If Tommorrow Comes Part 38

Armand Grangier had intended to turn the woman over to Bruno Vicente immediately, but some instinct held him back. He examined one of the bills again. He had handled a lot of counterfeit money, but nothing nearly as good as this. Whoever cut the dies was a genius. The paper felt authentic, and the lines were crisp and clean. The colors remained sharp and fixed, even with the bill wet, and the picture of Benjamin Franklin was perfect. The b.i.t.c.h was right. It was hard to tell the difference between what he held in his hand and the real thing. Grangier wondered whether it would be possible to pa.s.s it off as genuine currency. It was a tempting idea.

He decided to hold off on Bruno Vicente for a while.

Early the following morning Armand Grangier sent for Zuckerman and handed him one of the hundred-dollar bills. "Go down to the bank and exchange this for francs."

"Sure, chief."

Grangier watched him hurry out of the office. This was Zuckerrpan's punishment for his stupidity. If he was arrested, he would never tell where he got the counterfeit bill, not if he wanted to live. But if he managed to pa.s.s the bill successfully... I'll see, Grangier thought.

Fifteen minutes later Zuckerman returned to the office. He counted out a hundred dollars' worth of French francs. "Anything else, chief?"

Grangier stared at the francs. "Did you have any trouble?"

"Trouble? No. Why?"

"I want you to go back to the same bank," Grangier ordered. "This is what I want you to say...."

Adolf Zuckerman walked into the lobby of the Banque de France and approached the desk where the bank manager sat. This time Zuckerman was aware of the danger he was in, but he preferred facing that than Grangier's wrath.

"May I help you?" the manager asked.

"Yes." He tried to conceal his nervousness. "You see, I got into a poker game last night with some Americans I met at a bar." He stopped.

The bank manager nodded wisely. "And you lost your money and perhaps wish to make a loan?"

"No," Zuckerman said. "As--- as a matter of fact, I won. The only thing is, the men didn't look quite honest to me." He pulled out two $100 bills. "They paid me with these, and I'm afraid they--- they might be counterfeit."

Zuckerman held his breath as the bank manager leaned forward and took the bills in his pudgy hands. He examined them carefully, first one side and then the other, then held them up to the light.

He looked at Zuckerman and smiled. "You were lucky, monsieur. These bills are genuine."

Zuckerman allowed himself to exhale. Thank G.o.d! Everything was going to be all right.

"No problem at all, chief. He said they were genuine."

It was almost too good to be true. Armand Grangier sat there thinking, a plan already half-formed in his mind.

"Go get the baroness."

Tracy was seated in Armand Grangier's office, facing him across his Empire desk.

"You and I are going to be partners," Grangier informed her.

Tracy started to rise. "I don't need a partner and---"

"Sit down."

She looked into Grangier's eyes and sat down.

"Biarritz is my town. You try to pa.s.s a single one of those bills and you'll get arrested so fast you won't know what hit you. Comprenez-vous? Bad things happen to pretty ladies in our jails. You can't make a move here without me."

She studied him. "So what I'm buying from you is protection?"

"Wrong. What you're buying from me is your life."

Tracy believed him.

"Now, tell me where you got your printing press."

Tracy hesitated, and Grangier enjoyed her squirming. He watched her surrender.

She said reluctantly, "I bought it from an American living in Switzerland. He was an engraver with the U.S. Mint for twenty-five years, and when they retired him there was some technical problem about his pension and he never received it. He felt cheated and decided to get even, so he smuggled out some hundred-dollar plates that were supposed to have been destroyed and used his contacts to get the paper that the Treasury Department prints its money on."

That explains it, Grangier thought triumphantly. That is why the bills look so good. His excitement grew. "How much money can that press turn out in a day?"

"Only one bill an hour. Each side of the paper has to be processed and---"

He interrupted. "Isn't there a larger press?"

"Yes, he has one that will turn out fifty bills every eight hours--- five thousand dollars a day--- but he wants half a million dollars for it."

"Buy it," Grangier said.

"I don't have five hundred thousand dollars."

"I do. How soon can you get hold of the press?"

She said reluctantly, "Now, I suppose, but I don't---"

Grangier picked up the telephone and spoke into it. "Louis, I want five hundred thousand dollars' worth of French francs. Take what we have from the safe and get the rest from the banks. Bring it to my office. Vite!"

Tracy stood up nervously. "I'd better go and---"

"You're not going anywhere."

"I really should---"

"Just sit there and keep quiet. I'm thinking."

He had business a.s.sociates who would expect to be cut in on this deal, but what they don't know won't hurt them, Grangier decided. He would buy the large press for himself and replace what he borrowed from the casino's bank account with money he would print. After that, he would tell Bruno Vicente to handle the woman. She did not like partners.

Well, neither did Armand Grangier.

Two hours later the money arrived in a large sack. Grangier said to Tracy, "You're checking out of the Palais. I have a house up in the hills that's very private. You will stay there until we set up the operation." He pushed the phone toward her. "Now, call your friend in Switzerland and tell him you're buying the big press."

"I have his phone number at the hotel. I'll call from there. Give me the address of your house, and I'll tell him to s.h.i.+p the press there and---"

"Non!" Grangier snapped. "I don't want to leave a trail. I'll have it picked up at the airport. We will talk about it at dinner tonight. I'll see you at eight o'clock."

It was a dismissal. Tracy rose to her feet.

Grangier nodded toward the sack. "Be careful with the money. I wouldn't want anything to happen to it--- or to you."

