Ripley's Game by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online

hasn’t told you the truth.’
    ‘And you know more than my doctor? My doctor doesn’t lie to me. It’s true I have a blood disease, but – I’m in no worse a state now —’ Jonathan broke off. ‘The essential thing is, I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr Wister.’
    As Wister bit on his underlip, the long scar moved in a distasteful way, like a live worm.
    Jonathan looked away from him. Was Dr Perrier lying after all? Jonathan thought he should ring up the Paris laboratory tomorrow morning and ask some questions, or simply go to Paris and demand another explanation.
    ‘Mr Trevanny, I’m sorry to say it’s you who aren’t informed, evidently. At least you’ve heard what you call the rumour, so Pm not the bearer of bad tidings. It’s a matter of your own free choice, but under the circumstances, a considerable sum like this, I would think, sounds rather pleasant. You could stop working and enjoy your — Well, for instance, you could take a cruise around the world with your family and still leave your wife …’
    Jonathan felt slightly faint, and stood up and took a deep breath. The sensation passed, but he preferred to be on his feet. Wister was talking, but Jonathan barely listened.
    ‘. .. my idea. There’re a few men in Hamburg who would contribute towards the ninety-six thousand dollars. The man or men we want out of the way are Mafia men.’
    Jonathan had only half recovered. Thanks, I am not a killer. You may as well get off the subject.’
    Wister went on. ‘But exactly what we want is someone not connected with any of us, or with Hamburg. Although the first man, only a button man, must be shot in Hamburg. The reason is, we want the police to think that two Mafia gangs are fighting each other in Hamburg. In fact, we want the police to step in on our side.’ He continued to walk up and down, looking at the floor mostly. ‘The first man ought to be shot in a crowd, a U-Bahn crowd. That’s our subway, underground you’d call it. The gun would be dropped at once, the – the assassin blends into the crowd and vanishes. An Italian gun, with no fingerprints on it. No clues.’ He brought his hands down like a conductor finishing.
    Jonathan moved back to the chair, in need of it for a few seconds. ‘Sorry. No.’ He would walk to the door, as soon as he got his strength back.
    ‘I’m here all tomorrow, and probably till late Sunday afternoon. I wish you’d think about it. – Another scotch? Might do you good.’
    ‘No, thanks.’ Jonathan hauled himself up. ‘I’ll be pushing off.’
    Wister nodded, looking disappointed.
    ‘And thanks for the drink.’
    ‘Don’t mention it.’ Wister opened the door for Jonathan.
    Jonathan went out. He had expected Wister to press a card with his name and address into his hand. Jonathan was glad he hadn’t.
    The street lights had come on in the Rue de France. 7.22 p.m. Had Simone asked him to buy anything? Bread, perhaps. Jonathan went into a boulangerie and bought a long stick. The familiar chore was comforting.
    The supper consisted of a vegetable soup, a couple of slices of leftover frontage de tête, a salad of tomatoes and onions. Simone talked about a wallpaper sale at a shop near where she worked. For a hundred francs, they could paper the bedroom, and she had seen a beautifiil mauve and green pattern, very light and art nouveau.
    ‘With only one window that bedroom’s very dark, you know, Jon.’
    ‘Sounds fine,’ Jonathan said. ‘Especially if it’s a sale.’
    ‘It is a sale. Not one of these silly sales where they reduce something five per cent – like my stingy boss.’ She wiped breadcrust in her salad oil and popped it into her mouth. ‘You’re worried about something? Something happened today?’
    Jonathan smiled suddenly. He wasn’t worried about anything. He was glad Simone hadn’t noticed he was a little late, and that he’d had a big drink. ‘No, darling. Nothing happened. The end of the week, maybe. Almost the end.’
    ‘You