‘It has proved more than satisfactory. I admit it is expensive, but in the long run, it can’t be beaten.’
‘I only caught a glimpse of it as I came in,’ I said. ‘You really are pleased with it?’
‘Look, Mr. Masters, if you’re interested, I’d be happy for you to see a demonstration. We are more than satisfied. Would you care to see the machine operating?’
I forced myself to sound casual.
‘I don’t want to bother you…’
‘It’s no bother: it’s a pleasure.’ He pressed a button on his desk. ‘I’ll get Mr. Flemming to show it to you.’
‘As soon as we find the right premises, I’ll be in touch with you again,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your help.’
A clerk appeared in the doorway: an earnest looking guy who waited hopefully and expectantly.
‘Flemming, this is Mr. Masters. He will be opening an account with us. Mr. Masters is interested in our Filing and Finding machine. Will you demonstrate it to him?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The guy bowed to me. ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’
I got up. My legs felt shaky. I knew I was half way there, but half way there wasn’t enough. I shook hands with the manager, again thanked him for his help, then followed Flemming out of the office, up the stairs and along the gallery.
We stopped by the machine.
A girl, sitting before it, swung her chair around and looked at us inquiringly.
Flemming introduced me, then he went ahead and explained how the machine worked.
‘We have three thousand five hundred odd clients,’ he told me. ‘Each client has a number. We keep a fist of numbers right here on this card.’
He pointed to a big card hanging on the wall. I walked over to it and stared at it, my eyes moving over it swiftly. I found Rima’s name. It looked odd to me to see the neat lettering that spelt out:
My mind absorbed the number: it absorbed it the way I have never absorbed any other thing before in my life.
‘Having got the number,’ Flemming went on, ‘all we have to do is to press the keys that make up the number and the record card is immediately dropped into the tray here.’
‘That sounds fine,’ I said, smiling at him, ‘but does it work?’
The girl who had been listening gave me a pitying smile.
‘It never fails.’
‘Give me a demonstration,’ I said, smiling back at her.
‘Take the first number on our list,’ Flemming said. ‘R. Aitken. His number is 0001. Miss Laker, give me Mr. Aitken’s card.’
She swung around, pressed the keys. The machine hummed into life and a card fell into a tray.
‘Just like that,’ Flemming said, beaming at me.
I held out my hand.
‘I’m a sceptic. Maybe the card has nothing to do with Mr. Aitken.’
Happily, he handed the card to me.
I saw it had ‘Aitken’ printed in large type at the top of the card.
‘Yes. It’s impressive. Looks like I’ll have to invest in a machine like this. Could I have a try?’
‘Certainly, Mr. Masters. You go ahead.’
I bent over the keyboard. I pressed down the keys that spelt out 2997.
My heart was thumping so violently I was scared he and the girl would hear it.
The machine hummed. The cards flicked through the metal holder. I stood there, feeling sweat on my face, watching and waiting, then I saw the lone white card slide into the tray.
Flemming and the girl smiled.
‘The number you selected belongs to Miss Rima Marshall,’ Flemming said. ‘See for yourself if it is the correct card.’
I reached out and picked up the card.
There it was:
‘Some machine,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Well, thanks. This is just what I’m looking for.’
Half an hour later, in a hired car, I was driving fast along the coast road to Santa Barba.
I told myself not to be too optimistic. Although I had narrowed down the field, although I was pretty sure Rima must be living somewhere in the locality of Santa Barba, I had still to find her and my time was running out.
I arrived in Santa Barba around five thirty. I asked a traffic cop where I could find the Pacific and Union Bank and he directed me.
I cruised past the bank which was closed. It was a branch bank and small. I parked the car and walked back to take a close look at it.
Exactly opposite was a small hotel.
I took my bag from the car and went over to the hotel.
It was one of those down-at-the-heel places that cater mainly for travelling salesmen.
The fat woman behind the reception desk handed me a pen to sign in and gave me a dismal smile of welcome.
I asked her if she had a room overlooking the street. She said she had, although she recommended the back rooms as they were less noisy.
I said I didn’t mind the noise, so she gave me a key and told me how to reach the room. She said dinner would be served at seven o’clock.
I carried my bag up the stairs, found the room, unlocked the door and entered.
It was clean, plain and far from comfortable, but I didn’t care. I crossed to the window and looked out. Exactly opposite was the bank.
I pulled up a chair and sat down by the window and studied the grill guarding the entrance.
When did Rima visit the bank?
I knew I dare not try the same trick I had worked on the Los Angeles branch to get a look at her record card. I knew if she got the slightest hint that I was on her trail, she would slip away, and I would have to start the hunt all over again.
Maybe if I sat at this window and watched, I might see her, and then I could follow her and find out where she lived.
I realised this would take time. I was due back at my desk the day after tomorrow. I couldn’t stay away longer than another day. Maybe I would have some luck and spot her. It was something I decided to do, although I didn’t have much hope that tomorrow she would come to the bank.
I had to be careful to keep off the streets. It would be fatal to my plans if she saw me before I saw her.
So I decided to take no chances and remain in the hotel and keep out of sight.
I unpacked, took a shower, changed, then went down to the lobby. The place was deserted. I spent some minutes checking the telephone directory and a street directory on the off chance that Rima would be listed in either one or the other, but she wasn’t.
Then I went up to my room and stretched out on the bed. There was nothing now I could do until the bank opened the following morning.
The hours crawled by.
Later, I went down to the restaurant and had a cheerless dinner, badly cooked and indifferently served.
After dinner I went up to my room and went to bed.
At breakfast the following morning, I told the fat woman I had a lot of paper work to do and I planned to work in my bedroom.
She said I wouldn’t be disturbed.
I returned to my room, pulled up a chair and sat down at the window.
