where
were
you?”
The Englishman’s breathing was audible over thephone; the man’s intensity seemed somehow related to fear. “I’m flattered you came all that distance to see me, but it still doesn’t give you the right to ask personal questions.…”
“I have
every
right!” broke in Baldwin. “I spent twenty years With MI Six, and we have a great deal to talk about! You have no idea what you’re doing. No one does but me.”
“You
what? We
what?”
“Let me put it this way. Cancel Geneva.
Cancel
it, Mr. Holcroft, until we’ve talked!”
“Geneva?…” Noel felt suddenly sick to his stomach. How would this Englishman know about Geneva? How
could
he know?
A light flickered outside the window; someone in an apartment directly across the courtyard was lighting a cigarette. Despite his agitation, Holcroft’s eyes were drawn to it.
“There’s someone at the door,” Baldwin said. “Stay on the phone. I’ll get rid of whoever it is and be right back.”
Noel could hear Baldwin put the telephone down, then the sound of a door opening and indistinguishable voices. Across the courtyard, in the window, a match was struck again, illuminating the long blond hair of a woman behind a sheer curtain.
Holcroft realized there was silence on the line; he could hear no voices now. Moments went by; the Englishman did not return.
“Baldwin? Baldwin, where are you?
Baldwin!
”
For a third time a match flared in the window across the way. Noel stared at it; it seemed unnecessary. He could see the glow of a cigarette in the blond woman’s mouth. And then he saw what was in her other hand, silhouetted behind the sheer curtain: a telephone. She was holding a telephone to her ear and looking over at his window—looking, he was sure, at him.
“
Baldwin?
Where the hell
are
you?”
There was a click; the line went dead.
“Baldwin!”
The woman in the window slowly lowered the telephone, paused for a moment, and walked away, out of sight.
Holcroft stared at the window, then at the telephone in his hand. He waited until he got the active line, then redialed the St. Regis.
“I’m sorry, sir, room four-eleven’s telephone seems to be out of order. We’ll send someone up right away. May I have your number and we’ll give it to Mr. Baldwin.”
…
your phone was out of order
.…
Something was happening that Noel did not understand. He knew only that he would not leave his name or number with the operator at the St. Regis. He hung up and looked again at the window across the courtyard Whatever light there had been was gone. The window was dark; he could see only the white of the curtain.
He pushed himself away from the windowsill and wandered aimlessly about the room, around familiar possessions in unfamiliar locations. He was not sure what to do; he supposed he should see if anything was missing. Nothing seemed to be, but it was difficult to tell.
The telephone buzzed: the intercom from the lobby switchboard. He answered it.
“It’s Jack, Mr. Holcroft. I just spoke to Ed and Louie. Neither of ’em know anything about anyone going up to your place. They’re honest guys. They wouldn’t screw around. None of us would.”
“Thanks, Jack. I believe you.”
“You want me to call the police?”
“No.” Noel tried to sound casual. “I have an idea someone at the office was playing a joke. A couple of the fellows have keys.”
“I didn’t see anybody. Neither did Ed or—”
“It’s okay, Jack,” interrupted Holcroft. “Forget it. The night I left we had a party. One or two stayed over.” It was all Noel could think of to say.
Suddenly it occurred to him that he had not looked in his bedroom. He went there now, his hand reaching for the light switch on the wall.
He expected it, but it was still a shock. The disorientation was now somehow complete.
Again, each piece of furniture had been moved to a different position. The bed was the first thing that struck his eye; it was oddly
were
you?”
The Englishman’s breathing was audible over thephone; the man’s intensity seemed somehow related to fear. “I’m flattered you came all that distance to see me, but it still doesn’t give you the right to ask personal questions.…”
“I have
every
right!” broke in Baldwin. “I spent twenty years With MI Six, and we have a great deal to talk about! You have no idea what you’re doing. No one does but me.”
“You
what? We
what?”
“Let me put it this way. Cancel Geneva.
Cancel
it, Mr. Holcroft, until we’ve talked!”
“Geneva?…” Noel felt suddenly sick to his stomach. How would this Englishman know about Geneva? How
could
he know?
A light flickered outside the window; someone in an apartment directly across the courtyard was lighting a cigarette. Despite his agitation, Holcroft’s eyes were drawn to it.
“There’s someone at the door,” Baldwin said. “Stay on the phone. I’ll get rid of whoever it is and be right back.”
Noel could hear Baldwin put the telephone down, then the sound of a door opening and indistinguishable voices. Across the courtyard, in the window, a match was struck again, illuminating the long blond hair of a woman behind a sheer curtain.
Holcroft realized there was silence on the line; he could hear no voices now. Moments went by; the Englishman did not return.
“Baldwin? Baldwin, where are you?
Baldwin!
”
For a third time a match flared in the window across the way. Noel stared at it; it seemed unnecessary. He could see the glow of a cigarette in the blond woman’s mouth. And then he saw what was in her other hand, silhouetted behind the sheer curtain: a telephone. She was holding a telephone to her ear and looking over at his window—looking, he was sure, at him.
“
Baldwin?
Where the hell
are
you?”
There was a click; the line went dead.
“Baldwin!”
The woman in the window slowly lowered the telephone, paused for a moment, and walked away, out of sight.
Holcroft stared at the window, then at the telephone in his hand. He waited until he got the active line, then redialed the St. Regis.
“I’m sorry, sir, room four-eleven’s telephone seems to be out of order. We’ll send someone up right away. May I have your number and we’ll give it to Mr. Baldwin.”
…
your phone was out of order
.…
Something was happening that Noel did not understand. He knew only that he would not leave his name or number with the operator at the St. Regis. He hung up and looked again at the window across the courtyard Whatever light there had been was gone. The window was dark; he could see only the white of the curtain.
He pushed himself away from the windowsill and wandered aimlessly about the room, around familiar possessions in unfamiliar locations. He was not sure what to do; he supposed he should see if anything was missing. Nothing seemed to be, but it was difficult to tell.
The telephone buzzed: the intercom from the lobby switchboard. He answered it.
“It’s Jack, Mr. Holcroft. I just spoke to Ed and Louie. Neither of ’em know anything about anyone going up to your place. They’re honest guys. They wouldn’t screw around. None of us would.”
“Thanks, Jack. I believe you.”
“You want me to call the police?”
“No.” Noel tried to sound casual. “I have an idea someone at the office was playing a joke. A couple of the fellows have keys.”
“I didn’t see anybody. Neither did Ed or—”
“It’s okay, Jack,” interrupted Holcroft. “Forget it. The night I left we had a party. One or two stayed over.” It was all Noel could think of to say.
Suddenly it occurred to him that he had not looked in his bedroom. He went there now, his hand reaching for the light switch on the wall.
He expected it, but it was still a shock. The disorientation was now somehow complete.
Again, each piece of furniture had been moved to a different position. The bed was the first thing that struck his eye; it was oddly
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