voice. "To tell you the truth, I was only a schoolteacher--or rather, I was, until not so long ago. I taught history. It's got its own fun, you know, but it's not very exciting."

She listened in silence, with polite interest. "I mean, until a few months ago, things started to get exciting." "Can you tell me what happened a few months ago, Professor Zuckerman?" "I did research on the Spanish fleet, looking for bits and pieces of amusing anecdotes in order to increase my students' interest in the subject. In the archives of the local museum, I found some material mixed in with other documents. The material described in detail A secret expedition launched by Prince Philip in 1588. One of the ships, laden with gold ingots, was said to have sunk in a storm and disappeared without leaving a trace."

Tracy looked at him thoughtfully. "It is said to have sunk?" "Exactly. But according to the navigation records, the captain and sailors deliberately sunk the ship in an uninhabited bay. They planned to try to salvage these treasures later, but they did not expect to be attacked by pirates before they returned. The whole ship was killed. These documents survive only because no one on the pirate ship can read. They have no idea what these documents mean." His voice trembled slightly with excitement. "Now," he lowered his voice again, and continued after looking around, "I have the documents in my hand, together with specific clues and methods on how to find these treasures, etc."

"You're very lucky to find out, Professor." There was admiration in her tone. "Those bullion bars are worth about fifty million dollars now," Zuckerman said. "I just need to fish them up now." "So what's holding you back?" He shrugged awkwardly. "Money. I must equip a boat to fish these treasures out of the water." "I see. How much will it cost?" "One hundred thousand dollars. To tell you the truth, I did a very stupid thing. I brought twenty thousand dollars--all my savings--to play in Biarrize's casino, hoping to win enough money. ..." His voice became softer and softer. "You've lost it all." He nodded.Tracy saw tears glistening behind the lenses of his glasses. When the champagne arrived, the head waiter uncorked the cork with a bang and poured the golden liquid into their glasses. "Good luck," Tracy said in French, toasting her glass. "thank you." They sipped champagne, lost in thought. "Forgive me for disturbing you," said Zuckerman, "but I shouldn't be telling a pretty lady about my troubles." "But I find your story fascinating," she reassured him. "You're sure the gold is still there, aren't you?" "Absolutely. I have the original shipping papers, and a map drawn by the captain himself. I know exactly where this treasure is." She looked at him carefully, with a thoughtful expression on her face: "Do you need a hundred thousand dollars?" Zuckerman smiled wryly. "Yes. For fifty million dollars worth of treasure." He took another sip of champagne. "It can be done..." She broke off. "what?" "Have you considered who to work with?" He looked at her in surprise. "Cooperation? No, I plan to do it alone. But now I have lost all my savings..." His voice was inaudible again. "Professor Zuckerman, what if I could give you this hundred thousand dollars?" He shook his head. "Absolutely not, baroness. I cannot agree. You may fail." "Aren't you sure the treasure is there?" "Oh, I'm sure of that. But you never know what can go wrong. There's no guarantee of that." "There are very few things in life that are guaranteed. Your question is so interesting. If I help you, it might be good for both of us." "No, if you lose your money, I will never forgive myself." "I can afford to lose that," she reassured him, "and I might win a fortune on my investment, can't I?" "Of course, that's the other side of the story," Zuckerman admitted.He sat there weighing it up, apparently unable to make up his mind, and finally he said: "If you really want to, you can partner on the condition of a half share." She smiled