Tabio glanced at his two sons. He accepted a glass of water, smiling at the legislators in the front rows as he drank. "Freedom," he said, "is there a man who does not know the meaning of the word?" Before he returned to the theme of the world war which had started in Spain, he explored the full meaning of freedom in modern times. It was only after he had delivered a profound essay on freedom which shook Matthew Hall until the American felt a lump rising in his throat that Tabio picked up the earlier threads.
"In Spain, then, the forces of freedom suffered a heavy loss. But what of those small men with narrow little minds who held the reins of so much of the world's power while Spain bled? What of these tiny statesmen, these sleek somnambulists who held lace handkerchiefs before their narrow mouths and laughed while fascism marched in Spain? What of these wretches who, through the immoral instrument called non-intervention, sought to end freedom in Spain in the criminal conviction that the blood of Spain alone would satisfy the fascist beast?
"History was not long in giving the lie to these gentry. The beast who had whetted his insatiable appetite in Spain now started almost immediately to claw at the world. It was in April of 1939 that Madrid fell. By September the beast belched and turned on the very creatures who had covertly and overtly helped him subdue Spain."
That Tabio had not raised his voice at this point, that he in fact spoke more softly, accentuated all the more the scorn and the anger in his heart.
"Nations have fallen to the beast," he continued. "Nations of meager freedom, like Poland. Nations of great and traditional freedom, like France. The war has spread over the world like a Biblical plague. Russia could not escape it. Nor could our great sister Republic, the United States.
"Yes, North Americans now have felt the pain, the anguish, the power of Axis treachery. No nation can escape this war.
"My countrymen, we are not an island in the skies. We are a sovereign nation in the same world, on the same earth, in the same waters, sharing the same era as the United States, England, Russia and China. It is not for us to choose whether or not we can stay out of this war. That choice the world does not permit us. Our only choice is the determination of what our role must be in this war.
"There has been strange talk in our land lately. There has been strange and deceitful talk of neutrality. Has it not occurred to any of you that those in our midst who howl the loudest for neutrality, who show such a sudden concern for the lives and safety of the humblest Indian peasant, that these pious seekers after neutrality have never before worn the white dove on their family escutcheons? Who are these peaceful gentlemen who grow pale in the presence of bloodshed? Are they not the same persons who as young men were proud to be officers in the armies of Segura, who laughed and drank as they ruthlessly shot down defenseless miners in the northern provinces?
"Who are these sudden pacifists in our Republic? Are they not the very devout gentlemen who sent money and rum and cigars to the fascists in Spain during the Spanish phase of this war? Are they not the very men who sent cables of homage to Hitler and Mussolini after the shame of Munich? Are they not the very men who even now wear the medals of Nazi Germany, of Blackshirt Italy, of Falangist Spain—who wear these medals proudly while they chortle over the blood of dying Russians on the Eastern Front, of dying Americans on the Bataan peninsula?"
Tabio stopped. His eyes searched the press gallery, then fixed on José Fernandez. He pointed a graceful hand at the publisher ofEl Imparcial.
"I ask you," he said, "are they not the very men who write in their papers that Adolf Hitler, whatever be his alleged faults, is waging a holy crusade on behalf of Christian civilization against Marxist atheism?"
Tabio continued looking at Fernandez, but Lavandero shot a fierce scowl at Ambassador Skidmore, who seemed bewildered and unhappy as Smith translated Tabio's questions. The Ambassador, too, had seen the object of Tabio's shaft. Angry, uneasy laughter broke out on the floor. A cry of "Long live the United Nations!" from one of the Popular Front deputies was immediately answered with the shout "Long live Christ the King" from the public gallery.
The President, who had heard both shouts, turned to the gallery. "Who are these neutrals?" he asked. "Are they not the same fascists who hope to fool God by casting their fascist swords in the image of the Cross of Jesus? Are they not the fanatics who, rather than see the Axis beast destroyed, would first destroy the freedom and the dignity of their own land?
"They lie. There can be no neutrals in this world war. He who calls himself a neutral is either a fool or a fascist. And the fine gentlemen who prate of neutrality are very clever men."
