also the Kahlenberg affair. Had she recorded that? He screwed his handkerchief into a ball, his face vicious. Where was the tape-recorder? Maybe, he thought, someone had got at her and she had only been halfconvinced. Maybe, he thought, she had taken the microphone and had second thoughts about taking the tape-recorder. She could have felt soiled. She was a neurotic type. Maybe she had decided to kill herself rather than to betray him. But, suppose she had recorded the conversation he had had with the four who were going after the Borgia ring? Suppose the tapes were already on their way to Kahlenberg?
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the opposite wall while his mind worked swiftly.
Should he warn them?
He considered the risk. The three men were expendable. He would be sorry to lose Gaye Desmond. He had taken a lot of trouble to find her, but, after all, he told himself, Gaye wasn't the only woman in the world. If he did warn them that the operation might already be blown, wouldn't they back out? His fee for regaining the ring was to be $500,000 plus expenses. He grimaced. It was too large a sum to give up because of four people. In a situation like this, he told himself, he must keep his nerve and gamble that this dead bitch hadn't recorded what was said.
After more thought, he decided to say nothing and to wait.
He reached for his mail and because he had a trained mind, a few minutes later, he had completely dismissed Goodyard's visit and had dismissed the thought that Kahlenberg could know that he was to lose the Borgia ring.
Charles Burnett sailed majestically into his office. He had lunched well on smoked salmon and duck in orange sauce and was feeling well fed and satisfied with himself.
His secretary handed him a coded cable, telling. him it had arrived a few minutes ago.
'Thank you, Miss Morris,' Burnett said, stifling a small belch. 'I'll attend to it.'
He sat down at his desk and unlocked a drawer. From it he took Kahlenberg's code book. A few minutes later, he was reading:
Burnett asked Miss Morris to give him the day's quotation on Honeywell. She told him the share had moved up three points.
Burnett was feeling extremely satisfied when ex-Inspector Parkins came on the line.
'I thought you should know, sir, that Mr. Shalik's secretary, Natalie Norman, was found dead in her flat this morning . . . suicide.'
Burnett was unable to speak for some seconds.
'Are you there, sir?'
He pulled himself together. So he had been right: she had looked mental: he had been sure of it.
'Why should you imagine, Parkins, that I could be interested?' he asked, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice.
'Well, sir, this young tearaway, Daz Jackson was seeing a lot of her. I thought possibly you should be told, but if I have made a mistake, then I apologize.'
Burnett drew in a deep, slow breath.
'So Jackson visited her . . . very odd. Will he be involved?'
'I doubt it. Jackson left for Dublin on Saturday night. The police do have his description. Still, Dublin is a good place for him to be.'
'Yes. Well, thank you, Parkins . . . interesting.' Burnett could almost see Parkins' foxy face and the expectant hope in his little eyes. 'There will be an additional credit in your account,' and he hung up.
He sat for a long moment, thinking. He remembered the expensive microphone left in Natalie's flat. For some seconds, he worried about it, then he assured himself no one would recognize it and it would be thrown away with her other rubbish.
Parkins' call, however, had spoilt his afternoon.
The lobby of the Rand International hotel was crowded with large, noisy American tourists who had just arrived off a bus from which assorted luggage was already spewing.
Wrapped in transparent raincovers, they milled around, shouting to each other, completely oblivious to the uproar they were creating. The lobby was shattered by cries of: 'Joe . . . you seen my bag?' 'Goddamn this rain . . . where's the sun?' 'For God's sake, Martha, you're only exciting yourself. The luggage isn't all out yet.' 'Hey, Momma . . . the guy wants our passports!' and so on and so on. America had taken over the Rand International for some ear splitting moments while the white and the coloured staff coped with the invasion.
