To Andr� Martins, it was wonderful to be back in his beloved Paris, his sprawling, lively, beautiful, romantic, exciting, fantastic Paris. How long had it been? He shook his huge, tousled head, reaching up to scratch under the cheap cap he had pushed back on his curly white hair. Maybe it was better not even to think about it; memories were dangerous things. It had been a damned long time, far too long, that�s all he knew; but now he was back, and bulldozers and tanks wouldn�t get him away again. He strode along, enjoying every second; the air seemed to smell better, the sun to shine more brightly, and he felt young again � or at least younger. Paris in September! Perfection! Actually, he suddenly remembered, it was the first of October, but what the hell! Close enough.

He crossed the Porte de Maillot with an insouciance that came from having lived in Spain, where they not only drove as recklessly as they did in Paris but where they had fewer cars and therefore greater mobility in pedestrian pursuit. Gaining the far curb, he paused a moment to glance down the Avenue de la Grand Arm�e toward the Arc de Triomphe. Home! With a smile of deep satisfaction on his weather-beaten face, he took a deep breath and continued on his way, enjoying the shade of the trees along the edge of the Bois de Boulogne. He had dropped off the metro a good deal before his destination, preferring to climb into the upper world and enjoy his Paris a bit. He had also wanted to take the time to savor the pleasure of the surprise he had in store for his old friend Kek Huuygens.

The luxury apartment building was ahead of him. His eyebrows went up at the degree of affluence implied; he had known that Kek was eminently prosperous, but this looked like the apartment of ministers, or black marketeers. He checked the address on the marquee and then shrugged; it was the correct address, or at least the last one he had had. Could they have built a new building on the spot since he had last heard from Kek? It would be too disappointing; he put the thought aside and pushed through the heavy swinging glass doors, entering into a cool, dim interior. After the bright sun of the street it took several moments for his eyesight to adjust; after the wait he located the concierge�s built-in corner desk to his left and made his way to it.

�M�sieu Huuygens, please? His apartment number?�

He smiled genially down at the tiny man behind the desk, relieved now that it was apparent the name Huuygens was not unfamiliar, that Kek actually did live there. The sudden look of suspicion on the small, wrinkled face did not surprise Andr� in the least; his appearance invoked suspicion more often than not. He removed his benign gaze from the little uniformed man and stared about the lobby a minute. Posh, very posh. Nice. And he would bet the flowers were real. The whole d�cor earned his approval... He brought his attention back to the concierge to discover the guardian of the gate had moved from behind his counter and now stood four-square � or more like two-square, Andr� thought � before the elevator door. Possibly the little man was deaf?

�M�sieu Huuygens. Kek Huuygens,� Andr� repeated in an elevated tone. �His apartment number, please?�

The little man tilted his head and looked up. From his vantage point Andr� appeared quite mountainous, a series of lumpy foothills climbing higher and higher to be topped by a craggy, snow-capped peak wearing a wrinkled cap. He appeared somewhat the size of King Kong, which the concierge remembered vaguely from his youth; what the big man did not appear, however, was the type visitor usually admitted to the apartment of a fine gentleman such as M�sieu Kek Huuygens. This uncouth giant obviously lacked the savoirfaire one expected in visitors to this very superior apartment building � visitors not using the servants� entrance or the service doorway in the rear, that is.

�Are you expected?�

Andr� grinned, taking the little man into his confidence. On a day like today it was impossible to have secrets.

�No. As a matter of fact, I hope to surprise him.�

And who would not be surprised, the concierge thought with irritation, to open a door and find a duplicate of the Abominable Snowman facing him? Nor did the little concierge doubt for a moment that the surprise would scarcely be pleasant; this one, in addition to looming over normal-sized people like the Matterhorn, also had a face that looked as if it had been run over by a taxi and repaired by an intern. The concierge brought to mind Marshal Foch and Willie Pep, neither very large men, and determined not to be intimidated by mere size.

�I�m afraid M�sieu Huuygens is not at home,� he said coldly. His tone clearly added the words, To you.

�And I am afraid,� Andr� said pleasantly, �that I would require M�sieu Huuygens to advise me of that fact in person.� His smile did not abate in the least. He reached over and lifted the concierge politely, so that they were face to face. The little man had the sudden feeling there were miles of empty air beneath his feet. The face before him seemed to be enlarged, its pores visible like a view in a shaving mirror or the close-up of the villain on a wide movie screen. The face opened, showing huge blocks of teeth; it was speaking to him. �M�sieu Huuygens � his apartment number, please?�

The concierge swallowed convulsively; the altitude gave him a ringing in his ears. He doubted that either Marshal Foch or Willie Pep had ever faced a challenge quite this threatening. In a far less dangerous position, if he recalled his distant days as an �l�ve of history, even Napoleon had seen fit to surrender.

�Six fourteen,� he murmured faintly and felt himself descending, to be deposited gently back on his feet, with the solid footing beneath him restoring his courage. He straightened his uniform with a tug, shot his cuffs, and brushed himself off. No telling what the monster had touched before! It would be a pleasure calling the flics when this one was denied admission to 614. May they bring truncheons, pistols, and loaded capes and may the large one not know that the cloaks contained weights sewn into the hem, not to drape more gracefully, but precisely to teach troublemakers a lesson!

�Thank you,� Andr� said graciously, remembering his mother�s teachings, and turned to the elevator.

The elevator operator had been watching the scene in the lobby from within the elevator cab, behind the protection of the closed door, peeking through the little, wire-embedded glass window. Andr� became aware that the cab was at his floor. He bent down, glowering through the glass and pressing the bell button deafeningly at the same time. The door opened reluctantly and Andr� found himself facing a gnome as tiny as the concierge; the gnome was rubbing his ear resentfully. And were there five more, Andr� wondered, and if so what do they do? Man the boilers and sweep the halls? And if so, where is Snow White?

�Good evening,� he said to the operator with a slight bow and entered the small cab. �Six, please.� He waited a moment, staring ahead to the street, and then looked down at the tiny man curiously. �I said, the sixth floor, please. Do you take me up, or do I take you up?�

The door slid closed with a grudging click, as if it shared the management opinion of this interloper. They rose in that majestic accoustical purity reserved for the vertical conveyance of the very rich, with the elevator operator staring stonily at the door. Andr� approved of the transport, even as his mind on another plane prepared for his meeting with Kek Huuygens. It had been years � not since they had seen each other in Lisbon, in fact. It would be good to see Kek again � if he was home, that is. Andr� hoped fervently that his old friend was home; he had a strong premonition that should Apartment 614 be deserted or refuse him entrance, he might well encounter police when he descended, and he was in far too good a mood to wish for trouble. Besides, it would do his newly regained passport little good to return home and get into a fight with the flics the very first day! Maybe later, but not the first day...

The elevator slid to a stop with the faintest hint of motion; the door opened with a mechanical whisper. Andr� found himself unconsciously following its example.

�Thank you,� he said in a subdued tone of voice and walked quietly across the carpeted corridor to tap diffidently on the door of 614, almost directly opposite the elevator. He suddenly seemed to realize that while inaudibility might be properly appropriate to the edifice, it scarcely resulted in doors being answered unless the tenant happened to have his ear to the panel; at the same moment he discovered the doorbell set quite conspicuously in the door jamb and pressed it firmly. He swung about with a broad smile, presenting his back to the little peephole which he knew might be used. Facing him was the elevator operator. Andr� winked at him in friendly fashion, forgiving all, and waited. There was the sound of the peephole cover being opened and closed, and then the further sound of a key being turned in a lock. Andr� grinned widely, not only anticipating Kek�s surprise and delight, but also the consternation of the elevator operator at the reunion. He waited a moment and then swung around.

His wide grin maintained for a moment, frozen, and then turned into a painful grimace. He was facing a very pretty girl in a very pretty dress, and he automatically knew that she was neither the cook nor the daily cleaning woman. He swallowed, his face reddening.

�I�m sorry,� he stammered and swore to himself on his father�s honor that as soon as he escaped he would go downstairs, tear the concierge into pieces fit for bouillabaisse, and distribute them along the various mail slots back of his own desk. For luck! It not only would teach the little nain not to play games with visitors, but it would undoubtedly also prove a boon to the tenants of the building. He pictured himself receiving laurels from the tenants; it saved him from facing the girl, who was frowning at him in speculation. He reached up and took off the cheap cap, wishing he could have afforded a haircut.

�I�m sorry,� he said, suddenly aware of his age and his hands and his feet and his size and their size, and that his nose had been broken and his face scarred, and that his white hair was standing out in uncontrolled spikes. �I was looking for a friend of mine... a Kek Huuygens... And the concierge...�

The girl�s face cleared. She grinned at him, a friendly grin. �You�re Andr�.�

�...the little son of a � I mean, the little � well, he told me downstairs that this was the apartment. Six-fourteen�� It occurred to him the mistake might have been his; he stepped back to look the top of the door in the eye. No, the number was right. �I�m sorry, mademoiselle� It wasn�t my fault��

�Andr� Martins.� The girl bobbed her head vigorously, convinced she was right. Her shoulder-length blond hair swirled at the motion and then settled back, swaying protectively about her neck; her eyebrows cocked at him, daring him to deny it.

��but when I get downstairs�� Andr� paused to stare in astonishment. �I beg your pardon?�

�You�re Andr� Martins. Right?�

�You know me? How?� He looked behind him, as if the answer might be in someone feeding the girl cue cards, as he had seen on television, and then turned back. It occurred to him that possibly he owed the tiny concierge an apology, but the thought didn�t bother him greatly. Another thought followed too quickly, explaining the mystery. �I didn�t know Kek had married.�

�He hasn�t,� the girl said. �Yet.� She grinned at him, a pixie grin showing small but perfect teeth. Her skin, he noticed, was blemish-free, tanned, undoubtedly by the tennis court rather than cosmetics. �He�s a stubborn man, but I expect you know that. Unfortunately for him, I am too. You�ll cut the cake yet.� She stood aside, smiling at him. �Come in. My name is Anita.� She shook hands, giving him a strength of grip that surprised him, stood back as he entered, and closed the door behind him. The elevator operator sighed and reluctantly took the cab downward. �Kek�s in the living room.�

She led the way down a corridor, her soft skirts swaying about her in the narrow hallway. Soft lighting illuminated paintings on both walls; the large man sank self-consciously in the heavy pile of the rug. It came to him that possibly it had been a mistake to drop in on Kek unannounced like this. And unkempt. He didn�t fit into this milieu. He belonged in another scene; the docks were his area. Maybe it was a mistake to try to renew ties fashioned so many years before; maybe he should have called Kek on the phone and met him someplace else � at a bar someplace, maybe. Or maybe it would have been better not even to have come. It was a long time, and people went their ways, and they changed. They forgot; usually it was a lot easier to forget. He smiled to himself wryly. Only he hadn�t changed; he was as ragged and broke and as much a failure as he had always been.

The girl stood aside once again, allowing � almost forcing � Andr� to enter the living room first. Kek Huuygens was standing behind a bar in one corner of the large, sunny room, carefully pouring drinks, his attitude that of a person who properly respected liquor. Three glasses stood before him. Andr� looked about the luxuriously appointed room and then back at Kek. Huuygens was a man in his early forties, a bit above medium height, athletically built, his thick, curly hair beginning to be touched with gray. His slate-gray eyes were calmly judging quantities as he poured; his strong, handsome features were as Andr� remembered.

�Hello, Andr�.� His wide-spaced eyes studied the other man with apparent impersonality, but there was a hidden twinkle in them, and his mercurial eyebrows were slanted sharply, a characteristic Andr� remembered. It indicated curiosity. Andr� froze, his hand on his cap still. Kek probably wondered why he was here; or rather, Kek probably thought he was here to borrow money! He would have turned and left, but the girl blocked the doorway.

�Hello, Kek. Look, I was just��

�You�re late,� Huuygens said calmly and continued pouring.

Andr� shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. Late? It began to appear to him that his surprise � to mix a metaphor � was on the other foot.

�Late?� He knew he sounded stupid, but that was because he was stupid, he told himself, and crossed the room to the bar, dragging a stool back and half-sitting on it, staring at Huuygens. Huuygens nodded to him politely and slid a glass across to him. Anita took her glass and retired to a sofa at the far side of the room, watching the two men.

�Argentinian,� Huuygens said, indicating the amber liquid in the glasses. �It�s called Reserva San Juan. A nice combination of the best elements of the brandies of France and Spain. Or France and Portugal, if you prefer.�

Andr� stared at him a moment and then upended his glass. He set it down without commenting on the quality of the cognac he had just drunk; in point of fact he had not even tasted it.

�What�s this �late� business?� he asked suspiciously and reached for the bottle, refilling his glass with half an eye, his main attention fixed on Kek. �How could you even know I was coming?�

Huuygens sipped his drink, nodded in appreciation for its flavor, and placed his glass on the bar.

�I hear things,� he said simply. �Especially about old friends � and particularly old friends I�m interested in. You left Lisbon over a year ago and moved to Barcelona��

�Things were dead in Lisbon.� Andr� spoke almost without volition; the entire situation was impossible.

��and you didn�t do much better in Barcelona, even with the leads furnished you by Pereira��

Andr� shrugged. �When it was raining business sense, God gave me a fork.� Light suddenly struck. He looked up, frowning. �You told Pereira to give me those leads!�

�Yes,� Kek said equably. �At any rate, they didn�t work out as well as we both hoped, so when you finally got a pardon from the French government��

Andr� was forced to grin. �One of the few advantages, I admit, of changing republics.� The cognac was making its presence felt; the strangeness of the meeting was fading, replaced by a friendly warmth.

�Yes,� Kek agreed and continued. �As I said, you left Barcelona yesterday, heading for Paris. I knew you�d come to see me as soon as you got here � or at least I hoped so. I also calculated you�d try to save the fare of an airplane.� He glanced at his watch, smiling. �The train from Barcelona arrived several hours ago��

�Train!� Andr� snorted and poured himself another drink. �What train! Bus! Then the metro. Then a spot of walking. The metro,� he added, �doesn�t smell like it used to.� He frowned in reminiscence, as if the bad smell of the metro was one of the things he had missed during his exile, now taken from him by strangers, and drank his drink.

�Ah,� Huuygens said in understanding, and nodded, pleased that the mystery was resolved. �That�s why, then. At any rate you�re here, and I�m very happy.�

�I�m rather pleased myself.� Andr� wiped his lips on his cuff and looked at the bottle. It would be pressing hospitality of even an old friend to have more than three drinks. If it were offered, of course � Kek seemed to have read his mind; he poured another drink for Andr� and raised his glass.

�Here�s to luck.� He drank and set his glass down. �Well, enough of this lovemaking. Where are your bags?�

�At the bus terminal. I came right over. I�ve got to get a room someplace and get settled, and then��

�You�re staying here.� It was Anita speaking from across the room. �Your room is all ready.� Her eyes smiled at him. �Extra-length bed and all.�

Andr� swung to face her. �No, no! Look��

�You look,� Huuygens said calmly. �You saved my life three times in the old days, and then we lost track of each other until Lisbon and that affair of those miniature paintings, and that was a long time ago.� He shrugged. �It seems about the only way not to lose track of you is to keep you in sight. So you stay here.�

�You don�t seem to have much trouble keeping people in sight,� Andr� said dryly. �Anyway, I can�t��

�Besides,� Huuygens said evenly, interrupting, �I�m sure we can be useful to each other.�

Andr� frowned and shook his head. �Kek, Kek! You should know me well enough to know I never took charity in my life, and I�m too old to start now. Besides � you need me on one of your jobs?� He snorted. �You�re known everywhere as the best smuggler in the world, and the smartest. Me? I didn�t even get away with bringing in a few lousy cases of cigarettes from Algiers right after the war! Miles from Marseilles and the police boat picks me out like I�d put out an SOS or something!� He shook his head decisively. �Thank you, but no. I�ll drink your liquor and have a meal on you from time to time, but no.� He looked up almost defiantly. �And I didn�t come to borrow money, either.�

�Are you all done?�

Andr� raised a hand. �Don�t say it, because I�ll only repeat the whole thing.�

�And Anita says I�m stubborn! You listen to me��

He was interrupted by the sudden sharp ringing of the telephone. All three swung around to face the unexpected sound. Kek�s eyes narrowed; it was an unlisted number, available only to those who were acquainted with the true nature of his vocation. Anita came to her feet, putting down her glass, moving to the telephone on the desk. There were times when Kek preferred not to be home to certain calls.

�Hello?�

The sound of a voice could be heard, muted, filtered through the receiver, audible to the two men in the quiet of the large room. Anita nodded, quite as if her caller could see her; she looked around.

�It�s a Se�or Sanchez. He�d like to see you. He says he has an important job for you.�

�Ask him where he got my telephone number.�

Anita returned to the conversation on the telephone. A moment later she turned again; there was a slightly mischievous smile in her eyes. She covered the receiver with her hand.

�He says he got it from a very reliable source.� She paused a moment for effect. �He says he got it from an old friend of yours. You may remember him � Andr� Martins.�

�Me?� Andr� sat erect in shock. �Never!� He crossed himself and then paused to think. �Sanchez? Luis Sanchez? From Barcelona?� Anita shrugged her lack of knowledge. �It has to be him; he�s the only one who would even know my name.�

Kek looked at him. �Who is he?�

�A sour apple,� Andr� said and made a face. �A real loss to society.�

�A lot of my clients are,� Kek said, grinning. His grin faded. �You never gave my name? Or mentioned this number?�

�Never!� Andr� raised his hand. �Not only not to Sanchez, but to nobody. However,� he added, bringing his hand down, �I know it�s available, and it certainly would be to anyone with Sanchez�s connections. As well as the fact that we know each other and that we�re old friends.�

�Well,� Kek said, thinking about it, �at least he doesn�t sound like police. And people who lie to me I find interesting.� He looked at Anita, patiently holding the telephone mouthpiece cupped. �When does he want to come over?�

�Now, he says. He�s in a bar just down the street.�

�Good enough.� Kek smiled. �Tell him to come along.�

Anita spoke into the telephone and hung up. Without being bidden, she came to the bar, placed the cognac bottle on the glass shelf back of the bar, and set the used glasses in the sink beneath the counter; Kek�s interviews with perspective clients were nondrinking affairs. She wiped the surface with a towel and hung it up neatly. Kek came from behind the bar, pulled a chair around to face the corridor, and then looked sideways at Andr�.

�How well do you know this Sanchez?�

�Well, if he�s the one from Barcelona, and he must be, then I know him well enough,� Andr� said. He didn�t sound particularly proud of the acquaintanceship.

Kek thought a moment, a frown on his face, and then dropped into the chair. He looked up. �Take a good look at him through the peephole when he rings. Annie will let him in. You stay out of sight until he�s left.�

�Why?�

Kek smiled at him. �Call it a hunch.�

�All right,� Andr� said agreeably, seeing no reason to argue, especially against a hunch. He moved to his feet, following Anita toward the front door. The bell rang just as he came up to it. One look through the withdrawn peephole cover was enough; he put the cover back in place and nodded vigorously to Anita and then went on back to the end of the corridor, pushing through a swinging door. He found himself in the kitchen and let the door swing shut softly behind him.

It occurred to him that possibly Kek was right. Maybe they could be useful to each other. Because in Andr�s experience, anyone who dealt with Se�or Luis Sanchez or his friends at times needed more than brains. Sometimes a little muscle came in handy.

He looked at the refrigerator door with a pang, remembering his last meal, a long time ago, and then forced himself to go and sit down at the table, staring through the curtained window at the parkland across the street. He also hadn�t come to visit an old friend just to raid an icebox...

Se�or Luis Anselmo Sanchez y Miranda was a tall, painfully thin man with a narrow face, cavernous cheeks, thin lips, and a large nose revealing flaring nostrils over a hairline mustache. His wedge-shaped forehead was split geometrically by a sharp widow�s peak that made him look slightly satanic; the black hair that flowed back on each side seemed polished, as if by wax. His eyes were hooded, his skin mottled, and his teeth could have stood both straightening and cleaning, but what his personal features lacked in beauty was at least partially compensated for by his clothing; he was impeccably dressed in a tight checkered suit favored by Spaniards of a certain type.

He glanced about the elegant room appreciatively, waited until Anita had excused herself � his black eyes following her with even greater appreciation than they had exhibited for the nudes on the walls � and then graciously accepted the seat offered him by a casual wave of his host�s hand. The bright light from the windows struck his eyes, but not so forcibly as to cause him to consider a change in seating; he appreciated the intelligent purpose that had led Huuygens to seat him there. And for what Se�or Sanchez had in mind, an intelligent man was what he required. In fact, what he required was Kek Huuygens himself, and nobody else, and a little momentary discomfort was a small price to pay for obtaining those invaluable services.

There was a moment of silence, broken by Sanchez. �A lovely apartment...�

�Thank you. We find it most comfortable.� The tone Kek used was sufficiently polite but clearly hinted that he was sure his visitor had not come for the sole purpose of complimenting the furnishings. He tented his fingers, watching his guest above them. �You say Andr� Martins gave you my telephone number?�

�Yes.� Sanchez nodded easily, neither overanxious to prove his good credentials nor hesitantly, as if trying to avoid the matter. It was well done, and Kek gave him credit for it. �He claims to be an old friend of yours, m�sieu.� It was a statement but ended on a slightly rising inflection.

