1954 - Mission to Venice by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

impact, the blow would have maimed him. As it was, the force of the punch brought him forward in helpless agony, but instinctively, he twisted sideways, avoiding the thickset man’s left that whistled up towards his jaw.
    Gasping, Don threw a wild, short arm punch that caught the thickset man under the heart, making him grunt and step back. But the punch Don had taken had been too damaging. He felt his knees buckle. He took another punch in the body and he jackknifed forward, dimly aware that the girl had slipped past him and was running down the Calle.
    He groped forward, trying to keep his balance. The thickset man hit him a crushing punch on the side of his jaw. The punch didn’t travel more than three inches but its impact was devastating.
    A dazzling light exploded before Don’s eyes. He fell face forward on to the greasy paving stones of the Calle.
    A girl’s voice said anxiously, “He’s not dead, is he?”
    Don became aware that gentle hands were touching him and he moved, shaking his head.
    “No just knocked out,” a man said.
    Don opened his eyes. He could see a man bending over him: a man in evening dress.
    “Don’t move for a moment,” the man said. “You may have broken bones.”
    “I’m okay,” Don said. He sat up, touching his aching jaw. He could feel a slight swelling and he grimaced. “At least, I think I am.” There was a dull ache in his stomach and he was thankful his hard, well-developed muscles had stood up to that vicious punch. “Give me a hand up, will you?”
    He got stiffly to his feet, and for a moment, he leaned against the man in evening dress. He felt his strength flowing back and, making an effort, he stepped away.
    “I’m fine,” he said, his eyes looking up and down the Calle.
    Apart from the man in evening dress and the shadowy outline of a girl in a white dinner gown, the Calle was deserted. “Did you see anyone?”
    “No. We’ve lost our way and came down here hoping to get to the Rialto. We nearly fell over you,” the man said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “Yes, thanks,” Don said.
    He put his hand inside his coat. His wallet was missing. A cold, ferocious fury gripped him, but he didn’t show it. What had happened to Louisa Peccati? Had she got away? What a fool he had been! He had certainly asked for it. What a sucker to have fallen for that old ‘light for my cigarette’ gag.
    “Have you been robbed?” the man asked.
    “I guess I have.” Don was now taking more notice of the speaker. He had a slight guttural accent although his English was fluent enough. Don couldn’t see much of him in the dim light, but he could see he was tall, slightly built and he appeared young.
    “These damned Italians!” the man said angrily. “Let’s get out of here. I’m sure you could use a drink. We’re staying at the Gritti. This is my sister, Maria. I’m Carl Natzka. If you feel like taking us back to the hotel I’ll offer you a good brandy.”
    “Oh, Carl, he must be feeling terrible,” the girl said anxiously. “Don’t you think he should rest a little first?”
    “That’s okay,” Don said and he gave the girl a little bow. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all right now. I’ll show you where the hotel is, but please excuse me joining you. I’m in a mess and I’d rather go back to my own place. I’m Don Micklem.”
    “I thought I recognized you,” the girl said. “You have a palazzo somewhere, haven’t you?”
    Don attempted a grin.
    “It sounds grander than it is,” he said. He wanted to be rid of these two. All he could think of at the moment was Louisa Peccati. What had happened to her? “I’ll put you on your way.”
    He set off down the Calle, and in a few moments, brought them to the lighted shopping quarter.
    “You know your way now?” he said. “Straight ahead will bring you to the San Marco.” He was now able to see these two clearly, and he looked at them. They were a handsome couple: Carl Natzka had a strong,