Well, then, Karen my girl, act the part!
This is what she told herself, and suddenly she was talking, hoping her father might be proud of what she was doing even if she had broken the law and was now offering a series of lies she hoped would substantiate her original premise.
'I didn't know lie was in there/' she said. 'I didn't think anyone was here/' TSut you waited.** 'Naturally.' She fluttered one hand. T had this appoint-
ment and I thought Mr. Grayson must have stepped out because the door was unlocked. I sat right here.' She patted the cushion at her side. 'I waited—until I began to wonder how long it would be— I suppose I got restless/* she said.
'That is understandable.'
'So I looked around.' She pointed at the carton near the desk with its load of discarded papers. 'I could tell someone was moving out and—well—I took a peek in that next office/' She tried another little smile, making sure Zuineta saw it, She put a note of shy confession in her voice. *1 suppose I just got curious/' she said. 'I went on to the last office and—there he was.
'I don't know what I did then/' she said, making her tone hushed, 'or how long 1 was there. At first I didn't know what the matter was. I couldn't make myself touch him and then I knew I had to do something, I tried to shake him and finally I knew I should run and get help ' She folded her hands and dropped her glance. 'That's what I did/' she said, pleased with the story that she had brought out of nowhere and silently defying him to refute it.
Zumeta did not try. He cleared his throat and turned to Webb, asking first for his tourist card.
She watched him unfold the paper and give it a quick glance.
'Carl Webb/' he said. 'A tourist. From Las Vegas, Nevada.' Zumeta returned the paper and asked if Webb had heard about Harry Baker. When Webb nodded, Zumeta said: 'Baker went to Barbados. He sent some cables to Las Vegas. We have those cables.'
*1 have some, too,' Webb said and produced four sheets.
Zumeta read them. When he looked up his dark gaze was thoughtful and intent. 'You came to collect this money from Baker?'
'That's right,' Webb said. 'I might have made it if the
goddamned plane hadn't been late/*
'And you came here this afternoon. Why?**
'I had a date/'
'You have seen Mr. Grayson previous to this?'
'Just before noon/*
'You threatened him?'
'I didn't have to. He knew the score. He said he'd have the cash for me this afternoon/'
'Ah-h 5 ' said Zumeta, 'But you did not get it/' He glanced at Karen. 'You did not Ind it here?'
'No.'
'So.** Zumeta's big shoulders moved in a faint shrug. 'That is too bad for you, Mr. Webb/ 5
'What?'
'It occurs to me that with Mr. Grayson dead the money is no longer his to give but the property of the widow* When it is located it will be hers/*
'Yeah?' Webb's mouth compressed and his bright gaze was challenging. 'Not if I find it first/*
There was something in the flat, even tone that told Karen Webb meant just what he said, and when she glanced at Zumeta she saw his eyes open and close while things happened behind them. His mouth twisted at one comer as he pushed his chair back and stood up.
'In that case/' he said, 'I can only caution you to be most careful, Mr. Webb. We have a model prison here at San Juan de los Morros but it is still a prison. . . . We will go now to my office/* he said. tf l wffl send for Mrs. Grayson. Perhaps she can help us/*
THE CITY'S newest hotel, the Tamanaco, stood perched on a hillside some distance from the center of town. It had a sloping modern look, not in the boxlike tradition of some Jeff had seen, but with a style of its own that might have been influenced by ancient Indian architecture. From a distance it had reminded him of things that had been done by the Incas, but seen close-up the resemblance disappeared and it became a plush, expensive-looking hostelry with all the latest in decor and conveniences.
The public rooms were spacious and airy and spread over two floors, the lower of which gave on a wide expanse of lawn, cabanas, the usual umbrella-shaded tables, and an impressive, oddly shaped pool complete with diving tower. Jeff walked through die lobby to the veranda overlooking the terrace. When he caught a waiter's eye he asked for a gin and tonic and took a chair near the railing. Not until then did he realize how weary he was; not until then did he feel that, temporarily at least, he was safe.
It had bothered him greatly as he hurried from Grayson's office. Clad as he was in gabardine slacks and a cord coat, he was acutely conscious of the fact that he looked not only like a tourist but like an American tourist. He did not know how long it would be before someone would connect him with the murder; and—once the word was out that he was wanted for questioning—he would be noticed by every plainclothes detective he passed.
He could not go back to the Tucan, nor did he dare wait
for Julio Cordovez in any downtown bar lest he seem conspicuous. He thought once of the American Club, but this also seemed too obvious, so when he telephoned the little detective's office he left word for Cordovez to look for him here. What lie needed was protective coloring, and since most of the Tamanaco guests were from the States, he could move freely here without attracting attention.
He was still working on his drink when a chair moved beside him and Cordovez slid into it, not looking at him at first but giving his attention to the still-colorful spectacle at the poolside.
'Beer?' Jeff said.
Jeff signaled the waiter, ordering the beer and a refill for himself. *Tm in a jam/' he said. 'dEntiende?'
'Si.'
'My stepbrother got himself killed this afternoon.'
Cordovez was still watching the acrobats in the water but he sucked in his breath with a small whistling sound.
'Is bad,' he said. 'How does this happen?'
Jeff waited until the waiter had been taken care of and then he told what he knew and what he had done. Still impassive but nodding from time to time, Cordovez sipped his beer and made no comment until the story had been told. What he said first surprised Jeff even though he agreed with the comment.
'This girl you speak of has much spirit,' he said approvingly .'But for her you would now be at Segurnal'
'I might be invited to stay, too.'
*This is true. The fight you had, the marks on your hand, the bloodstain I noticed— all this would be difficult to explain.' He put his beer glass aside and stood up. 'If you will excuse me, I will make a telephone call.'
Jeff frowned as he watched the little man go and then the frown went away and he took a breath. The thought
of this phone call worried him as he considered it, but not for long. He had akeady committed himself. Either Cor-dovez was on his side and would remain so, or he was taking the first step at resigning his job. He lit a cigarette and waited. Presently Cordovez returned and picked up his glass. As though there had been no interruption he said:
'You have no idea who has taken the money?'
'None.'
'But you think Seiior Baker was murdered because of it?'
'I don't know what else to think.'
'But if the man from Nevada—'
'Webb.'
'If he tells the truth it would seem that Grayson thought to have this money for him last night. By then the money is gone but perhaps Grayson has an idea who took it.'
He paused and sipped more beer. He wiped his mouth, 'Today he demands its return and the thief will not give it up. To make sure Grayson can never tell on him, lie makes this attack.'
Jeff did not argue the premise. He was thinking ahead, knowing there were at least two people he had to talk