The Popular Front Congressmen rose to their feet, applauding and adding to the din with their shouts of agreement. They were joined by a few of the independents. The delegates of the rightist coalition remained in their seats, their arms folded across their chests. But they were not quiet. As the ovation for Tabio continued, loud cries came from the ranks of the men who kept their seats. "Down with atheism!" shouted one rightist Senator. "We have no quarrel with any other nation!" another yelled. "We will not die for Godless Russia!"
"Long live democracy!" a Popular Front deputy answered. "Long live the anti-fascist United Nations!"
Esteban Lavandero pleaded with the Congress for silence.
"My countrymen," Tabio said, "there can be no neutrality in this war. There is one official neutral in Europe. His name is Francisco Franco. We all know what this hypocritical neutrality really is; how it shields the vile aid that fascist Spain is lending to the Axis. But this is as it should be. Franco is a fascist, and today fascism must triumph all over the world or be crushed forever.
"But what of our own nation, what of the twenty nations of Hispanic America in this war? What is our stake in this world struggle?
"If the Axis wins this war, we, like all other nations, must of necessity lose our political freedom. And if we once lose our political democracy, we must begin again the long, bitter struggle to win it once more before we can even begin to dream of creating an era of economic democracy.
"If the United Nations win, if world fascism is crushed forever, a new world era of economic democracy must begin at once. It will not come easily. The defeat of the Axis will not immediately bring in its wake the millennium. It will, however, give the common people of the world the final realization of their great power. In this lies the inherent strength of political democracy. For democracy is not a static thing. It can grow and bring in the era of economic democracy, or it can falter and give way to fascism.
"The common people of the world, today fighting and dying behind the banners of the United Nations, have served notice on history that they will not rest until fascism has been swept from the face of this earth."
Tabio was now speaking with both arms raised, his hands reaching out to everyone. "My countrymen, I have said enough. I know that I have spoken the thoughts that are uppermost in the minds of that great majority of our citizens who have given their mandate to you and to me. In a week, you will have to frame the mandate for the delegation which will speak for our Republic at the forthcoming conference of the nations of the Americas. Speak out! Speak out honestly, speak out openly. Speak as the spokesmen of a democracy. Speak as the citizens of the embattled united democracies of the entire world must speak at this hour. Speak for the free men of the free world. Speak firmly, for you will be speaking not only for the future of our own Republic but for the future of all mankind."
The Cuban Ambassador, whose seat was nearest the podium, crossed the plush rail and rushed to Tabio's wheel chair. He fell to his knees, embraced the President. In a flash, Eduardo Gamburdo left his own place and copied the Cuban's gesture. The rostrum became crowded with dignitaries bent on paying the same homage to Anibal Tabio. The envoys of the Latin American democracies, the delegates of the Free French and the Spanish Republican juntas, the leaders of the trade unions and the chiefs of the Popular Front parties milled around the wheel chair as the pro-democrats in the hall added their voices to the cheers of the crowds in the Plaza. Duarte, his soft raspy words choked and unintelligible, embraced Hall.
Lavandero was pulling the wheel chair back toward the door of the Speaker's Chamber. The well-wishers of the President followed him into the room. For a moment, the people in the auditorium applauded the blank door through which Tabio had vanished. Then young Simon Tabio returned to pick up the flowers on the chair, and his father's supporters cheered louder, punctuating their cheers with cries of "Long live Don Anibal!" The youth streaked into the room behind the platform.
"Let's get out of here," Hall said.
"I've got to go to my office," Duarte said. "I have to prepare a report on the speech. Join me, and then we can talk."
"Pepe can drive us over."
"No one drives today," Duarte said when they reached the visitors' doorway.
The streets were jammed thick with people. Hall had never seen so many people in San Hermano before. It was as if every house, every building in the university, every shop, every wharf, every school had been turned inside out and its people poured out into the streets. Whole families in their best clothes, trolley drivers in their work uniforms, longshoremen in their dungarees, even peasants from the other side of Monte Azul in their brown-cotton trousers and their broad-brimmed straw hats milled along the sidewalks, the pavements, the Plaza, the trolley tracks. Cars, taxis, trucks, wagons, trolleys were parked crazily all over the place.
