“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s not locked. Incidentally, the combinations are six-six-six on each side. But if you like, you can change it with a little key that’s hidden in the carrying handle.”

I snapped open the case and saw that it was a handsome backgammon set, custom-made. The checkers were made of ivory and ebony, and the dice and doubling cube had pips made of diamonds.

“I can’t take this,” I said.

“Sure you can. That set used to belong to a friend of mine called Ben Siegel.”

“Ben Siegel, the gangster?”

“Naw. Ben was a gambler and a businessman. Same as me. His girlfriend, Virginia, had that backgammon set especially made for his fo rty-first birthday, by Asprey of London. Three months later he was dead.”

“He was shot, wasn’t he?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Didn’t she want it?”

“She gave it to me as a keepsake. And now I’d like you to have it. Let’s hope it’s luckier for you than it was for him.”

“Let’s hope.”

Chapter 8

8

FROM THE SARATOGA I DROVE down to Finca Vigía. The Chieftain was exactly where Waxey had parked it, except there was now a cat on the roof. I got out of my car and walked up to the front door and rang the ship’s bell hanging on the porch. Another cat was watching me from the bough of a giant ceiba tree. A third on the terrace poked its head through the white railings as if waiting for the firemen to come and get it out. I stroked the cat’s head as footsteps came slowly to the door. The door opened, and the slight figure of Hemingway’s Negro servant, René, was standing there. He was wearing a white cotton waiter’s jacket. Sunlight shining through the house behind him gave him the air of a Santería priest. He said, “Good afternoon, señor.”

“Is Señora Eisner at home?”

“Yes, but she is sleeping.”

“How about the señorita?”

“Miss Dinah. I believe she’s in the swimming pool, señor.”

“Do you think she’ll mind me seeing her?”

“I don’t think she minds anyone seeing her,” said René.