happily. "It's a deal. I agree." The professor hurriedly added: "Of course after deducting the cost." "No problem. When do we start?" "I'll do it right away." The professor suddenly became energetic. "I have found the boat I need. It is equipped with modern salvage equipment and has a crew of four. Of course, we have to give them a very small portion of what is salvaged." "certainly." "We should do it as soon as possible, otherwise the ship will not be available." "I can get the money together in five days." "Great!" Zuckerman exclaimed excitedly. "During this time, I can do all the preparations. It's a coincidence that we met, isn't it?" "is not it!" "I wish our adventure success." The professor raised his glass. Tracy also raised her glass to toast: "May it be as successful as I imagined." They clink glasses.Tracy glanced across the room and froze suddenly.At a table in the far corner sat Jeff Stevens, smiling at her.Sitting next to him was a beautiful woman covered in jewels. Jeff nodded to Tracy, and she smiled back, remembering the last time he had caught sight of him outside the Martini estate, with a big, silly dog ​​squatting beside him.That's for me, Tracy thought happily. "Well, excuse me," Zuckerman said, "I have a lot of work to do. I'll get back to you." Tracy held out her hand gracefully, and he kissed and left. "I saw your friends leave you, and I don't understand why, you're so beautiful in blonde." Tracy looked up to see Jeff standing at the table.He sat down in the chair that Adolph Zukerman had sat in a few minutes before. "Congratulations," said Jeff, "that's a good joke about Martini. Clean." "That's a rare thing to say from your mouth, Jeff." "You're costing me a lot, Tracy." "You'll get used to it." He grabbed the empty wine glass and fiddled with it in front of her. "What does Professor Zuckerman want?" "Huh? You know him?" "Even if we know each other." "He...uh...just wanted to have a drink together." "And tell you about his underwater treasures?" Tracy suddenly became cautious. "How did you know?" Jeff looked at him in surprise. "Don't be fooled. This is the biggest scam in the world." "Not this time." "You said you believed him?" Tracy said with a straight face: "I am not in a position to discuss this matter, but this professor happens to have some insider information." Jeff shook his head suspiciously. "Tracey, he's playing with you. How much does he want you to invest in his sea baby?" "Don't worry about it," Tracy said solemnly. "It's my money, my business." Jeff shrugged. "Yes, don't say that I, old Jeff, don't say hello first." "Perhaps you covet the gold yourself?" He spread his hands helplessly. "Why don't you always trust me?" "Too easy," Tracy replied, "I can't trust you. Who's the woman you're with?" She wished she could take the question back. "Susan? A friend." "Of course, she's rich." Jeff smiled reluctantly. "Honestly, she does have a little bit more. If you'd like to have lunch with me tomorrow, she has a two-hundred-fifty-foot yacht in the bay, and the chef can do it well..." "Thank you. I wouldn't dream of interrupting your lunch. What are you up to with her?" "It's a private matter." "I have no doubts." Her tone was involuntarily sharper. Tracy studied him carefully over the top of her glass.This kid is so damn cute.His facial features are well-defined and chiseled, with a pair of beautiful smoky gray eyes and long eyelashes, but he has the heart of a poisonous snake, a shrewd snake. "Have you considered a legitimate business?" Tracy asked. "Perhaps you will be very successful." Jeff was stunned for a moment, puzzled. "What? Give up everything? Are you kidding me!" "Have you always been a liar?" "Liar? I'm an adventurer," he said reproachfully. "How did you become a—an adventurer?" "I ran away from home when I was fourteen and joined a touring troupe." "Fourteen?" Tracy noticed for the first time that beneath that cynical, suave surface, something else gleamed. "It was great for me—I learned how to respond. When