He gestured with the glass. 'Well, he sees you and he notices you because you look American with your slacks and white coat.'
^Cord coat,' Jeff said.
'To him it was white. He watches you go into Grayson's doorway and that's all until Zuineta's men start combing the block and questioning everybody to see if anybody's noticed any strangers go into the building. This guy remembers you and by this time I've already said I offered to buy you a beer so Zumeta gets in touch with Immigration and conies up with the photo on your tourist card. The garage guy identifies you.'
Jeff did not quarrel with the explanation. Coincidence was something one had to accept in life, and it was coincidence In the form of Spencer and a man pumping gasoline at just the right time that had tipped the scales against him. His own decision to postpone surrender as long as he could had simply tightened the noose.
Now, studying the reporter and recalling the thumbnail
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
sketch Carl Webb had given of Ms character, he passed on to^the other thing that was in his mind.
'How long have you been collecting from Grayson?'
Spencer's eyes opened and for an instant it looked as if he was going to deny the charge. Then, as though he no longer had the will to argue this matter which he knew to be true, he shrugged. He took up his pipe and blew through the stem.
'About a year.'
'You knew Grayson in Las Vegas/'
'Sure, but I didn't know he'd been here awhile until I
ran into him at a meeting I was covering at the Tucan,'
He paused and what he said then verified Webb's opinion.
It also gave Jeff a clear-cut mental picture not only of Spen-
• cer himself but of the way his mind worked.
'I looked him up the following week/' he said. 'Dropped in at his office. I'd already done some checking and from what I could learn he was doing O. K. He'd bought some property that was getting more valuable every day, built a nice house. He was representing some small Stateside outfits and—'
'What about Fiske?'
'Fiske?' Spencer grinned and one corner of his mouth dipped. 'Dudley Fiske was a first-class errand boy. I think the only reason he stayed was Diana Grayson—you ve seen her, haven't you?—or maybe he was just too tired to quit.''
**A11 right,' Jeff said, 'go you saw Grayson. Then what?'
'I took it easy.' Spencer inspected his drink, turning the glass one way and then the other. 'Out in Vegas he had a reputation for being a'mean bastard and I didn't want to crowd him. I figured I'd better tiptoe around a bit, so after we'd talked about this and that I said I could use some extra dough and I had the time and maybe he could use a publicity man.
'I said it might help his business if I got the right things
in the paper. If he had some clippings to send back to the outfits he represented it might help. I said I could get his name in the paper at society things/*
'And he bought it?'
'Not at first. He said no.' Spencer looked at Jeff with one eye which drooped a little in a sly sort of way. 'So I said that that was too bad. I said I just thought I'd ask and it was nice to talk to him again. I said I still had some friends in Vegas and the next time I wrote I'd tell them Td seen him. I said they'd probably be interested to know how he was doing.'
He hesitated again, unable now to resist a small secret grin. He gulped his highball and wiped his mouth.
'He got the message, 9 * he said. 'At first I thought he was going to get rough about it—but what the hell, he knew the score. He never was a dope about things like that. He said maybe he could use a publicity man after all. He also made it clear what would happen if I got forgetful and wrote back to Vegas.'
He chuckled as though a little proud of his cleverness. 'I told him they weren't very good friends and I wasn't much at writing letters anyway.'
Jeff sighed softly, feeling a grudging admiration for the man's technique and the native shrewdness that had prompted him to be modest in his demands.
'Three hundred B's a week,' he said.
Spencer eyed him aslant. 'How the hell did you know?**
'Does it matter?'
'No'
'Three hundred B's for not writing anything/' Jeff said. 'Ninety bucks a week.'
'And I banked every dime of it,** Spencer said, 'because I've got this thing figured. I draw a pretty fair salary from the Bulletin. They have to pay it with living expenses like they are. And this is not a bad place. The climate's wonder-
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ful—not most places wliere It's hotter'n hell and sticky too —but here. Sun shines most of the time, not much rain, and the altitude keeps it nice at night.
'So you work it out one of two ways/' he said. 'A guy comes down here on a fat salary and he can figure on staying here or else he figures he'll only be here a few years and then go home. If he likes it and stays he can live it up —have a nice place, servants, join one of the clubs. Or he can live quietly and hang onto his dough and to hell with trying to keep up with the Joneses. He knows he's going to get out and that when he does he can take his dough back without the income-tax people grabbing half of it.
'That's me, brother/' He tapped his chest. 'Income tax here is practically nothing. So I'm salting it away. When I step off the plane, in New York, or wherever, I'll have a nice stake and I won't have to worry about the tax people until I start drawing a salary again. Why else do you think I'd be living in a dump like this?' he demanded. ~I coidd do better, a lot better, but when I went back—and I will some day—where would I be?'
He finished his drink but held onto the glass. He slouched down another few inches and his head sagged. His lips moved silently and he eyed the tips of his shoes glumly.
'Now there'll be no more gravy,' he said and grunted softly. 'No more publicity/'
'You would have lost it anyway,' Jeff reminded him.
'Hunh?'
'Grayson was paying off. He was going home/'
He waited, aware that Spencer was watching him again but because his head was still down his eyes were veiled,
'You knew Harry Baker and what he was doing/* he said. 'I think you knew why he went to Barbados for Gray-son and I think you knew Grayson had raised the equiva-
lent of one hundred and twenty thousand in cash for the payoff so he could go home.'
'How would I know that?' Spencer asked sullenly.
'Because I think Grayson told you so. He was Just the sort to rub it in when he could. He'd been trapped into paying out ninety bucks a week to you, and my guess is that when he knew he finally had you off his back, when he knew your little racket was about to collapse, he told you off. That sort o? opportunity would give him a lot of pleasure and I doubt if he'd waste it'
When there was no reply, he said: 'Furthermore I think you knew where the payoff was going to be. You were hanging around the Tucan that night—'
'Hanging, hell, 5 ' Spencer said with some spirit. 'It was an assignment. You think I'd take a chance on that kind of caper? With that kind of dough? You're crazy/' he said. 'I don't have that kind of nerve.*
'So what are you going to do?'
Spencer put his glass aside and pulled himself erect in the chair. He gave the question four seconds of thought and then he glanced up, cocking his head to one side, his failure-shadowed eyes serious.
*Tm going to keep snooping.'
'Doesn't that take nerve?'
'Not the way I do it.' He tipped one hand. *Tm not greedy. I'm not kidding myself that I can find that cash,
