"Yes. You look sleepy, Mr. Hall. I wonder if we'll ever find time
for--you know--my damn story. Eh?"
"One of these days," Hall said. "We'll get the complete story,
Androtten. All the facts, in complete detail. Good night." He paid for
his drink and went to the desk in the lobby.
"Your key," Souza said. "I have it right here."
"Thanks. What's new?"
"Oh, nothing, senor. Nothing at all." Souza was being profoundly
impersonal. "I hope you are feeling better, senor. Oh, yes, message in
your box."
The message was from Souza himself, and the ink was not yet dry. "I
can't speak now," it read.
"Thank you. Good night." Hall put the message in his pocket and went to
his room.
He flung himself across the bed, yielding to the fatigue that was
tearing at every nerve and muscle in his body. In the dark, he managed
to get rid of his shoes and his suit, letting them drop to the floor
when he had taken them off. He tried to think of all that had happened
that day, of what he would have to do tomorrow. The fading shouts of the
crowds in the Plaza grew fainter. The bed grew softer. He fell asleep.
The phone bell woke him in a few minutes. Souza was calling. "Senor
Hall, the drinks you ordered are on the way upstairs," he said. "I am
sorry for the delay, but we have a new waiter, and he is not accustomed
to our system yet."
"Oh, I get it." The _cabron_ of a night waiter was gone. The invisible,
detested _cabron_ whom Hall had never seen. He half expected Miguelito
or Juan Antonio to be standing in the hall when he heard the knock on
the door. Instead, there was a short, swarthy man in his forties,
balancing a tray of brandy and soda in his right hand, a professional
waiter down to his flat feet and his bland smile.
"Shall I bring it in, senor?"
"Please. Set it down here, on the little table."
The waiter closed the door, put the tray down. "_Companero_ Hall," he
said, the bland smile gone, "permit me to introduce myself. I am Emilio
Vicente, delegate of the Waiters' Union." He shook Hall's hand, then
gave him a calling card. It was Major Segador's private card.
"Turn it over, _Companero_ Hall."
The short message on the reverse side indicated that Hall was to trust
Vicente.
"I am happy to know you," Hall said. "Will you have a drink with me?"
"Some other time, _companero_. Tonight I have a message. Major Segador
suggests that should you need any assistance in a hurry, you can call
upon me. I am at your orders."
"Thank you."
Emilio Vicente picked up his tray. "_Companero_," he said, "it might
seem a little dangerous, but the Major assured us that you do not lack
for _cojones_."
"What?"
"Good night, _Companero_ Hall. You look as if you could use some sleep."
_Chapter twelve_
Hall slept through the morning. He rose at noon, staggered into a cold
tub, and then ordered a breakfast of steak and eggs. Vicente wheeled the
table into the room.
"I have been thinking of the major's offer," Hall said. "There's
something you can do for me. Do you know anything about the Marques de
Runa?"
"Yes. He's a Falangist. His family owns one of the biggest import and
export companies in the country. The young one works there, too."
"What is he up to now?"
"Perhaps we can find out."
"Good. Do you know anything about his chauffeur?"
"No. But we can find out."
"Do you mind if I ask Pepe Delgado to check up too?"
"Not at all, _companero_. He is very reliable."
* * * * *
San Hermano had settled back to her old routines when Hall left his
room. The trolleys ran, cars moved along all the streets, the loud
speakers on the poles and buildings had been taken down, and street
sweepers were groaning over the litter of signs and papers they
themselves had helped scatter over the whole city the day before.
Yesterday's crowds had gone back to their jobs, their homes, their own
quarters.
The papers had little news about Tabio's condition. They carried his
speech and, in most cases, described the events which had followed
Tabio's speech as a spontaneous demonstration on the part of the people.
_El Imparcial_ merely said that a great crowd had heard the speech over
the public amplifiers and that Red hoodlums had severely beaten some
anti-communists who had joined the crowd in the Plaza to listen to the
address of the President.
Hall scanned the papers at a cafe table in Old San Hermano while Pepe
went to telephone some friends who were doing some further checking on
the Marques de Runa. The information Pepe received over the telephone
was very brief. At six o'clock that morning, the Marques de Runa and his
chauffeur had taken a plane for Natal from the San Hermano airport.
"Wait for me in the car." Hall went to a phone himself, called Margaret
Skidmore.
"Hi, Pirate," she said. "Getting lonesome for the farm?"
"Sure. How about you?"
"I can't get away this week," she said. "How about the week-end?"
"I'll have to let you know tomorrow. Tell me, Margaret, how well do you
know the Marques de Runa?"
