Hotel

"There isn't any sign of well, their not being so concerned? Sometimes when a lot of attention is given to something, after a day or two with nothing happening, people lose interest."

"You crazy?" There was astonishment on the fat man's face. "You seen the mornin' paper?"

"Yes," the Duchess said. "I saw it. I suppose my question was a kind of wishful thinking."

"Ain't nothin' changed," Ogilvie declared. " 'Cept maybe the police are keener. There's a lot of reputations ridin' on solvin' that hit-'n-run, an' the cops know if they don't come through there'll be a shake-down, startin' at the top. Mayor's as good as said so, so now there's politics in it too."

"So that getting the car clear of the city will be harder than ever?"

"Put it this way, Duchess. Every last cop on the beat knows if he spots the car they're lookin' for - your car - he will be sewin' stripes on his sleeve within the hour. They got their eyeballs polished. That's how tough it is."

There was a silence in which Ogilvie's heavy breathing was the only sound.

It was obvious what the next question would have to be, but there seemed a reluctance to ask it, as if the answer might mean deliverance or the diminution of hope.

At length the Duchess of Croydon said, "When do you propose to leave? When will you drive the car north?"

At Tonight," Ogilvie answered. "That's why I come to see you folks."

There was an audible emission of breath from the Duke.

"How will you get away?" the Duchess asked. "Without being seen?"

"Ain't no guarantee I can. But I done some figuring."

"Go on."

"I reckon the best time to pull out's around one."

"One in the morning?"

Ogilvie nodded. "Not much doin' then. Traffic's quiet. Not too quiet."

"But you might still be seen?"

"Could be seen any time. We got to take a chance on 'win' lucky."

"If you get away - clear of New Orleans - how far will you go?"

"Be light by six. Figure I'll be in Miss'sippa. Most likely 'round Macon."

"That isn't far," the Duchess protested. "Only halfway up Mississippi. Not a quarter of the way to Chicago."

The fat man shifted in his chair, which creaked in protest. "You reckon I should go speedin'? Break a few records? Maybe get some ticket-happy cop tailin' me?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm merely concerned to have the car as far from New Orleans as possible. What will you do during the day?"

"Pull off. Lie low. Plenty places in Miss'sippa."

"And then?"

"Soon's it's dark, I hi' tail it. Up through Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana."

"When will it be safe? Really safe."

"Indiana, I reckon."

"And you'll stop in Indiana Friday?"

"I guess."

"So that you'll reach Chicago Saturday?"

"Sat'day mornin'."

"Very well," the Duchess said. "My husband and I will fly to Chicago Friday night. We shall register at the Drake Hotel and wait there until we hear from you."

The Duke was looking at his hands, avoiding Ogilvie's eyes.

The house detective said flatly, "You'll hear."

"Is there anything you need?"

"I best have a note to the garage. Case I need it. Sayin' I kin take your car."

"I'll write it now." The Duchess crossed the room to a secretaire. She wrote quickly and a moment later returned with a sheet of hotel stationery, folded. "This should do."

Without looking at the paper, Ogilvie placed it in an inside pocket. His eyes remained fixed on the Duchess's face.

There was an awkward silence. She said uncertainly, "It isn't what you wanted?"

The Duke of Croydon rose and walked stiffly away. Turning his back, he said testily, "It's the monev. He wants money."

Ogilvie's fleshy features shaped themselves into a smirk.

"That's it, Duchess. Ten thousan' now, like we said. Fifteen more in Chicago, Sat'day."

The Duchess's jeweled fingers went swiftly to her temples in a distracted gesture. "I don't know how . . . I'd forgotten. There's been so much else."

"Don't matter none. I woulda remembered."

"It will have to be this afternoon. Our bank must arrange . . ."

"In cash," the fat man said. "Nothing bigger'n twenties, an' not new bills."

She looked at him sharply. "Why?"

"Ain't traceable that way."

"You don't trust us?"

He shook his head. "In somethin' like this, it ain't smart to trust anybody."

"Then why should we trust you?"

"I got another fifteen grand ridin'." The odd falsetto voice held an undertone of impatience. "An' remember that's to be cash too, an' banks don't open Sat'day."

"Suppose," the Duchess said, "that in Chicago we didn't pay you."

There was no longer a smile, or even an imitation of one. "I'm sure glad you brought that up," Ogilvie said. "Just so's we understand each other."

"I think I understand, but tell me."

"What'll happen in Chicago, Duchess, is this. I'll stash the car some place, though you won't know where. I come to the hotel, collect the fifteen g's. When I done that, you get the keys 'n I tell you where the car is."

"You haven't answered my question."

"I'm gettin' to it." The little pig's eyes gleamed. "Anythin' goes wrong - like f'r instance you say there's no cash because you forgot the banks wasn't open, I holler cops - right there in Chicago."