Pepe, like a hundred other drivers within a block of the Hall of Congress, was standing on top of his car, waving the flag of the Republic, shouting, "Long live the United Nations! Long live Don Anibal! Long live the Republic!"
Crowds formed around each parked vehicle, joined the cries of the drivers. The roofs of the trolleys were jammed with groups of students and motormen waving flags or the banners of their student societies and their unions. Thousands of Hermanitos, kids in overalls, housewives, lawyers, shopkeepers wandered through the crowds with framed portraits of Anibal Tabio which an hour ago had hung from the walls of their homes, their offices, their shops. The pictures of Tabio ranged from formal photographs and oil paintings to crude charcoal drawings and pictures torn from the daily press.
Hall and Duarte made their way to Pepe's sedan. When he saw them, he put the flag in his left hand and with his right hand he pointed to something on the ground on the opposite side of the car. "Look!" Pepe shouted. "Down here!"
A pile of torn Cross-and-Sword placards lay on the cobbles inside a ring of laughing young Hermanitos who were urinating on the signs. Some of the boys in this ring showed signs of having been in a fight.
"The fascists ran away," Pepe laughed. "Don Anibal's speech split their filthy ears."
"I'll see you later," Hall told Pepe.
"Wait!" Pepe shouted. He leaned over the side of his cab. "Boy," he said, "boy, where is that flag for the Americancompañero? That's the one. Thank you, boy." He lay down on his belly, stretched a huge paw into the crowd around the remains of the Cross-and-Sword banners. When he stood up, he had a small American flag in his hand.
"Wonderful," Hall said, taking the flag. "I guess it's also the Yankee day to howl."
A crowd formed around Hall and Duarte. They saluted the American flag, saluted the Mexican uniform.
"Long live the United States! Long live Mexico!" the crowd shouted, and the two men answered, as one, "Long live Don Anibal!"
The crowd separated, let them through. They walked a few steps, and then another crowd formed around them. Again they listened to cheers for the United States and Mexico, again they responded with their cheer for Tabio.
"Jesus H. Christ," Hall said. "This is the first time I've carried an American flag in the streets since I was a Boy Scout in Ohio."
"It will do you good, Mateo."
"I like it. But try to make anyone believe it back home!"
At the fourth block Hall and Duarte started to detour around a trolley car which had stopped in the middle of a crossing. A dozen hands reached down from the crowded roof. "Compañeros!Take our hands! Climb up! Take our hands! We want a speech!"
"Long live Mexico! Homage to Colonel Felipe Duarte, Counselor of the Mexican Embassy and hero of the war against the fascists in Spain!"
Duarte had to join the crowd on the roof of the stalled train. He made a short speech about Mexico, Republican Spain, and the greatness of Anibal Tabio.
Two more blocks of happy, cheering Hermanitos. Vivas, salutes for the American flag and the Mexican uniform. Men in dungarees and heavy shoes saluting the flag and the uniform with clenched fists. Young women and old men who embraced Hall and Duarte. Even an ancient with a nicotine-yellowed white beard, who wiggled out of one crowd, tore the flag out of Hall's hand, kissed it, and then handed it back to the American with an embrace and a viva for Voodro Veelson.
They were relaxing over a beer in Duarte's office when the explosion came.
"What the hell...?" Hall cried.
There were two explosions. A little one, like the crack of a distant artillery piece in the mountains and then a louder, deep-toned whoosh of a noise. They had both heard such noises before.
"Remember that noise, Mateo?"
Hall was on his feet. "Do I! Only one thing makes a noise like that," he said. "Direct hit on a gasoline tank."
"Exactly."
While they were washing, the sun had begun to set. Now a new sun had risen in the skies of San Hermano, risen at a point about a mile north of the Embassy. A great sheet of flame had shot from the ground, stabbing at the purpling skies, straining to leap clear of the round heavy blobs of black smoke which rose from the same place and surged over and around the fires.