"Very well. Why?"
"Oh, nothing much. I left my notebook in his car last night, I think."
"I know. He told me."
"About the notebook?"
"No. About your red-headed girl friend. She sounds like a good
substitute for farming."
"Cut it out," Hall laughed.
"Is she the gal you were dreaming about at the wrong time one day last
week?"
"No. But about my notebook. It's not too important, but I had some
interesting things in it, Margaret. I was wondering how to reach the
Marques."
"It would be impossible today," she said. "He just left for Barcelona on
a business trip."
"Is he a good friend of yours?"
"Freddie? He's my fiance."
"You're kidding!"
"No. I'm to be the Marquesa de Runa. Didn't you know?"
"Does anyone else know it?"
"Yes," she said. "He does. Now don't start cross-examining me about
that! It's my affair."
"I won't. You always know what you're doing."
"Thanks. I feel like doing some plowing over the week-end. With you.
Let's talk about it then, if it still interests you. And in the
meanwhile, I'll have someone look through the car for your notebook."
"Thanks a lot."
Hall went to the car. "Let's go back to the hotel," he said, "and find
Souza. Or is the day clerk reliable?"
"Don't worry," Pepe said. "Arturo can be trusted. That's why Souza got
him the job."
"We have a lot to do, Pepe. I want to search the room of the Dutchman,
Androtten. We'll need all the help we can get."
They found the task very simple. Androtten had left that morning with a
small handbag on what he described to the clerk as a two-day buying trip
in the south. With the day clerk standing guard at the phone and Vicente
lounging in the hall to sound any needed alarm, Hall and Pepe entered
the Dutchman's room with a pass key and drew the blinds.
There was a picture of Androtten and what was evidently his family in a
portable leather frame on the bureau. It showed Androtten and a fat
blond matron sitting at a table, with a youth in his teens at
Androtten's left and a little girl leaning at the woman's knee. "He's a
family man," Pepe said.
"We'll see." Hall went through the wastebasket, the clothes hanging in
the closet, every drawer in the bureau. He examined every piece of
luggage for false sides and bottoms, hidden compartments, and stray
papers. In the traveling bag he found in the closet, Hall discovered a
heavy brown envelope. Inside was the picture of a young colonial
Netherlands officer and a letter from the Dutch Government-in-Exile. The
letter regretted to inform Androtten that his esteemed son, Lieutenant
Wilhelm Androtten II, had perished fighting the Nazi invaders in the
battle for the Lowlands, and had been posthumously awarded the second
highest decoration the Queen gave such heroes. Hall had to guess at the
contents of the letter, using his German as a basis for deciphering the
Dutch.
"Does this look like that boy grown up?" he asked Pepe.
"I think so, Mateo. What does the letter say?"
Hall gave him the gist of the letter as he understood it. "But I still
think he's a fraud, Pepe. Let's examine the labels on his clothes
again."
The labels revealed only what Androtten had already indicated. London,
Amsterdam, New Orleans, Rio. He had purchased no clothes in San Hermano.
"Let's get out of here, Pepe."
"Where are you going now?"
"I've got to write a letter in my room. But wait for me. I think we're
going to visit Duarte when I've got the letter finished."
His own room, he soon discovered, had also been searched that day. The
lock on his traveling bag had been picked, and the stethoscope was
missing. He flung the new straw hat in the closet and went to the lobby.
Pepe was talking to the day clerk. He grinned at Hall, asked, "So soon?"
"I changed my mind." Then, to the clerk, "Where is Miss Olmstead? At the
University laboratory?"
"No, senor. She went to the country with the two doctors."
"Do you know where exactly?"
"No. Only that she went to the country. They will not be back tonight.
They left an hour ago."
"Come on, Pepe. We have to get started."
They sat down in the car. "First stop the Mexican Embassy," Hall said.
"But wait there for me. I won't be too long."
"What happened?"
"My room was searched. The stethoscope is missing."
"That means trouble, Mateo."
"Sure. It also means that someone was careless. Where the hell were
Arturo and Vicente?"
"It's a big hotel, Mateo. We were talking about it only this morning.
Duarte wants you to stay with him in his house for the night."
"What do you think about it?"
"Duarte is right."
"But I have a good gun, Pepe. And good friends."
"I know that, Mateo. But stay with Duarte tonight. I think that tonight
someone else should sleep in your bed. Duarte suggested three pillows or
a log. Then, in the morning, if there are no bullet holes in the
pillows ..."
"Or the log ..."
