Chapter VIII: Part 8

"But you're dead wrong." He tried to put his arms around her. She shook him off. "Believe me," he said, "I'm not government. You were right--but only partially--about my original interest in your party. But tonight I wish to hell it were only Ansaldo who interests me. It would make things a lot easier all around. The other morning I was watching Marina when a Spanish ship came in. Someone didn't want me to watch. I was drugged. That's why I disappeared for a few days. It damn near finished me. I've got something on Ansaldo--before I'm through I hope to have enough to hang him. I mean it literally. I'm trying to have him fitted for the same grave he thought I'd have. And it's going to be simple. What won't be simple is convincing the authorities here that you were an innocent bystander in the whole affair. Do you think I would talk to you this way if things were as you suspect they are with me?"

"I don't know what to think, Matt."

"Don't stop liking me," he said.

"Take me back to the hotel, please. I'm all confused. I want to believe you. Honestly I do. But what am I supposed to do? You give me the choice of matching one line against the other, and all the time I'll be wondering if both lines aren't fakes."

"Listen to me, baby ..."

"Don't 'baby' me. You've got sand on your jacket. No, don't, Hall. Just take me back to the hotel, please."

They walked to the sea wall in silence. Hall made a step for Jerry with his hands, boosted her to the top of the wall. "I'll try to find you a cab," he said. "But before we turn in, I'm telling you again that I'm not government. I'm exactly what I said I am. Believe me, Jerry. Please believe me."

"I don't know what to believe any more."

"But you do believe what I said about Ansaldo, don't you?"

"I don't know," she said, miserably. "Haven't you asked enough questions for one night? Show me your badge and subpoena me or something to the American Embassy and I'll tell you all I know. Which is nothing. I don't know any more than I've already told you."

Hall was flagging every passing car. "They're all private," he muttered. "We'll never get a cab tonight. And for God's sake, stop sniffling. Even if I am a G-man I won't bite you."

"You shouldn't have played me for a sucker, Hall."

"I didn't play you for anything."

"Don't say any more, Hall. Please don't."

Her attitude infuriated him. Furiously, he flagged a passing car, biting his lips in anger and frustration. He fought against yielding to his anger. "Jerry," he said, "there's one thing I'll have to ask you to do. I'm asking as a private citizen. But whatever you think I am, you'll have to do this one thing. I must insist that you don't tell Ansaldo anything about our conversation or about my having been in Spain."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes," he roared. "Yes, damn you, it's an order!"

One of the cars he had flagged slowed down, pulled over to where he stood with Jerry. But it was not a taxi. It was a small chauffeur-driven town car. The young Marques de Runa sat alone in the back seat.

"Good evening," he smiled. "Can I give you and your young lady a lift? You'll never be able to get a public car tonight."

"Thanks." Hall took Jerry's elbow, pulled her toward the door. He made the introductions, then climbed in after Jerry and shut the door. "We were just going to the Bolivar," he said.

"Were you trying to escape from the mobs?" the Marques asked.

"No. The lady has a bad cold. We thought the sea air might do it some good."

"You should try the mountain air," the Marques said. "I always take to the mountain air when I have a cold, Senor Hall. Don't you think the mountain air is better?"

Hall let the question go unanswered. He was looking into the mirror over the driver's seat, studying what he could see in the small glass of the chauffeur's face.

"The mountain air, Senor Hall."

"Oh, yes. Very dry. Perhaps the lady will try the mountain air. What do you think, Jerry?"

"No, thank you," she said, sharply. "I have hallucinations on mountain tops."

The Marques thought this was very funny. But not too unusual, he hastened to add. "For example," he said, "once when I was on a skiing week-end in Austria, three members of our party saw an apparition." He chattered amiably about the experiences on that and other skiing trips, directing his words solely to Jerry. Hall ignored them both. He was still staring at the mirror, and, after catching the chauffeur's eyes for the second time, he knew definitely that the man at the wheel was the little dog who had trailed him to the Ritz and then driven off after Ansaldo's limousine with Androtten as his passenger.

It was only when the car was less than a block from the Bolivar that Hall spoke again. "It's too bad," he said, his eyes trying to focus both on the mirror and on de Runa, "it's too bad about the Phoenix Garage blowing up today."

The chauffeur and the Marques started.

"But--why?" the Marques asked.