The streets were more crowded than they had been when Hall and Tabio left the Congress. New signs had been added to the placards and portraits of Tabio which the people carried. Tremendous sketches and blown-up photos of Churchill, Roosevelt, Stalin and Chiang Kai-shek, nailed to frames with handles for two men, bobbed over the heads of the crowds. Duarte, from the balcony, asked the people on the street what had happened. They thought it was a victory bonfire.
"The hell it is, Felipe. Let's see for ourselves."
"I must stay and write my cable. You go and then come back here."
"Can you lend me a car and a chauffeur?"
"You couldn't drive a car through these crowds. You'll have to walk. Leave through the back way. It opens on a narrow street leading to the Avenida de la Liberacion. You'll save time."
Hall found the narrow street deserted. He set out at a fast pace, his eyes on the flames and the increasingly heavy puffs of smoke. The shouts of the crowds on the broad avenues and the plazas followed him up the small street. Over the cries of the Hermanitos came the wail of the sirens, the clamor of the bells on the American fire engines the city had purchased a few years back.
The crowd half-pushed, half-guided Hall to the entrance of the Ritz. He ducked into the lobby to catch his breath, bought some cigars at the stand, lit one, and then decided to have a quick drink.
Margaret Skidmore was at the bar with Giselle Prescott and a young man Hall had met at the Embassy ball. The Prescott woman was wearing an immense wheel of a white hat. She was very drunk.
"What's up?" Hall asked.
"The Reds blew up a church," Margaret said. "How are you, Matt? I heard that you were out on a monumental bender. Too many women?"
"Too much alcohol." Then, to the man with the girls, "Didn't we meet at the Embassy party? My name is Hall."
"I'm the Marques de Runa."
"Spanish?"
Margaret answered for him. "No. Not exactly. The family had the title revalidated in 1930."
Giselle Prescott shuddered over an emptied glass. She whispered something about rum, romanism and rebellion.
"What's eating her?" Hall asked Margaret.
"Gin and communism. She's allergic to burning churches."
"My father phoned the governor of our province and demanded soldiers to protect the family estates," the young Marques said. "It is scandalous. We hear that they've already raped a nun and killed two priests. My father says that if El Tovarich ..."
"Who saw the church burning?" Hall interrupted.
"Everyone, señor."
"Any of you?"
Silence. "Any of you?" he repeated.
"It was anarchy," the Marques said. "When El Tovarich started to rant in Congress today the Reds swarmed into the city from the wharves. They tore a religious poster from my cousin's arms and beat him within an inch of his life."
"Is that a fact?" Hall was staring at the gold emblem of the Cross and Sword in the Marques' lapel. "That's too bad."
"You see what I meant," Margaret said. "Now you understand me, Matt."
"Sure. Now I understand. How about you, Giselle?"
"What about me? I'm filing for the WP today."
"Then you'd better come with me. I'm going to have a look at this burning church. Might be good color stuff."
"I don' wanna look," she said. "Gives me hives. Besides, I know all about it anyway."
Hall put his arm through Margaret's. "Let's you and me look, then," he said.
"Don't go!" the Marques cried. "You're both dressed too well. They'll kill you."
"I'd better not go with you, Matt."
"But I insist. I'm going and you're coming with me."
They watched de Runa stiffen. "Now don't be a child," she said. "Hall will bring me back intact."
"Don't go," the Marques said.
Hall freed his hands. For a moment he thought he would have to use them on the Marques. Then Margaret tugged his arm. "Let's go if we're going," she said. "You wait right here for me with Giselle, Freddie. I'll meet you here in half an hour."
The fire was five blocks from the Ritz. There was a half block heap of glowing brick and rubble. Behind the rubble stood an old church, one wall partially blown out. The firemen were playing streams of water into and around this hole.
"God!" Margaret said. "The stench!"
"Oil. My guess is that a thousand gallons of oil went up in smoke."
In the crowd standing at the rim of the fire lines, a taxi driver turned around and glanced at Hall. "Some fire," he said.
"What happened?"
"Garage. The Phoenix Garage went up in smoke. Blew a hole in the Cathedral when it exploded."
"The Phoenix Garage?"
"That's what it is, señor." The driver moved closer to the gutted rubble.
