wonder for an instant if he was totally rational. “Has it occurred to you, Mark, that she might be a part of the conspiracy to take my life? ‘A woman scorned—’”
“I’d bet against it,” I said.
“There are no good bets in this game,” he said.
My front doorbell rang. I saw Lovelace’s hand go toward his shoulder holster. Then he remembered that his gun was gone. He moved quickly through the passage to the bedroom.
I went to the door and opened it. Johnny Thacker, the day bell captain, stood outside. He had a small package in his hand. It was wrapped in a green and white paper, like something from one of the stores in the lobby.
“Ruysdale says Mr. Lovelace is here with you, Mr. Haskell,” Johnny said.
“So?”
“For him,” Johnny said, holding out the gift-wrapped box.
I took the box and glanced at it. The writing on the paper looked familiar—the black marker pencil again. “Mr. George Lovelace, Hotel Beaumont. By hand.”
“You know where this came from?” I asked Johnny.
“Delivery boy,” he said.
“We sign for it?”
“Not required to,” Johnny said.
“You see the messenger yourself?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Handed in at the desk. One of the boys took it up to Ten B. The place is swarming with cops.” Johnny’s face was expressionless. “The boy brought the package back to me. Right thing for him to do, Mr. Haskell. We protect our guests even when they’re in trouble. I called Ruysdale. She said Mr. Lovelace was with you.”
“You tell her about the package?”
“No. I just said I had a message for him.”
I wondered why Ruysdale had passed off a message so lightly. Everything about Lovelace was important to Chambrun. Probably she hadn’t been alone when Johnny called her office. She was trusting me to handle this properly.
I handed Johnny a couple of bucks. “For you and your boy,” I said, “on behalf of Mr. Lovelace.”
The minute I closed the door Lovelace came into the room. He’d obviously heard my conversation with Johnny. He took the small package from me and lifted it up close to his ear. I felt the small hairs rising on the back of my neck. The idea of something explosive hadn’t occurred to me. There was a strained look of concentration on Lovelace’s face as he listened.
“Some of these things go off with a clock mechanism,” he said. “No sound of it. Just step into the bedroom for a minute, Mark.”
“Why not let the cops handle it?” I said.
“It’s meant for me,” he said. “No reason someone else should run the risk.”
He waited for me to move. I did. I went straight into the bedroom and tried to call Chambrun. His extension was busy and so was Ruysdale’s. I told the switchboard to call me when either line was clear. The palms of my hands were damp as I put down the receiver. Then I heard Lovelace call to me.
“It’s all right, Mark,” he said.
The package was opened when I went back into the living room. The green and white paper lay on the table. On top of it was a small cardboard box. Lovelace was holding a white card in his hand. He handed it to me. There was that fine, precise script again.
You would save us all a lot of trouble if you were to use this.
I looked up. Lovelace held out his other hand. In it lay a small capsule, filled with green and white powder.
“Back in the war days we carried these,” Lovelace said. His mouth was a straight slit. “The Colonel Schwartzes of that time could make you talk, no matter how much guts you thought you had. If you were caught you swallowed one of these, and that was that.” He tossed the little capsule up in the air and caught it. “I’m supposed to understand that the big moment is close at hand.”
Four
C HAMBRUN’S EYES WERE NARROW slits under his heavily hooded eyelids. A little spiral of blue smoke curled up from the Egyptian cigarette he held in his hand. Mr. Atterbury, the day receptionist, Jerry Dodd, and I stood facing him. Miss Ruysdale was at
“I’d bet against it,” I said.
“There are no good bets in this game,” he said.
My front doorbell rang. I saw Lovelace’s hand go toward his shoulder holster. Then he remembered that his gun was gone. He moved quickly through the passage to the bedroom.
I went to the door and opened it. Johnny Thacker, the day bell captain, stood outside. He had a small package in his hand. It was wrapped in a green and white paper, like something from one of the stores in the lobby.
“Ruysdale says Mr. Lovelace is here with you, Mr. Haskell,” Johnny said.
“So?”
“For him,” Johnny said, holding out the gift-wrapped box.
I took the box and glanced at it. The writing on the paper looked familiar—the black marker pencil again. “Mr. George Lovelace, Hotel Beaumont. By hand.”
“You know where this came from?” I asked Johnny.
“Delivery boy,” he said.
“We sign for it?”
“Not required to,” Johnny said.
“You see the messenger yourself?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Handed in at the desk. One of the boys took it up to Ten B. The place is swarming with cops.” Johnny’s face was expressionless. “The boy brought the package back to me. Right thing for him to do, Mr. Haskell. We protect our guests even when they’re in trouble. I called Ruysdale. She said Mr. Lovelace was with you.”
“You tell her about the package?”
“No. I just said I had a message for him.”
I wondered why Ruysdale had passed off a message so lightly. Everything about Lovelace was important to Chambrun. Probably she hadn’t been alone when Johnny called her office. She was trusting me to handle this properly.
I handed Johnny a couple of bucks. “For you and your boy,” I said, “on behalf of Mr. Lovelace.”
The minute I closed the door Lovelace came into the room. He’d obviously heard my conversation with Johnny. He took the small package from me and lifted it up close to his ear. I felt the small hairs rising on the back of my neck. The idea of something explosive hadn’t occurred to me. There was a strained look of concentration on Lovelace’s face as he listened.
“Some of these things go off with a clock mechanism,” he said. “No sound of it. Just step into the bedroom for a minute, Mark.”
“Why not let the cops handle it?” I said.
“It’s meant for me,” he said. “No reason someone else should run the risk.”
He waited for me to move. I did. I went straight into the bedroom and tried to call Chambrun. His extension was busy and so was Ruysdale’s. I told the switchboard to call me when either line was clear. The palms of my hands were damp as I put down the receiver. Then I heard Lovelace call to me.
“It’s all right, Mark,” he said.
The package was opened when I went back into the living room. The green and white paper lay on the table. On top of it was a small cardboard box. Lovelace was holding a white card in his hand. He handed it to me. There was that fine, precise script again.
You would save us all a lot of trouble if you were to use this.
I looked up. Lovelace held out his other hand. In it lay a small capsule, filled with green and white powder.
“Back in the war days we carried these,” Lovelace said. His mouth was a straight slit. “The Colonel Schwartzes of that time could make you talk, no matter how much guts you thought you had. If you were caught you swallowed one of these, and that was that.” He tossed the little capsule up in the air and caught it. “I’m supposed to understand that the big moment is close at hand.”
Four
C HAMBRUN’S EYES WERE NARROW slits under his heavily hooded eyelids. A little spiral of blue smoke curled up from the Egyptian cigarette he held in his hand. Mr. Atterbury, the day receptionist, Jerry Dodd, and I stood facing him. Miss Ruysdale was at
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