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that an officer in the British Embassy was telling me just the other day that the Phoenix Garage was one of the most fascinating establishments in San Hermano. I was planning to visit the garage myself tomorrow. I'm interested in garages, you know."

The chauffeur stopped the car in front of the Bolivar with an abrupt slamming of his brakes.

Hall laughed. "Your chauffeur was daydreaming, I think."

The Marques laughed, or tried to laugh, as if Hall had just made one of the funniest remarks ever heard in San Hermano. "That's what he is," the Marques laughed, "a man who dreams by day. Very good, Senor Hall. Excellent."

Hall got out of the car, helped Jerry to the street. "Thank you again for picking us up," he said. "And do something about your driver before he starts driving into people in his sleep."

The car was in gear and on its way down the street before the Marques could make his answer heard.

"What was so funny about your crack?" Jerry asked.

"I'll tell you tomorrow. Are we still friends?"

"Stop it, Matt. Just leave me alone tonight."

"Sure," he smiled. "Sleep on it. But please to keep the mouth shut, yes?"

"I'm going to my room, Matt."

"May I phone you in the morning?"

Jerry ran into the hotel without answering. Hall stood in the street for a moment, watching the receding crowds in the Plaza. They started to become a blur in his heavy eyes. He entered the lobby. Souza was going over a bill with two guests. Hall nodded to the night clerk, then went into the small bar of the Bolivar to have a drink while Souza got rid of the strangers.

Only one of the four tables in the bar room was occupied. Androtten and a San Hermano coffee dealer sat at this table, three open copper canisters between them. The Hollander was driving a hard bargain for two types of Monte Azul bean.

"Mr. Hall," he smiled, "delighted to see you healthy again. Delighted as hell."

"Healthy again?"

"Damn rumors have been spread about the hotel that you were ill, Mr. Hall. Not seriously as hell, I hope? Why don't you join us? Mr. Rendueles has been trying to make a deal with me on some fairly choice bean."

Hall downed his double Scotch. "No, thanks. I'd better get some sleep."

"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?"

She nodded. "He was at the ranch. I'm certain of it."

"Wait a minute, baby. Sit down. Relax. Now start from the beginning. What ranch?"

"Oh, I thought you knew. I went to Gamburdo's brother's ranch with Ansaldo and Marina. Doctor was ripping mad. There was entirely too much interference in the Tabio case, he said, and he'd called for a showdown. He said he was going to stay on the ranch for a few days, or at least until the politicians who were interfering with him would come to their senses. He said we'd all just take a holiday until we could go back to work."

"Who else was at the ranch?"

"Gamburdo's brother, two men I've never seen before, and our hostess."

"Were you introduced to the two men?"

"No, that's just it. They were not there when we arrived. They came on horseback after we'd been there for some hours. Senora Gamburdo said they were merely neighbors who wanted to talk over a cattle deal with her husband."

"And what makes you think she was lying?"

"I can't say, exactly, Matt. I didn't like the way she explained them to me--it was as if she felt that I insisted upon an explanation. That was when I decided to tell Ansaldo that I wanted to come back to town this morning. I told him there was some shopping I'd neglected. He didn't seem to object at the time."

"When did Androtten arrive?"

"I don't know. I told you--I didn't see him. I just heard his voice. It was about five in the afternoon, I'd say. I was taking a dip in the pool--alone. There was a puppy playing around the pool. He found one of my red beach shoes and started to chew on it. Then he took the shoe in his mouth and carried it over to the side of the house and left it near a hedge.

"It was when I went for the shoe that I heard Androtten. Some sort of a conference was going on in the room above the spot where the pooch had dropped my shoe. I recognized the voices of Ansaldo and Marina and the two others. But most of the talking was being done by a new voice. I thought I recognized it. Then he stopped speaking Spanish and switched to German. I'm sure it was German."

"What was he saying?"

"I couldn't make it out. But he was very angry."

"And it was Androtten?"

"Definitely."

"Could you see into the room?"

"No. I didn't try, anyway. I was afraid. I just picked up my shoe and beat it."

Hall hesitated. He gave Jerry a fresh cigarette, lit it for her. "Could they have seen you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "But that's not the end of it," she said. "After dinner, Ansaldo took me for a walk in the garden. He made a lot of small talk about different cases. Then he asked me why I insisted upon returning to town. I told him again that I wanted to buy some things to take home for friends. He was very pleasant about it. He asked me, half-seriously, if the real reason I wanted to go back was because I had a date with you. He was acting the part of a jealous lover when he said it."