�He is. Although I haven�t seen him in years. He went to Portugal; I went to the States...� One good lie deserves another, Kek thought, and leaned back, prepared to play the verbal chess game to conclusion. Move and countermove...

�Ah!� Se�or Sanchez folded his pencillike fingers into a bundle which he deposited in his lap; they lay there like sticks. He seemed to relax a bit. �Yes. Luckily I�ve been able to be of some help to poor Andr� from time to time � small jobs, occasional loans. A fine fellow, Andr�, and strong as a bull, of course.� His French, Huuygens was pleased to see, was excellent; it would have been more difficult to conduct the charade in Kek�s Spanish, but far from impossible. Languages were vital to his profession. The thin man�s rich voice became sad. �Not too successful, Andr�, I�m afraid � no businessman � but still, a fine fellow...�

What an actor! Kek thought. He kept his voice noncommittal. �As I say, I haven�t heard from him in years. What�s old Andr� doing in Lisbon these days?�

�Not Lisbon. Barcelona. He came to Spain a year ago, at least. As to what he�s doing�� Sanchez shrugged. �A little of this and a little of that. I try to see to it the poor fellow doesn�t starve. He can�t return to France, you know. Some trouble with the police, I hear. A pity. He talks about Paris quite often.�

�It must be difficult. Trouble with the police, I mean.� Kek suppressed a yawn. �Well, be sure and give him my regards when you see him.� His tone relegated poor Andr� Martins and his problems back to the oblivion in which they apparently existed. He pressed his tented fingers together tightly and then released the pressure; it was as if he was preparing for business. �And just exactly what did Martins tell you about me, se�or?�

The man across from him hesitated a moment and then leaned forward slightly. It was something like watching a carpenter�s rule unfold.

�He told me you could help me with a problem I have.�

�A problem?�

�Yes. To be exact, M�sieu Huuygens, I have a suitcase which I should like to have taken through customs��

�So?� Kek stared at him curiously. �What did Andr� say that made you think that should interest me?�

Sanchez smiled. �I understand your caution, m�sieu, but believe me, you have no need of it with me. I am in much the same business as you � among other businesses, of course. I am well aware of your reputation and your talent for � well, for such things.� He tried to make out the expression on the shadowed face across from him, but without success. �Let me put it another way, m�sieu. Let us take a hypothetical example...�

�That might be better,� Kek agreed equably. �What example should we take?�

�Let�s take the case of a person who wished to bring a suitcase through customs without � well, shall we say without bothering the customs officials too much?�

Kek sighed gently. �If you wish to consider either the example or the suitcase hypothetical, fine; but let�s leave the rest of the language veritable, shall we? Semantics can get complicated at times.� He tapped his tented fingers together. �Now, let�s take the hypothetical case of a person wishing to smuggle a suitcase through customs.�

�Fair enough,� Sanchez said and grinned. �All right. Could such a thing be done?�

�I imagine so. Though I still fail to see why this should interest me.�

�With your permission, a little patience, m�sieu, I believe I can show you how it could interest you in a while. But first, you say it can be done?�

�I should say so. Taken from where to where?�

�From Buenos Aires to Barcelona.�

�And what would this hypothetical case contain?�

Se�or Sanchez looked slightly disappointed at what he obviously considered a faux pas on the part of his host.

�Considering the fee I�m sure will be asked � a fee I�m equally sure will not be hypothetical � I should imagine the contents of the suitcase could remain secret.�

Kek shrugged. �Possibly by some, but certainly not by me. It appears, se�or, that Andr� did not tell you enough about me. Or possibly he didn�t know, since it�s been a long time. But let me say this: I can�t picture myself taking a hypothetical suitcase into Spain containing, say, narcotics, for example.�

�For no amount of money?�

�For no amount of money.�

�And if it didn�t contain narcotics?�

�Then it obviously would contain something else. Which would not have to be a secret.� He shook his head. �Let me suggest that I cannot imagine anyone, myself included, taking a suitcase through customs without knowing what he was carrying.�

There were several moments of prolonged silence, followed by a deep sigh. The hawklike profile pivoted, the hooded eyes studying the room without actually seeing any of the beauties it contained. The black, hooded eyes returned at last to Kek�s face as if calculating something.

�All right, m�sieu. My reticence is simply due to the fact that you will probably not believe what I am about to tell you�� He paused.

Kek nodded inwardly. You may be quite sure I won�t believe it, he silently assured the man across from him and waited. Sanchez seemed to find it hard to continue; his locked fingers writhed in his lap, like disturbed twigs. At last he looked up. �To tell you the truth, M�sieu Huuygens,� he said, �the suitcase will contain nothing more illegal than parchment.�

�Parchment?� It was a lovely lie, Kek was forced to admit.

�Parchment.� Having made the plunge, the words came easier for Se�or Sanchez. He unlocked his fingers, placing his hands on his bony knees. �M�sieu Huuygens, I know you�ll find this hard to believe, but it is the truth. A good many of the land titles to the most important pieces of property in the city of Buenos Aires depend for their legal validity on nothing more than the fact that the original grants given by the Spanish crown to the original owners have disappeared � or had disappeared, that is, until quite recently. Then, in an � an old church in � but the name is unimportant; let us simply say in a section of the city that once was a small village but is now a suburb, a part of Greater Buenos Aires, some of these original land grants were discovered. They had been there for years, put away in a drawer. The man who discovered them did so by pure accident, but he was smart enough to realize their potential worth, and�� He hesitated, slightly embarrassed.

�Stole them?�

Sanchez seemed relieved to have the naughty words spoken by someone with less sensibility than himself. �I�m afraid that�s right.� He shrugged delicately. �Actually, you might more properly say restole them, because of course they were the true grants to the land, and I�m sure the original owners didn�t give up either the land or the grants all that easily. In any event, most of the descendants of the original families live in Spain, and many of them in Barcelona. They were approached recently by this�� Again the slight hesitation.

�Thief?� Huuygens suggested politely.

��the man who had located the parchments. However, he did not have the actual documents with him of course; he was afraid to take them through customs. They would have taken quite a bit of explaining, as you can well imagine. So the families commissioned me to go to Argentina and view the documents.� He shrugged. �I was convinced of their authenticity. And their potential value.�

�You are an expert on documents?�

Sanchez grinned; on his thin face it looked like a rictus.

�M�sieu, I am an expert on making money.�

Which is probably the first true statement said in this room since your arrival, Kek thought. Still, there is no doubt the man has a wonderful imagination. His grandchildren must enjoy his stories.

�But why bring the documents to Spain at all?� Kek asked. �The land they refer to is, after all, in Argentina.�

The thin man shook his head decisively. �No, no, m�sieu! To attempt to present the parchments in an Argentinian court would be ridiculous. A good part of what is now the city of Buenos Aires is involved. The government there simply could not allow such a claim to be considered for a moment. The documents would be impounded, declared fraudulent, and destroyed. Even in Spain�� He sighed. �My principals are important people, but I�m sure that even in Spain we shall have problems. But the documents are Spanish in origin, and there, at least, it�s felt we might have a chance.�

Huuygens nodded, as if seeing the logic of the other�s position. It was an imaginative story, he had to admit; he wondered whether Sanchez had come prepared with it or had made it up on the spur of the moment. However, he decided to play along a bit more.

�How big a suitcase are we talking about?�

�A normal suitcase.� Sanchez held out his pencillike fingers. �About so wide. A few feet. Nothing extraordinary.� He smiled. �Still, a bit too big to carry through customs under one�s coat.�

�The only thing I ever carry through customs under my coat,� Kek said, �is me. And I usually have more trouble with that than I do with anything else.� He changed the subject. �What�s the weight of this suitcase?�

Sanchez considered. �Fifteen kilo, I�d say. A bit more than thirty pounds. Not heavy at all.�

Which, heavy or not, would make a lot of parchment, Kek thought, and pitied the number of sheep called upon to furnish it. �Why a suitcase, necessarily?� he asked. �I assume the parchment is rolled; at least it was customary in those days. Wouldn�t folding harm it? Why not a tube of some sort?�

Sanchez considered him evenly. �Because, m�sieu, you will have to transport the material somehow to get it to Spain, and a tube with a lock on it might arouse the curiosity of a porter, or an airline baggage handler, or a clerk��

�Locked? This suitcase will be locked?�

�Extremely well locked, m�sieu.� Now that the subject had been broached, Sanchez sounded determined to settle the matter for all time. �The suitcase will be locked and will remain locked, m�sieu. That is a vital condition. The value of these documents might prove a temptation to anyone, even to someone with your reputation for dealing fairly with clients. We are not talking about a paltry painting now, m�sieu, or a valuable book. We are talking about most of the city of Buenos Aires.� He waited for some response; Huuygens remained silent, watching him over his tented fingers. Sanchez took this as a form of acceptance and continued. �Well, m�sieu, what do you think? It can be done?�

�Oh, yes. It can be done, all right.�

�May one ask how?�

Kek looked at him sardonically. �One may ask, of course, but one would not be answered. After all, se�or, the suitcase is still hypothetical, but my means of making a living is not.�

Sanchez smiled, accepting the answer. It was one he would have given himself. His smile faded. �And the charge would be? The cost to us?�

�Ah, that�s the problem, you see.� Kek frowned at the carpet and then brought his eyes up. �I�m not sure I want the job. A locked suitcase...� He smiled apologetically; even in the shadows Sanchez could see the boyish lift of the lips and the gleam of the white teeth. �Without intending any disrespect, se�or, I don�t know you; that is a second thing. I would need to check your credentials. Say, with someone like Andr�...� He waited for a reaction from the man across from him and gave him high marks for retaining his composure. �If I could find him after all these years, of course. But if not, with someone else. I have other contacts in Barcelona.�

Sanchez released a shuddering breath. Huuygens, at least, was interested! �Would ten thousand, American, plus any expenses involved induce you to take the job without wasting time?� He waved a hand impatiently. �Not that I worry about your checking on me, M�sieu Huuygens. I�m not of the police, and that�s all that should interest you. I�m well known in Barcelona, and that fact can easily be established by a simple telephone call.�

�I�m afraid I would want more than a simple telephone call to convince me, se�or.� Kek came to his feet in an easy motion, indicating the interview was over, at least for the moment. �I shall have to let you know, Se�or Sanchez. Where can I reach you?�

�How long before you can give me your decision, m�sieu?�

�Three or four days, I should think. A week at the very most.�

Sanchez unfolded himself, coming to his feet reluctantly. He seemed ill-disposed to leave the matter where it stood; he looked as if he blamed himself for not having been more successful in his mission.

�You are sure you would not care to decide right now?�

�Quite sure.�

Sanchez sighed. �Then as soon as possible, please, m�sieu. There is a lot of money involved, and other people. And we can�t even begin to prepare our case without the documentation.�

�It won�t be long, I promise. And your hotel?�

�No hotel,� Sanchez said and smiled. �I also value privacy. But the number is 35-24-471.�

Kek marked it down. �You�ll hear from me.� He set the pencil back on the desk and led the man by the arm down the corridor to the front door.

Se�or Sanchez glanced about as if in the hope of seeing the lovely lady again, as if sight of her might at least partially compensate for the failure to leave with Huuygens firmly committed, but the soft lighting of the hallway merely illuminated the paintings and nothing more and the doors leading from it were all firmly closed. He paused a moment at the outer door, waited while Kek unlatched and opened it, and then wet his thin lips with the tip of his tongue. He looked as if he were hoping a few extra words � possibly one more argument � might change the other�s mind and close the deal on the spot; but he also seemed to realize it was not possible. He drew a deep breath.

�Until later, m�sieu,� he said, and his sadness seemed genuine.

�Until later,� Kek said pleasantly, and closed the door behind him. The man in the hallway heard the lock snap shut; he sighed again and turned toward the elevator.

�He wants a few days to consider it,� Sanchez said into the telephone. His voice was conspiratorial, his skeletal hand cupping the receiver, as if that might in some way keep the words from filtering out into improper ears somewhere along the miles of long-distance wire. �I�ll have to wait around until he makes up his mind.�

At the far end of the call to Barcelona there was an unhappy sound. Se�or Antonio Maria Duarte y Bertrand, the senior partner in the deal, was not pleased with the delay. Time was, after all, money. And money was Se�or Duarte�s business, among many other things.

�What does he call a few days?�

�Three or four. Less than a week, he said.�

�Three or four, first! Then a week! Next it will be a month! What does he need time for?�

Sanchez shrugged. What a stupid question!

�You ask him,� he said. �He didn�t go into detail. He simply said he didn�t know me personally and that he wanted to check on my credentials. To make sure I�m not from the police, I suppose,� he added, well content that a check on his credentials would reveal quite the opposite. �And I imagine he wants to be sure he�ll be paid if he takes the job.�

�To hell with him!� Duarte said shortly. �We�ll get somebody else!�

�We will not get somebody else,� Sanchez said savagely. �Maybe you don�t care about your share, but I certainly care about mine! We will get Huuygens. Just be a little patient!�

�Patient! Why didn�t you increase the offer? Time is important, damn it!�

�Increase the offer, he says! Why didn�t you give me permission to increase the offer?� Luis Sanchez made a rude noise, properly aggrieved. What a damn shame he hadn�t the money to swing the deal himself but had to go in with this unspeakable idiot, Antonio! �You were the one who set ten thousand as the limit � not me!�

�It is, after all, my money,� Antonio pointed out, quite unaware of any illogic in his position, and then realized that further discussion along these lines would be fruitless and only benefit the Compa�ia Telef�nica. �Why didn�t you use Rosa? That�s why you took her along, isn�t it? Wasn�t that one of your reasons?�

Sanchez risked a quick glance at the woman lying on the bed beside him, and automatically lowered his voice. �It wouldn�t have worked.�

Duarte frowned at the instrument in his hand. �He�s cierva?�

�No, no! It isn�t that. It�s simply that he�s got something � ah � better...�

Light finally dawned on Duarte. �Is Rosa listening?�

�Naturally.�

�So what do we do? Just wait?�

Sanchez paused a moment in thought. �Antonio��

�Yes?�

�There�s a man in Barcelona; he�s named Andr� Martins. A Frenchman or a Basque � one or the other. Do you know him?�

�This is a city of two million people! Do I know an Andr� Martins! There must be fifty��

�You can�t miss this one,� Sanchez said, interrupting brusquely. �He�s a giant and no chicken. He hangs around the docks, picks up a few pesetas doing this and that. He looks like a bum, has a face like an ex-prizefighter, always wears a cap, usually needs a shave, has gray hair, almost white��

�Oh, him?� At the other end of the line Duarte nodded knowledgeably. �If it�s the one I think it is, I�ve seen him around, but I never knew his name. Why? What about him?�

Sanchez lowered his voice even farther.

�He�s a friend of this Huuygens, or he was once upon a time. Anyway, Huuygens apparently trusts him, God knows why. But I heard it before, and Huuygens practically confirmed it. Anyway, see if you can find this Andr�. Give him�� Sanchez paused to consider and then realized there was no need to instruct Duarte on that score, �Well, give him a few pesetas � that�s a lot of money for that one � and get him to telephone Huuygens directly. For a price this Andr� should do anything you ask him to, broke as he is.�

�Call Huuygens about what?�

Sanchez raised his eyes to the cracked plaster of the ceiling in supplication and then brought them down again. How Duarte had managed to get where he was was a continuing mystery!

�To give me � us � me a good name, for God�s sake! Have you been listening? To tell Huuygens he�ll be paid! To tell him we�re not police or customs men! Huuygens will listen to him, I tell you. And we can save some of that time you�re so concerned about!�

�If I can find this Andr� what�s-his-name��

�Andr� Martins. Write it down before you forget it. And try looking if you want to find him,� Sanchez advised coldly. �Try the Porte�o Bar; he�s around there when he�s got the price of a drink � there or the Cinco Puertas. Try the whole damn dock area. He�s too damned big to get lost.� His tone became sarcastic. �You won�t find him at the Ritz, so don�t waste time there.�

�I�ll look for him.�

�Thank you,� Sanchez said dryly. �And call me back if you find him, hear? I�ll be waiting.�

�I�ll call.� There was a sudden chuckle from Duarte. �Give my love to Rosa. Don�t let her tire you out too much...�

If anyone in the world tires me out, Sanchez thought bitterly, it�s you! �Good-bye,� he said and hung up without waiting for a reply. He glanced down at the curvaceous woman half sitting, half lying on the bed, watching her through half-lidded eyes. Her face had a bit too much makeup; her robe draped open, exposing undergarments that barely contained her lush flesh. Her mouth was pouting.

�Well? What did he say?�

Sanchez stared at her. �What business is it of yours?�

�I just wanted to know how long we�re going to be here.�

�It doesn�t depend on him or what he says,� Sanchez said. �Anyway, we stay as long as it takes, as long as I say. You�re getting paid by the day, aren�t you?�

Rosa ran a red tongue over even redder lips and smiled at him. �I like to earn my keep, though,� she said and swung herself from the bed, dropping the robe, holding a seductive pose a moment and then reaching behind her for the catch to her brassiere. She dropped it to the floor and cupped her full breasts provocatively, smiling at Sanchez invitingly, and then slipped a finger under the waistband of her panties.

Sanchez sighed. He must be getting old, he thought; at the moment he was more interested in the suitcase than in sex. Of all the girls he might have brought from Manuela�s place in Barcelona, he had to pick the one nymphomaniac there! Still, the fact remained that there were several days to waste, at the least, and he had to stay near the telephone in case Huuygens called, and the telephone wasn�t far from the bed...

He smiled at the thought and started to loosen his necktie. The beauty of pure logic, he thought, and watched admiringly in the mirror as Rosa completed undressing.

Although in general he preferred to drink in more refined settings, Antonio Duarte y Bertrand was not a stranger to the Villarino Bar. Business had taken him to the small caf� in the Plaza de Antonio Lopez more than once, being located, as it was, near the harbor and the various possibilities there of making money at the expense of shippers and receivers. It was also, he knew, a logical place to meet Martins; the big man would have been out of place, as Sanchez had suggested, at the Ritz. Duarte was a short, swarthy man with a barrellike figure in sharp contrast to the elegant emaciation of his temporary partner; his face was puffy and normally demonstrated a suspicious frown, his temper short, and his appetites exaggerated.

Se�or Duarte was sipping a Don Carlos Primero brandy � the legitimate grandfather, one might say, of Fundador � and studying the busy square before him half angrily. He had put out the word that he wanted to see the giant Andr� the day before, and he was properly irritated that to the moment there had been no response. True, the city was a large one, but the circle in which Duarte moved � and on the fringes of which Andr� existed � was a relatively small and close-knit one. The little, chunky man sipped at his cognac without proper appreciation for its fineness, his mind preparing castigations for those in his organization he had assigned to locate Andr�; one more hour was all he would give the big man to arrive and then he would tell Sanchez to forget his wild idea and get on with getting Huuygens � or someone�

He noticed the large figure far in the distance and paused in his thinking, unwilling to admit success. Yes, it was the big man. Andr� was crossing the square diagonally in his direction, his cap pulled over his eyes almost challengingly. Duarte came to his feet, forcing a smile onto his normally dour features, greeting the big man as if they were old friends instead of meeting in person for the first time.

�Se�or Martins. A pleasure. Sit down, sit down.� He himself sat and waved an imperious hand. �Waiter!�

Andr� sat down, frowning. While the expression of friendship was obviously false, this approach equally obviously was not normal from one attempting to make a collection. Nor was it the usual approach one faced when being offered a job. Unless, of course, the job was on the order of murder � and while he had heard that Se�or Duarte also accepted assignments of that nature for his boys, he was fairly sure that Duarte would not approach him in that regard, surely considering him an amateur by the fat man�s high standards. He waited while the waiter poured him a generous portion of the Don Carlos Primero; his eyebrows rose at sight of the prestigious brand. Whatever Duarte wanted to see him about, it had to be important. Don Carlos Primero cognac was not dispensed lightly.

�Your good health,� Duarte said woodenly and drank.

Andr� nodded and drank with him, savoring the smooth, velvety touch of the brandy, a rare treat for his disenchanted palate. He set the glass down a bit reluctantly, but still determined to get the matter over in a hurry. He had a boat to catch.

�I hear you wanted to see me.�

�I did, yes.� Duarte was smiling at him, a calculating, humorless smile. He pushed his glass away, getting down to business. �Tell me � the name is Andr�, isn�t it?�

�It is.�

�Tell me, Andr� � how would you like to make some money for practically no work at all?�

So it was a job after all! Andr�s face was hard put to find a suitable expression; he compromised by leaving it expressionless. �Nobody pays money for practically no work at all.�

�Except this time.� Duarte tapped his mottled nose with a thick forefinger and then raised it in the air for emphasis. �A telephone call is all. Scarcely what one could call work.�

�A phone call?� Andr� frowned. Who paid money to have someone make a phone call for them? One possible explanation came to him, an explanation he didn�t like. �Setting up who? For what?�

Se�or Antonio Duarte looked faintly amused at the suggestion. �My dear Andr�,� he said with a touch of sardonicism, �I do not need your help in things for which you have no experience. No, this is a call that would be beneficial to everyone involved.� He leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice. �You know, or used to know, a Dutchman named Huuygens. Kek Huuygens. Didn�t you?�

His pronunciation of the name was atrocious, but that was the least of the effect of his words upon Andr�. A feeling like a tiny electric shock ran across the big man�s nerves, but no sign of it appeared on his face; if anything, he managed to look more stonelike than ever. So this had to be the money-man, then! What a lovely pair of cutthroats � Sanchez and Duarte! He paused a moment before replying; when he spoke, he spoke slowly, as if to be clearly understood.