the Vietnam War started, I went to Special Forces and got a fantastic refresher opportunity. I think the most important thing I learned was that war is Biggest scam. You and I are amateurs compared to this." He changed the subject abruptly. "Do you like playing pelota?" "If you want to sell me, no, thank you." "It's a game, a variation of pelota. I got two tickets for this evening, and Susan isn't going. Do you want to go?" Tracy didn't expect to agree to it. They came to a small restaurant in the downtown square for dinner and ordered locally brewed wine and home-cooked duck with original juice, as well as baked potatoes and mashed garlic. The taste was very good. "The house's signature dish," Jeff told Tracy. They talked about politics, books, and travels, and Tracy was amazed at how knowledgeable Jeff was. "When you're fourteen years old and earning your own living," Jeff told Tracy, "you learn things really fast. First, you see your own motives, and then you see the motives of other people. Deception is like judo. In judo When fighting, you use your opponent's strength to win. When cheating, you mobilize his greed. You only need to take the first step, and he will do the rest for you." Tracy laughed, wondering if Jeff realized how much alike they were.She was very happy with him, but she was sure that, given the chance, he would not hesitate to betray her.This man has to be handled with care, and she will. The pelota field is a large outdoor arena, the size of a football field, located on the hill of Biarriz.Tall green-painted concrete baffles are erected at both ends of the court, and the game is played between the baffles.There are four layers of stone benches on each side of the court.In the evening, mercury lamps illuminate the stadium.By the time Tracy and Jeff arrived, the stands were packed with fans, almost no seats were left, and the two teams had already started the game. Players from each team take turns to hit the ball against the concrete baffle, and when the ball bounces back, catch the ball with the basket in their hands.The players' arms were tied with long, flat baskets.Pelota is a fast and dangerous game. When a player misses the ball, there is booing from the crowd. "They're pretty serious about it," Tracy remarked. "Big stakes are wagered on these games. The Basques are a gambler's people." The audience squeezed in at every turn, and the stone bench seats were getting more and more crowded, and Tracy found that she was squeezed against Jeff's body.He also seemed to be aware of Tatsu, but nothing happened. Minute by minute, the rhythm and intensity of the game intensified every moment, and the boos of the fans echoed in the night sky. "That looks dangerous, doesn't it?" Tracy asked. "Baroness, that ball flies through the air at a speed of about a hundred miles per hour. If the ball hits your forehead, it's over. Fortunately, the players rarely make mistakes." He subconsciously patted her hand, eyes Still watching the game. The players are all good, their movements are graceful and stretched, and their landing control is accurate.But at halftime, a player throws the ball over the backboard and suddenly misses it. The deadly ball unfortunately flies straight towards Tracy and Jeff's bench.The audience lay down and hid in disorder.Jeff grabbed Tracy and pushed her to the ground, throwing himself on top of her.The ball whizzes over their heads and thumps against the wall on the side of the court.Tracy lay on the ground and felt Jeff's hard body.Their faces were very close together. He hugged her tightly.After a while, he also stood up and pulled her up again.Both of them suddenly felt a little embarrassed. "I—I think this level of excitement for the night is enough," Tracy said. "I want to go back to the hotel." They exchanged good nights in the hotel living room. "I had a great time tonight," Tracy told Jeff.She is telling the truth. "Tracey, don't you really want to participate in Professor Zuckerman's ghostly plan to find treasure under