"Acting?"

"I'm sure he was only acting. Because when he said that I just laughed and said, 'Good heavens, no, doctor! The last time I saw Hall he said he was going to make a small fortune writing the story of that little Dutchman's experience with the Japs, and my guess is that he'll be spending the next few days locked up in his room with the Dutchman.'

"Ansaldo stopped dead in his tracks when I said that, Matt. He asked me which Dutchman I mean--but only after he had caught his breath."

"What did he say when you told him you meant Androtten?"

"Nothing much. He made a joke--a bad one--about Flying Dutchmen. And then he continued talking about medical cases."

"And that was the last you saw of him?"

"Just about. My train left at five-thirty this morning. He was asleep when I left."

"Who drove you to the station?"

"Marina and a ranch hand. Marina was glad to see me go. He hates to see me around Ansaldo."

"Why? Is Ansaldo also a fairy?"

"God, no!" Jerry laughed. "He's anything but."

"You're exhausted. Let me get you some breakfast," he said. "And then, when you catch your second wind, maybe you'll remember some other details."

"I'm sure I've told you everything, Matt."

He picked up the phone, asked for Vicente. "Ham and eggs?" he asked Jerry.

"No. Just coffee and toast."

Hall gave Vicente the order. "And one other thing," he told the waiter. "The woman is in trouble. Some one will have to keep an eye on her today. And let me know when the fat little foreigner on this floor returns to town. He is a dangerous enemy."

"All those words for coffee and toast?" Jerry asked. "I've learned a few words, Matt. I know that _mujer_ is woman."

"Good for you. I was asking him about his wife. She's been ill."

"Oh." Jerry relaxed in her chair. "Tell me, Matt. What was it all about at the ranch? There was something wrong there. I know. Why should Ansaldo have wanted me around? And who is Androtten?"

"That's a big order, baby. There's only one thing I definitely know about it. I know that Ansaldo is a hot shot in the Falange. I know that two Falange agents arrived in San Hermano on board a Spanish ship the other day, and that they were traced to the ranch. But I can only guess that the two neighboring _estancieros_ you saw were these two visiting Falange agents."

"And Androtten?"

"Again I'm guessing. I know that a Nazi general named Wilhelm von Faupel is the man who actually runs the Falange. I know something about the way the Nazis work. O.K. So I assume that Androtten--if it really was Androtten whose voice you heard--is a Gestapo agent. That would make sense. Hitler orders Tabio's death; the job is handed to Hitler's Falange, and a Gestapo officer tags along to run the show in San Hermano as his comrades run it in Spain. It would all make sense if we could prove that the two visiting _estancieros_ were the Falange agents off the _Marques de Avillar_, and that Androtten was the man you heard."

"Then why should they have wanted me around?" Jerry asked.

There was a gentle rap on the door. "Time out for coffee," Hall smiled. "_Entrada!_"

The door was unlocked. The handle turned, and Wilhelm Androtten entered. He took off his small Panama hat, fanned his red, puffy face with it. "Ah," he sighed, "they told me at the desk that I would find you here, Mr. Hall. Hot as hell, isn't it?" He put a large coffee canister on the arm of a chair. "May I sit down?" he asked.

"Of course." Hall glanced at Jerry, whose fingers were clenched tightly on a large amber comb. "What can I do for you?"

Androtten put the canister on his lap. "Oh, my dear Mr. Hall," he sighed, his pudgy right hand resting on the lid of his tin. "I just wanted to tell you that I am leaving for Rio on an extended buying trip tomorrow. If you still are interested in my damn story, perhaps you could spare me some time this afternoon, eh?"

"I think it could be managed," Hall smiled. "Did you buy all the damn Monte Azul bean you wanted, sir?"

"Oh, yes. Oh, yes indeed, Mr. Hall. Fine, rich, full-bodied bean, fragrant as hell. Please, I'll show you." Androtten opened the canister. There was no coffee under the lid. Instead, there was a small automatic pistol, equipped with a gleaming silencer.

"Please," Androtten sighed, "no noise, please. I should hate to be forced to shoot you both."

Jerry stifled a muted cry. "You wouldn't dare," Hall said.

"You are a fool, Hall. I hope you have already noticed that my gun is equipped with the only silencer in this jungle of Indians and blackamoors."

"The Gestapo--you Nazis think of everything, don't you?" Hall said in a rising voice.