�I know a man named Huuygens � or I used to know him, that is, a long time ago in France. But he wasn�t Dutch. He was Polish, using a Dutch name. Actually, the man I�m referring to � I heard he took out American citizenship some time ago, but I could be wrong.� He shrugged and toyed with his brandy glass. �As I say, it�s been a long time.�

�And what does your Huuygens do for a living?�

Andr� looked at him flatly. �What do you want to know for?�

Duarte�s face hardened; it occurred to Andr� that even though small, Duarte had an organization that made him ten feet tall anytime he wanted to issue the order.

�I asked you a polite question,� Duarte said quietly. �I�m not from the police, as you well know. Now, let�s try it again: What does he do?�

Andr� shrugged as if it were no skin off his nose. �He smuggles.� He pushed his battered cap back on his head, as if recognizing antagonism was no longer needed. �They tell me he�s the best there is.� There was an unaccountable touch of pride in his tone.

�That�s the one, then,� Duarte said evenly and leaned closer again. �How friendly were you with him?�

Andr� raised his massive shoulders and let them drop. �We had our times together. Actually, I saved his life a few times. Why?�

�Saved his life?� Duarte was satisfied; his smile, while still cold, was sincere for the first time. �Then I assume he would trust you.� It was a statement, not a question.

�Of course,� Andr� said, properly amazed at the words. �Why shouldn�t he trust me?�

Duarte paid no attention to the question, which in any event had been completely rhetorical. For once that monomaniac Sanchez had been right. His thick fingers drummed on his knee. He looked up.

�And you wouldn�t mind putting him in the way of a good thing?�

�What do you call a good thing?�

Duarte surveyed the big man from beneath half-closed eyes. He brought back his friendly smile. �I�ll be frank with you, Andr�. We�ve made him a proposition to take a � an object � through customs for us. He says he wants time to think about it, undoubtedly to check on who we are, if he�ll get paid, how he�ll get paid � things like that. And that he won�t end up in jail on a police frame, I imagine. All reasonable precautions, but they take time, and we don�t have time. A phone call from you to him...� The words trailed off, self-explanatory.

�What is in this� � Andr� caught himself in time � �object you want him to smuggle?�

Duarte stared at him coldly. �What difference does it make? Especially to you? I want one thing from you, and just one � I want you to call him in Paris. I have his number. Just tell him he�s dealing with reputable people.�

Andr� frowned, thinking about the proposition, and then apparently came to a decision. He raised his eyes to look into those of Se�or Duarte and then slowly shook his head.

�No.�

Duarte�s eyes narrowed; he bit back his temper. �Why not? You�ll be paid for the call and paid well. Why not call? What difference does it make to you?�

�This difference,� Andr� said softly. His brain was functioning on all cylinders, and about time! he thought. �Let us suppose this object of yours was � let�s say � a time bomb...�

�A time bomb?� Duarte almost laughed. The imagination one uncovered in peasants! �What the devil would I want to bring a time bomb into Spain for?�

�Possibly because you might have taken out a contract on my friend Huuygens,� Andr� said calmly. �He does have enemies, you know, or at least I assume he has. And I hear that among your other activities, you and your boys also...� He looked Duarte in the eye.

Duarte looked back at him. �I don�t take contracts outside of the country,� he said evenly. �I don�t know your friend, and I give you my word I have no desire to kill him. It isn�t a bomb or anything like a bomb. It�s a plain, ordinary suitcase.�

�Suitcases have been known to carry explosives,� Andr� pointed out. He was beginning to enjoy himself. It just went to prove how little hard work really meant in this world. Sweat your brains out interrogating bartenders and whorehouse madames and nothing happened, but simply wait around bars and clues fairly flung themselves at you. This detective business was highly overrated as far as he was concerned.

�This suitcase�� Duarte stopped abruptly. For a horrible moment Andr� wondered if his wild statement might have an actual basis in fact, that it might, indeed, carry dynamite. Duarte clenched his jaw and went on. He hated to discuss things with nobodies. �This suitcase happens to contain something this Huuygens has a mania against carrying. And it isn�t explosives.� He looked up calculatingly. �What do you have scruples against?�

�Poverty,� Andr� said and grinned. �Poverty and bad brandy.�

�And that�s all?�

�That�s the works.�

�Good,� Duarte said evenly. �There�s no danger to your friend in this, if he knows his business, of course. And he�d pick up a big piece of change for doing it. And you�d be well paid for telephoning him. Fifty�� He saw the look on Andr�s face and amended his offer smoothly. �One hundred pesetas. Just to make a telephone call.�

Andr� considered. �Where�s this suitcase now?�

The big man was getting out of hand! �What�s it to you?�

�Curiosity is all. Where is it?� He sounded stubborn.

Duarte promised himself that some of his boys would pay a visit to this Andr� once this matter was settled and teach him manners. Give one of these little men on the edge of smuggling the slightest smell of a big deal and they suddenly put on airs. Still, for the time being the man could be useful, and the information was unimportant in any event.

�Argentina, if you must know.�

�And before Argentina?�

�There was no before Argentina! The stuff was made�� Duarte had had enough; he clamped off the words. �Yes or no,� he said after a brief pause.

Andr� considered the smaller man whimsically. �You ought to import the stuff legally,� he suggested. �Call it dental supplies, or something of that nature.�

Duarte�s face whitened; his mouth became mean. Suddenly he was not a short fat man but Antonio Duarte y Bertrand, a big wheel and a very dangerous man, despite his size. Andr� wondered if he had gone too far. Duarte�s voice was grating.

�Any more comments?�

�Who, me?� Andr� shook his head. �Like you said, it�s none of my business. The only thing is, one hundred pesetas doesn�t go very far these days...� He considered the other innocently. �... five hundred?�

Duarte�s fist slammed on the table. What he should have done, of course, was have the boys take care of this monster and then let him make his call from a hospital bed.

�Do you make the call?� He looked on the verge of explosion. �For five hundred pesetas?�

�Of course,� Andr� said. �I don�t guarantee Huuygens takes the job; all I guarantee is to give you a good recommendation. Understood?�

�Understood,� Duarte said tightly and came to his feet without wasting further time. He walked through the bar briskly with Andr� at his side, not at all intimidated by the difference in their heights, and entered the manager�s office without knocking. The manager looked up from his desk, momentarily prepared to denounce the unexpected intruders; one look of recognition at his uninvited guest and he forced his expression to one of respect, if not admiration.

�Se�or Duarte...�

�We want to use your telephone. A private call.�

The last was said with significance; the manager understood. He straightened some papers on his desk with a poor show of at least partial independence, got to his feet, and hastily left the room, closing the door behind him. Duarte picked up the telephone, clicked it impatiently for the operator�s attention, and gave her instructions in a drill-sergeant manner. Andr� stood at ease, glancing about the room as the call was put through. Through the open, barred window the faint sounds of the harbor could be heard in the distance, although all that could be seen from the window was the faded red-brick wall of a warehouse across the narrow street, pockmarked with ant�s nests and sporting a few tattered posters aggrandizing a famous bullfighter, plus some scrawled graffiti taking exception to the torero�s talents. Andr� had a tendency to agree with the graffiti.

The minutes dragged by; Andr� was beginning to consider calling in a waiter � at his own expense, if necessary � when Duarte suddenly made an unintelligible sound and thrust the receiver in his direction. Andr� took it and listened. A telephone bell was ringing in a well, it seemed. There was a sudden silence as the international operator cut the call momentarily; a few more seconds and she was back on the line.

�Here�s your party,� she said politely, and then Kek�s voice was in his ear. It was remarkably clear.

�Hello?�

�Hello, Kek? Kek Huuygens�?�

Duarte stood on tiptoe, trying to bring his ear in conjunction with the receiver; Andr� obliged by bending lower and then went on without pause.

�This is a very old friend of yours you haven�t heard from in years � in many years. Andr� Martins. Remember me? From the old days in the south of France? It�s been a long time, but you ought to remember me. Andr� Martins? From Perpignan? The big man? I used to sing all the gypsy songs...�

�Andr�? Andr� Martins?� Kek was delighted. �My God, it has been a long time. Still, to be honest, just hearing your voice it seems like it was only yesterday! Forget you? How could I forget the man who saved my life? How are you?�

�Fine. Kek��

�But the operator said the call was from Barcelona; the last I heard, you were living in Lisbon.�

�I left Lisbon a year or so ago��

�Oh? And what are you doing with yourself these days?�

�A little of this and a little of that,� Andr� said vaguely and then got down to business. �Look, Kek, I have a message for you.�

�Oh? From whom?�

Andr� glanced over his shoulder questioningly. The short, fat man shook his head emphatically, waggled a finger definitively, and then bent down again, pressing his ear to the back of the receiver. Andr� returned his attention to his call.

�You wouldn�t know him by name.� There was a brief pause and he went on. �Kek, have you been thinking about a trip? A vacation trip? Say, from Argentina to Spain?�

There was a sudden silence at the Paris end of the line. When Huuygens spoke again his voice was cautious, though still friendly.

�I�m considering it. Do you know anything about it I should know?�

�I know somebody has been kind enough to offer to pay your way. Well, I�m calling to say I know these people personally, and they�re first rate. Plenty of money, too, so you don�t have to worry about the cost being a drain on them. Highly reputable � in their own line, naturally. I rate them A-one.�

�I see.� There was another pause; Huuygens seemed to be thinking. �You say you know these people personally. Have you seen them recently?�

�Extremely recently. I�ve known them for a long time, too. They can be trusted.�

�That�s good,� Kek said. �Still, I haven�t made up my mind yet. I�m pretty busy these days, you know; or if you don�t know, I am. A vacation is fine, especially a free one, but I�ll have to think about it.�

�You do that,� Andr� suggested. �And I hope you take it. You know me, Kek, and you know I wouldn�t steer you wrong��

�I know that, Andr�. I�d trust you with my life.� He laughed. �I have, several times.�

�Good, then think about it, eh, Kek? And if you get to Barcelona we can get together and see each other after all these years. Talk over old times...� Or, he added to himself with an inner smile, maybe we can turn this sister act into a vaudeville skit if smuggling ever goes sour. Anita can play the banjo.

�I promise to think about it seriously. And if I should get there, how do I reach you?�

�There�s a place here called Manuela�s. Everybody knows it. It�s a... well, a sort of club. They always know where I am. I move a lot.�

�Well, maybe I�ll see you in Barcelona, yet. It�s been good talking to you, Andr�. Take care.�

�I will, Kek. You take care, too. Ciao.� Andr� depressed the telephone lever, putting the receiver back in its cradle. He turned to Duarte. �Good enough?�

Even Duarte had been impressed. �Excellent!� he said and dug an overstuffed wallet from his pocket. He counted out ten fifty-peseta notes and thrust them at Andr�. For a moment he considered adding an extra hundred as a tip and then abandoned the idea. For a tip he would overlook the big man�s lip and not put his boys on him. He reached up and patted Andr� on the shoulder. �We may be able to do business again sometime. No scruples, eh?�

�Don�t make it sound any better than it is,� Andr� said and grinned. He stuffed the bills into his pocket, feeling them wedge against the wad already there. Money, money, money, money � it was either feast or famine. If this kept on, he�d have to buy himself a wallet, something he had not required for years. Ah, well, he thought with a smile, at least he had made expenses, and that was always pleasant...

�Cocaine,� Andr� said calmly into the telephone.

�Cocaine?�

�There isn�t the slightest doubt. It�s the only major drug that comes principally from South America, and since I called you this afternoon��

�With somebody practically sitting in your lap?�

�With somebody blowing garlic in my face. A man named Duarte, Sanchez�s partner. Anyway, since I called you, I�ve been doing some checking. I practically put it to Duarte that it was cocaine � I asked him why he didn�t import it legally as dentists� supplies, and I thought he was going to have his boys after me. Which I don�t mind telling you is not the most comfortable feeling in the world. Anyway, I guess we ended up friends, so that�s no problem. In any event, I started checking.�

�And?�

�And,� Andr� said, a bit smugly because of his success, �not long ago Sanchez spent a month in Bolivia. He sent a postcard from there to Manuela�s girls, the whole bunch��

�That�s that club you mentioned?� Kek laughed.

�Well, sure, I went back there � I mean, it was all in the interests of the investigation. Anyway, he sent this postcard from a place called Talma. I checked it out at the library. It�s nearly on the Argentinian border and on the edge of the Chaco � and the only possible thing a man like Sanchez could do there, or anyone else for that matter, would be to arrange to buy coca leaves. I�m sure he didn�t go for his health. I don�t know where he had the stuff actually made, but my guess would be right in Buenos Aires.�

�I see.� There was silence as Kek digested this information. �And when will you be back?�

�Any other information you want dug out?� Andr� sounded airy.

�No, that�s all.�

�Then the first plane in the morning. And then a taxi, all the way. Portal to portal.�

Kek laughed. �Which you richly deserve. And your room will be ready, and this time you can stay in it.� He became serious. �You know, Andr�, when I asked you to go to Barcelona, I really didn�t have too much hope of your getting any information at all. I wouldn�t have known where to start. Just digging out Duarte, in only a few hours, was miraculous��

�It was really nothing,� Andr� said modestly.

�I know better. Well, I�ll see you tomorrow. Good night.�

�Good night, Kek.�

Andr� hung up, feeling good, and started to take off his shirt. It had been a long day, and while the bed in his cheap hotel room would be hard, he knew, he also knew he would sleep without problems. He climbed into bed and pulled the thin sheet over his chest. One final thought came to him before he fell asleep � the following morning before catching his plane he would have to dig Raul up and give him the price of another bottle...

Se�or Antonio Duarte was stunned. It was impossible! He glared at the telephone in growing anger, convinced that Sanchez had managed to mishandle things again.

�He won�t? What do you mean, he won�t?�

�I mean exactly what I say,� Sanchez said evenly. �He�s refused.�

�What did you say to him to make him refuse? I heard this Andr� speak with him. I heard every word they said. This Andr� couldn�t have been better or more convincing. It was a good idea, his calling Huuygens, even if you did think of it��

�Except it didn�t work,� Sanchez said imperturbably.

If the thin man in Paris was exhibiting exceptional calmness in face of the disaster, the fact was lost on Duarte. All he knew was that after having been assured by all competent authority that this Kek Huuygens was the only man in the world for the job, and after having put up the funds and having tracked down this Andr�, the hijo de madre in Paris had turned them down. And he had given 500 pesetas to the big-mouthed giant, too! It all had to be Sanchez�s fault!

�So what did he say? Why did he turn it down? He�s in business to make money, isn�t he?�

�He didn�t explain,� Sanchez said calmly. �He just said, quite pleasantly, that at the moment he was otherwise occupied and that as far as I and my proposition were concerned, he was apt to be otherwise occupied indefinitely.�

�The bastard!� Duarte was close to fuming. He had been told, and finally convinced, that without Huuygens they would be taking a terrible chance trying to smuggle it into Spain. And the thought of having to sell it in Argentina, with the subsequent loss in profit, was enough to make a person kill. In Barcelona he controlled the trade; in Argentina he would have to deal with brokers and distributors in a producing market, and for what he would get out of it he would do better to stand on the corner of Florida and Corrientes and peddle it by the packet. �So what do we do?�

Sanchez smiled at the telephone; there was a touch of cruelty in the thin grimace.

�M�sieu Huuygens said he wouldn�t take our suitcase through customs, but on the other hand, many of us say things in haste and come to change our minds after further thought...�

�You mean you think you can get him to change his mind?� That idiot Sanchez, pulling that scare business! �How?� One way occurred to him; it was the first way that always occurred to him. �Offer him more money. Double the ten thousand! Triple it!�

�I already did,� Sanchez said quietly. �He still refused. But I have a feeling I know someone who might prevail on him, even if his old friend Andr� did not��

�Who?� Duarte said impatiently, in no mood for mystery, and then saw a possibility. �Rosa?�

�In part,� Sanchez said.

�In part? What�s that supposed to mean?�

�It means what it says. Rosa will be helpful. In part.� Sanchez looked at the telephone commiseratingly, as if Duarte were before him. �Don�t worry. It will come out all right.�

�How long��

�A few days more,� Sanchez said soothingly. �Only a few days more. We�ve waited this long, we can afford to wait a few days more. And the material is safe with Schneller in Buenos Aires where it is.�

The explosion he had hoped to avoid did not come. When Duarte spoke his voice was quiet. Too quiet, Sanchez suddenly realized.

�This is the last chance,� he said softly. �I have had enough excuses. If I write off five million dollars, I intend to write off several people with it. Good morning.�

There was a click in Sanchez�s ear. He set the telephone back and looked at it thoughtfully a moment; then he smiled, confident. What he had in mind was bound to work; no need to worry Duarte or his boys. He looked over at the bed. Rosa, nude and lazily smoking a cigarette, returned the look queryingly.

�Get dressed,� Sanchez said quietly. �You wanted to earn your pay? Well, let�s get started.�

Rosa shrugged and rolled over, sitting up. She crushed out her cigarette and scratched her stomach. �What am I supposed to do?�

�Play darts,� Sanchez said cryptically and studied the seated woman. Getting fat, he thought, and wondered why eventually they all got fat...

Anita was irritated. Someone was shaking her, and rather roughly at that, and she thought it a shabby thing to do, particularly considering that she was so very, very tired and didn�t like being shaken even when she was quite rested. It reminded her of when she was a child, and it also disturbed her hair. She intended to tell Kek about it at the very first opportunity. He�d make the mean person stop shaking her!

She tried to squirm away from the insistent hand, to turn on her side and pull the covers over her, up over her head, so she could go back to sleep in peace, away from all the interruptions and aggravations. But her hand, groping feebly for the blanket, encountered nothing. Someone, in addition to that miserable shaking, had also had the gall to steal the blankets, and when she finally woke up that someone was certainly going to hear about it!

The hand refused to obey her unspoken commands. It now seemed aided by a voice, a rasping, irritating voice. If this kept on, sleep was going to be impossible.

�Madame!�

She pushed feebly at the interfering hand, rolled slightly, and felt herself sliding. There was a faintly humorous aspect to it; she hadn�t fallen out of bed since she was a child. She started to smile at the memory and then winced sharply as her head suddenly began to throb with pain. She came to rest, leaned back, and was pleased to discover that while her legs seemed to be unduly cramped by some obstacle before them, at least there was support for her head.

�Madame!�

This was impossible! The shaking, which had stopped momentarily, was now being enforced again. Obviously this exasperating intruder would not be content until he had been told off, and Anita was just in the mood to do it. She opened one eye with an effort and stared blearily at the pockmarked, mustached, and unfamiliar face leaning over her. She thought she had never in her life seen anything as revolting.

�What do you want?�

The figure above her reared back in a neat combination of justified resentment and a sort of admiration for the nerve of the pretty girl wrinkling her nose at him.

�What do I want!� The eyes rolled upward and then came down to stare at Anita. Her hand unconsciously pulled down her skirt. The man raised his eyes again at this completely unwarranted gesture. �I�ll tell you what I want, if you can understand what I�m saying. I want you to go away. I come out from having my lunch and what do I find? You � sleeping it off in my taxi! Go somewhere else to sober up. I need my cab to go to work. I have a family to feed!�

�Taxi?� What was the man talking about? Anita forced herself up from the floor of the cab and slouched on the worn seat, leaning back. Her head was not only aching miserably, but it was also spinning dangerously and her stomach felt queasy. If this unspeakable animal didn�t stop both his incessant jabber and his breathing of sour wine fumes in her face, she would do more than merely occupy his taxi; she would undoubtedly throw up all over it.

�Yes, taxi.� The driver looked at her sardonically. �I�m sure you mistook it for a box at the opera.� At least six martinis, he judged. When would women learn to be content with plain wine?

Anita held her head and then glanced over the cabdriver�s head. The street was a small one, deserted, and at first glance appeared unfamiliar, but then she recognized a boutique she occasionally patronized on the far corner and noticed the stream of traffic pouring across the main artery just a few hundred yards along. Memory returned to a small extent � she had been shopping for groceries. She had gone to the Supermarket Gourmet in the Porte de Maillot. She looked at her watch and finally managed to focus on the tiny face � two o�clock. Two o�clock? Four hours since she left home, and here she was nowhere near the Porte de Maillot but over near the Louvre! Or maybe even longer than four hours � it didn�t even have to be the same day...

�Madame!� Now that the woman was awake, communication was possible, though difficult. �Why don�t you � ah � recuperate somewhere else? The bistro over there, perhaps? The food is good, and you can probably use some. And I do need my cab. I have to make a living and I was not lying about the family.�

�What is today?�

�Christmas,� the driver said sarcastically.

It cost Anita a severe pang behind the eyes to bring her glare to bear on the wavering face before her, but she managed it.