"You wait here, Margaret. I'm going to talk to the firemen." He crossed the fire lines, found his way to the engine captain near the main hydrant. When he returned to Margaret, he gave her a complete report. "The fire chiefs say that the Reds didn't blow up the church at all," he said. "Seems as if the gasoline tanks in the garage caught fire by themselves."
Margaret laughed. "Don't tell Gis," she said. "She's already cabled a story to the States that the Reds burned the church."
Duarte knew about the Phoenix Garage before Hall returned to the Mexican Embassy. "Commander New dropped in while you were at the fire," he explained. "He told me."
"Does he know anything else about it?"
"Not about the fire. But he does know a little more about Fielding. He says that Fielding's files have been cleaned out. There wasn't a single copy of any of Fielding's reports when the British officials opened the files."
"But the British have all the dope, Felipe. Fielding's reports—at least the ones he showed me—were all carbons of the reports he made to his Embassy."
"I know that. But if his reports are now in the hands of the Falange, the Axis knows it too. It will give them time to cover their traces. It will also put the finger on you. One of the things they did find in the office was a note Fielding had made reminding himself to prepare copies of certain reports for you, Mateo. That might explain what happened to you in that Falangist café on the waterfront the other day. Fielding had already been killed when you were drugged."
Hall lay down on the couch in Duarte's office, took his shoes off. "I'll be all right in a few minutes," he said. "I just need about ten minutes of this."
"I'll get some cold beer."
"No. I don't need it. Listen, Felipe, do the British know that I was drugged?"
"I don't think so. I didn't tell them, anyway. I wouldn't, without your permission."
"Maybe you should tell them. It might do some good. But what are we going to do now that we know about the fire? I still feel like a drunk on a merry-go-round."
Duarte laughed. "You can always get off and go home," he said.
"No. It feels worse when I get off."
"I did something this morning, Mateo. I sent word to General Mogrado through one of our diplomatic couriers."
"Mogrado? Of the Spanish air force?"
"He's living in Mexico City now. I asked him to rush everything he could get on Ansaldo. The largest Spanish Republican colony in the hemisphere is in Mexico, you know. I figured that surely there must be one man among the exiles—a doctor, a former Army officer, someone—who could give us the dope on Ansaldo."
"Sounds like a possibility."
"We'll see."
"Don't let me fall asleep here. I've got things to do."
"Then get some rest. I've got to complete my report." Duarte turned to his typewriter, glanced at what he had written on the sheet in the machine. "Mateo," he said, "I'm meeting Dr. Gonzales in an hour. We're going to try to reach Lavandero with your Havana information on Ansaldo. Will you join me?"
"No. I have some unfinished business myself. I think that before the night is over we'll know a lot more about Ansaldo."
"What are you going to do?"
Hall stifled a yawn. "I'm going to take a chance and shoot the works on someone who can talk. It might work."
"Be careful, Mateo. You look very tired."
"I'll turn in early. Let's have breakfast at your place tomorrow, eh?"
Hall found a phone booth in a tobacco shop near the Embassy. He called Jerry.
"I knew it would be you," she said. "I was waiting for you to call, you dog."
"I hope you're hungry," he said. "I'm taking you to dinner."
"I'm famished. Where are you?"
"I can be at the Bolivar in about fifteen minutes. Meet me in the lobby?"
"All right. But hurry. And just in case you've forgotten what I look like, I'll be wearing a red carnation."
He became part of the growing multi-directional parade in the streets. Nightfall had brought colored torches to the hands of many of the Hermanitos, and hundreds of new huge portraits of the four leaders of the United Nations. There was a new pattern to the street festivities. Now whole groups of Hermanitos, each marching behind a picture of one of the four statesmen, made their way through the crowds to the embassies of the United Nations and then to the Plaza de la Republica, where they paraded their signs and their sentiments in front of all the government buildings and the Presidencia. After that, the marchers joined the milling groups of celebrators who just seemed to move around in slow circles, singing, cheering, loudly wishing a long life to Anibal Tabio and the United Nations.