"I must remind you again not to shout, Hall. Please, lock your hands on top of your head."

Hall obeyed the order.

"If the nurse co-operates, she will be spared."

"For God's sake, Jerry, do anything the Nazi orders," Hall cried. "He has a gun!"

The little man with the gun angrily raised a finger to his lips. "Not one word out of you," he whispered. He got out of the chair, started backing toward the door. "Now," he said, "listen carefully, both of you. For your information, Hall, I am not Gestapo. I am from the Ibero-American Institute in Berlin. And that, I am afraid, is the last information you will ever receive about anything, Hall."

The comb in Jerry's hand snapped with a dry little crack. The sudden noise startled Androtten. He raised the gun and fired just as Hall dove for his feet. Three times the cough of a silenced gun sounded in the room. The shots seemed to come all together. A split second after the third shot was fired Hall had kicked the gun from the limp hand of the Nazi and was sitting astride his chest with his hands locked on Androtten's throat. He was oblivious to the noise at the balcony, to Jerry, to everything but the man dying under him.

A gentle hand tugged at Hall's shoulder. "Enough, Mateo. The _cabron_ is dead."

Emilio Vicente had climbed into the room from the balcony. He had a pistol in his hand. "The woman," he said. "She has fainted."

Jerry was lying in a heap on the floor near her chair. "Christ, she was hit!" Hall rushed to her side, examined her for bullet wounds.

"No, Mateo. His bullet sailed over my head. My bullets both hit him. I aimed for the heart. See, you are covered with his blood, no?"

"Water." Hall was sitting on the floor, Jerry's head in his lap, a hand clasped firmly over her mouth. He dipped a handkerchief into the glass Vicente gave him, ran it over her face. "Jerry," he whispered, "promise me you won't yell if I take my hand away? Everything is all right. His shot missed us both, and now he's under control."

She nodded. "I'm sorry I passed out," she said.

"You're O.K. now."

Vicente, standing over them, grinned at the girl. "_Si_, you _magnifica_," he said. "You make boom noise of comb. She"--he pointed to Androtten, who lay under a blanket Vicente had found while Hall was reviving Jerry--"she have much scare of boom, she shoot much badly. Me, Emilio, shoot much good. She no good no more."

"Is he dead? _Muerto?_"

"Much dead." Vicente showed them his pistol. He pointed to his own silencer. "I heard the son of a whore mother," he said to Hall, a sardonic smile on his grim face. "When he gets to hell he will learn that there were other silencers in this jungle."

"You heard everything?"

"But naturally, _companero_. I followed him to the door and listened. When you shouted to the woman that the Nazi had a gun, I knew you were shouting for me. I have a gun, too. And a pass key. So I rushed into the next room and climbed over to the balcony. It was not difficult."

"You were very good. You saved our lives."

"It is nothing."

"I can get up, Matt," Jerry said. "I'd rather sit in the chair."

Hall helped her to the chair, told her what Vicente had done. Vicente laughed at Hall's account of his heroism. "It was nothing," he repeated. "The Nazi was too fat to miss."

"He's very messy," Hall said, looking at the blanket.

"What are you going to do with the body?" Hall asked Vicente.

"Feed it to the sharks."

"Better fingerprint him and make photos of the face, first," Hall advised. "And let Segador know immediately."

"Be tranquil, _companero_. All in good time. When you and the woman leave, Pepe and I shall put the remains of this dog in a laundry basket and get it out of here." Vicente looked at Jerry. "And I think you had better get her out of this room. She is going to get sick if she stays here."

"You're right." Hall gave Jerry his hand. "Come on, nurse," he smiled. "We're going to my room. This is no place for a lady." He helped her to her feet.

She held her hand out to Vicente. "You are very sweet," she said. "_Usted mucho dulce._ Understand?"

"Understand," he laughed. He kissed her hand.

Hall had a bottle of brandy in his room. He poured two stiff drinks for Jerry and himself. "Feel any better?" he asked.

"It was awful for a few minutes. I was afraid he would kill you."

"So was I, baby. I was afraid he'd kill me before I ever got around to telling you how I felt. About you, I mean."

"How do you feel about me?"

He filled the glasses again. "Still think I'm a cop?"

"I don't care. I guess you aren't, though."

"Right."

"I'd have died if he killed you. I love you, Matt."

She was sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood over her, took the glass from her hand. "You know how I feel, then," he smiled.