�I asked you��

�Tuesday,� the driver said hastily and honestly. The lady seemed to be sobering up faster than most, but still... �Madame, seriously. Let me help you out��

�Quiet.�

It had been unbearably hot in the supermarket, she remembered that. She had gone to the shrimp counter and the ice had been hot. She frowned. Hot ice? No puns, she instructed herself sternly; but it had been a fact. The ice had burned her. And after that? Four hours... Where could she have been? Certainly not in this � or any other � taxi all that time. Then?

�Madame!� The driver decided that talking was useless; a policeman was the only solution. He hated to call on the law, his natural enemy, but could see nothing else for it. He looked about, well aware that a policeman was never around when you required one. He sighed and studied his unwelcome guest. Certainly the lady was beautiful and certainly well dressed, obviously not a fille de joie, but none of these facts helped get her out of his cab. The Magasin du Louvre was close by and at that hour taxis were in great demand. �Madame! Please!�

�Oh, be quiet!� Anita said crossly and pressed her hand to her head. She looked at the driver coldly, considering him for the first time as a person instead of merely a bothersome hand and an aggravating tongue. �If you want to earn money with your taxi, stop talking so much and start driving. The Avenue du Mar�chal Favolle...�

She gave the number and then had a frightening thought, one that had also occurred to the driver at the same time. She opened her purse and was relieved to see that her wallet was intact, bills poking out. The cabdriver also saw the money; he hopped into his seat and took off with a jerk before his odd passenger changed her mind and asked for a bar instead. In which case he�d probably not get paid. Anita looked around for her shopping bag, shrugged to find it missing, and leaned back in the jouncing vehicle, wishing she had chosen one with better springs in which to take her nap.

But where had she spent those four lost hours? Walking? But even overlooking the blackout, walking could not account for the difference in distance from the Porte de Maillot; she could walk that in twenty minutes to a half hour. Unless she was walking in circles... In a cinema? Sitting on a park bench? Without knowing it? She closed her eyes, trying to put the problem out of her mind for a moment, trying to concentrate instead on willing her pounding headache to abate, but the icy fear of where she might have been or what she might have done continued to intrude.

The cabdriver, while possibly no master of the mot pour rire, was nevertheless excellent at his trade. He crossed the river on the Pont des Artes in favor of the lesser traffic on the Left Bank, eschewed the avenues and boulevards fronting the river in favor of a series of smaller but less crowded streets, quite accurately assuming his fare to be more interested in speed than architecture, traversed those streets with a better-than-average scattering of pedestrians, crossed back to the Right Bank on the Pont Bir-Hakeim to miss the Trocad�ro and the crowds of tourists there, and shot down the Rue de la Tour as if trying to make up for the time lost in pointless discussion back at their starting point. He swung into the Avenue du Mar�chal Favolle with gusto and pulled up to the curb before the apartment with a slight flourish. The cessation of motion brought Anita from her reverie; she climbed down and paid the driver. If he had any notion that fuzziness would make madame overtip, he was quickly disabused of the idea. With a grunt and a scowl he put the cab in gear and pulled away. Money for martinis they had in abundance, he thought bitterly, but a decent tip for a hard-working cabbie? Never. He should have put the meter on while trying to wake her!

Kek opened the apartment door at the sound of her key in the lock. He frowned at her, his gray eyes searching her face.

�Where on earth have you been?� He noted the missing shopping bag and returned to her face. �What�s the trouble?�

Anita smiled painfully. �Were you worried?�

�Of course I was worried.� He led the way into the living room and moved behind the bar, reaching for glasses. �You�ve been gone more than four hours. I asked Andr� to go down to the market and look for you; I wanted to stay here in case you called. Where have you been, for heaven�s sake?�

�I�d love to know where I�ve been,� Anita said wearily. She sank into a chair, putting her hand to her pounding head. Kek paused in the act of taking down a bottle.

�What do you mean?�

�Just what I say, darling. And no drinks for me, thank you just the same. I feel as if I�d had about ten of them as it is. Without tasting them,� she added wryly. �Or enjoying them.�

Kek put the bottle aside and came from behind the bar. He walked over and looked down at her. His voice no longer exhibited irritation at her having given him a fright; nor did he sound curious when he spoke. Rather, his tone was emotionless, but his eyes were steady and alert. As always, Anita felt the wonderful sensation of being protected when she was with the man.

�All right,� Kek said evenly. �Tell me what happened. Everything. And exactly as it happened.�

Anita shrugged helplessly. She shook her head. �Nothing happened, darling. That�s what�s so strange. I remember thinking that the market was uncommonly hot and wondering why they didn�t turn on the air conditioning, and I remember walking over to the counter with shrimp, they were special this week, and I remember the ice burned me � I know it doesn�t make sense � and then the next thing I knew this cabdriver is shaking me and screaming at me and I was in a cab over on a side street near the Magasin du Louvre with nobody around and it was two o�clock.�

�That�s all?�

�All except I thought the top of my head was coming off. And it still feels that way.� Anita smiled at him; even forming the smile caused her head to ache. �Darling, could you get me some aspirin?�

�Of course.� Kek went to the bar and came back with two pills and a glass of water. He watched Anita swallow them and took back the glass, setting it on the bar. He drew up a footstool and pulled it close, looking at her steadily.

�All right. Where was the cabdriver when you got into the cab? What did he say?�

�He says he was in a small restaurant bar down the street having lunch.� She looked at Kek and suddenly felt a wave of protectiveness sweep over her. How odd, she thought; a moment ago I was the one who felt protected! �Don�t look so serious, darling. I have a headache, is all. I�ll be fine in a short while.�

�Was anything missing you were carrying? Money?�

�Nothing. Oh, my shopping bag. I probably dropped it when I fainted�� She nodded. �I remember that, too. I remember that I said to myself that I was going to faint and I never had before.�

�Anything else?�

�That�s strange.� Anita frowned. �Now you mention it, I seem to also remember being in bed. Twice��

�Twice?�

�I think so. The last time, I recall, I tried to reach down for the covers. I wanted to pull them over my head to make the cabdriver go away. He was shaking me, like my mother used to do to make me get up in time for school.�

�Did you get his number?�

Anita shook her head. �Darling, he had nothing to do with it, I�m sure. He was just an innocent bystander.� She looked at Kek, a smile on her face, but it was a worried smile, unsure of itself. �You�re the one who�s been reading the encyclopedia � what does it say about amnesia? You had to go that far to get to �elephant�...�

�As a matter of fact, I remember reading the section on amnesia,� Kek said quietly. It was obvious to Anita that Kek took the matter quite seriously; she knew he hated mysteries, or at least mysteries he did not concoct himself for some customs official or other. �It�s a form of hysteria and does have short forms, but you haven�t been suffering from amnesia.� He got to his feet, beginning to pace the room. �If you fainted, you certainly weren�t wandering around in a faint... Someone must have picked you up, put you in that cab. Which means that cab must have been at the Porte de Maillot when you fainted...�

�Darling,� Anita said firmly, �forget that cab! He couldn�t possibly have driven me around for four hours. Without being paid? It�s absurd.�

�Then another cab,� Kek said stubbornly. �If you remember the bed and covers, you should remember someone putting you in the cab.�

�The cab was the bed, or at least the second bed,� Anita said and remembered something else. She giggled and then cut it short as her head protested. �I remember I thought I was falling out of bed, but I was just sliding down in front of the back seat.�

�If somebody didn�t bring you to this last place and put you in the cab and then pay the driver to take you someplace��

�Nobody did,� Anita said. �The driver wanted me out, believe me. If somebody had paid him to deliver me someplace, he would have done it and left me on the curb. No, someone probably saw an empty cab and dumped me in.� She smiled. �I�ve often thought of using empty cabs to get rid of lots of trash when I�m on the street.�

�Which still explains nothing,� Kek said. �Especially why you should faint in the first place.� He sighed. �You don�t remember anything?�

�Darling, I�ve said��

�All right,� Kek said and came to his feet. He smiled apologetically. �In any event I shouldn�t be interrogating you. You get to bed. I�ll call a doctor.�

�I don�t need a doctor,� Anita insisted. �I never fainted in my life! It was�� She hesitated helplessly. �Well, I guess it was just one of those things.�

Kek stared at her a moment and then suddenly grinned. �You might be right. There�s one possibility we�ve completely overlooked. It might, indeed, be just one of those things. I�ll tell the doctor to bring along a rabbit when he comes...�

The smooth, deep, accented voice on the telephone was one Anita recognized, but it had somehow taken on an oddly sinister tone, as if the man at the other end of the line was trying to tell her something beyond the words he was employing. She glanced across the room. Andr�, reading the morning newspaper, lowered it and looked at her inquisitively over the top. She raised her shoulders in a Gallic shrug of nonunderstanding, tapped ash from her cigarette into an ashtray, and returned her attention to the instrument.

�No, Se�or Sanchez. M�sieu Huuygens isn�t here at the moment.�

�I know,� Sanchez said softly. �I saw him leave � waited until he left before I called, as a matter of fact.� There was the briefest of pauses. �Is anyone else there?�

Anita frowned. And what business is that of yours? she wondered.

�No,� she said evenly.

�Good,� Sanchez said. There was no surprise in the voice; he had been sure before he called that Anita was alone. There might, of course, have been a day servant, but that would scarcely interfere with his plans. �In any event, my business wasn�t with him, madame; it was with you.�

�With me?� Anita began to feel a faint stir of unease.

�Yes.� There was a brief pause again. �I understand you were so unfortunate as to be taken ill yesterday while shopping at the supermarket in the Porte de Maillot...�

The stirring came to a climax in a small electric shock.

�Go on.� Anita waited, suddenly alert. Across the room Andr� sat a bit more erect, his newspaper forgotten, frowning at the expression on the girl�s face. The accented voice waited an appropriate number of seconds for proper effect and then continued smoothly.

�You must be curious as to what happened, where you were for those four hours or more between the supermarket and your coming awake in that taxicab...�

Anita suddenly found herself angry; her anger wiped away her fear. �What do you know about it?�

Sanchez chuckled, the small laugh of someone sharing an amusing experience with another. �Quite a bit, I assure you, madame. I was, believe me, in a position to take notice. In fact, I�m sure you would find it to your distinct advantage to discover exactly what I do know about yesterday.�

�And how do I go about that?�

�Very simply,� Sanchez said cooperatively. �You meet me.�

�You come here,� Anita said on impulse. Her voice clearly indicated that the burnt child shunned the fire.

�I�m afraid not.� Sanchez sounded more amused than regretful. �One never could guarantee not being interrupted. M�sieu Huuygens� schedule, I imagine, must be rather elastic. Or other friends might drop in; or even trades people � you never did finish shopping yesterday, did you? All those possible interruptions... No, I suggest someplace where we will not be disturbed.�

�And if I don�t come?�

The lightness disappeared, replaced by an implacable coldness that threatened, and not lightly. �Then you will find out about those missing hours in what our American cousins call the hard way. No, madame, I suggest quite sincerely that you come. For your own well-being.�

Anita took a deep breath, wondering why she had been playing so hard to get. She had known from his first words that she would meet Sanchez where and when he wished.

�All right. Where?�

Sanchez hid his satisfaction behind a mask of suavity. �Suppose we do it this way � you descend the elevator of your building. You start to walk north on your side of the street, in the direction of the Porte Dauphine. You keep walking until I come along in a taxi and pick you up.�

�All right.�

�And start now,� the voice said coldly. �I�ll be waiting.� The telephone clicked in her ear. She hung up and looked at the big man across the room. Andr� laid aside his newspaper, aware that something was in the air. Anita�s face was expressionless.

�That was Sanchez��

�Sanchez?�

�He wants to see me alone. About what happened yesterday.� She sounded more relieved than unhappy. �Which means, at least, I�m not losing my mind.� She smiled faintly. �He tried to sound threatening. As if I would be afraid of what he�s going to tell me.�

Andr� snorted and came to his feet, towering in the room. He started to roll down his shirt sleeves, preparatory to putting on his jacket.

�Afraid? Threatening?� Paris was not Barcelona, nor Sanchez Duarte and his boys. Andr� buttoned his cuffs and reached for his jacket. �Either the little man is joking or he�s suddenly gotten delusions of grandeur. I�ll squeeze him through his own right ear like a baker decorating a cake!�

Anita shuddered at the description but shook her head decisively. �No. You stay right here. To begin with, he seems to know what happened at the market yesterday, and I need to know��

�You�ll know,� Andr� said grimly and slipped into his jacket. �He�ll tell you everything, including his grandmother�s birthday!�

�You will stay right here!� Anita suddenly sounded irked. �I�m sure Kek wouldn�t want Sanchez to know you�re in Paris.�

�Why on earth not?� Andr� demanded, amazed. �The deal�s dead, so what�s the difference?�

�Because if they found out you helped kill it, they wouldn�t be very happy about it.�

�So let them be unhappy,� Andr� suggested. �It�s good for the soul. And will help them appreciate happiness, when they ever see it.� He came back to the subject. �Let me meet Sanchez instead of you. He�ll tell me about yesterday, don�t worry. And have a week or so in a hospital for his sins as a dividend. He won�t��

Anita held up her hand; the look on her face silenced him.

�He won�t what? So you push him around, so what? You won�t kill him, and even if you did, how on earth would that help? All it would do is to bring in police, which is the last thing any of us want. And if he didn�t tell you about yesterday? Then I�d never know.�

�But��

�Anyway,� Anita went on, �he won�t harm me. This is Paris in the daytime, not the Casbah at midnight. And I can handle Se�or Sanchez. Besides,� she added, �he would be sure I�d leave a note for Kek telling him where I was going, and he�d also be sure the world would be too small a place for him if anything happened to me.� She smiled at Andr�. �Don�t worry. I�ll be safe.�

�All right,� Andr� said doubtfully. �But��

�And don�t try to follow me,� Anita said briskly, reaching for her purse. Now that she was ready to leave for the meeting, she seemed almost businesslike about it. �He�s somewhere close enough to the building to have seen Kek leave and to be ready to pick me up. He�d spot you in five seconds. That build of yours doesn�t exactly lend itself to hiding,� she added, not unkindly.

Andr� sighed, defeated. �I suppose you�re right.�

Another thought came to Anita. She paused. �And one more thing. I don�t want Kek to know of this.�

Andr� stared in astonishment. �Why on earth not?�

�I don�t want him to worry. He had enough worry over yesterday. Tell him I went out to meet an old girlfriend who�s come to town and called.� She looked at Andr� seriously. �That�s more than a simple request � that�s a plea. Please don�t try to help me by telling Kek.�

�But�� Andr� rubbed one fist into the palm of the other and stared at the rug. He hated being in a helpless position. He suddenly remembered something else and looked up. �You can�t go. You�ve got to stay here. The doctor�s coming again in an hour.�

�I doubt I�ll need him,� Anita said and took a light coat from the closet. She put it on and moved to the door. Her voice was dry. �I have a strong feeling Se�or Sanchez can explain yesterday much better than any doctor.�

�But Kek said you should��

�However,� Anita added with her pixie grin, her hand on the knob, �if the doctor brings a rabbit with him, put it in the icebox and we�ll have it for dinner.� Her face became sober. �And no word to Kek. You promise?�

�I�� Her violet eyes were fixed on his. Andr� sighed and shook his head. �No word to Kek. I promise.�

�Thank you.� She closed the door behind her.

Andr� stood and stared at the panel in indecision and then made up his mind. Maybe no word to Kek, but that didn�t mean he had to stay home with his thumb in his ear! He reached into the closet for his cap and then put his eye to the peephole. The elevator was just engulfing Anita. He nodded in satisfaction, waited until the cab door had slid shut, and left the apartment almost at a run. The stairway was the only thing for it; he took the steps three at a time, swinging around landings with the newel post as a pivot, clattering downward with no regard for the silence normally preserved in such an edifice. He burst through the door to the lobby and slowed down to a more respectable pace, walking almost sedately to the street door and peering cautiously around the lintel.

It was impossible! Anita was nowhere in sight!

He turned and marched back to the desk of the little concierge; the tiny man was pointedly paying no attention to his antics. It had finally come across to him that this uncouth monster actually was a friend of M�sieu Huuygens, hard as that was to understand, and that he was also slightly mad, as witness the manner in which he had just entered the lobby. He became aware that he could not avoid the giant forever and looked up, tense as always with this horror. The ogre was glaring at him as if something were his fault.

�What happened to madame?�

The concierge stared. He had expected anything but this. �What?�

Andr�s voice tightened. It promised action in a hurry if a satisfactory response was not tendered, and at once. �I said, what happened to madame?�

The concierge stared. What had happened to madame was what every tenant in the building prayed would happen to them once in a while. He drew himself up.

�Madame came down in the elevator and a cab pulled up just as she came to the door, and that�s just luck at this hour, and she took it, naturally, and��

But he was talking to empty air. Andr� had stamped back to the door and out into the street. He stared down the sidewalk, swearing under his breath. But then, he was forced to concede, whatever else he was, Sanchez had never been stupid. How better to reduce the chances of being trailed than to allow the minimum of time for the opposition to find means of trailing? The concierge was right; taxis were rare in the area. He marched back into the lobby and savagely punched the button for the elevator. The fact that the cab was not waiting did nothing to improve his temper. He peered through the glass; at long last he noted the cables descending silently in the gloom of the shaft. A moment later the door opened with its usual diffidence; he entered, glaring downward. The gnome shuddered, closed the door as quickly as he could, and pushed the lever over.

Andr� was borne aloft, kicking himself mentally for having missed Anita in the lobby. And, far worse, for having made that idiotic promise...

The taxi that had pulled up as soon as Anita emerged from the apartment building now swung right into the Avenue Foch, took the short arc around the Etoile, and started down the Champs-Elys�es. Anita would have liked to show her enjoyment of the ride � the day was a sparkling example of autumn at its best in Paris, and the scenery had always been her favorite in the world � but she felt it would not be germane at the moment. She glanced from the window rather than face the man at her side; the trees bordering the broad boulevard were still rich with plumage; the people walking briskly along past the elegant shops seemed happy to be alive, to be in Paris, to be walking down the Champs-Elys�es. The sidewalk caf�s were busy despite the faint touch of chill in the air, with people sipping their hot chocolate behind the protective barrier of journals or sipping a morning bi�re while watching the girls. Even the police directing the heavy traffic seemed to be in good moods.

Anita, having established her mood of unease since entering the car, decided the sight-seeing had been sufficient. She turned to Sanchez, her nervousness apparent.

�Now, what did you want to tell me about yesterday?�

�All in good time,� Sanchez said and shrugged lightly. He reached over casually and took her purse before she could clutch it. �May I?� His eyes went to the driver�s back warningly, and Anita subsided. Sanchez opened the purse, riffled through its contents quickly, and closed it, handing it back. �You�ll have to pardon me, but I would not want a� � he looked at the driver�s back again and, instead of speaking, made a revolver of his thumb and forefinger, flexing the thumb � �pointing at me when I least expect it.�

�I never carry�� Anita dropped the subject as being time-consuming and without purpose. �What about yesterday?�

�As I said, all in good time.� Sanchez glanced from the window of the cab in leisurely fashion and then looked back at the girl. She was quite upset, he was pleased to see, even though she managed to hide it rather well. Still, there was no doubt. It was a good sign, he felt. He smiled at her gently. �Where would you like to go?�

�Go?� She stared at him with a combination of stupidity and fear. Sanchez continued to smile. Why did men such as Huuygens always get themselves stupid girls? Just because they were beautiful? It scarcely seemed reason enough.

�Yes, go. You�re not being kidnapped, you know. You came of your own volition.� Sanchez kept his voice low, but his tone contained a note of humor, so that the driver, should he hear, would know it was all in fun. He spread his hands expressively, offering the world. �The Louvre? Or a sidewalk caf�? Merely someplace where we can speak together for a few minutes undisturbed.�

�The Louvre��

�An excellent place to talk, actually,� Sanchez said. �The Cour Carr�e, or the Pavilion de l�Horloge � marvelous for privacy, although I must admit they have an echo, even for whispers.� He suddenly grinned, showing his stained and crooked teeth. �And quite appropriate, the Louvre, when you think about it. All those nudes...�

�What do you mean?� The sudden tightening in the girl�s voice, the quick clutching of her fingers, clearly showed her growing panic. Sanchez cautioned himself not to rush things; panic in a taxi could be embarrassing.

�On the other hand,� Sanchez went on, quite as if Anita had not spoken, �possibly a bench in the park would be better. Fresh air.� He looked sideways at her, as if querying her opinion. �Or, better yet�� He smiled at the thought that had just come to him and leaned forward, giving new directions to the driver.

The cab obediently turned down the Avenue Alexandre III and pulled to the curb at the river, facing the bridge. Sanchez descended first and handed Anita down quite gallantly. She looked about with a frown as he paid the cab, almost as if the location were strange to her, and then felt his skeletal fingers on her arm. She walked beside him docilely, like an automaton; he hoped she would not collapse completely when they came to business. They came to a wide set of stone steps and descended. At the foot of the stairway a quai edged along the water�s edge, bifurcated by trees; stone benches provided resting places. The curve in the river hid the Ile de la Cit�, but in the opposite direction the steel lacework of the Eiffel Tower shone against the deep blue of the sky. An artist was seated on a camp stool trying to capture its beauty; to Sanchez�s relief he glared at them for their intrusion, folded his stool and easel, and tramped away, muttering. Sanchez led their way a bit along the quay to a bench that promised privacy and made a slight bow, indicating the stone seat.