"... or the log, then you can say it was a mistake to sleep at Duarte's
house tonight. Someone followed me this morning, Mateo. I drove him
crazy, but I couldn't get a look at him myself. It was very funny. But
it is also serious."
Hall put the gun back in his pocket. "Maybe it is," he said. "I'll stay
with Duarte."
"It is the right thing to do, Mateo. I'll leave you with Duarte. I have
to see Souza and some other friends tonight."
Pepe waited at the curb until Hall was admitted to the Mexican Embassy.
Then, his eyes sweeping the streets for signs of anyone shadowing him on
foot or by automobile, he took the most roundabout route he could devise
to reach the Transport Workers' Union headquarters.
Duarte had had no word from General Mogrado. "I'm sure he met the
courier," he told Hall. "But I'm worried by his silence. It is not like
him."
"Give him another night, Felipe. In the meanwhile, I'll send another
letter to Havana. I just can't believe that the evidence on Ansaldo is
not available on this side of the ocean. If it's nowhere else, it must
be in Havana."
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because I know Havana. I know what the Spanish Republicans and the
secret police must have there. I tell you, Felipe, we can hang Ansaldo
in Havana. Do you remember where and how I first saw Ansaldo in Burgos?
Well, there was a photographer standing and working in front of me for
hours that day. I know who he was, Felipe. He was the man from _Arriba_.
I don't doubt but that either the Spaniards or the Cubans have a
complete file of _Arriba_ in Havana. And I'm willing to bet my bottom
dollar that I'll find those pictures of Ansaldo in that file."
"I hope so, Mateo. But I hope you don't have to go. Are you very tired?"
"I could stand an hour's sleep before dinner."
"We'll go to the house. Dr. Gonzales might join us for dinner. And
Lavandero is going to try to join us after dinner."
They went to Duarte's house in one of the Embassy's cars. Hall stretched
out on the couch under the mural of Madrid and fell asleep in a few
minutes. It was some while before he was rested enough to dream, and
then the figures in the mural above the couch began to move through his
sleep in a macabre procession.
Duarte woke him in an hour. "Twice you yelled in your sleep," he said.
"And then you started to twist like a chained snake. Bad dreams, Mateo?"
"I guess so," Hall said, his fingers working the muscles at the back of
his neck. "I always dream about the bombardments when I feel bad."
"Gonzales and Lavandero can't meet us tonight. They're both at the
Presidencia. I think Tabio is getting weaker."
"Is that what they told you?"
"No. They just said they couldn't meet us."
"Too bad. What have you got cooking?"
"I don't know, _amigo_. I hired a new cook and she won't allow me to put
my face in the kitchen."
"She must be a smart cook."
"We'll find out in a few minutes. I forgot to tell you, but Gonzales had
some news for us tonight. He says that Gamburdo is planning to delay the
actual start of Congress for another week. His game is to allow the
present high feelings of the people to cool down a bit before the
Congress starts its business."
Hall was puzzled. "I don't quite understand the maneuver," he said.
"The Congress has to choose a delegation for the Inter-American parley,
and to compose its mandate. Gamburdo still wants a delegation committed
to neutrality."
"Can he get away with it?"
"Who knows? He was a long way toward success when Don Anibal stopped
him. The real question is how long can Don Anibal be counted on to get
out of bed and fight for an anti-fascist war policy?"
A soft rain had started to fall while Hall was sleeping. It splashed
gently against the open shutters of the cottage, embracing the house,
the palms and the papaya trees on the grounds, its soft rhythms throwing
Hall into a small boy's melancholy. He talked little during dinner, and
when he did, it was to subject Duarte to his reminiscences of rainy days
when he was very young.
They swapped yarns for hours, listened to Duarte's endless collection of
Mexican and flamenco records, and killed a bottle of black rum.
"I'm going to sleep until noon," Hall said when they quit for the night.
But his sleep was cut short very early in the morning by Pepe, who
arrived with the news that Jerry had returned from the country late at
night and was trying desperately to contact Hall.
He phoned her at once.
"Matt," she said, "can you come over right away? I think that I owe you
an apology."
Jerry was waiting for him in her room. She had not had any sleep for a
full night, and her eyes showed it. Hall noticed that the two ash trays
in the room were filled to the rims with fresh cigarette stumps.
"What's up?" he asked.
"I'm out of cigarettes. Have you got any?"
"Only Cubans. They're very strong."
She accepted one, choked a bit on the first puff, then continued
smoking.
"Give," he said. "What happened?"
"You were right, I think. I can't swear to it, but I'm sure I recognized
his voice. The little Dutchman, I mean."
"Androtten?"