"Darling," she said, raising her face, "didn't you think that I knew?"

"Wait," he laughed. "I'm filthy with his blood. I'd better change my clothes."

He found a fresh suit and a clean shirt in his closet. "I'll change in there," he said.

"Darling," she said, while he was changing, "I still can't figure out why Ansaldo wanted me at the ranch."

"I think I can, baby. It's not so hard. Figure it out for yourself. The beautiful American nurse is a complete political innocent. Sees all, knows nothing. A perfect set-up. The Falangist doctors take you along to San Hermano. You sit in the sickroom while Ansaldo examines Tabio. You yourself work on the smears and the slides in the laboratory. You are the clean, unbiased witness who can testify that scientifically all was on the up and up. Your existence is proof that Ansaldo's visit was legitimate. If anything was shady, he'd bring a Falangist nurse."

"But why was I brought to the ranch?"

"Same reasoning. Lavandero blocks Ansaldo's plans. Meanwhile, the Falange sends two agents from Spain with the latest orders for Ansaldo. He has to sneak out of town to confer with them. So does Androtten, the Nazi boss of the expedition. Again Ansaldo takes the unbiased, non-political nurse along. She is still the witness. She sees nothing wrong at the ranch, and, after Ansaldo puts Tabio in the grave, if anyone starts to suspect anything, they question the obviously innocent American nurse and she backs Ansaldo's story. She really hasn't seen a thing."

"That is," Jerry said, "until the dumb American nurse stood under the wrong window and heard Joe Nazi himself."

"Exactly."

"Then you think they know that I heard Androtten?"

"I can't say. But just to play safe, you're moving out of this hotel to where they can't find you. And right away. Not that they're not prepared. Remember, you didn't _see_ Androtten. They know that much. By now you can bet your bottom dollar that they have a coffee planter three hundred miles from the Gamburdo ranch who will swear on a stack of Bibles that Androtten was with him for the past three days, and a whole slew of witnesses to back him up."

"But won't it make them suspicious if I move?"

"The hell with them, baby. It's you that counts now."

"Then I'm staying. I won't spoil it for you by playing into their hands."

Hall took her in his arms. "You're wonderful," he said. "But ..."

The phone began to ring. It was Dr. Gonzales. "Can you come over to the Presidencia at once?" he asked. "Yes, very important. I am in Don Anibal's apartment. Please, hurry."

"I'll be right over."

"What is it, Matt?"

"Come on. We're going to the Presidencia. It sounds like the end."

_Chapter thirteen_

The private elevator in the Presidencia was both carpeted and bullet-proof, as it had been in General Segura's day. But the magnificent bronze friezes of General Segura's capture of San Hermano had long since been melted down to make medals, and in place of the martial friezes there now hung a series of water colors painted by grade-school children in the small villages. Every year, Hall explained to Jerry as the car climbed to the fourth floor, a committee of the Republic's leading artists chose twenty water colors submitted by the schools for a place in this elevator. The students whose pictures were chosen received medals made from the bronze frieze which had originally hung in their places.

Gonzales was waiting for them at the fourth-floor landing. "Are you all right?" he asked Jerry, and without waiting for an answer he took Hall's arm and started to walk down the long gilded corridor toward the private library of the President.

The library was large, perhaps forty feet square, the four walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. In one corner was an immense mahogany writing table, clean now except for a drinking glass packed with sharpened pencils and a large yellow foolscap pad. When Tabio was well, this table was always piled high with books, most of them opened and kept in place by an inkwell, a heavy watch, or another book. Today there were no books on Don Anibal's table; instead, almost as if in explanation, a padded steel and aluminum wheel chair stood empty near the little corridor which led to the door of the President's bedroom.

"Please, sit down." Gonzales indicated two leather chairs.

"I'm in the way," Jerry said. "I don't belong here."

"I had to take her along," Hall said. "It was a matter of her life. Is there some place where she can rest while we--while we talk?"

"Excuse me. I will make the arrangement." Gonzales stepped out of the room.

"What's happening?" Jerry asked.

"I don't know. It looks bad. Whatever it is, don't cave in on me now. It won't do anyone any good."

"I'm all right now. But I'll probably have nightmares about today for the rest of my life."

Gonzales returned to the library with a middle-aged maid in a simple uniform. "Please, nurse," he said, "this lady will escort you to a quiet apartment. You will find brandy and a bed. I hope you will forgive us and find comfort." His blue lips tried to smile at Jerry as she followed the maid out of the library.