�Madame...�

Anita sat down abruptly, clutching her purse tightly. The hard, slightly damp surface of the bench seemed to fit into the nightmare quality of the scene as she envisioned it. She turned to Sanchez, fighting for composure, trying to appear assured, ready for whatever terrible revelation he might produce.

�Se�or... you promised, you said... about yesterday...�

�Ah, yes; yesterday.�

Sanchez prayed the girl would hold out through the entire affair. It was evident he would have to choose his words with care or he was apt to have a hysterical woman on his hands. Could Rosa have used too much of the drug? Well, it was a little late to worry about that. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and brought forth an envelope, but instead of handing it over, he merely tapped it idly against the knuckles of his other hand. His eyes were fathomless.

�What I need, of course, is help,� he said quietly. They might have been discussing the requirements of a cocktail party or an investment on the bourse. For a moment Sanchez wondered if perhaps he was going about it a bit too carefully; the girl looked at him with complete blankness in her lovely eyes. He decided to plow on along that course for a while longer, at least. �Your help,� he added quietly.

The girl drew in her breath. �My help? But I thought you were going to give me your help...� She looked at him piteously. �Please don�t play with me, se�or. About yesterday��

Sanchez came to the conclusion that he was somehow handling the thing wrongly and with time he would probably end up making a complete hash of the matter. In which case, he thought, he could imagine Duarte�s reaction. He would just have to take his chances on the girl going to pieces. He took a different tack, holding out the envelope in one thrust.

�Perhaps madame would care to see these.�

It was a statement, not a question. Sanchez watched the girl with narrowed eyes as she reached out with unsteady hands and took the packet from him. She opened the envelope and brought forth the photographs; Sanchez heard her catch her breath, saw her shocked expression. She looked sick a moment; he could imagine the thoughts fighting each other in her horrified mind, imagine her disgust and shame at the poses she was viewing. Sanchez answered the unspoken thought in a dry voice, like a professor expounding to a class.

�Much more effective,� he assured her, pleased that she had not screamed or fainted. �And if you are worried about it, madame, nothing happened that is not in the pictures. It was a temptation, I admit, but one which I managed to control.� He looked over her shoulder at the pictures; Anita blushed and tried to place her hand over them protectively. When this failed she turned them over on her lap with unsteady fingers, staring away from him, refusing to face the leer that had appeared. �They came out well, don�t you think?�

�You�re � unspeakable��

�A simple matter of necessity, madame.�

�Necessity!� Anita swallowed. She was pale but, Sanchez was glad to see, under control. She faced him with contempt. �That is not me in those pictures. Not me. What I do not participate in consciously and willingly has no effect on me.�

Sanchez smiled sardonically. �As a philosophical concept, madame��

�And I am not madame; I am mademoiselle.�

�As a philosophical concept, mademoiselle,� Sanchez said, in no whit disturbed by the interruption, �it is one I am forced to admire. As a practical approach, though, it has several weaknesses, especially in this particular case. You will note the pictures make you appear to be participating quite consciously. Even enjoying it, I might say. Actually,� he said a bit smugly, �the photography is rather good, if I say so myself. I mean, as far as the facial expressions are concerned; those eyes closed in passion, those fingers clutching, your mouth in one of them...� He grinned. �You are remarkably plastic, madame, if I��

�Mademoiselle!�

�Ah, yes. Mademoiselle. In any event, as I say, your philosophy is admirable. Unfortunately,� Sanchez said, a twinkle in his eye, �do you honestly believe that M�sieu Huuygens would be philosophical about these pictures? Or would be so incredibly na�f as to believe you were unaware of what you were doing, when one can see so clearly the, ah, disclaimer of that on your face?�

Anita paled. She bit her lip and came to a decision. �All right. How much do you want?�

�Money? Mademoiselle, you insult me.�

She started in surprise; a wild hope appeared in her eyes. �But if you don�t want money�?�

Sanchez took his time answering. He had reached the proper point; the girl was terrified but not unmanageable, sickened but not demoralized. The right words would be needed here.

�I gather, mademoiselle, that you have a certain amount of influence with M�sieu Huuygens?�

Anita�s surprise and fear were neatly combined. �I... he likes me...�

�I am sure of it,� Sanchez said gallantly. �He would be an idiot if he did not. When I said I needed help, mademoiselle, I meant I needed help with M�sieu Huuygens.�

Anita blanched. It was evident the full purpose behind the kidnapping and the photographs was now being explained. �You mean you want me to... to influence Kek? To do what you came to ask him to do the other day?�

�Exactly.� Sanchez smiled at the quick intelligence, although he had to admit he had done everything but hire a skywriter to paint it in monstrous letters against the overhead blue. But at least she understood.

�But I couldn�t. Don�t you understand?� Anita appealed to him piteously. �Don�t you see? I never asked Kek for anything in my life; that�s the reason he likes me...�

�I�m afraid you�ll have to ask him this one favor this one time,� Sanchez said sadly. �Otherwise the pictures go to M�sieu Huuygens.�

Anita moaned in her throat. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her expression one of extreme alarm, almost of terror. �Oh, no! No! You wouldn�t show them to Kek!�

�I honestly would prefer not to,� Sanchez said and meant it.

�But you can�t show them to Kek,� Anita wailed. �You mustn�t show them to Kek. He would�� She bit the words to silence; they had been too terrible to say.

��Can�t� and �mustn�t� are just words, I�m afraid,� Sanchez observed sadly. �One can and must what one must. At times it is unpleasant, I admit, but��

�Please! You don�t know Kek! He... he would kill me...� Her eyes came up, brimming with tears. �I�ll pay��

Sanchez raised a skinny hand abruptly. �Please. I want no money from you. All I want is for you to convince M�sieu Huuygens to help us on this one project. Which I am sure you can do, if you really try. After all,� he went on a bit querulously, sounding sincere for the first time, �what the devil difference does it make to him? Thirty thousand dollars and all expenses for a measly few days� work! Is he so damn rich he can throw away money like that? And he turns it down for God knows what reason! A suitcase full of paper � or parchment, I mean!�

For the moment he had convinced himself that his precious suitcase actually did only contain paper � parchment, rather. He sighed and looked at her, lowering his voice as if somebody might suddenly hear them, or as if his words merited extra attention on her part. �Thirty thousand dollars, mademoiselle, buys a lot of perfume, or fur coats, or whatever pretty girls like. I�m sure you can manage to persuade him without my having to show him those pictures.�

There were several moments of silence.

�I can try,� Anita said at last, dully, almost hopelessly. �I can try, but I can�t promise anything.�

Sanchez shrugged philosophically. �One does what one can do, mademoiselle. However, in your case, don�t fail. Because, much as I should hate to do so, I would send them to M�sieu Huuygens. Believe me.�

With a sudden gesture Anita flung the envelope from her. It landed in the dark water of the river and floated away, dipping and bobbing on the surface. Beyond it one of the river nightclub boats passed, chugging its way to a new location, with aproned men working like mad on the deck to prepare it for the evening�s cruise.

Sanchez reached into the pocket on the other side of his jacket and brought forth another packet.

�Prints cost money, mademoiselle,� he said reproachfully, with a glint of black humor in his eyes. �I still have the negatives.�

She turned to him in pleading, her voice breaking. �But no matter what, you must not show them to Kek! He�d... he�d�� Her voice was approaching hysteria. To Sanchez�s relief she brought herself under control before her voice claimed attention from the upper reaches above the quay. She came to her feet listlessly, as if realizing further discussion with the blackmailer would be useless, staring at the new envelope in her hand as if wondering what it was. Realization came and she handed it back with repugnance.

�Keep them,� Sanchez said magnanimously. �Look at them frequently on your way home. Because you don�t have forever in which to convince your boyfriend.� He paused for effect. �Two days.�

�Two days!� Anita�s hand went to her mouth.

�Two days,� Sanchez said firmly and came to his feet, looking at his watch. His eyes moved to the girl. �Well, mademoiselle, we�re wasting time. Let me call you a taxi.�

He put his hand on her arm; she shook it off with loathing. Sanchez smiled at the gesture and led the way back to the stone steps. They mounted in silence. Sanchez, peering sideways, saw the look of despair on the girl�s face. He smiled to himself. She would try and try hard, and with the figure he knew her to have, if this girl couldn�t sell Huuygens the Eiffel Tower, let alone a minor smuggling job that also paid a small matter of thirty thousand dollars plus, then M�sieu Kek Huuygens would be well advised to visit a psychiatrist.

They came to the roadway and Sanchez raised a thin arm. A taxi swerved about and drew to the curb. Sanchez opened the door, helped Anita in, and pressed money on the driver.

�Take the lady home,� he said. �Avenue du Mar�chal Favolle...�

He gave a tiny bow toward the passenger in the rear of the cab, straightened up, and watched the cab move away, turning over the bridge. He smiled, satisfied. For the second time in this miserable affair he had had a good idea, but for the first time it had been well executed � mainly because he did it himself instead of leaving it to Duarte. God knows what that imbecile Andr� had said over the phone! In any event, it was about over with. The question now was whether to celebrate alone or with Rosa. He had to admit she deserved a bit of the credit; maybe dinner at the Singe d�Argent, and after that possibly he would change his mind and give the girl from Manuela�s place a break again.

The success of his meeting with Anita had quickened his blood...

Anita let herself into the apartment silently and walked slowly and wearily down the corridor to the living room, the deep pile of the carpeting muffling her footsteps. Kek was sitting in an easy chair, reading; he looked up with a smile, came to his feet, and walked back of the bar.

�You look tired. I�ll fix you a drink.� He reached for a bottle and glasses. �Hard day?�

�You can�t imagine.� Anita put her purse aside, brushed her fingers through her hair to fan it out, and walked over to the bar, pulling out a stool. She looked around. �Where�s Andr�?�

�Out.� Kek poured the drinks and slid a glass over the counter. �He has a lot of old friends in Paris and a lot of time to catch up with.� He looked at her a bit curiously. �He said you went to visit an old girlfriend. Was it all that tiring?�

�Terrible,� Anita said and sipped her drink gratefully.

�I thought seeing old girlfriends was just terrible for men,� Kek said and grinned. �Andr� also said you didn�t see the doctor.�

�I had to go out.� Anita finished her drink and pushed her glass back for another. Kek�s eyebrows went up. Anita laughed. �No, it wasn�t all that bad � just tiring.� She sipped and set the glass down. �Kek, would you do me a favor?�

�Sure.�

�Don�t say it so lightly,� Anita warned. �I mean, any favor. Without questions. With no exceptions.�

Kek studied her face a moment and then shrugged. �Probably. Why?� He suddenly grinned. �Are you sure you didn�t see the doctor? Maybe in the elevator? You�re beginning to ask the sort of questions pregnant women are supposed to ask.�

�Except I�m not pregnant. Just answer me.�

�I did. I said probably.�

Anita shook her head. �That�s the wrong answer.�

�Oh, why?�

�You�re supposed to say no.�

�You don�t want the favor after all? You�ve changed your mind?�

Anita laughed. �That�s not it at all, you idiot. You�re supposed to say no, and then I�m supposed to use my charms and wiles on you��

Kek�s eyebrows went up. �In that order?�

��in that order, to get you to change your mind. Because if you don�t change your mind, I�ll be sorry.�

Kek�s eyes suddenly narrowed. His voice became sober. �How sorry?�

�This sorry...� Anita took the envelope from the pocket of her dress and slid it across the bar.

Kek took it and removed the photographs, his face expressionless. He studied the top one a moment and then looked up, frowning.

�I never knew you had a mole on your thigh, and you would have thought I might have noticed, one time or another...�

�A mole?� Anita shook her head and dug a cigarette from a box on the bar. �I don�t have a mole on my thigh.�

�You don�t? But... oh, I beg your pardon. It�s on the other girl. You two are so tangled up it�s a bit hard to tell.� He put the first picture behind the others and carefully considered the second. �Now this is an interesting position...�

�Which?� Anita reached out to take the picture in question and nodded in agreement. �It is, indeed. My only question is, is it feasible, do you suppose?�

�Acrobats might,� Kek conceded and continued on to the third.

Anita lit her cigarette, waited a moment, and then reached over, taking back the pictures. �That�s enough. You�ll grow up to be a dirty old man.�

�Yes,� Kek said and moved his glass on the bar, watching the little damp circles it made. He looked up, his face serious. �Would you like my honest opinion?�

�Of course,� Anita said and finally lit her cigarette.

�Well,� Kek said critically, �if you ask me, the lighting could have been better. The shadows detract, I think. And your girlfriend, I�m afraid, is over the hill. Though please don�t quote me. She looks the type to carry a knife.� He shook his head sadly. �I�m afraid you wasted an afternoon. I doubt they�ll sell.�

�They were taken in a hurry,� Anita said apologetically. �And as for the girlfriend, as you call her, beggars can�t be choosers.�

�So true, so true.� Kek drank the balance of his drink and set the glass aside. �And that, I suppose, accounts for your lost four hours yesterday. By the way, who is she? My competition, I mean?�

�She didn�t leave a card,� Anita said. �And I never had the pleasure of being introduced.� She sipped her drink and put it down. �With the sharp memory of all people after the fact, I now remember getting pricked sharply just as I was going into the Gourmet. I thought it was just some idiot careless with a pin, but I guess I was the idiot.�

�We can�t all be perfect,� Kek said and frowned. �I don�t want to be curious, but you�ve forgotten to tell me just who the salesman of the pictures is.�

�Oh? So I did. But I thought you�d be smart enough to figure that out...�

Kek smiled. �I am. It was Se�or Sanchez, of course.� His smile faded. �A hypodermic in a crowded market. Cute. And I�m sure if you went back to that counter selling hot ice, the girl there would tell you all about the kind man with the foreign accent who was nice enough to take care of you...�

He started to pour himself another drink and decided against it. Liquor and planning never mixed with Kek Huuygens. He studied the carpet without seeing it, and smiled at something, although the smile was rather grim. His eyes came up.

�And what did Se�or Sanchez have to say today? Exactly?�

�What you know he said. He was sorry, but what could he do? If I didn�t extend my charms and wiles, in that order, and convince you to take a suitcase of something someplace, he would be forced, etc., etc.�

�And you replied?�

Anita laughed. �My darling, you should have seen me. Critics should have seen me. Bernhardt would have been forgotten, Duse put out to pasture. I was superb. I pled � or is it pleaded? I wept. I wrung hands. I begged piteously.�

�And Sanchez?�

�He�s no critic, I gather,� Anita said, wrinkling her nose. �He was unmoved; I imagine he�s not used to finer stuff in the theater. He kept going back to the charms and wiles bit.�

Kek thought a moment and then leaned across the counter.

�Charms and wiles, eh? Well, I�d hate to have the man go to all that trouble for nothing. Start to exert the charms.�

Anita leaned over the bar counter and kissed him tenderly. The tenderness began to give way to passion. She ceased abruptly and sat back, breathing a bit rapidly, smiling at him.

�My ex-girlfriend would be jealous if she�d seen us right now,� she said lightly and then paused, a slight frown on her face as Kek winked at her and came from behind the bar. She watched him walk toward the desk. �What are you going to do? Those were just the charms; you haven�t seen the wiles yet...�

Kek grinned at her cheerfully, picked up the telephone, referred to a piece of paper on the blotter, and began to dial. He waited until he heard the circuits go into action, cupped the receiver, and looked up at Anita. His eyes were twinkling.

�After all,� he said chidingly, �you couldn�t allow me to see those nasty pictures, could you? Think how disgusted I�d be, how shocked. Think of my loss of faith in you. And the fact is you did exert the charms, even if, as you so rightly point out, we never got to the wiles��

�So?�

�So we accept Se�or Sanchez�s offer, of course. We carry his suitcase,� Kek said gently and smiled at her with love. His face sobered up. �I just hope Andr� hasn�t forgotten all he used to know about locks...�

Seen from the upper floor of the Plaza Hotel, the chimney pots of Buenos Aires stretched out like a field of tree stumps in a curiously stepped clearing. With its blotches of green marking scattered squares and parks, it was reminiscent of Paris, especially with the incessant honking of horns from the crowded streets below orchestrating the scene. From his height Kek could see the Calle Florida, made into a flowered mall since his last visit; he turned in the other direction and enjoyed the unchanged sight of the Plaza Britannica, with its line of red buses waiting patiently at the curb to take tourists in the mornings up the river to Tigre and its interwoven maze of waterways or at night down to La Boca for the local flavor of the cantinas and the native bars.

The arched roof of the Retiro railroad station loomed beyond the formalized gardens of the plazas, resembling Waterloo or King�s Cross in London; and past the station and the parks he could see the passenger docking slips with the River Plate over their shoulder, reddish-brown and endless, a silt-laden sea. From the height of his room the shore of Uruguay could be seen as a faint shadow on the horizon; a tiny ship trailed wavering smoke as it traversed the channel from Montevideo. Kek looked down again at the crowds jamming Florida and Charcas and smiled; as always it struck him how different the Argentinian was from other South Americans. A Brazilian, for example, looked as if he was browsing when he was shopping; the Argentinian, in contrast, usually looked as if he was shopping when he was merely browsing. The city was called by its inhabitants the Paris of South America, but its people seemed more like Berliners. This Hans Schneller who was supposed to deliver the suitcase to him would, he was sure, fit in well here.

The telephone rang as he consulted his wristwatch, wondering at the delay. He walked over to the desk and raised the receiver, pleased that things were starting.

�Hello?�

�Se�or Huuygens?� The voice was Teutonic in accent, heavy and wheezing.

�Speaking.� Kek assayed French and was relieved to be answered in the same language. He could have conducted the conversation in German but preferred not to. His experience in general had led him to believe that there was an advantage in using a language less familiar to an opponent, although he had to admit this had not seemed to work with Se�or Sanchez.

�This is Se�or Schneller,� the thick voice said. �I am in the hotel lobby. You � you changed your room, I see. I called the one I had reserved for you, but some child answered, and then the child�s mother, so I checked with the reception.� The wheezing voice tried to hide its querulousness and failed signally. �You did not like the room I reserved for you?�

�It was simply that I prefer being on an upper floor,� Kek said and made his voice apologetic. It was true, of course, that had Herr Schneller reserved the tower suite of the hotel, Kek Huuygens would then have said that he preferred a room on a lower floor. It had been a long time since Huuygens had accepted a room reserved for him by a client or anyone connected with a client; adjoining rooms could also be rented and all sorts of naughty surveillance equipment installed. It was a sad commentary on the people he found it necessary to associate with in his business, but a true one. If adjoining rooms had to be rented, Kek Huuygens preferred to rent them himself and usually did.

As Herr Schneller should know, Kek thought with a disapproving glance at the telephone and wondered why it should make any difference to the man.

�As you wish,� Schneller said stiffly and finally managed to mask his disappointment.

�Yes,� Kek said and dismissed the subject of housing. �Will you be coming up?�

�Of course,� Schneller said, amazed at the question, and hurriedly hung up.

Kek moved back to the window as he waited, using the time to consider where he would dine that evening; there was no point in speculating on Schneller or the suitcase when they would both be in his room in minutes. Restaurants, he thought � one thing was certain, nobody could complain about the restaurants in Buenos Aires. They had to serve the best food in the world. He was in the process of making his ultimate selection between the grillroom of the hotel itself, La Caba�a, or the Little White Horse, when the doorbell of his suite rang. It was a sharp, brief, no-nonsense ring. Typical, he thought with an inner smile and walked over and opened it.

Se�or Schneller filled the opening. He was so much like the image Kek had created in his mind from hearing the voice that for a moment he had the feeling they must have met before � a touch of d�j� vu that passed as quickly as it had come. One never could truly forget people like Schneller. He was a large man, larger than Kek had anticipated, but Huuygens was sure that what appeared to be fat beneath the vest and jacket was solid muscle. His clothes appeared to have been forced over his bulky frame, possibly against his will; he seemed in constant danger of splitting the seams. His broad, flattish face was pale and shaved so closely that it glistened, the tiny veins etched darkly on the ivory skin. His eyes were a watery, washed-out blue, almost colorless, and his hair was cut in a brush, standing up like a used broom. He stood at military attention for a moment and then brought his heels together, clicking them lightly, making a short half-bow from the waist.

�M�sieu Huuygens.�

�Herr Schneller.�

Kek waved his guest in. The big man entered and for the first time the suitcase he held behind his back came into view. He turned and locked the door behind him, walked over to the desk, and seated himself on the small hard-backed chair there. It was not a comfortable chair, but its position beside the tall window afforded him the light he required. He brought the suitcase into his lap and with his other hand reached for his belt, producing a monstrous key ring on a thin leather strap. One key was laboriously selected, and for the first time Kek noticed the chain that passed through the suitcase handle and was fastened to a thin steel band that went around the thick wrist. Properly careful, Kek thought and watched in silence. The chain was released and removed from the handle; another key was found which unlocked the steel cuff. Schneller set the suitcase down and unhooked both keys from the ring, wheezing all the while. The two keys, the cuff, and the chain were all placed on the desk. Schneller turned, looking up.

