Johnny climbed steadily and behind him he could hear increasing sounds of distress. At the twelfth floor landing the manager called a halt. “Hold it for a moment.”
Johnny turned to look at the slender figure stationed a consistently careful ten feet away, a hand on the protruding mm butt, the chest heaving and a faint sheen on the forehead. “Nerves gettin' you, Freddie?”
The little man's attempt at a smile was only partially successful. “I prefer to consider it a lack of condition, but on the other hand, we are not all nerveless invertebrates like yourself.”
“If you were gonna walk away from this, Freddie, I'd suggest a gym class. Since you're not, it doesn't matter.”
“Subtlety is not your forte, Johnny.” The revolver muzzle emerged from under the manager's arm and considered Johnny appraisingly. “You can put away the psychological needle. Let's go.”
In the twelfth floor corridor Johnny made two left turns with Ronald Frederick on his heels and came to a stop at the second door on the right, and the little man glanced up at the room number 1224 and shook his head gently.-His voice was hushed. “I seem fated to consistently underestimate you, Johnny; here I had the solution in my hand. Was that a spur-of-the-moment backfire about the blonde when I stumbled over you coming out of here that evening?”
“Yeah.”
“It's a pity we couldn't have collaborated upon this affair. Truly a pity. I could have used your flair for ingenuous action.” He frowned suddenly, and the lowered tone took on a suspicious edge. “You say our man is in here? I did verify from the housekeeper that it was a woman in the room. At the time it seemed to substantiate your-ah- histrionics.”
“That's his wife. He checked in this mornin', and they gave him 1226 and threw open the connectin' door to make a suite with the bathroom in between.”
“Mmmm. The woman complicates matters. However, we're committed. Here.” He tossed Johnny a pass key. “Lock the door of 1226. Quietly.”
Johnny inserted the key and turned it delicately until it caught with only the very faintest click of tumblers. The manager nodded, listened a moment until he was satisfied that the faint sound had attracted no attention inside, and motioned Johnny back to the door of 1224. “Get us inside. Walk in ahead of me. And remember: whatever happens in that room, my eyes will never leave you.” The voice was tense but in good control; the manager re-checked the position of the revolver under his jacket to make sure it was as nearly concealed as possible and stationed himself so that Johnny's bulk as he rapped on the door partially concealed him.
The door opened with its usual caution, but when the woman saw Johnny she smiled and opened it wider. “Good evening. I missed you at dinner. I wanted my husband to meet my benefactor.”
“Got tied up, ma'am. This is our manager, Mr. Frederick, with me. The floor below is complainin' about a leak. Could we take a look?”
“Why, I guess-”
Johnny walked forward slowly into the center of the bedroom, stopped, and turned. Ronald Frederick was closing the door, and as he stood with his back to it his eyes ranged the room quickly. Johnny could see him glance at the card table with its customary tablecloth and the remains of dinner for two. An open bottle of wine with its contents a third gone stood sentinel amidst the dirty dishes. A wine glass still half full was at one end of the table, and an empty counterpart was still in its inverted before-using position at the other. On the floor three bulging valises, one partly open, took up more than their share of space.
A heavy voice called from the room beyond. “Erika! You haf trouble?”
“It's nothing, Carl. A leak on the floor below. They're checking-“ Her glance returned to Johnny fleetingly before it passed on to Ronald Frederick, and the tenseness in the air began to communicate itself to her. Her smile shrank, and her features became tight and lifeless as she gestured stiffly to her left. “There is the lavatory. If there is a leak-”
“Call in your husband, please.” Ronald Frederick's voice was crisp. He was standing in profile to her; she had not seen the revolver, but she did not miss the edge in his tone, She was uneasy, but not yet alarmed.
“It is about his papers? I'm sure-”
“Call him, please.”
She hesitated, and then her head turned and her hand went apprehensively to her lips as quick shuffling steps sounded on the tile of the bathroom floor, and a beefy blond man appeared in the doorway. “There is no leak, Erika-”
The immobility of the tableau before him caught him in mid-air. He sucked in his breath sharply and seemed to try to pull his bulk together. He was very blond, with light blue eyes, and a florid face streaked with mottled veins, the face of a drinker. He had on a white shirt that seemed too small for him, a carelessly knotted tie, and a pair of seaman's trousers. He was in stockinged feet.
Johnny spoke first. “Herr Muller-”
The blond man turned to him alertly.
“I'll do the talking, Johnny,” Ronald Frederick interposed smoothly, and the blue eyes swung to him. “Herr Muller, we are here concerning a matter involving a Herr Dumas.”
Carl Muller nodded slowly and turned to his wife. “Leaf us, Erika.”
“Carl-”
“Leaf us.”
She crossed the room slowly, circled the card table, and disappeared into the bathroom. In a second they could all hear the closing of the door beyond that led into the other room of the suite.
“Very well done, sir,” the manager said approvingly, and the blond man looked at him steadily.
the man Dumas wass to meet me himself.”
“There was no time to inform you of a necessary change in plans.”
“You haf the word, then?”
Ronald Frederick looked over at Johnny. The fractional turn of his body disclosed the gun butt in his grip to Carl Muller, who took a half step backward as Johnny spoke after a momentary hesitation. “Samud.”
The blond man's hands had come halfway up to his belt line in the beginning of the assumption of a defensive posture.
“Well, sir? You say that is the word?”
Carl Muller nodded and rubbed his hands together nervously.
“Drop it-!” Ronald Frederick cried out sharply, and in the same instant the gun in his hand jerked up and back as it went off, and the blond man was smashed backward against the valises where he hung pinned motionless a long instant before he plunged sideways to the floor where the gun clattered loosely away from the body. The noise had been no more than a smart clap of the hands.
Johnny walked over and looked down at the glazing eyes. There was a small hole high on the forehead and no back to the head at all. He noted that the white shirt no longer seemed to fit the blond man tightly, and he looked across at the whitefaced, staring manager. “You didn't overestimate the package in that peashooter much. Well, what now? You sure handled that one like a high school kid in the kip with his girl friend the first time. That was the man with the stuff, remember?”
“I had to,” Ronald Frederick whispered. He cleared his throat, and his voice was firmer. “I had to. And get away from that gun.” He drew a long, shuddering breath. “Lock this door here. Come on. Move.”
Johnny locked the door, and when Ronald Frederick motioned with the revolver, he moved back to the center of the room. For an instant it was quiet, and then the manager's head came around abruptly as they heard the door