the sea?" "No, I'm real." He looked at her for a while before saying, "Do you still think I'm thinking about those gold ingots?" She stared into his eyes. "Aren't you?" He restrained his facial expression. "good luck." "Good night, Jeff." Tracy watched him turn and walk out of the hotel.She guessed he must have gone to see Susan.poor woman. The waiter at the desk said: "Ah, good night, Baroness, here is a note for you." The note was left by Professor Zuckerman. Adolf Zukerman has a problem, a big one.He was sitting in Armand Grangill's office.Zuckerman wet his pants when he heard what was happening.Grangier is the owner of an underground casino located in a luxurious private villa at 123 Fria Road.It didn't matter to him whether the Cosmopolitan closed or not, because the playground on Fria Street was always packed.Unlike government-supervised casinos, there are no caps on bets, so high-spin gamblers flock here to play roulette, railroad poker and craps.Grangill's clientele included Arab princes, British aristocrats, Oriental businessmen, and African heads of state.Young girls with minimal clothes shuttled around the casino, serving champagne and whiskey to cheer up the gamblers.Armand Grangier knew a long time ago that the richer people are, the more they like to do business without capital, and making money without spending money is called ability.Free drinks and drinks, Grangier can afford it.His roulette and poker games were rigged. There were many beautiful young women in the playground, usually accompanied by older, rich men, but sooner or later these women were attracted to Grangier.He was one size smaller than the average man, with regular features, a pair of watery brown eyes and two soft, sensual lips.He was only five feet four inches tall, yet his looks combined with his small stature drew women to him like a magnet.Grangier made a phony compliment about every woman. "I think you are irresistible, dear, and yet, very unfortunate for both of us, I am madly in love with someone." That's exactly what happened.Of course, the so-called someone is different every week, because in Biarrize, young and beautiful women will come in a steady stream, and Armand Grangier let them share the limited time he has. Grangier's connections to the underworld and the police were enough to enable him to keep the casino afloat.He began by delivering fines to violators, then he did drug trafficking, and finally became the overlord of his small territory in Biarritz; his opponents knew that this little man was cruel, but he found This is often too late. At this moment, Armand Grangill was questioning Adolph Zukerman. "Go on, who is that baroness?" Zukerman already knew from his fierce tone that something had happened, something very bad. He swallowed and said, "Well—she's a widow, and her husband left her a lot of money, and she said she could get a hundred thousand dollars." After speaking, he seemed to have confidence in himself again. "Once we got the money, of course, we told her the salvage boat was out of order, and we needed another fifty thousand dollars, and then, another hundred thousand, um--as you know--as usual." Noticing a look of disdain on Armand Grangier's face, he said, "What's--what's the matter, sir?" "Just now..." Grangier said coldly, "I received a call from someone in Paris who said he forged a passport for your baroness. Her real name is Tracy Whitt Ni, an American." Suddenly, Zuckerman felt parched.He licks his lips. "She seems really--interested, sir." "Nonsense! You know shit! She's a liar. You're trying to lure a liar into a trap?" "But why—why did she agree? Why didn't she refuse?" There was a chill in Armand Grangill's voice. "I don't know, Professor, but I'm going to find out. Once I find out, I want the woman to go swimming in the bay. No one is going to make fun of me, Armand Grangier. There. , pick up the phone, and tell her that a friend of yours has agreed to pay half of the money, and I'm going to see her. Can this be done?" Zuckerman