�Delivered,� he said in a flat tone and reached for his pocket again. This time he came up with a packet of yellow cigarette papers and a sack of tobacco. He tapped grains into a slip of paper, puffing as he did so, and rolled the cigarette expertly with one hand. It was raised to the tongue, licked, and finished in a gesture so quick as to be almost invisible. Kek watched with interest. He had not seen anyone roll a cigarette for many years; he had to admit Schneller did it well. As he did most things well, Kek thought, and turned his attention to the suitcase.

�That�s it, eh?�

�That�s it.� For one brief moment the hard face relaxed a bit, even displaying the semblance of a smile. It was something like watching wax melt and then re-form. �It�s a problem carrying a suitcase through the lobby of a hotel; every bellboy wants to earn a tip by helping. And hiding a chain under a jacket sleeve doesn�t help, I assure you.� He tipped his head backward, even as he fumbled in a pocket for a match. �You might want to use the chain.�

�I might.� Kek sounded as if the question of whether he might use the chain or not was strictly his own affair. He walked closer, looking down on the suitcase he had contracted to carry through Spanish customs. Across from him Schneller finally located a pad of matches on the desk; he applied fire to the cigarette and puffed pungent smoke deep into his lungs, for which he was rewarded with a coughing spell which he finally managed to control. He sat wheezing a bit; when his breathing was better he leaned backward and placed the spent match with almost geometrical precision in the center of the ashtray and then looked up at Kek�s face with a faint smile, trying to judge the other man�s reactions.

The suitcase, Kek saw, was about two feet long, a foot and a half high, and possibly seven or eight inches in depth � what the Americans called a one-suiter, if his memory served. It had a rigid frame and body and was covered in a brown plastic embossed in a simulated leather grain. Unlike normal suitcases, however, he noticed the latches on either side were not furnished with key locks but instead were smooth; the security of the case depended entirely on a combination lock provided beneath the handle. This was partially concealed � but with no attempt to hide � by a genuine leather identification tab which snapped in place to cover it. With the exception of the locking mechanism, the small suitcase was similar to thousands, if not millions, to be found in use in any country in the world.

Kek hid the smile of triumph that automatically came to his lips. He hadn�t really even needed Andr� for this one; combination locks of that size could be opened without even drilling. Or the hinge pins could be removed and replaced without a sign.

The man who had delivered the case lounged as easily as he could in the hard chair, puffing steadily on the cigarette pasted in one corner of his mouth. He watched Kek�s study of the suitcase almost with amusement. When he spoke the butt, stuck to his lower lip, bobbed in cadence with his speech, smoke jetting out to surround each word. His voice was husky, on the constant verge of coughing.

�I imagine Sanchez explained about the suitcase?�

Kek looked slightly surprised. �Explained?� He shrugged. �No, nothing beyond the fact that I�m to deliver it in Barcelona.�

Schneller smiled, a swift twisting of his thick lips wiped away as quickly as it had come. He picked the cigarette butt from his lower lip, turned to wipe ash from it, and then turned back quickly, as if something might possibly have happened to his beloved suitcase in the momentary absence of his attention.

�That�s all? Rather odd,� he said and carefully replaced the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. �However, since I have a slight personal interest in the suitcase not being tampered with � slight, but in this case rather substantial � I�d better explain certain things. For example�� He paused for one last gargantuan puff on the flimsy cigarette; it rose in near-flame and he quickly crushed it out, relapsing in a coughing fit. When he had his breath he wiped his eyes and began again. �For example,� he repeated, �I built the case myself � built it from scratch, not adapted it � so perhaps I�d best tell you of some of its � what�s the word? Qualities? Advantages? Features?� He nodded, satisfied he was not being egotistical. �Features.�

There was a note of pride in his voice. A cold feeling began to form in Kek�s stomach. The big man reached into his pocket again for his tobacco and cigarette papers. A second cigarette was formed and lit, a second coughing fit indulged in; at last Schneller was ready to continue, smoke spewing with the words.

�The case,� he said, �is a work of genius, and I am not bragging. A masterpiece. Under the plastic cover the sides are made of fiber-glass and polyester resin, hand-formed to shape, much like the new boats one finds today. It is extremely strong and impossible to penetrate without�� He coughed, apologetically this time, as if the possibility of getting into the case was a subject best not to mention. �Within the case, between the body and the decorative lining, is a fine copper wire mesh. As I�m sure you know, copper is an excellent conductor of electricity. This mesh is connected to a series of long-life batteries, arranged so that should one of them fail for any reason at all, the others would � will, I should say � continue to function.�

He took the cigarette from his lip and turned to remove ash. His tone had been that of a professor conducting a lecture; a blackboard pointer, Kek thought, would have seemed more appropriate in his heavy hand than the dwindling cigarette. The small butt was carefully replaced and Schneller went on.

�When the case is closed and locked, as it is now, an electrical circuit is opened. Conversely, when the suitcase is opened � or if the case should be forced, of course, or the sides punctured, or the hinges or latches tampered with in any way � then the electrical circuit is closed. And the circuit��

He paused to take a final puff on his cigarette, began to cough, and bent over, fighting for breath. He managed to crush the cigarette out and sat erect, drawing in great gobs of air. When his voice was once more under control, he went back to his theme. Whether he was bragging or warning, his audience was listening intently.

��the circuit,� he repeated, �will detonate four sticks of dynamite which are contained in a separate sealed compartment inside. This compartment, also containing the detonator, is completely cast in acrylic. This is to prevent anyone from trying to insert an inert gas into the case, in the hopes that the gas might prevent sparking and, hence, explosion.�

His almost colorless eyes mocked Huuygens, as if the stocky, gray-eyed man watching him so expressionlessly might actually have considered trying to circumvent his genius with some such childish means.

�Do you understand?� he asked gently.

Huuygens considered the man. It occurred to him that possibly, for one time in his career, he had bit off more than he could chew. His face continued to reflect nothing but polite interest, however, as he answered.

�I understand what you�re saying,� he said. �I don�t quite understand why you think this should interest me.�

Schneller smiled wolfishly. �Curiosity,� he said, �killed a cat. We wish to be sure it does no harm to a courier.�

Kek smiled with him. �I share your concern.� He looked down at the case, his voice mildly curious. �There is, of course, a means of disarming the mechanism? I assume the parchment is not intended to remain inside forever?�

�Parchment?� Schneller frowned in nonunderstanding.

�The contents,� Kek reminded him gently and wondered at the stupidity of Sanchez in not properly briefing his crew. Still, it was nothing as compared to his own stupidity in taking on the job in the first place. �I mean, I gather someone will eventually wish to open it? In Barcelona?�

�Oh. Oh, yes. Of course there is a means of disarming it. It is in the combination lock.� The pale-blue eyes laughed at Kek, unafraid to give the answer � anxious, in fact, to give the answer. He sat a bit more erect, watching Kek as if to make sure his words were being followed with the attention they deserved. �The lock has four numbers for completion. You�� he smiled, �I don�t mean you, personally, m�sieu, but you can fool around with it as much as you like without danger; you can hit the first number of the combination by accident or even, for the first number, of course, by design. You might even hit both the first and the second number by accident, although the chances are rare. If by the ten thousand-to-one chance you should happen to hit them and then fail to hit the third number exactly before you reverse for the final time, you are getting close to trouble. However, you still have a chance to live, assuming you are not deaf...�

�Deaf?�

�Yes,� Schneller said proudly. �There is a warning. A bell.� He leaned over, stretching, and drew the suitcase to him. He took it in his lap, bending over it, and then looked up. �With your permission, m�sieu. If you would just turn your head a moment?�

Kek turned his head obediently, staring at a picture on the wall. It was an Ada Peacock original, a bright watercolor of a Peruvian girl striding barefoot down a mountain road, her shoes dangling from her neck, leading a burro on which her derbied bridegroom sat holding the baby. Despite the chill he had received listening to the exposition on the suitcase and its invulnerability, Kek was forced to smile at the warm colors and the happy look of fulfillment on the girl�s face. It did not take a suitcase full of cocaine to make everyone in the world happy, he thought, and then had his thoughts interrupted by the sudden sharp ring of a bell. He turned back.

�You see?� Schneller was quite pleased by the cleverness of his invention. He spun the combination; the sound ceased at once. �Separate batteries,� he said in proud explanation. �Otherwise one could let the bell ring until the main batteries were dead and could not spark the detonator.� He set the suitcase down and pushed it away from him with one foot and then leaned back smiling genially. His pale eyes dared Huuygens to find something he had overlooked. �So, as I say, care should be taken in playing with my suitcase. Because should anyone be so foolish as to disregard the warning of the bell, and should this person continue on to the final number��

He winked jovially, as if he were in the midst of a risqu� story coming to the final punch line, and then suddenly flung his hands up in the air dramatically. His twinkling little eyes widened in comic exaggeration.

�Blooey!� he said and settled down. His smile became gentle, almost childlike. �You understand?� he asked quietly.

Kek understood all too well. His voice was even. �I understand.�

�You are not surprised?�

I should not have been, Kek thought, but I am. �No,� he said.

�I expect not.� Schneller sighed, a gargantuan sigh, like a magician whose best trick has failed to impress. �I imagine it�s the sort of thing you would think of yourself if you needed to ensure privacy to the contents of a case...�

There was a slight touch of disappointment in the accented voice; the full lips were turned down a bit at the corners. Kek felt there was no harm in reassuring the man; somebody should feel reassured, he thought, and he certainly didn�t.

�Except I should not have been able to build it.�

Schneller took heart from the statement.

�It is unusual,� he said, and now he was speaking honestly, not trying to impress but to explain. �Since the first combination lock in the early sixteen hundreds they have used bar tumblers and pin tumblers. A child could open them. My case has steel ball bearings under springs. To open it the ball bearings must each be in its proper socket, like those aggravating toys where one must roll little tiny balls into tiny depressions without dislodging the others. Only mine can�t be dislodged. And all four must be put into place in proper order, or first the bell rings and then�� He sighed. �Someday I shall patent it...�

�Quite successfully, I�m sure,� Kek said politely. He wished the big man would go so he could start thinking. He glanced at his watch and looked up. �That�s all then?�

�Yes.� The large German seemed reluctant to leave, or possibly it was reluctance to part with his suitcase. He reached into his pocket for tobacco and paper, beginning to roll another of his thin cigarettes. �Tell me, m�sieu...� He paused, watching his thick fingers at work.

�Yes?�

Schneller seemed to be making up his mind about something. He licked the cigarette and smoothed it and then considered Kek strangely.

�Tell me, m�sieu. You had trouble entering Argentina?�

�Trouble?� Kek seemed more amused than disturbed by the question. �Nothing more than usual. What makes you ask?�

�There was a search?�

�There�s always a search,� Kek said easily and wondered what the other had on his mind. �But, as I said, nothing more than usual. Why?�

Again there was that hesitation. Schneller looked down at the small yellowish tube in his fingers as if surprised to discover it and then shoved it in the corner of his mouth, but he did not light it.

�What I�m getting at is this: M�sieu Huuygens, you have a reputation for being the most adept smuggler in the world. I know you are searched wherever you go, and I know you use your own passport and refuse to consider using a false name. I am sure a Telex has gone out to all major airports everywhere saying you are here in Argentina, and they will all be wondering why you are here � and, of course, what you plan to smuggle in from Argentina...� He ended his statement on a rising inflection, making it a partial question.

�Unless, of course,� Kek said easily, �they think I was bringing something into this country.�

�No.� The large man shook his head decisively. �You were searched, were you not? And nothing was discovered?�

Kek laughed. �I am always searched. And nothing is ever discovered.� His laugh faded, replaced with a frown. �Just what are you getting at, Herr Schneller?�

Schneller finally selected the right words. �M�sieu Huuygens, as I�m sure you know, that suitcase is very valuable. Should you fail to deliver it in Barcelona for any reason at all, whether it was your fault or not, I doubt if either Se�or Sanchez or Duarte would be very forgiving.�

�I�m sure they would both be very nasty,� Kek agreed pleasantly, but his sharp gray eyes were studying the big man closely. �However, since I have no intention of failing...� He shrugged, his meaning clear.

�Still,� Schneller said stubbornly, it never does any harm to have some form of insurance. For example, you obviously have some plan for getting into Spain. You probably feel it best to do so alone. However, it�s my opinion you would be much better off with a companion��

Kek�s eyebrows went up. �You mean a woman?� His eyes were joking.

�No, no! I mean��

�You mean a bodyguard.� Kek shook his head. �I�m afraid not. I can�t work that way.�

�Then at least let us know your plans. You�ve been assured of payment; I understand it�s in an escrow account merely requiring Sanchez�s signature. So it seems to me the need for secrecy is past. I feel we have a right to know how you plan to get it into Spain��

Kek looked at him. �We?�

�We. All of us with a stake in the matter.�

�I�m afraid it�s impossible.�

�Then at least let us have people at the various places you will be passing through. For protection...�

�Against what?� Kek asked curiously. �The danger is from customs, and how do you propose to protect against that?�

�No, no,� Schneller said and removed the unlit cigarette from his lip. He looked at it a moment and laid it aside, bringing his attention back to the stocky man. �The question is how you propose to protect against that.� He leaned forward, oozing respectability and good intent. �Believe me, m�sieu, the time for secrecy is past. You have the suitcase; you are guaranteed payment. There is no need for secrecy at this point.�

�You honestly believe that?�

�Quite,� Schneller said as convincingly as he could. His eyes had narrowed. Despite his best efforts, his fingers showed the strain; they curled slightly along the crease of his trousers.

�Fair enough,� Kek said lightly. �You start the no-secrecy bit. Give me the combination of the lock � and stay here while we open the case � and I�ll be happy to tell you my whole story.�

The look of anticipation on Schneller�s face disappeared as if wiped away by a huge hand, replaced by a cold glare of fury. The pale eyes considered the other man for several moments. He came to his feet slowly and moved toward the door.

�Very cute, M�sieu Huuygens,� he said. His face was expressionless other than his eyes; they were alive with malevolence. �I wish you luck in getting your suitcase through customs.�

�Thank you,� Kek said in the same tone. He held up a hand. �One thing, Herr Schneller. You say you have an interest in the suitcase getting to Barcelona; you can help by seeing to it that I am not constantly followed. I have trouble enough getting myself and my luggage through customs without having to explain a watchdog to the officials.�

There was a moment of silence.

�We all have troubles,� Schneller said at last. His tone was wooden. He twisted the lock and pulled the door open. �Good-bye, m�sieu.� He nodded abruptly, his face stiff, and walked heavily down the hallway, not bothering to close the door.

Kek walked to the door. He watched the large, bulky man punch the elevator button viciously and then closed the door softly. He locked it and walked over to tap on the door of the adjoining room. It opened and Andr� appeared. He was grinning widely.

�It�s a pity Anita wasn�t here. If ever I heard a demonstration aimed at curing the smoking habit! However...� He looked down at the suitcase. �So that�s it, eh? And our friend wanted to know how you intended to get it past Spanish customs, eh?� He shook his head in mock sadness. �If there�s one thing I can�t stand, it�s a nosey guy.�

Kek looked at him without smiling. �You heard?�

�Of course I heard,� Andr� said disdainfully. �I�ve got ears like a beagle and your friend didn�t exactly whisper. Besides, you wanted me to hear.� Andr�s grin faded. �He asked a good question, though. Just how do you expect to get it in?�

Kek looked at him solemnly. �If you were listening,� he said seriously, �you know that�s by far the least of the problems. The proper question is, how do we open the damn suitcase?�

In the oversized hands of the man from Perpignan the suitcase took on the proportions of an attach� case. It came to Kek Huuygens that in all the years he had known Andr� he had never before seen him properly dressed and with his hair properly trimmed; the Parisian tailor who had outfitted him had done a good job, and with the suitcase in his hand he looked like a prosperous businessman ready for the office, blown up from life-size. Like a businessman on a billboard, Kek thought and watched.

Andr� began by shaking the case sideways, his ear pressed against it. As far as Kek could tell, there was no sound from the interior. Andr� nodded and came to his feet. He carried the suitcase to the bed where he could examine it in greater comfort, sat down, and took it in his lap. He studied the latches carefully and turned it over to consider the pin hinges at the bottom. To his eye they all appeared normal, although the workmanship was far better than the normal manufacturer provided. He put the case aside momentarily, came to his feet, and went into his own room to return with a magnifying glass and a stethoscope. First he repeated his examination of the outside of the case, using the lens to restudy the hinges, latches, and lock. This done, he picked up the stethoscope, plugged it into his ears, and held the listening mouthpiece against the combination lock.

�Turn the dial,� he said. �Slowly.� He smiled into the gray eyes watching him intently. �Very slowly, my friend. And let us hope he�s either a liar or as good a locksmith as he claims.�

�There�s a bell��

�I know. I heard it.� Andr� closed his eyes to concentrate better. �I prefer those at Notre Dame.�

He pressed the stethoscope tightly against the combination lock as Kek turned the dial slowly. Andr�s eyes opened for a brief second at something, then closed again; his forehead wrinkled in concentration. Kek continued to inch the dial around steadily; he completed one turn and started on another. There was a frown on Andr�s rugged face, difficult to interpret. He opened his eyes, noted the position of the dial, and shook his head.

�Other way now.� He closed his eyes again, his huge hand dwarfing both the mouthpiece of the stethoscope and the lock, pressing the two together with surprising gentleness.

Kek reversed directions. Andr� suddenly opened his eyes.

�Go back again...�

Kek went back slowly, watching Andr�. Andr� listened some more, watching the dial, and then shook his head in disgust. �I�m hearing things. Keep going.�

Kek went on until the dial pointed to zero again. Andr� sighed, removed the stethoscope, and slid it into his jacket pocket. He added the magnifying glass and stared at the suitcase somberly.

�Either he�s bluffing or it�s a lovely job. Actually,� he added, a touch of professional envy in his voice, �it�s a lovely job whether he�s got it rigged to blow up or not. You can�t hear a thing.�

�If it�s any use,� Kek said, �when he spun the dial to shut off the bell, he turned it counterclockwise.�

Andr� shrugged. �His story was that the case blows up if anyone hits the right number after the bell. Which means the last number is reached going clockwise.� He looked up. �All that gives us is the original direction to start. In a four-number combination you�d start by going counterclockwise.�

�Isn�t that some help?�

�Well,� Andr� said, �if you want to look on the bright side, it brings the chances of finding the right combination by accident � or trial and error, as far as that goes � from about two million to one down to about one million to one.� He sighed and stared at the case. �A really lovely job. If the lock is built with ball bearings under springs, they�d just roll up into their proper socket in turn and there�d be no sound at all. And with the springs, you couldn�t shake them out of place or sequence or into any particular socket. Beautiful...�

�If you call that beautiful.�

�Well,� Andr� said, �there�s always the chance your friend Schneller just rigged a bell and no dynamite at all.�

Kek shook his head. �He wasn�t bluffing. You just heard him; you didn�t see him.�

�I don�t think he was bluffing either. Why should he?� Andr� put the suitcase on the floor. He leaned back against the pillows, dwarfing them, his feet sprawled out half on the bed, half on the floor. �Anyone capable of building that neat a job could rig a booby trap in it easily enough. And for that much cocaine?� He turned his head, staring down at the suitcase almost with admiration. �No. I�d say the thing is one large, economy-sized grenade.�

�And you can�t open it.� It was a flat statement, not a question.

�Not without blowing up the hotel,� Andr� said and smiled ruefully. �And considering what they charge for rooms in this place, you can imagine the cost of wrecking fifteen or twenty of them.�

�Not to mention us,� Kek said. It was a poor attempt at humor to lighten his disappointment.

�True.� Andr� shifted position, settling down. �So where do we go from here? Wait until we�re somewhere over the ocean and gently drop it in?�

Kek shook his head. �No. I deliver it, contents and all...�

Andr�s eyebrows rose in surprise. He hitched himself up on his elbows. �After all you�ve said about never handling narcotics? And after Sanchez tried to make a pincushion out of Anita?�

�One thing has nothing to do with the other,� Kek said and frowned. �I thought I�d deliver him a slightly different cargo than he shipped, and let him and Schneller argue about where the original went, but I never considered not delivering at all. It�s my own fault for taking on the job, but I did and I�ve never failed to deliver yet.� He smiled faintly, an unhumorous smile. �Anyway, airlines frown on people opening doors at thirty thousand feet up.�

�There is that,� Andr� admitted.

�More important at the moment, since it seems the suitcase will remain unopened, is our friend Schneller...�

�Schneller? You mean the delivery boy? What�s he look like? I heard him, but I missed his face.�

�You missed little. A big blond man, as big as you. And as strong, probably. And nastier, I should judge. A storm-troop type.�

�Who smokes too much.�

�Who smokes too much,� Kek agreed.

�What about him?�

Kek frowned at the man on the bed. �Do you remember how curious he was about how I planned to get the case into Spain and how helpful he�d like to be?�

�Well,� Andr� said, his tone asking Kek merely to be reasonable. �You can hardly blame him. Knowing how to get it into Spain could be useful. For taking other suitcases into other countries in the future.� He smiled. �As I said, I wouldn�t mind having the secret myself.�

Huuygens shook his head decisively. He began to pace the room.