"You're not well," Hall said.

The blue lips tightened. "I'm a cardiac, you know. But it is not of importance. Simon Tabio will join us in a moment. It is very serious, _companero_."

"Don Anibal?"

"Yes. Simon will tell you about the new development. He is young, but he is very strong. He knows that Gamburdo is a traitor."

"Has he told Don Anibal?"

"The mere telling might kill him. We must have the proof before we tell him."

"The proof?" Hall started to tell the ailing doctor about Androtten when Simon Tabio entered the library.

"Ah, Simon. This is _Companero_ Mateo Hall."

"How do you do?" the boy said, in English. "I regret that we must meet under such sad circumstances."

"_El habla castellano, chico_," Gonzales said.

"The sorrow weighs with equal weight in my own heart," Hall said.

"_Companero_ Hall was on the point of telling me some important news when you came in, Simon. I think you should hear it."

"I would like to hear it," Simon said.

"Do you know about Corbeta the Falange agent and Jimenez the C.T.E. radio operator being at the Gamburdo ranch with Ansaldo?"

"Yes. Segador has kept me informed."

"There was one other man at the ranch with them, a Nazi. An agent of the Ibero-American Institute named Androtten. At least that was the name he used. He reached San Hermano on the same plane which brought Ansaldo and me." Hall told them of Jerry's accidental discovery and of the events which followed and brought about the death of the Nazi. He told it in very few words, his eyes taking in the uncanny resemblance between Simon and his father.

"My father is very ill, senor. We must be able to prove your story for him."

"He is my friend," Hall said. "He will believe me."

"He is very ill. I believe you, of course. But what proof have we for my father that Androtten was a Nazi agent? If you know my father at all well, senor, you must surely know his passion for the truth. And we must remember that in his illness ..." The boy's voice trailed off to nothingness, and he turned away from his elders.

"I think," Gonzales said, gently, "I think that you had better tell _Companero_ Hall about what happened this morning."

Simon Bolivar Tabio dabbed at his reddened eyes with a white handkerchief. "They are killing him," he said, brokenly. He paused to swallow the painful lump in his throat, ashamed before the friends of his father for his weakness.

"There are many tears in San Hermano for Don Anibal," Hall said. "You should be proud of your own."

"This morning," Simon said, "Dr. Marina arrived here with a written message for my mother from Dr. Ansaldo. The surgeon refused to operate without the written permission of the entire Cabinet. He says in the note that he refuses to predict how long my father can live without an operation. He says that the operation must be performed immediately."

"It is murder," Gonzales said. "Every doctor in San Hermano who has examined Don Anibal swears that he is too weak to undergo an operation right now."

"He sent a copy of the note to each member of the Cabinet," Simon said. "They refuse to discuss the question without my father's permission."

"The dirty bastard," Hall said.

"We were discussing you this morning," Gonzales said. "Lavandero and Simon and myself. We think that if we get no further actual proof, we will have to place a great burden on your shoulders, _Companero_ Hall. Don Anibal trusts you."

"Do you want me to tell Don Anibal what I know?"

"Not immediately. It would be too great a shock. Don Anibal would demand proof even from you. But if he hears from you that you are here to investigate the Falange and then if, say tomorrow, you come back and tell him that you have run across some important information, perhaps ..."

"But have we time to break it to him in easy stages? Is his--health--adequate?"

"It is a chance we are forced to take," Simon said. "My father's health is not--adequate--for a sudden shock."

"You may be right. I have already notified Segador about Androtten. Perhaps by tomorrow he will have established Androtten's real identity."

"Then you will see my father now?"

"I will do anything you ask, _companero_."

"Excuse me, then." Simon left the library.

"Don Anibal is not going to live," Gonzales said when the boy left. "Not even a miracle can save his life."

The doctor was tearing the stopper from a small vial of adrenalin. He held the open mouth of the vial to his nose and breathed deeply.

"Adrenalin?" Hall asked.

"It is nothing, _companero_. Say nothing to Simon, please." A corner of his blue underlip was growing purple in tiny spots. "I hear him now, Mateo."

The boy carried his shoulders proudly when he returned to the library. "My father is sitting up in bed," he said. "He is preparing a radio speech to the entire Republic."

Dr. Gonzales was incredulous. "Are you sure, _chico_?"