said hastily, "Of course, boss. Don't worry." "I must worry," said Armand Grangill slowly, "I worry about you, Professor." Armand Grangill hated convoluted mysteries.The scam of treasure under the sea has been going on for hundreds of years, and those who are deceived must first be credulous.It was a riddle that had long puzzled Grangier, and he must solve it; and when he had the answer, he put the woman in the hands of Bruno Vincent.Vincent loves to play with his prey before disposing of them. Armand Grangier's limousine stopped in front of the Palace Hotel. He stepped out of the car, entered the living room, and walked towards Jules Baijiheck.Baiji Hek, a white-haired Basque, has worked in the restaurant since he was thirty. "What is the room number of Baroness Marguerite de Chantilly?" It was a strict rule that the concierge was not to give out the guest's room number, but the rule didn't exist for Armand Grangier. "Room 312, Mr. Grangier." "thanks." "There's still number 311." Grangier was taken aback. "what?" "The Baroness asked for the room next to hers." "Oh? Who lives there?" "no one." "No one? Are you sure?" "Yes, sir. She is locked all the time. Maids are not allowed in either." Grangier frowned, looking puzzled. "Do you have a spare key?" "Of course." The waiter took out a spare key from under the cabinet without hesitation, and handed it to Armand Grangier.Jules watched him walk to the elevator, a man Grangier never had anyone to argue with. Armand Grangier came to the Baroness's guest room, but found the door ajar.He opened the door and entered, but the living room was empty. "Hi, is anyone there?" A woman's sweet voice came from another room: "I'm taking a shower and I'll be out soon. Please pour yourself some drinks." Grangier paced the room, furnished so familiarly that he had arranged for his friends to stay in this hotel time and time again over the years.He walked into the bedroom and saw some expensive jewelry carelessly spread out on the dressing table. "I'll be fine soon." Another voice came from the bathroom. "No hurry, Baroness." Fucking baroness!he thought angrily.Whatever trick you play, my dear, it's bound to backfire in the end.He walked to the door of the next room.The door is locked.Grangier took out the spare key and opened the door.There was an uninhabited smell in the house.The concierge said that no one lives here.What does she want to do?Grangier suddenly noticed something strange.A thick black wire that was attached to a wall plug and trailed on the floor leading into a closet was missing.The closet door was ajar just enough to let the wires in.Gringuillon, wanting to see what was going on, went to the closet and opened the door.There was a wire running across the cabinet, and a row of wet hundred-dollar bills was hanging on it.A small square table with a typewriter was covered with something covered with a curtain.Grangier opened it and saw it was a small printing press with a wet hundred-dollar bill remaining on the cylinder of the printing press.Next to the printing press was a stack of blank paper the size of a dollar bill and a paper cutter.A few crooked hundred-yuan bills were scattered on the ground. An angry voice suddenly sounded behind Grangier: "What are you doing here?" He turned sharply.Tracy Whitney stood in the room at some point, her hair wet and wrapped in a towel. Grangier said mildly, "Counterfeit! You want to pay us with counterfeit money." He noticed the change in her face.Denial, anger, and finally contempt for everything. "Right," Tracy admitted. "But it's all right. Nobody can tell the truth from the fake." "A deception!" It would be a great relief to smash the deception. "These banknotes are worth every penny." "Really?" said Grangier in a scornful tone.He pulled out a wet bill and glanced at it.Front, back, he carefully looked and looked.Exactly. "Who carved the bottom model?" "Does it make a difference? Well, I'll have a hundred thousand dollars by Friday." Grangier looked at her blankly, and