�No, that wasn�t his reason. He was after my itinerary.� He paused to look at Andr�. �Think a moment. If you were paying someone to carry a suitcase worth millions of dollars from one place to another, what would you do?�

�You mean, other than putting in a little package of dynamite to prevent undue curiosity?�

�Of course,� Kek said a trifle impatiently. �The dynamite itself may be a threat, but actually it�s ridiculous. How would it help you if your messenger got himself blown to pieces? You�d still lose your suitcase and everything else.� He shook his head. �No. You�d take out better insurance than that.�

�I would?�

�You would. You�d have him followed.�

Andr� nodded, smiling. �You�re probably right. I�m a very untrusting guy.� He quirked a curious eyebrow at Kek. �So you expect to be followed?�

�I don�t expect to be,� Kek said evenly. �I have been. Ever since I got off the plane this morning.� He saw the look on Andr�s face. �I wasn�t too surprised. I expected it.� He paused in his pacing. �Look, this Schneller comes into a strange hotel room and hands over a suitcase supposedly worth a fortune to a complete stranger. He doesn�t ask for identification; he doesn�t take any precautions at all. Why?�

�Because it�s not the right suitcase?�

�I think it�s the right suitcase. Why make two cases that complicated? And why hand over any suitcase to a stranger? No, it�s because he knows I�m Kek Huuygens. And how does he know? Because I�ve probably been followed since I left Paris by one of Sanchez�s people. Or, if not, because Schneller�s people picked me up when I got here � which I think is the case, because I didn�t feel followed before, if you know what I mean, and I expected to be.� He resumed his pacing, still talking. �Schneller�s people saw me go through customs today, and someone in customs identified me to him. And he was doing it, of course, for Se�or Sanchez.�

Andr� frowned. �So why ask you to take along a bodyguard if he has a shadow on you?�

�Because you can shadow a man fairly easily in a city, if you have enough men to do it, but on a trip it would help a lot if one had a definite itinerary��

The telephone rang sharply. Kek looked at his watch as if surprised that time had passed so quickly and walked over to the desk, lifting the instrument.

�Sanchez,� he said to Andr�, even before listening, and then paid attention to the call. �Yes? Yes, this is M�sieu Huuygens. Ah, hello, Se�or Sanchez. How�s the weather in Barcelona? High winds and rain, you say? What a pity! It�s much better here � medium cirrus clouds and intermittent sunshine...�

Andr� was staring at him. Kek cupped the receiver and grinned at the man on the bed.

�Sanchez likes codes; or maybe he�s brushing up on a bit of his French he doesn�t use very often. In any event, that bit of nonsense means it�s really me talking to him, and that I�ve taken delivery of the suitcase from Schneller.� He turned his attention to the telephone again. �I beg your pardon? I�m sorry, the line wasn�t too good there for a moment.�

�I said, there�s someone here who would like to speak with you.� Sanchez�s voice was suave; the cold, superior smile on his skeletal face could almost be seen over the miles of cable. Kek�s smile was wiped away instantly; his jaw tightened as he waited. There was only one person it could possibly be!

There was the briefest of pauses and Anita was on the line.

�Kek? Hello, Kek?�

Huuygens glared at Andr�, his face hard. �They�ve got Anita!�

�Again?�

�Again!�

�That girl�s kidnap prone��

�She certainly is!� Kek spoke into the phone harshly, his eyes narrowed. �What happened?�

�They brought me here in a car, in a trunk through the border guards, I suppose. I don�t know; I was asleep. That�s the second time I was stuck with a needle!� Anita sounded irked by the repetition. �I hope these people know how to properly sterilize needles��

�Are you all right?�

�I�m all right now. I had a sore � it was sore for a while from the needle, and I had a headache at first again, but not so bad this time� � Anita sounded as if she were developing an immunity to needles � �but they�re treating me fine now. The woman who�s watching me � not the one you know � is teaching me needlepoint... That�s appropriate, isn�t it?�

�Anita! Forget the needlepoint! How are you?�

�I said I was fine. The thing is, I�d wanted to have the living room repapered as a surprise while you were gone, but now I won�t get a chance to��

�Anita! Will you forget the living room! How are you?�

�I�m fine, dear. I told you that.� Anita suddenly seemed to realize her predicament and its effect on Kek. �I�m sorry, Kek. I know how upset this must make you��

�Upset!�

�If you�d marry me,� Anita said reasonably, �these things probably wouldn�t happen. People almost never kidnap married women. I suppose because they figure the chances are too great nobody would pay the ransom.�

�Anita!� Kek�s tone brooked no nonsense. �Get off the line and let me talk to Sanchez!�

�All right, dear,� Anita said soothingly. �But you really mustn�t worry about me. I�m fine. Honestly I am. And I�m doing an antimacassar for your big chair, purple and green. It will match the wallpaper if I ever get a chance to��

�Anita!�

�All right, dear,� Anita said. �Have a good time in Buenos Aires. And hurry home.�

There was a brief pause and then Sanchez was on the line.

�Ah, M�sieu Huuygens��

�Listen, Sanchez! Why the necessity of holding Anita when you�ve got the suitcase foolproof?�

�Ah, m�sieu � insurance...� If Kek felt any surprise at hearing his own word come back to him he made no immediate comment. Sanchez continued. �True, you cannot open the suitcase, but you might well fail to deliver it. I am aware of your reputation for treating clients honestly, but there�s too much at stake here for us to depend just on your good word. As for madame, you have my word she will be treated well��

�If you so much as touch her, I will kill you,� Kek said in a conversational tone.

�I am well aware of your regard,� Sanchez said with a touch of amusement. �There would be little point in bothering her otherwise. As long as you complete your mission, of course. I want the suitcase in Barcelona by next Sunday at the latest. Do you hear?�

Kek took a deep breath. There was obviously nothing he could do at this distance in the matter of Anita. He could, however, clear up a suspicion he had been forming since hearing Anita�s voice.

�How much insurance do you need, Sanchez? If you�re so anxious for my success, you should know that having me followed will only lead to trouble. And failure. And if it does...�

�Followed?� Sanchez chuckled deprecatingly. �Why should I have you followed? Especially since I have your young woman here? No, no, Huuygens, don�t imagine little people back of bushes. Nor would I suggest you search for excuses. I�m rather disappointed...� The voice hardened. �Concentrate, instead, on getting the suitcase here. By Sunday!�

There was a click and the sound of the dial tone. Kek replaced the telephone in its cradle and stared at the carpet, his mind considering this new angle. Andr� cleared his throat.

�What did Anita say?�

Kek frowned savagely. He had not been amused by the exchange with his lovely Anita. �She says she�s fine and maybe I ought to marry her, since married women seldom get kidnapped.�

�She�s probably right,� Andr� said and feigned agreement. �I know I�ve never felt the urge to kidnap one.� He straightened his face, coming back to the more important subject. �What did Sanchez have to say for himself?�

�Sanchez said he wants the suitcase in Barcelona by Sunday. Which is no problem.� Kek resumed his pacing. �He also said he isn�t having me followed � as he put it, why should he? And why should he, indeed?� His eyes came up steadily. �And that, my friend, is a problem.�

Andr� considered him a moment and then nodded in understanding. �You mean it looks as if your friend Schneller is overstepping his authority a bit, eh?�

�I�m afraid,� Kek said and went to stare out of the window.

�And,� Andr� went on, warming to his theme, �if Schneller is having you followed, not for Sanchez, he must be doing it for himself. Right?�

�Right.�

�And if he knew where you were going, and when, he might just be able to arrange to have someone waiting for you along the line. And you would be left holding the bag. I mean, not holding the bag,� he amended in the interests of accuracy and sighed. �It�s getting harder and harder to find a crook you can trust these days.�

�Too true,� Kek said absently and continued staring into the street, his mind busy with the problem.

�It would also mean, of course, that your friend Schneller would have to do something to prevent your being around afterward,� Andr� said, expounding his theory further. �Something like killing you. Because you�re the type to go crying to Sanchez and tell him the big, bad man from Buenos Aires slapped your wrist and took away all your candy.�

�That�s me,� Kek said and grinned without turning around. �Just a poor sport.�

�And Sanchez might just believe you. So Schneller can�t leave you around.� Andr� became serious. �So what do we do about it? Take Schneller along and drop him into the ocean?�

�They still object to opening plane doors at thirty thousand feet. Besides,� Kek said, looking down, �if Schneller has any idea of taking the suitcase away from me, he�d probably hire somebody to do the job, much as he�d hate to��

�Hate to?�

�About all that Sanchez told me about the man is that he hates to spend money. A maniac tightwad. But he�d pay to have someone take me; it would be worth it to him. After our little talk he knows I�ll have an eye out for him; and he�s like you in one respect � he�s hard to hide.� He frowned. �And the people he could hire just in Buenos Aires that I don�t know come to about six million. Not to mention a lot of others in other cities.�

Andr� saw a hole in the argument. �Except,� he said, �if he takes the suitcase away from you before Spain, how will he get it through customs?�

�He doesn�t want it in Spain, for heaven�s sake! That�s the last place he wants it. He wants the bag and me to disappear together, all right, but anywhere else. They buy cocaine in lots of places these days.� The crowds he was staring at without seeing in the streets below seemed to suddenly give him an idea. �You know...�

�What?�

Huuygens suddenly turned, smiling. �It would be better, wouldn�t it, if Herr Schneller took on the job of taking the suitcase away from me? Personally? Rather than some unknown thug he could hire that I wouldn�t know or recognize?�

�I suppose. But how do you get him to do it?�

�It might just be possible...�

He held up a hand against interruption and began pacing the room. The people in the street had reminded him that it was easier to lose a man in a crowd than in an empty street. His idea had begun to take form. It was rough at that stage, which was natural, but that did not bother him; he knew instinctively it was a workable concept. He began to put some of the details in, staring at the girl leading the burro, but not seeing the picture at all. Suddenly it struck him that that was exactly what he was planning to do: lead a burro. The smile on the girl�s face was transformed to his own.

Insurance, Schneller had said, and Sanchez and he had both repeated the word. Well, this wasn�t exactly insurance, but it was a chance to get Schneller off his neck at least. He had always known how he was going to get the suitcase past the customs in Spain; the nice thing about this new plan was that it did not interfere with the original scheme at all. It did not, unfortunately, also include a means of teaching Se�or Sanchez a lesson for sticking pins into girls, but that was a problem that would have to wait. One enemy at a time � today Schneller, tomorrow Sanchez. He let his thoughts go back to his new scheme, taking it from the beginning; now the little tumblers � unlike those spring-loaded ball bearings in Schneller�s suitcase � began to drop into place with almost audible clicks. Nor did any warning bell ring as the outlines of the plan began to solidify. He checked it over one final time and then turned to the patiently waiting Andr�.

�Andr�, we�ll need a bit of shopping��

�For anything interesting?�

�Suitcase covers, two of them. You know, those canvas things...�

Andr� frowned. �I haven�t seen one of those in years.�

�They still have them in luggage stores. My suitcase is roughly the size of one. With covers on they�ll be pretty hard to tell apart from a distance.�

Andr�s eyes lit up. �The old shell game?�

�Something like it. Except you�ll be taking one of the walnut shells with you when you leave.�

�That�s cheating,� Andr� said, scandalized, and swung himself from the bed. He pulled the unaccustomed necktie into place, straightened the jacket, and ran his fingers through his nearly-white gray hair. �Two suitcase covers coming up! I gather you want me to do the shopping? If you�re being followed? Down two flights by stairs and then the elevator,� he added sotto voce, as if repeating instructions, and then looked up, frowning, doing a double take. �Hold it! What do you mean, I�ll be taking one of the walnut shells with me. Aren�t we traveling together?�

�No. You leave tonight; I go tomorrow.�

Andr� shook his large head stubbornly. �No, sir! Not with that storm-troop type after you! We didn�t come together because there was a reason; now there�s a reason we go back together, and we do!�

�We don�t!� Kek said definitely. �There�s also a reason. And I suppose it�s about time you found out what the plans are.�

�Well, thank you very much,� Andr� said stiffly and sat down again on the bed. He got up to tug on his trousers, protecting the unusual crease, and then sat down again, waiting. Kek stopped his pacing and stood facing the big man, beginning to outline his plan. Andr� listened with no expression on his face, although at one point he smiled and then immediately brought his face back to its immobility. When at last Kek finished there were several moments of silence. Then Andr� sighed and came to his feet.

�It could work,� he said slowly. �I don�t mean the smuggling; that�s perfect. I mean the thing with Schneller. Still, in everything, there are a couple of things I�m not too fond of��

Kek faced him, unsmiling. �Just a couple?�

�Mainly. First, I don�t like the fact that you still don�t know how to teach Sanchez a lesson and still plan on giving him that suitcase...�

�And?�

�And suppose that Schneller doesn�t follow the bait? Suppose he doesn�t react the way you expect him to?�

Huuygens sighed and turned to look out of the window again out over the city, but not seeing it.

�Then,� he said, �we may be in trouble...�

Through the closed door of his apartment, Schneller could hear the sound of the telephone ringing. He fumbled his key ring into his hand, singling out a key, and hurried it into the lock, turned it quickly, and then searched for the key to a second lock, for the first time sorry he had been so thorough in his home-protective installations. He managed the auxiliary at last, the soft incessancy of the sound through the paneling a goad to his fingers. He swung the door aside as an irksome barrier, hurried across the room, his key strap dangling, and snatched up the instrument.

�Hello?� His voice was wheezing badly. One of these days, he promised himself, he had to stop smoking � and instantly he reached to touch the security blanket of the tobacco sack in his pocket as one might touch an amulet.

�Herr Schneller? Max Gross, from the Gerhardt Agency��

�One second.� Schneller crossed the room, tucking the monstrous key ring into his pocket; he closed and locked the door and returned to the telephone, catching his breath. He sat down on the desk chair, overflowing it, speaking with more control. �All right. Go ahead.�

�Yes, sir.� Max spoke in German. �The subject left the Plaza Hotel about half an hour ago � two o�clock, precisely. He proceeded��

�Was he alone?�

�Alone, yes.� It seemed to Max to be a rather odd question; Huuygens had been alone since he had arrived at Ezeiza Airport early that morning and could scarcely have picked up a companion since then without having been seen. However, Herr Schneller was paying for the surveillance, and Max was a firm believer in rendering unto Caesar.

�Well? Go ahead!�

Max came out of his reverie. �Yes, sir. Anyway, the subject proceeded to the British United Airways office in the Calle Maip� between Paraguay and C�rdoba. It�s not far from the hotel and he walked. I followed the subject, taking all precautions not to be observed. Since the subject obviously was unaware of the surveillance, I proceeded into the office behind him. There was only one girl on counter duty, so I was able to obtain a place in line behind the subject and remained there while he transacted his business. The subject picked up tickets � it must be assumed they had been ordered by telephone prior � I mean, previously. I was therefore able, because of my position, to hear all that transpired.� Max giggled, veering from the agency vernacular a moment. �I couldn�t have helped hearing him if I�d tried��

�Get on with it!� Schneller said gratingly. Why in the devil did every agency moron refer to a person as �the subject� instead of by name? And the rest of that garbage they used to replace plain German! This Max What�s-his-name was a fool. What kind of detectives was he paying for, anyway?

�Yes, sir!� Max said hurriedly. �Anyway, the subject leaves Buenos Aires the day after tomorrow��

�The day after tomorrow? What�s he hanging around for?�

Max had no idea, but he didn�t seem to feel it politic to say so. Herr Schneller appeared to be a bit on edge this morning.

�Possibly to sight-see, sir. He may be a stranger here, taking advantage of his��

�Get on with it!�

�Yes, sir! The subject leaves the day after tomorrow, Thursday, at seventeen twenty-five � that�s five twenty-five in the afternoon, sir � from Ezeiza Airport on British United Airways for London, arriving there at fourteen fifteen Saturday. That�s two fifteen in the after��

�I know! I know! Keep quiet a second...�

London, eh? Schneller frowned at the desk blotter. Why would Huuygens pick an airport as large as either of the two major ports in London? He obviously would expect to be searched, since he always was; and they were far from fools in London. Besides, the chances of smuggling anything the size of a suitcase through customs in London had to be the devil�s own task. And when you were through, where were you? Still far from Spain, and on an island to boot. And even worse, of course � getting this Huuygens alone for the purpose of taking the suitcase from him in a busy place like London, with police all around, could also be a major problem...

�What airport?�

�Gatwick,� Max said, proud that he � or rather, the counter girl � had overlooked no detail.

Well, Schneller thought, at least Gatwick isn�t quite as crowded as Heathrow, but it still is a very busy airport. Possibly there was another answer? After all, just because a man buys a ticket for a certain destination doesn�t necessarily mean he has to go there.

�Any stopovers?�

�Two. Rio de Janeiro and Las Palmas in the Canaries. But he�s not staying in London; he�s going on,� Max added hurriedly, suddenly realizing that Herr Schneller was misunderstanding his information.

�Well, for God�s sake! Don�t make me drag it out of you word by word!� Good Lord! What was this incompetent�s name? Max? Really, Gerhardt would hear of this!

�Yes, sir. The subject changes planes in London, same airfield, Gatwick, also to British United, for Gibraltar. He leaves Gatwick at twenty-one forty-five and gets into Gibraltar � North Front Airport � at twenty-three fifteen. That�s� � Max realized he was close to repeating an error � �fifteen minutes before midnight. No, forty-five,� he amended hastily and anticipated a further question. �No stopovers on that leg. And that�s as far as his ticket goes.�

This Huuygens is really laying a trail, Schneller thought, and was happy he had been wise enough to put Gerhardt and his men on the job, even though it was just pure luck that a mental cripple like this Max should have gotten so much of the finer details.

�Now, what about luggage? Was there any mention of it? For example, what about the transfer from one plane to the other at Gatwick?�

�They put it from one plane to the other in London � the company does, that is. The girl said so; she said he�d have no worry on that score. He puts his bags in at Ezeiza here and doesn�t get his hands on them until Gibraltar.�

There was a pause as Schneller considered this information. Gibraltar, of course, made a lot more sense than Gatwick. Actually, it made a lot of sense. It was small, minute when compared with London, with far less traffic and far, far less staff. The intermediate stops were well forgotten; if Huuygens bought that detailed a ticket just to get off at Rio de Janeiro to throw anyone off his trail, he�d still be almost as far from his ultimate destination and still face all the same problems. No, Gibraltar made real sense � although how the man planned to get it from Gibraltar into Spain would be interesting. Actually, it would be even more interesting to know how he planned to get it out of the airport in Gibraltar. Interesting but nonessential, since M�sieu Huuygens had his, Schneller�s, permission to get it past customs any way he, Huuygens, chose; he, Schneller, would see to it that he, Huuygens, would be relieved of the custody of the suitcase in short order. This bit of cerebral gymnastics completed, Schneller went on with his calculating.

Actually, Gibraltar was ideal from his own point of view; from the Rock it would be no great problem to get it onto a ferry to Spanish Morocco. A few pesetas bought a lot of closed eyes and turned heads in that part of the world. And in Morocco it should be simple to make a very lucrative deal for the stuff. He returned his attention to the telephone and the waiting Max.

�Where did Huuygens go when he left the airline office?�

�I don�t know. I imagine Willi took over and picked him up,� Max said. �I couldn�t walk out of the airline office behind the subject after standing in line so long; it would have looked suspicious. I had to stay and ask the girl a lot of stupid questions� � Schneller raised his eyes to the ceiling � �but Willi and Herr Gerhardt himself were right behind us, so I�m sure they picked the subject up. That was the arrangement. They should be calling you as soon as��

�All right! All right!� Schneller brought his eyes down, glaring. God, what a talkative idiot! �Go back to the hotel and be prepared to help the others when they get back. If they need you.� He was paying good money for this donkey?

�Yes, sir.�

�And good-bye!�

�Yes, sir,� Max said sadly and hung up, reluctant to stop talking. The reporting was the part of detective work he liked best.

The big blond man set the telephone back in its cradle and pulled his tobacco and papers from his pocket, beginning to roll a cigarette without conscious thought, forcing his mind from the irritation of Max Gross. So Huuygens would arrive at North Front in Gibraltar around midnight three days hence. Friday. The question of why the delay in Buenos Aires an extra day when he had a job to do was a bit irksome but really not essential. Probably his plan for getting through customs in Gibraltar required his arrival there on Friday, rather than earlier. That must be it. In any event, it was nothing to worry about.

Friday... More than ample time to get someone from Germany down there. Or, better yet, to arrange for two men; one to join the flight at Gatwick in London and actually accompany Huuygens and the other to be waiting in Gibraltar. It would be pretty hard for even the clever M�sieu Huuygens to give the slip to the two of them � not the two men he intended to hire for the job. And they would hold him someplace privately until he could get there and handle the rest himself. It would be necessary to get rid of M�sieu Huuygens, but that would occasion no great sadness on his part; it would be, in fact, a job he would handle himself with great pleasure. He pictured the stocky man�s neck between his strong fingers, allowed four or five seconds in his mind for slowly increasing pressure � long enough to remind the man behind those bulging gray eyes that it did not pay to get cute with Hans Schneller � and then suddenly flexed his thick thumbs, completing the garroting. He could almost hear the neck snap.