The darkened Plaza was packed, torches in the hands of hundreds of the crowd bringing more light to the ancient square than had been seen there since the nation had been forced to begin conserving its fuel. Hall cut through the crowds toward the Bolivar, too excited to sense his fatigue. This is a night I shall long remember, he thought, this is the night I will tell my children about if I ever have any children. This is the night that I saw the power of the common people, the night I saw democracy take to the streets of a nation's capital and tell the world that fascism's day of cheap triumphs is done. This is the night of the meek who shall yet inherit the earth.
Through the shoulders of the crowd, he could see Jerry's red hair. As he drew closer, he saw that she had two little girls in her arms. The children were crying wildly, the tears choking in their throats and coursing down their contorted faces.
"There, there," Jerry was saying to them, "everything will be all right. You're only lost. We'll find out where you belong." But the strange foreign words only added to the terror in the frightened hearts of the girls.
"What happened?" Hall asked Jerry.
"They're lost. I was afraid they'd get trampled or something, Matt."
He spoke to the kids in their own language, soothing, silly words. Then he took them in his arms while Jerry dried their tears with a perfumed handkerchief. Between sobs, the little girls told Hall that they had slipped out of the house to see the fiesta and had been having a swell time until the crazy lady swooped them up, talking crazy words and keeping them from going on their way.
"Do you know where you live?" he asked them. They pointed toward their own house. "We will take you there. And don't call the señorita a crazy lady, little ones. She is your friend."
"Are they lost?" Jerry asked.
"Hell, no. Just tourists. Let's get them home, first."
The girls lived nearly a mile from the Bolivar. They watched the paraders in silence while Hall carried them to their house, but when he reached their block the girls insisted that they could walk the rest of the way. "No," he laughed, "I'm taking you right to your door. And I'm waiting in the street until you come to your window and throw me a kiss."
The girls, who had less than a dozen years between them, giggled and hid their heads in his shoulders. "We won't throw you a kiss," the older of the sisters said, shyly. "You aren't ournovio."
"These little devils!" he laughed to Jerry. The girls began to squirm in his arms. "No, little ones," he told them, "I won't make any more crazy talk like the señorita."
"This is our house."
He put them down on the first steps. "Now hurry," he said. "Upstairs with you, and be quick!"
They scrambled up the stairs. "They're sweet," Jerry said. For a brief moment, the faces of the two little girls appeared at the open window on the first floor. Then the ample figure of a woman in a white cotton dress loomed behind them.
"Let's scram before they catch it," Hall said, but he was too late. The shrill cries of the girls, as their mother flailed their behinds with a righteous hand, followed Hall and Jerry down the street.
"Me and my Good-Neighbor policy," Jerry said. "It's all my fault."
"They deserve it. What would you do to your kids if they joined a stampede?"
Jerry had to laugh. "The same thing, I guess. But what's all the celebrating about? Is it the local Fourth of July?"
"No. But I have a funny feeling that in years to come it might be. Your patient started it."
"Tabio?"
"President Anibal Tabio. He decided not to die today. He got out of bed and addressed the opening session of the Congress and called for war on the Axis."
"You're kidding me again, Matt."
"The hell I am. I was there. I saw him myself."
"But he's paralyzed, Matt."
"He spoke from a wheel chair." He told Jerry about the speech, and as they walked through the dense crowds toward a restaurant, he translated some of the signs carried by the people who swarmed on all sides of her.
"Abajo el Eje—that's down with the Axis. And that one says Long live the United Nations.Mueran los Falangistas—death to the Falangists."
"What are they, Matt?"
"The Spanish fascists. Hadn't you heard of them before?"
Jerry shook her head. "I still don't see how he got out of bed. He must have done it on nerves alone. I was at the lab all day with Marina and Tabio's X-rays."
"He delivered a great speech, Jerry."
"I'll bet he did. I guess nothing can stop this country from joining the democracies now, Matt."
"No," he said. "Nothing but Gamburdo—if Tabio dies."
They had to wait on a street corner while a line of students carrying red torches snake-danced across their path.
"Where are we eating?" she asked.
"I know a wonderful place facing the sea wall. It's very plain, but the food is stupendous. We'll have to walk, though."