laughed when he understood what she meant. "My God," he said, "you're a fool. There's no such thing as treasure." Tracy didn't understand. "What did you say? No treasure? Professor Zuckerman told me..." "You believe him? I'm sorry, Baroness." He examined the banknotes in his hand again. "I'm taking this with me." Tracy shrugged. "Take as much as you want. It's just blank paper." Grangier grabbed a handful of wet hundred-dollar bills. "How do you know the maid won't come here?" he asked. "I give them a lot of money to keep them from coming. I always lock the closet door when I go out." She is calm, Armand Grangill thought.However, this did not save her life. "Don't leave the hotel," he ordered, "I have a friend I want you to meet." Armand Grangier had wanted to hand this woman over to Bruno Vincent at once, but some instinct kept him from doing so for the time being.He picked up another bill and examined it.He has encountered many cases of counterfeit banknotes, but none of them have been so realistic.The man who carved the stencil was a genius.This paper feels the same as the real thing, and the printing lines are clear.The layers of color on the note are unmistakable, and despite the water, the face of Benjamin Franklin remains intact.The bitch was right.It is really not easy to tell the difference between the ticket in his hand and the real one.Grangier really wanted to see if the banknote was really worth it.What a tempting thought. He decided not to use Bruno Van Sant for the time being. Early the next morning, Armand Grangier sent for Zuckerman and handed him one of these hundred-dollar bills. "You go to the bank and change this money into francs." "Okay, boss." Grangier watched him stagger out of the office.It was Zuckerman's punishment for being stupid.If he was caught, he would never tell the origin of the counterfeit money as long as he wanted to live.And if he managed to slip through... I'll see, Grangier thought. Fifteen minutes later, Zuckerman returned to his office.He pointed out the equivalent of one hundred dollars in francs. "What else is there, boss?" Grangier stared at Franc in front of him. "Have you run into any trouble?" "Trouble? No. Why?" "You go to this bank again for me," Grangier ordered, "I let you put it this way..." Adolphe Zuckermann entered the lobby of the Bank of France and went straight to the bank manager's desk.This time, Zuckerman was aware of the danger, but Grangier's tantrum would be even more terrifying. "Need my help?" the manager asked. "Yes." He tried to restrain his nervousness. "It's like this. Last night, I played poker with some Americans I met in the bar." He hesitated to speak. The bank manager nodded knowingly. "You lost money, maybe, you want to apply for a loan?" "No," Zuckerman said. "On the contrary, I won. The problem is, these people don't look very honest." He pulled out two hundred dollar bills. "They're paying me for these, and I'm scared of them—they might be fake." The bank manager's body leaned forward, stretched out a chubby hand, and took the banknotes. Zuckerman held his breath nervously.The manager looked at the banknotes over and over for a long time, and then examined them carefully against the light. He looked at Zuckerman and smiled. "You are lucky, sir, that these notes are real." Zukerman breathed a sigh of relief.Thank God!All is well. "No problem, boss. He says they're real." It's unbelievable.Armand Grangier sat there thinking, the prototype of a plan formed in his mind. "Go and fetch the baroness." In Grangier's office, Tracy sat across from him with a large desk between them. "You and I can work very well together," Grangier informed her. Tracy stood up abruptly. "I don't need to cooperate, and..." "sit down." She glanced Grangier's eyes once, and sat down again. "Biariz is my domain. As soon as you use a note like that, you're caught and you don't know it. Do you understand? In our prisons, beautiful women meet Lots of shitty stuff. You can't get anywhere without me