"You'd have a good deal of explaining to do yourself. For example, how you came to drive the car north."

"No mystery about that. All I'd say is, you paid me a couple hundred - I'd have it on me - to bring the car up. You said it was too far. You and the Duke here wanted to fly. Weren't until I got to Chicago an' took a good look at the car, I figured things out. So the enormous shoulders shrugged.

"We have no intention," the Duchess of Croydon assured him, "of failing to keep our part of the bargain. But like you, I wanted to be sure we understood each other,"

Ogilvie nodded. "I reckon we do."

"Come back at five," the Duchess said. "The money will be ready."

When Ogilvie had gone, the Duke of Croydon returned from his self-imposed isolation across the room. There was a tray of glasses and bottles on a sideboard, replenished since last night. Pouring a stiff Scotch, he splashed in soda and tossed the drink down.

The Duchess said acidly, "You're begining early again, I see."

"It's a cleansing agent." He poured himself a second drink, though this time sipping it more slowly. "Being in the same room with that man makes me feel dirty."

"Obviously he's less particular," his wife said. "Otherwise he might object to the company of a drunken child killer."

The Duke's face was white. His hands trembled as he put the drink down.

"That's below the belt, old girl."

She added, "Who also ran away."

"By God - you shan't get away with that." It was an angry shout. His hands clenched and for an instant it seemed as if he might strike out. "You were the one! The one who pleaded to drive on, and afterward not go back. But for you, I would have! It would do no good, you said; what was done was done.

Even yesterday I'd have gone to the police. You were against it! So now we have him, that . . . that leper who'll rob us of every last vestige . . ."

The voice tailed off.

"Am I to assume," the Duchess inquired, "that you've completed your hysterical outburst?" There was no answer, and she continued, "May I remind you that you've needed remarkably little persuasion to act precisely as you have. Had you wished or intended to do otherwise, no opinion of mine need have mattered in the least. As for leprosy, I doubt you'll contract it since you've carefully stood aside, leaving all that had to be done with that man, to be done by me."

Her husband sighed. "I should have known better than to argue. I'm sorry."

"If argument's necessary to straighten your thinking," she said indifferently, "I've no objection."

The Duke had retrieved his drink and turned the glass idly in his hand.

"It's a funny thing," he said. "I had the feeling for a while that all this, bad as it was, had brought us together."

The words were so obviously an appeal that the Duchess hesitated. For her, too, the session with Ogilvie had been humiliating and exhausting.

She had a longing, deep within, for a moment's tranquillity.

Yet, perversely, the effort of conciliation was beyond her. She answered,

"If it has, I'm not aware of it." Then, more astringently: "In any case, we've scarcely time for sentimentality."

"Right!" As if his wife's words were a signal, the Duke downed his drink and poured another.

She observed scathingly, "I'd be obliged if you'd at least retain consciousness. I assume I shall have to deal with the bank, but there maybe papers they'll require you to sign.

7

Two self-imposed tasks faced Warren Trent, and neither was palatable.

The first was to confront Tom Earlshore with Curtis O'Keefe's accusation of the night before. "He's bleeding you white," O'Keefe had declared of the elderly head barman. And: "From the look of things it's been going on a long time."

As promised, O'Keefe had documented his charge. Shortly after ten a.m., a report - with specific details of observations, dates and times - was delivered to Warren Trent by a young man who introduced himself as Sean Hall of the O'Keefe Hotels Corporation. The young man, who had come directly to Warren Trent's fifteenth-floor suite, seemed embarrassed. The hotel proprietor thanked him and settled down to read the seven-page report.

He began grimly, a mood which deepened as he read on. Not only Tom Earlshore's, but other names of trusted employees appeared in the investigators' findings. It was distressingly apparent to Warren Trent that he was being cheated by the very men and women whom he had relied on most, including some who, like Tom Earlshore, he had considered personal friends. It was obvious, too, that throughout the hotel the depredation must be even more extensive than was documented here.

Folding the typewritten sheets carefully, he placed them in an inside pocket of his suit.

He knew that if he allowed himself, he could become enraged, and would expose and castigate, one by one, those who had betrayed his trust. There might even be a melancholy satisfaction in doing so.

But excessive anger was an emotion which nowadays left him drained. He would personally confront Tom Earlshore, he decided, but no one else.

The report, however, Warren Trent reflected, had had one useful effect.

It released him from an obligation.

Until last night a good deal of his thinking about the St. Gregory had been conditioned by a loyalty which he assumed he owed to the hotel's employees. Now, by the revealed disloyalty to himself, he was freed from this restraint.

The effect was to open up a possibility, which earlier he had shunned, for maintaining his own control of the hotel. Even now the prospect was still distasteful, which was why he decided to take the lesser of the two unpleasant steps and seek out Tom Earlshore first.