"I'm game. It's fun walking in these crowds tonight. It's almost like New Year's Eve in New York."
The restaurant was packed. The waiter had to put an extra table on the sidewalk for Hall and Jerry. "It's better from here anyway," Hall told her. "We can see the ocean and get away from the din inside."
A hundred happy men and women jammed the interior of the restaurant, singing to the music of the small orchestra, toasting the slogans which were all over San Hermano this night. Hall invited the waiter to drink a toast in sherry to Don Anibal, and then he ordered lobster salads and steaks for Jerry and himself.
"I missed you," he told Jerry and, hearing his words, he was startled to realize that he meant them.
"You're just lonely. But I like to hear you say it."
"No. I really missed you."
"What's wrong, Matt? You look all in."
"Nothing," he said. "I've had a long day. What do you think of this lobster salad?"
Small talk. Make small, polite talk about lobsters and cabbages, talk about the weather and your neighbor's garden, talk about anything before you start talking love talk and then you'll forget why you have to talk to her at all. "You're beautiful tonight," he said, softly.
"I'm ignoring you, Hall."
Good. Banter. Nice cheap café-society banter. Have to play the game as she is played; silly brittle talk about nothing. Break her down, keep her off guard, keep your own guard up. Talk about the lobster. Talk about the steak. Make vacuous wise-cracks over the coffee. Now she's pleased with the guava pastry. Be the man of the world. Talk about guava.
"You're talking down at me, Matt. I told you once before. I'm not really stupid."
"God, I'm sorry," he said. "I must have been groggy all through dinner."
"You sounded it."
"Can you walk?"
"I'm too full."
"Let's sit on the sea wall. It's the pleasantest spot in town."
Hall bought a paper from a passing newsboy. They walked along the sea wall for a block, and then he spread the paper out on top of the wall and lifted Jerry to the broad ledge. They sat facing the sea, not saying much of anything.
"The beach looks so clean," she said. "Do you think ..."
He leaped to the sand. "Take my hand," he said, "and bring the paper with you." He spread the papers on the sand, laid his jacket over the papers, and sprawled on the makeshift pallet. Jerry sat near him, took his head in her lap.
"Poor Matt! You're so tired. Want to tell me about it?"
"About what?"
She stroked his face with soft, gentle hands. "About what's bothering you, darling. Something terrible is happening to you."
"There's nothing wrong."
"You're such a bad liar, darling. I can see it in your face."
"Only that?"
"It's enough. That is, when you care for a guy."
"You're sticking your chin out, baby."
"No, I'm not. You're really a very gentle person. But you want to be hard as nails, don't you, Matt?"
"I don't know what I want to be, baby. I'd like to see the world a good place for little guys who like republics. I'd like to kill the bastards who are fouling up such a world. It sounds very big, I know. But I'm not big. I'm a little guy and I like the world of little people. Or don't I make sense?"
"I think I understand you, Matt."
"Later I'll read you Tabio's speech. Or at least the high lights, in English. You'll get a pretty good idea of the things I believe in."
"What was it like on the other side, Matt? In the war, I mean. Or don't you want to talk about the war?"
It's now or never, he thought. Tell her about the war, tell it to her straight. If she's ever going to see it, she's got to see it now. "I don't like to talk about it," he said, "but I will. I guess I owe it to you to talk about it. I was there when it started, and I kept hollering that it had started, but no one would believe me."
"In Poland?"
"Hell, no! In Madrid. The summer of '36. I reached Madrid in the fourth week of July, and by September I'd seen enough of the Nazis and the Italians to know it was World War Two." The words came easily, the whole fabric. Tabio had told the story as a historian. This was the other way it could be told, the way of the eyewitness, of the partisan. He told her everything, about the fighting in Spain and about the slaughter of the innocents; about the grotesque ballets of death and disintegration on the green tables of Geneva; about the arrows of Falange, reaching out from the festers of Spain to the New World. Everything but the role of Ansaldo.
"Now," he said, "I think you can guess why I'm so bothered about this war, why I sometimes act as if I have a very personal stake in it. Please try to understand what I mean, Jerry."