here." She looked him over carefully. "So what I bought from you was your protection?" "Wrong. What you bought from me was your life." Tracy believed it. "Well, tell me, where did you get the printing press?" Tracy hesitated for a moment.Her fidgeting pleased Grangier, and he waited for her to surrender. She stammered, "I bought it from an American who lived in Switzerland. He worked twenty-five years as a die cutter at the U.S. Mint. He retired and never received his pension due to some technical problem." Gold. He felt cheated and determined to get it back, so he took out a few dies of the hundred-dollar bills, which were thought to have been destroyed. He also used his connections to get the Ministry of the Treasury to print them. The paper of banknotes." So it was, Grangier was ecstatic.No wonder these banknotes look the way they do.He was getting more and more excited. "How much money can this printing press produce per day?" "A bill is printed every hour. It takes a lot of work to print both sides, and..." He interrupted her. "Is there a bigger printing press?" "Yes, he has one that prints fifty pages in eight hours--five thousand dollars a day--but he won't sell it for half a million dollars." "Buy it," Grangier said. "I don't have half a million dollars." "I have. When's the earliest I can get the printing press?" She had no choice but to say reluctantly: "I think I can do it now, but I don't..." Grangier picked up the phone. “路易，我需要价值五十万美元的法郎，从我的保险柜中取，其余从银行提取。送到我的办公室。快！” 特蕾西局促不安地站起。“我最好得走了……” “你哪儿也不许去。” “我真的应该……” “你给我坐在那儿，不许出声。我正在考虑问题。” 一些与他有来往的人很可能会插手这项交易，但是，只要他们不知道就不会有妨碍，格兰吉尔拿定了主意。他将为自己买下这套大型印刷机，然后用印出来的钞票去填补他从赌场的账号上支取的借款。下一步他将让布鲁诺·梵桑特去处置这女人。她说她不喜欢与别人合作。 这样正好，阿芒德·格兰吉尔也不喜欢合作。 两小时以后，所需的现款到了，装在一个大口袋里。格兰吉尔对特蕾西说：“你去皇宫大饭店把账结了。我在这山有一幢房子，非常僻静。你就住在那里，直到我们的事办完。”他把电话机朝她面前一推。“马上给你在瑞士的朋友挂电话，告诉他你要买那台大印刷机。” “他的电话号码在我旅馆里，我上那儿去打电话。把你家的地址给我，我叫他把印刷机直接运到那里，再……” “不行！”格兰吉尔打断她的话。“我不想留下任何蛛丝马迹。我将直接去机场提取。今晚晚餐时我们再商量。八点钟和你碰面。” 这是一道逐客令。特蕾西站起身来。 格兰吉尔朝钱口袋点点头。“钱要当心。我不希望它发生任何事情——还有你。” “不会出事的。”特蕾西向他担保。 他懒懒地一笑。“我知道。祖克曼教授将陪你一起回饭店。” 两人默默地乘坐豪华轿车驶回旅馆，各自想着自己的心事，钱口袋搁在他俩当中。祖克曼对所发生的一切还不甚了解，但他能够感觉到有什么好事在等着他。这女人是个关键。格兰吉尔命令他好生看管她，祖克曼会这么去做的。 这天晚上，阿芒德·格兰吉尔的心情特别好。现在，那台大型印刷机的事情已经安排妥当。这个叫惠特尼的女人说，它一天可以印五千美元，但格兰吉尔有更大的计划：他要让印刷机一天二十四小时连续转。这样每天就是一万五千美元，一个星期十万多，十个星期就是一百万美元。而这仅仅是开始。今晚，他要去了解一下那刻模工究竟是什么人，然后和他做一笔交易，多弄上几台机器，这一下，他发的财可就没底了。 八点整，格兰吉尔的豪华轿车驶入皇宫大饭店门前的弯道。格兰吉尔从车内走出。步入门厅时他满意地注意到，祖克曼正坐在入口附近，警惕地看着大门。 格兰吉尔来到服务台。“儒勒，告诉钱蒂丽男爵夫人我来了。让她到门厅来。” 侍者抬起头，说道：“格兰吉尔先生，男爵夫人已经结账离去。” “你搞错了吧，打电话叫她。” 儒勒·拜古海克为难了。顶撞阿芒德·格兰吉尔是不行的。“我替她结的账。” impossible. "when?" “她回饭店以后不久。她叫我把账单送到她房间去，她可以付现款……” 阿芒德·格兰吉尔的脑子在飞快地盘算。“付现款？付的法郎？” “正是这样，先生。” 格兰吉尔狂吼道：“她从房间里拿走什么东西没有？行李或者盒子？” “没有。她说以后会叫人来取。” 这么说，她是带了钱去瑞士做那笔印刷机的交易了。 “领我去她的房间。快！” “是，格兰吉尔先生。” 儒勒·拜吉海克从钥匙架上抄起一把钥匙，与格兰吉尔一起向电梯口跑去。 格兰吉尔走过祖克曼身边时，低声问道：“你还坐在那儿干什么，白痴？她跑了。” 祖克曼困惑不解地抬头看着他。“她不可能跑掉。她根本没到大厅来过。我一直盯着呢。” “盯着呢，”格兰吉尔摹仿着他的腔调，“你见到一个女佣人——头发花白的老太婆——一个打扫卫生的，从边门出去吗？” 祖克曼不解其意。“我看那干什么？” “滚回赌场去，”格兰吉尔打断他，“等一会儿再跟你算账。” 房间里仍然同格兰吉尔上次看到的一模一样。连接隔壁房间的门开着。格兰吉尔走进房间，直奔壁橱，砰地把门打开。印刷机还放在原处，谢天谢地！惠特尼在匆忙之中没有能把它带走。这是她的一个错误。但这还不是她唯一的错误，格兰吉尔想。她骗走他五十万美元，总有一天要报这个仇。他要叫警察帮忙找到她，把她关进监狱，他手下的人会要她好看的。 他们会让她说出那个刻模工究竟是谁，然后把她永远关押起来。 阿芒德·格兰吉尔拨了警察局的电话号码，要找杜蒙警长说话。接通后，他气急败坏地啰嗦了三分钟，最后说：“我在这里等着。” 十五分钟以后，他的老朋友杜蒙警长到了。陪同一起来的是一个阴阳怪气、丑陋不堪的男人。他的额头仿佛要从他脸迸出，那一对棕褐色的眼睛藏在那瓶底似的眼镜片背后，射出一种精神失常的人所特有的有凶光。 “这位是丹尼尔·库珀先生，”杜蒙警长说，“格兰吉尔先生，库珀先生对您电话中所说的那女人也颇感兴趣。” 库珀开了腔：“您向杜蒙警长提到，她参与了一项制造假币的活动。” “正是这样，她现在正在去瑞士途中。你们可以在边境抓到她。我这里掌握了你们所需要的一切证据。” 他领他们来到壁橱，丹尼尔·库珀和杜蒙警长朝里张望。 “这是她用来印制钞票的印刷机。” 丹尼尔·库珀走到机器旁，仔细察看。“她用这台机器印钞票？” “我刚才不是说了嘛。”格兰吉尔不耐烦地说。他从衣袋中掏出一张纸币。“瞧这个，这是她给我的一张一百美元假币。” 库珀走到窗前，将钞票对准亮光。“这是一张真币。” “它只是看上去像真的。因为她从费城造币厂的一个退休刻模工那里买到了厂里的底模，她用这些底模在这架机器上印钞票。” 库珀不客气地说：“您太蠢了。这是一台普通印刷机。您只能用来印信笺头。” “信笺头？”整个房间开始上下摇晃起来。 “您真的相信一台机器能把纸张变成百元大钞的童话？” “我亲眼看见的……”格兰吉尔说不下去了。他看见什么了？一些湿漉漉的面值一百美元的票子晾在一根电线上，一些空白的纸张，一架切纸机。这场骗局有多大，他开始渐渐明白了。根本就没有什么假币印制，也根本不存在那等在瑞士的刻模工。特蕾西从来没有进所谓海底沉宝的圈套。 这婊子将计就计，坑了他五十万美元。如果这个消息传出去…… 身边两个人正注视着他。 “您是否还想作进一步的控告，阿芒德？”杜蒙警长问。 他凭什么控告？他能说什么？说他想资助伪造钱币而上当受骗？那些与他有交往的人一旦听说他偷了他们的五十万美元送人，他们会拿他怎么办呢？他顿时不寒而栗。 “不。我——不再控告了。”他惊惶失措地说。 非洲，阿芒德·格兰吉尔想。到了非洲，他们就永远也找不到我了。 丹尼尔·库珀思索着。下一次，我下一次一定要逮住她。