“Who had the anxiety attack?”
“My betters.”
“What about the money?”
“That’s been arranged.”
“So everything remains the same—except the date?”
“Precisely.”
“Then it’s okay with me,” Haynes said. “But I may have to drive out to Mott’s and pound on his door to let him know about the new time.”
“Perhaps you could call him early tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll think about it,” Haynes said.
“Then I’ll disturb you no longer,” Keyes said, rose and picked up the navy-blue cashmere topcoat he had draped over the back of his chair. It was not quite a bow that he gave Erika. “Miss McCorkle.”
“Mr. Keyes.”
Keyes went to the door, opened it, turned once more and said, “Again, my apologies,” and was gone.
There was a brief silence until Erika said, “So what d’you think, chief?”
“He knows how to make an exit,” Haynes said, put his beer down on a table, picked up the bedside phone and tapped out a number.
Herr Horst answered with his usual, “Reservations.”
“This is Granville Haynes. Is Padillo still there?”
“One moment, please.”
After Padillo came on, Haynes said, “I have a problem.”
“Can it be solved over the phone?”
“No.”
“Then you’d better get over here.”
It took twenty minutes for Haynes, seated on the leather couch in the office at Mac’s Place, to tell Padillo about finding the true manuscript; target practice at the Bellevue Motel; the bugged Cadillac and the late night visit from Hamilton Keyes.
Padillo responded with his eyes, using them to signal interest, approval, surprise or simply, “Get on with it.” He sat slumped low in the high-backed chair with his feet up on the partners desk, his shoes off and his hands locked behind his head. Haynes noticed that his socks were again argyle, but this time they offered shades of brown that ranged from chocolate to taupe.
“You say you and Erika read it—Steady’s book?” Padillo said after Haynes stopped talking.
Haynes nodded.
“How was it?”
“It goes very quickly, once your disbelief is hanging by the neck.”
“Then Isabelle must’ve furnished the quick and Steady the embellishment.”
“If the CIA wanted to,” Haynes said, “it could safely issue the thing as the world’s longest press release.”
“They haven’t read it yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
“But they’re still going to bid for it tomorrow, unread or not?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to take their money?”
“Right again.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“This,” Haynes said, reached into a breast pocket and brought out the envelope that contained the note from Tinker Burns and the memo by Gilbert Undean to his files. He handed the envelope to Padillo.
“Read the note from Tinker first,” Haynes said.
Padillo nodded and, stockinged feet still up on the desk, read the note. When finished he shook his head sadly and began the memo from Undean.
After the first paragraph, Padillo’s feet dropped to the floor and he sat up in his chair. He placed the memo on top of the desk and bent over it, elbows on the desk, head in his hands, his concentration total.
When finished, he looked up at Haynes and asked, “Anyone else read this?”
“Just you and I and Tinker Burns.”
“And whoever has the original.”
“I’d almost forgotten about the original.”