"Nothing will," Tracy a.s.sured him.

He smiled lazily. "I know. Professor Zuckerman is going to escort you to your hotel."

The two of them rode in the limousine in silence, the money bag between them, each busy with his own thoughts. Zuckerman was not exactly sure what was happening, but he sensed it was going to be very good for him. The woman was the key. Grangier had ordered him to keep an eye on her, and Zuckerman intended to do that.

Armand Grangier was in a euphoric mood that evening. By now, the large printing press would have been arranged for. The Whitney woman had said it would print $5,000 a day, but Grangier had a better plan. He intended to work the press on twenty-four hour s.h.i.+fts. That would bring it to $15,000 a day, more than $100,000 a week, $1 million every ten weeks. And that was just the beginning. Tonight he would learn who the engraver was and make a deal with him for more machines. There was no limit to the fortune it would make him.

At precisely 8:00, Grangier's limousine pulled into the sweeping curve of the driveway of the Hotel du Palais, and Grangier stepped out of the car. As he walked into the lobby, he noticed with satisfaction that Zuckerman was seated near the entrance, keeping a watchful eye on the doors.

Grangier walked over to the desk. "Jules, tell the Baroness de Chantilly I am here. Have her come down to the lobby."

The concierge looked up and said, "But the baroness has checked out, Monsieur Grangier."

"You're mistaken. Call her."

Jules Bergerac was distressed. It was unhealthy to contradict Armand Grangier. "I checked her out myself."

Impossible. "When?"

"Shortly after she returned to the hotel. She asked me to bring her bill to her suite so she could settle it in cash--"

Armand Grangier's mind was racing. "In cash? French francs?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, monsieur."

Grangier asked frantically, "Did she take anything out of her suite? Any baggage or boxes?"

"No. She said she would send for her luggage later."

So she had taken his money and gone to Switzerland to make her own deal for the large printing press.

"Take me to her suite. Quickly!"

"Oui, Monsieur Grangier."

Jules Bergerac grabbed a key from a rack and raced with Armand Grangier toward the elevator.

As Grangier pa.s.sed Zuckerman, he hissed, "Why are you sitting there, you idiot? She's gone."

Zuckerman looked up at him uncomprehendingly. "She can't be gone. She hasn't come down to the lobby. I've been watching for her."

"Watching for her," Grangier mimicked. "Have you been watching for a nurse--- a gray-haired old lady--- a maid going out service door?"

Zuckerman was bewildered. "Why would I do that?"

"Get back to the casino," Grangier snapped. "I'll deal with later."

The suite looked exactly the same as when Grangier had seen it last. The connecting door to the adjoining room was open. Grangier stepped in and hurried over to the closet and yanked open the door. The printing press was still there, thank G.o.d! The Whitney woman had left in too big a hurry to take it with her. That was her mistake. And it is not her only mistake, Grangier thought. She had cheated him out of $500,000, and he was going to pay her back with a vengeance. He would let the police help him find her and put her in jail, where his men could get at her. They would make her tell who the engraver was and then shut her up for good.

Armand Grangier dialed the number of police headquarters and asked to talk to Inspector Dumont. He spoke earnestly into the phone for three minutes and then said, "I'll wait here."

Fifteen minutes later his friend the inspector arrived, accompanied by a man with an epicene figure and one of the most unattractive faces Grangier had ever seen. His forehead looked ready to burst out of his face, and his brown eyes, almost hidden behind thick spectacles, had the piercing look of a fanatic.

"This is Monsieur Daniel Cooper," Inspector Dumont said. "Monsieur Grangier. Mr. Cooper is also interested in the woman you telephoned me about."

Cooper spoke up. "You mentioned to Inspector Dumont that she's involved in a counterfeiting operation."

"Vraiment. She is on her way to Switzerland at this moment. You can pick her up at the border. I have all the evidence you need right here."

He led them to the closet, and Daniel Cooper and Jnspector Dumont looked inside.

"There is the press she printed her money on."

Daniel Cooper walked over to the machine and examined it carefully. "She printed the money on this press?"

"I just told you so," Grangier snapped. He took a bill from his pocket. "Look at this. It is one of the counterfeit hundred-dollar bills she gave me."

Cooper walked over to the window and held the bill up to the light. "This is a genuine bill."

"It only looks like one. That is because she used stolen plates she bought from an engraver who once worked at the Mint in Philadelphia. She printed these bills on this press."

Cooper said rudely "You're stupid. This is an ordinary printing press. The only thing you could print on this is letterheads."

"Letterheads?" The room was beginning to spin.

"You actually believed in the fable of a machine that turns paper into genuine hundred-dollar bills?"

"I tell you I saw with my own eyes---" Grangier stopped. What had he seen? Some wet hundred-dollar bills strung up to dry, some blank paper, and a paper cutter. The enormity of the swindle began to dawn on him. There was no counterfeiting operation, no engraver waiting in Switzerland. Tracy Whitney had never fallen for the sunken-treasure story. The b.i.t.c.h had used his own scheme as the bait to swindle him out of half a million dollars. If the word of this got out....

The two men were watching him.

"Do you wish to press charges of some kind, Armand?" Inspector Dumont asked.

How could he? What could he say? That he had been cheated while trying to finance a counterfeiting operation? And what were his a.s.sociates going to do to him when they learned he had stolen half a million dollars of their money and given it away? He was filled with sudden dread.