“My strength,” Rollison declared.
“I don’t follow you.”
“You’re too worked up about this affair,” Rollison told Grice, gently reproachful. “You aren’t letting your-self think clearly. They will know that you will know I’ve gone there, and if they don’t let me out, then it’s a declaration of war on the police.”
Grice said: “They may take the chance.”
“Yes,” Rollison said. “They may. It really depends on what the affair is all about.” After a few moments he went on: “There’s no reason why we shouldn’t have a time limit. Say, an hour from the time I go inside. And there’s every reason why we should lay some careful plans before I go in. By the way, may I see this New York policeman, what’s his name?”
“Luigi Tetano.”
“That’s the chap.”
“Why?” asked Grice.
“I’d like to find out other evidence he has to suggest that the doping of Tommy Loman might have been connected with the baggage racket,” Rollison said, and suddenly gripped Grice’s shoulder. “Bill, I’ve walked into trouble as ugly as this a dozen times.”
“I don’t think so,” Grice objected. “I do think —”
“Well?”
“I think you know something these people fear be-coming common knowledge,” Grice said. “It’s the only reasonable explanation of the way they’ve set out to kill you. Are you sure you don’t know what it is?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea,” Rollison answered. “Yet.”
He had a sense that Grice had acknowledged defeat, and was not going to fight any more; he also suspected that when Grice took him back to his office and went out, ostensibly to fetch Luigi Tetano, he was also going to talk to his superiors. Rollison waited by the window which overlooked Victoria Street, seething now with traffic. The rain had stopped and the sun shone fitfully, while the sky between the breaks in the white cloud was a vivid blue. Very soon, Grice came back with the American, who advanced slowly towards Rollison, saying:
“Mr. Rollison, I’m proud to meet you.”
“Oh, dear,” Rollison said. “That’s always an in-timidating way to begin. Did you really hop that plane without permission, just to follow your hunch?”
“Yes,” answered Luigi. His eyes had the brightness of a doe’s, his cheeks were soft and sallow, pale; like a woman’s. He had a bow-shaped, gentle-looking mouth.
“Then
Luigi laughed: “Thank you!”
“Lieutenant —”
“Sergeant.”
“Sergeant, why was your hunch so strong? Why did you think this cowboy from Tucson had special signifi- cance?” He saw Grice go out, and only essential busi-ness would have taken Grice away at that particular moment. The American rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger before replying:
“I don’t know, Mr. Rollison. I simply don’t know. Except —” He paused.
“Except what?”
“Except it seemed to me he might have something very special in his baggage for them to give him a shot and make sure he didn’t wake up in time to prevent them from claiming it.”
“Nothing else at all?” asked Rollison. He had not really expected more, and yet he was disappointed. He liked the other man, could well believe that he had taken the chance exactly as he had said, and yet . . .
“Mr. Rollison, the whole set-up seemed phoney,” Tetano declared at last. “It seemed to me they might be drawing attention to this cowhand while they were doing something else, and I wanted to find out what the some- thing else was. That’s one reason I am so mad, I allowed him to be doped in the B.O.A.C. plane, but when I saw him in his seat I got out quick to see if I recognised any of the other passengers. I didn’t and came to the conclusion it was not part of the baggage racket. Now maybe I wonder if it has anything to do with these bombthrowings. And I guess —” his eyes crinkled at the corners as he went on: “I wondered if you know more about it than you admit.”
“So Bill Grice has been talking,” Rollison remarked.
“Yes, sir, he has been talking,” replied Tetano. “He seems to think you are a cross between a saint and Machiavelli. He lives in a state vacillating between being frightened of what you’ll do next and being frightened for you.”
“Just between you and me,” said Rollison, “I think I’m a little frightened for myself, too.”
He looked up as Grice returned, pale-faced; shook hands with Luigi Tetano, who went out with a chief inspector who followed Grice in, then raised his hands in a hopeless kind of gesture.
“Still of the same mind?” Grice demanded.
“Yes, Bill.”
“I’ve instructions not to try to stop you if you’re set on going into the place,” announced Grice. “And not to encourage you, either. Rolly, I’d a thousand times rather go myself.”
“I know you would,” replied Rollison. “But if they are what you fear they are, they wouldn’t let you in. They will let me in — and they may even let me out. One thing, Bill, or rather two.”