He tugged at the knuckles of his fingers as if in relief after the strangling he had just imagined; then his smile faded. Imagination was one thing, but facts were another. Between the expenses involved in the hiring of the Gerhardt Detective Agency with half their men, plus the two from Berlin � who did not work cheaply � the cost of this hijacking would be considerable. Not that it wasn�t worth it� Worth it? Ten thousand times over � but, still, money didn�t grow on trees. True, he had had the suitcase in his hands after Sanchez had been and gone with the combination � and maybe he shouldn�t have given him the combination either, but that was water over the dam � and possibly he should have just gone off with it. But no; Sanchez or that partner of his would have had him followed for the rest of his life, which probably wouldn�t have been long, and who needed it when a simpler solution was at hand? This was much better � let the blame fall on Huuygens. In fact, make sure the blame falls on him. No suitcase, no Huuygens. He could even go to Barcelona and commiserate with the others on the loss...

His smile returned. He stretched his hand to place his call to Berlin; the telephone rang as his fingers touched the smooth plastic. He brought the receiver to his ear in the same easy motion.

�Yes?�

�Schneller? This is Gerhardt. What�s the matter with your telephone? I�ve been ringing every few minutes and it�s been busy.�

�You�ve got a talkative operative named Max Something on your payroll. What�s the matter?�

�Nothing�s the matter. You wanted reports, didn�t you? You scream enough about how much they cost, so I thought you�d be interested in getting one, that�s all.�

Now that Huuygens� itinerary was in his hands, it was far less important to have the man constantly followed; still, it certainly did no harm, and he had promised Gerhardt at least two days� employment for at least four men. A pity, under the circumstances, but he could not back out now; Gerhardt was an old friend. Still, as Gerhardt said, they were costing him so he might as well get the reports. No sense in throwing away the money.

�All right,� Schneller said mildly. �So report.�

�All right,� Gerhardt said, still not completely mollified. �My man Willi picked up your man outside the British United Airways office on Maip�. Max was inside with him. He��

�I know,� Schneller said and finally lit his cigarette. He coughed once and started to subside when another fit caught him. He managed to control it at last, speaking with effort. �He was picking up his tickets there��

�His tickets?� At the other end of the line Gerhardt shook his head disgustedly at the phone. Why did every client try to second-guess the agency? �Tickets nothing. They must have been booked solid, because from British United he went around the corner on C�rdoba to Air France��

Schneller felt a cold hand grip his stomach and twist. The match in his fingers burned down to his hand; he woke up with a muffled curse and dropped it on the rug, stamping it out.

��and Willi was right behind him. Your man bought a ticket for Paris � Orly Field. His flight leaves Ezeiza at eighteen hours on Thursday, day after tomorrow, and gets into Orly at fourteen fifty-five on Friday, their time.�

Schneller took a shuddering breath, coughed on his cigarette, and took it from his lip, crushing it out viciously. He felt as if he had been betrayed. Betrayed? He felt as if he had been clubbed on the back of his bull neck. Why in the devil would Huuygens � Or did that dumbhead Max make a mistake? But, no � his information had been too complete. Then, what in the name of�

One possibility suddenly occurred to him, the only one that made sense at the moment. The tickets had to be for different people. Of course! Huuygens had an accomplice, a confederate. And they would meet someplace, which is why he had booked flights leaving at approximately the same hour. And why he booked on Thursday; it was probably the only day both airlines had flights that stopped at the same place. Rio, possibly, or Las Palmas... He began to feel better.

�What stopovers does it have?�

�Two,� Gerhardt said. �Bras�lia and Dakar.�

Schneller felt bad again. There was, of course, the possibility that Huuygens and his confederate planned to meet halfway from their destination � halfway between what? London and Paris? In the Channel? That way lay madness... Then�? The shock had not worn off, it had merely been put aside temporarily. His mind was beginning to function again.

�And from Paris where is he booked?�

Gerhardt had always known that Schneller was clever with his hands, but he had never credited him with excessive imagination.

�From Paris to Perpignan,� he said with more respect. �A six-hour layover in Paris and then less than an hour�s flight to Perpignan. He�ll be getting there at twenty-one o-five.�

�Still from Orly?�

�Yes.�

�What about his luggage?�

�Willi said they put it on the plane at Orly for him � transfer it, that is. Checked in here, delivered in Perpignan.�

�And that�s the end of the line.� It was a statement.

�Yes. At least as far as the ticket he bought from Air France.�

The tight feeling began to leave Schneller; he had panicked for nothing. Obviously, Huuygens was no fool. He had simply taken the normal precaution of laying a false trail first in order to guarantee not being followed. He probably canceled his first ticket as soon as he got back to the hotel; in all probability he had paid by credit card�

�How did he pay?�

Gerhardt was ashamed not to know. �Willi didn�t say.�

�No matter.�

It was unimportant. There were no confederates; a smart man did not use them � unless they were essential, he amended hurriedly, thinking of Berlin. No. Huuygens was working alone and Perpignan was his true destination. It was fortunate he had arranged for Gerhardt to put enough men on the job so that he had not been led astray by that first booking. And equally fortunate that his call to Germany, according to the international operator, would not go through until six o�clock that evening, so that he had not as yet given definite instructions. He could now direct the men differently: one to Orly to join the flight with Huuygens, and the other to Perpignan to wait. Otherwise the scenario would be the same.

He frowned down at the desk blotter, his eyes narrowing. Or... just suppose Huuygens was being cute again � apparently a habit of his � and the second was the false trail, and not the first? In that case it would be better to have four men on the job: two for the Perpignan trip and two for the Gibraltar trip. He shook his head, his light-blue eyes murderous. This thing had damned well better work out, because the expenses were getting out of hand! Still, thirty pounds of pure cocaine � if everything worked out, that is. But what if it didn�t? He�d be the rest of his life paying off... He put the terrible thought from him and returned to the telephone.

�All right,� he said. �Where is he now?�

�I have Gomez following him.�

�Gomez?� For a moment it didn�t register. Gerhardt had an Argentinian national on his payroll? He kicked himself for thinking of inconsequentials at a time like that. �All right. Stay with him. At least until your two days are up.� No sense in paying and not getting the work done.

�We will,� Gerhardt said briefly and hung up.

Schneller�s hand reached unconsciously for his tobacco and papers. Perpignan, eh? Really even a better spot for Huuygens to try to cross the Spanish border than Gibraltar. Not very far from the coast, and a small fishing boat on a dark night, and a brief run to Barcelona. Except that M�sieu Huuygens would never leave Perpignan alive... Or Gibraltar � whichever...

It was a beautiful spring afternoon, warm and sunny, and the hired car hummed along smoothly, eating the miles of the wide parkway. The concrete sang beneath the tires, the open windows brought in the rich scent of newly mown grass. The city lay far behind, invisible even on that endless plain; here in the outskirts the bustle of the center seemed to belong to a different era as well as a different area. Little private housing developments, each styled quaintly, came and went like turreted villages of the past, their walled boundaries marching alongside the speeding car and then falling away to be replaced by another. On the distant horizon low clouds gave a simulation of hills, the only break in the monotony of the plain.

Kek Huuygens leaned back comfortably in the rear seat, his mind on the steps still to be taken to assure his success. His plan as far as Schneller was concerned was, he knew, a chancy one, but it had possibilities; even had it been more foolproof, though, it still would have required the supplemental help of a bit of luck, and he had to hope this would be around when needed. True, he always did his best to encourage luck to aid him, and this time had been no exception.

For example: Certainly by now even as stupid a person as Herr Schneller should have come to consider the possibility that the myriad destinations to which M�sieu Huuygens had purchased passage were all smoke screens. Certainly by now Herr Schneller should have come to consider the probability that M�sieu Huuygens had used the transportation desk in the hotel. And certainly by now Herr Schneller should have been able to rout out the clerk and bribe him enough to discover the ticket issued to Lisbon. Do not disappoint me, Schneller, Kek thought; do not be too bright, but do not be any more stupid than necessary, either. I have left you ample time to get to Lisbon ahead of me; be there when I get there so I can get you out of my hair once and for all. I have a suitcase to deliver, and you are promising to become a nuisance...

He glanced through the rear window of the hired car, wondering as he did so what purpose the check served. There was no indication that any of the many cars traveling in the same direction on the parkway behind him were necessarily interested in him. Or not interested in him, as far as that goes, he thought; it was a public highway, open to private detectives as well as virtuous smugglers. And it made little difference. In an hour he would be on his way, and if Schneller was not waiting for him in Lisbon, he�d have to worry about everyone around him from then on. Be stupid, Schneller, but not too stupid...

He turned back, facing the front, and then had to reach quickly for the strap as his driver swerved sharply through the wide gate and then straightened out into a lesser curve to bring the car to a stop before the main entrance of the airport. He descended and waited on the curb as his bag was hauled out from the driver�s seat. He paid the man and looked about. As he had known from his inspection of the premises on his arrival the previous day, a porter appeared almost instantly, his combination luggage truck and ticket stand filled with baggage checks for all airlines. Kek handed over the suitcase most willingly.

�KLM.�

�Yes, sir!� The porter picked up the suitcase, satisfied himself that its weight did not require verification, and reached for a KLM baggage ticket. �And your destination, sir?�

�Lisbon,� Kek said cheerfully.

�Yes, sir. Lisbon,� said the porter and drew a ticket properly marked LIS. He looped it around the handle of the covered suitcase, ripped off the stub in the same gesture, and handed it over, his palm out. Kek slipped it into his pocket, fumbled some change loose, and then stopped. His face was bright with embarrassment. The porter had a cold feeling something was going to cost him his tip.

�Sir?�

�I�m sorry,� Kek said and looked it. �I�m afraid my mind was wandering. Did I say Lisbon?�

�Yes, sir.�

�I�m terribly sorry. I must have been thinking of something else. I meant Amsterdam.�

The porter smiled, relieved. �No trouble at all, sir.� He ripped the baggage tag from the handle, replaced it with one properly stamped AMS, and handed Kek the stub. Kek put it in his pocket and then remembered the old stub. He brought it out, tore it up, and dropped the pieces into a receptacle.

�Sorry,� he said, smiling self-deprecatingly, and tipped most generously.

�No trouble at all,� the porter assured him, pleased with the outcome of the matter, and wheeled the bag away.

Step one... Kek took a deep breath and walked into the large terminal, crossing the main lobby, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the polished terrazzo, his eyes routinely checking the faces of those he passed. There was none familiar, but then he realized he was being foolish. If Schneller had hired thugs to stay with him, he wouldn�t spot them in a one-second check. Forget it and hope he saw Schneller in person in Lisbon...

He walked over to the check-in desk of KLM and handed over his ticket envelope. A flaxen-haired lovely with perfect teeth and a well-filled blouse beneath her uniform jacket accepted the envelope; she took some of the contents and left some in the share-and-share alike of airlines throughout the world, punched, stamped, and stapled the remainder, clipped a seat assignment to the tattered remnants, and handed it back. Kek accepted it and wandered away, pitying the poor accountants who had to make sense from the paper chase that had to result from such a system.

A raucous screech from a wall-mounted loudspeaker was apparently being repeated; Kek managed to interpret it as the first call for his flight and made his way to a queue forming before a KLM standard. He relinquished his ticket; it was returned to him more mutilated than ever and he moved on. A uniformed policeman was diligently going through hand luggage on a small bench in the aisleway; Kek, empty-handed, passed on to be politely but thoroughly patted in a search for firearms by a second policeman. Behind him as he continued toward the plane the precautions against potential hijackers continued. Now that would really be smuggling, he thought with a smile, and entered the plane. I wonder how I�d go about smuggling a plane from one place to another without using the threat of a gun? Guns took all the skill out of it. A nice problem, and one with which to while away some of the long hours of the flight, except that he had a more important problem that required solution in the very near future. Could he hand over that suitcase to Sanchez without in some way punishing him for his impolite promotional methods in getting him to take the job? Honor demanded it...

He found his seat and sank into it. Too early to begin to worry about the problem of Sanchez and his just retribution; time now for step one-and-a-half. Step one-and-a-half was never written down or even memorized in the course of a Huuygens scheme; when practical it came between steps one and two. Step one-and-a-half involved getting outside of a few solid drinks once step one had been safely accomplished. The sad thing, of course, was that he would have to wait until takeoff before he could prevail on one of the stewardesses to fulfill the requirements. A pity, he thought, and leaned back, staring from the window of the plane at the terminal building and the file of people waiting to enter the cabin. Maybe he shouldn�t wait for step one-and-a-half to begin thinking of Sanchez�s payment; time was running out...

The dapper young man behind the KLM desk looked up politely. His expression changed to one of concern as he noted the look on the face of the man glaring at him over the counter. Whatever had annoyed the gentleman, it must have been something serious, and the young clerk sincerely hoped it did not involve either himself or the airline he represented. This husky, gray-eyed man with the tough jaw looked as if he could be unpleasant when he wanted to, and this seemed to be one of the times he wanted to.

The young man came to his feet quickly, advancing to the counter.

�Sir?�

�Would you mind telling me what kind of an airline you people are supposed to be running?� Kek asked truculently and mentally apologized to Royal Dutch Airlines, one of his favorites.

�Sir?�

Kek glared. �In addition to all other annoyances, does KLM also hire clerks who are deaf?�

�I beg your pardon, sir, but if you have any complaint, I�ll be only too happy to do what I can...�

�Then I suggest you try magic,� Kek said sourly. He dug into a pocket and brought out a ticket stub. �This, in case you�ve never seen one before, is a receipt for baggage. I arrived on your flight eight thirty-two from Buenos Aires three hours ago and I�ve spent that time looking for my suitcase! Three hours! I�ve had porters looking for it, I�ve spoken to the people who bring the luggage from the plane to the terminal, but do you think they ever bother to look at what they�re doing? Never! Irresponsible, that�s what it is! I went to the baggage master��

�I�m sorry��

�Sorry! Who cares if you�re sorry or not? I�d scarcely expect you to be happy! But that doesn�t get me my bag, does it? Is that the way you people handle baggage?�

�Oh, no, sir,� the young man said fervently and wished he had either taken the day off or chosen another line of endeavor completely. �We seldom lose luggage, but accidents do occur, you know�� He reached under the counter for a form and slid it hesitantly across the counter, anticipating an explosion. �If you�d care to fill this out...� He swallowed. �Our liability is limited to��

�The devil with what you think your liability is limited to! Do you think I�m intimidated by a flock of small print on the back of a airplane ticket? Don�t be silly! And I don�t fill out forms, for your information, without my lawyer�s approval!� He looked at his wristwatch, his handsome face dark with righteous anger. �Three hours! That flight�s in Amsterdam by now! It takes less time to get from Lisbon to Amsterdam than it does to find a suitcase, for God�s sake!� He glared and muttered. �Amsterdam!�

A thought came to the young clerk, out of thin air.

�Sir � maybe your bag was mis-ticketed...�

�How the devil could it have been mis-ticketed? I have a stub right here that says Lisbon, doesn�t it? You may be deaf but you can read, can�t you? How could even the most misguided employee of yours manage to put a tag on a suitcase for Amsterdam and then give me a stub for Lisbon? Even at your company?� He snorted.

�Sometimes tags come off in transit, sir, or get mutilated. And sometimes, if it happens at the departing airport, the baggage handling people try to remember��

�Try to remember? Who gave them which for where? A guessing game? Good God! What a way to handle luggage!�

�I mean, sir � we usually take any unidentified luggage to the home airport, sir. In this case, Schiphol...�

Kek shook his head at this new evidence of mismanagement.

�My God!� he said and then gave in grudgingly. �Well, I suppose it�s a possibility, even if a small one.� He waited a second and then looked up, glaring at the red-faced young man. �Well, what are you waiting for? You�ve got a teletype to Amsterdam from here, don�t you?�

The young man snapped erect. �Oh, yes, sir, we do. We do!� He disappeared into a back room only to appear again almost instantly. �A description, sir�?�

�Why?� Kek asked tartly. �Do you expect to find a dozen extra suitcases that have been mis-ticketed in Amsterdam? I wouldn�t be surprised! Well, it�s a one-suiter, brown plastic; it�s in a plaid-design canvas suitcase cover.�

�And your name, sir?�

�You�ll be wanting my fingerprints next, I expect! The name is Huuygens, Kek Huuygens. The bag has an identification tag under the handle � if one of your people hasn�t torn it off by now��

�Yes, sir!�

The boy hurried back into the rear room; the sound of the teletype starting up could be heard, stammering electrically. Kek bit back a rather shamefaced smile; acting the part of the heavy did not particularly please him, but in this case it was essential. He wanted reactions to be automatic, not reasoned. He only hoped the boy was adding a bit of description about his recalcitrant customer. When it was all over, he promised, he would manage to apologize in some fashion � write them it was part of Candid Camera, or something. There was a pause in the rattling noise, a sharp ring, and then the stuttering returned. Kek waited, giving every indication of impatience. At long last the young man emerged from the back room. He was weak with relief.

�We�ve located your suitcase, sir. It was ticketed for Amsterdam. How, we don�t know, but they have it at Schiphol, sir.�

If he expected this news to transform the terrible-tempered client across the counter from him, he was doomed to disappointment.

�And what am I supposed to do? Run up to Schiphol and claim it?�

�Oh, no, sir!� The young man was shocked at the very idea. �We�ll fly it back on the first plane��

�And I�m supposed to wait for it here? My dear young man, I have a plane to Barcelona that leaves in less than two hours. TWA flight one eighty-six. Can you fly my bag back here before I embark?�

The young man�s face fell. And everything had been going along so well, too! �I�m afraid not, sir.� Suddenly he brightened, coming up with the suggestion seconds before Kek would have led him to it. �But we could fly it to Barcelona from Schiphol, sir. You could pick it up there.�

Huuygens considered this possibility. His face clearly indicated that he wasn�t overjoyed at the prospect of continuing on without his bag, but there seemed to be no other solution.

�Well, all right,� he said at last with poor grace. �But do me a favor; put on that teletype the fact that I fully intend to carry this matter farther! It�s pretty bad when a paying customer has to go chasing all over an airport to get his bag, simply because of the errors of someone else someplace else!�

�You won�t have to chase around, sir. We�ll have a representative bring it to you in the international division, sir. It�s where you arrive when you get into Barcelona from Lisbon. Between immigration and customs, sir. You�ll be paged, sir.�

�I know where it is! This isn�t the first trip I�ve ever made, you know!� Kek said testily. �Well, if that�s the best you can do... Get back to your teletype and tell them to send it to Barcelona, or they�ll have it in Beirut, or someplace equally outlandish! And you can definitely inform your management that they haven�t heard the last of this matter, believe me!�

He turned away abruptly without a word of thanks for the young man who had located his suitcase. The clerk sighed, shook his head, and went back to his teletype to beg the folks in Amsterdam to please for God�s sake get the maniac�s bag on the first plane to Barcelona. Then he put through the call letters for Barcelona to give instructions and commiseration to the poor devil there who had to deliver the suitcase to this unreasonable customer.

Kek climbed the steps to the balcony and walked out onto the terrace. He still had over an hour for his plane, and a drink would taste good and take the savor of his play-acting away. He sat down at a table and waved for a waiter.

So far, so good. His widely traveled suitcase was about to be shipped off to Barcelona while he would shortly take off for Madrid. He shook his head sadly, but his eyes twinkled. What a way to run an airline!

A car�s lights flashed on from the parking lot; there was the sound of a motor catching, an engine revving up. The car�s lights backed out and turned, swinging about the lot, illuminating it, and then drawing closer. The car pulled up before the entrance and Andr� leaned over, opening the door. Kek slid in, placed the suitcase on the backseat next to its mate, and slammed the door. Andr� grinned at him and gunned the car down the driveway, heading for their inn.

�Any trouble?�

�None,� Kek said wearily. �It went just about as scheduled.� He sighed. �I�d better not travel on KLM for a while, though. I have a feeling I�m not in their best graces.� He looked across the car. �Did you get us rooms?�

�Best in town,� Andr� said expansively. His face fell a bit. �It�s still not the Ritz, you understand.�

�And the screwdriver and the batteries? And the wire?�

Andr� paused at a crossroad, checked traffic, and then turned into it. He glanced at Kek sideways. He didn�t sound happy.

�I got them, but I think we�re asking for trouble trying to force that case. We both agreed it couldn�t be opened without blowing the two of us to kingdom come. And even if we don�t scatter ourselves all over Zaragoza, if there are any signs of tampering... Well, don�t forget that Sanchez still has Anita.�

Kek looked at him. �Do you think I�m forgetting that?�

�No,� Andr� said. He looked uncomfortable. �But you know what I mean��

�Look,� Kek said quietly. �We brought the suitcase into Spain despite Herr Schneller and customs both. Now we�re going to teach Se�or Luis Sanchez not to be impolite to young ladies. And not to get M�sieu Kek Huuygens to bring narcotics to him across national boundaries!�

�Except that killing ourselves doesn�t sound like much of a lesson to Luis Sanchez��

�We�re not going to kill ourselves. I hope. Anyway, we�ll discuss it in the morning,� Kek said and yawned deeply. His eyes suddenly opened wide as he thought of something else. �I hope you have some decent cognac in your room.�

�Plenty. But about the suitcase��

�Forget it until tomorrow. Trust me.�

�I trust you,� Andr� said, �and I know you know a lot, but you don�t know too much about locks��

�I said, trust me,� Kek repeated and grinned in the darkness. �Or, rather, trust me and the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Between us we know just about everything...