Simon touched his right eye with his index finger. "I have seen it at this moment. My father is a great and a brave man. He says that we should bring _Companero_ Hall in at once."

The door leading to Tabio's room was opened by an armed army sergeant. "The President will see you now," he said.

Hall followed Simon and Gonzales through the small corridor which took them to the sick room. The shutters were opened, and the sun streamed into the chamber, bathing everyone and everything in its gentle light. Anibal Tabio was sitting up in bed, his hand raised in a familiar gesture as he dictated to a secretary who sat on a stool near his pillows.

"Neutrality," he was dictating, "neutrality is either abject surrender to Hitler or an open admission of complicity with the fascist Axis or a sinful combination of both..."

The swarthy Esteban Lavandero was, as always, at Tabio's side, his fierce Moorish face twisted with pain and love. He stood behind the girl secretary, one black hairy hand resting on the carved headboard of the ancient bed, his ears cocked for every word which came from Tabio's pale lips.

Tabio's wife and two doctors in white coats stood on the other side of the bed. The prim white collar of her dark dress matched the streaks of white in her long black hair. Her luminous _mestiza's_ eyes, swollen from quiet weeping, were now bright and clear, and when Anibal Tabio looked to his wife after turning a particularly telling phrase in his speech her generous lips parted and she smiled at him the way she had smiled to reward his earliest writings three decades ago.

"The great North American martyr to freedom, Don Abraham Lincoln, a man of great dignity whose humor was the humor of the people from whose loins he sprang, was a man who many years ago described such neutrality. Lincoln was not a neutral in the struggle between slavery and freedom. And when some fool insisted that most Americans were neutral in this struggle, Lincoln replied with the anecdote of the American woman who went for a walk in the woods and found her husband fighting with a wild bear. Being a neutral, this woman stood by and shouted, 'Bravo, Husband. Bravo, Bear.'

"And then, Lincoln said ..."

"Don Anibal," one of the doctors said, gently, "I must implore you ..." The restraining hand of Tabio's wife made him stop.

"It is no use, doctor," Tabio smiled. "At a time like this, if a President can speak at all, he must speak to his people. Tonight you will type my speech, and tomorrow you can bring the microphone right into this room, and right from my bed I shall talk to the people. If I am to die in any event, it will not matter much. And if I am to live, doctor, the speech will not kill me."

Simon, who was standing next to Hall in the doorway, whispered that Tabio's eyes were too weak to distinguish them at that distance. They started to walk toward the bed on their toes, and Hall, glancing at Tabio sitting up in the old bed in a white hospital gown surrounded by the burly Lavandero and his wife and son, was suddenly struck by the similarity of the scene which was before him and the Dore engraving of the death of Don Quixote. It was all there, even to the faithful Sancho Panza figure of Lavandero, and at that moment Hall knew why Spanish savants had for hundreds of years written scores of books on the true significance of Cervantes' classic. Here were the two great impulses of the Hispanic world, the fragile, gentle, trusting dreamer of great new horizons and at his side the broad-backed practical man of earth who threw his strength into the effort of implementing the dreams and making them the new realities. Here was the visionary Juarez and the young soldier Porfirio Diaz, when the warrior was still a man untainted by his own betrayal of a people's dream. Here was the romantic poet Jose Marti and one of his durable guerrilla generals, Maximo Gomez or Antonio Maceo, whose white and black skins, blended, would have yielded a skin the color of Lavandero's. (Was it any wonder, then, Hall thought in those fleeting seconds before Tabio recognized him, that Tabio as a young exile went to Cuba to write a biography of Marti while his faithful fellow-exile spent the same months in Havana writing an equally good study of Maceo?)

At that moment Tabio saw Hall. "_Viejo!_" he said, happily. "Mateo Hall, a good friend and thank God never a neutral. Senorita, give him your stool. Come, sit down, Mateo."

Hall took his hand, tenderly, for fear of hurting him. It was a thin hand, bony and fleshless; cold, as though Death had already touched it.

"_Viejo_," Tabio said. He might have been genially scolding a favorite child. "Say something, old friend, and don't sit there staring at me as if I were already a corpse. Tell me about yourself, Mateo. We've come a long way since Geneva and Madrid and the day they fished you out of the ocean, eh?"

"It has been a long time," Hall said. "A very long time, Don Anibal. A century."

Tabio smiled. "Time is of no matter. It is the present and the future which counts, eh, _viejo_?"

"Of course, _ilustre_."