She was silent for a long moment. "I think I do," she said. "For the past few days I've been thinking about the war. Ever since—oh, you know since when. I've been thinking that if I don't do anything else, maybe I'll join the Army as a nurse when we leave here."
"You've got it bad, haven't you?"
"I don't know what I've got, darling. All I know is that I don't have the right to be a Me Firster any more. Do you think I'm right about that?"
"Baby, listen to me. You don't have to go to Bataan to get into the war. It's spread everywhere. The front stretches from Murmansk to Manila to San Hermano. And it's the same front."
"But what can I do here?"
Hall drew a deep breath. "Let's both have a cigarette," he said. "This is going to take some telling." He sat up, faced the girl, took her hands and held them firmly. "Now, what I'm going to say might sound harsh, Jerry. But you'll simply have to believe me."
"What is it, Matt?"
"How much do you know about Dr. Ansaldo?"
"Only that he's a nice guy. He's never made a pass at me, he behaves like a gentleman, and he's one crack surgeon. Don't tell me he's no good, Matt. I just won't believe it."
"You'll have to believe me," Hall insisted. "What do you know about Ansaldo's past? Do you know where he was during the Spanish War?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Do you know?"
"Sure, I do. I saw him." Hall described his first meeting with Ansaldo. As he spoke, Jerry abruptly withdrew her hands. Trembling, she backed away from him, started to get up.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I wish you hadn't made love to me," she said, simply. "Now I feel cheap—and used."
"Don't say that. I ..."
"You know it's true. You're not just another newspaperman. And you don't give a damn about me. It was Ansaldo you were interested in from the beginning. That's why you were on the same plane with us on the way here. And that's why you ..."
"You mean I'm a G-man? Don't be absurd."
"Don't make it worse by calling me a fool. I liked you. I liked you a lot. Don't make it worse now, Matt."
"But you're dead wrong." He tried to put his arms around her. She shook him off. "Believe me," he said, "I'm not government. You were right—but only partially—about my original interest in your party. But tonight I wish to hell it were only Ansaldo who interests me. It would make things a lot easier all around. The other morning I was watching Marina when a Spanish ship came in. Someone didn't want me to watch. I was drugged. That's why I disappeared for a few days. It damn near finished me. I've got something on Ansaldo—before I'm through I hope to have enough to hang him. I mean it literally. I'm trying to have him fitted for the same grave he thought I'd have. And it's going to be simple. What won't be simple is convincing the authorities here that you were an innocent bystander in the whole affair. Do you think I would talk to you this way if things were as you suspect they are with me?"
"I don't know what to think, Matt."
"Don't stop liking me," he said.
"Take me back to the hotel, please. I'm all confused. I want to believe you. Honestly I do. But what am I supposed to do? You give me the choice of matching one line against the other, and all the time I'll be wondering if both lines aren't fakes."
"Listen to me, baby ..."
"Don't 'baby' me. You've got sand on your jacket. No, don't, Hall. Just take me back to the hotel, please."
They walked to the sea wall in silence. Hall made a step for Jerry with his hands, boosted her to the top of the wall. "I'll try to find you a cab," he said. "But before we turn in, I'm telling you again that I'm not government. I'm exactly what I said I am. Believe me, Jerry. Please believe me."
"I don't know what to believe any more."
"But you do believe what I said about Ansaldo, don't you?"
"I don't know," she said, miserably. "Haven't you asked enough questions for one night? Show me your badge and subpoena me or something to the American Embassy and I'll tell you all I know. Which is nothing. I don't know any more than I've already told you."
Hall was flagging every passing car. "They're all private," he muttered. "We'll never get a cab tonight. And for God's sake, stop sniffling. Even if I am a G-man I won't bite you."
"You shouldn't have played me for a sucker, Hall."
"I didn't play you for anything."
"Don't say any more, Hall. Please don't."
Her attitude infuriated him. Furiously, he flagged a passing car, biting his lips in anger and frustration. He fought against yielding to his anger. "Jerry," he said, "there's one thing I'll have to ask you to do. I'm asking as a private citizen. But whatever you think I am, you'll have to do this one thing. I must insist that you don't tell Ansaldo anything about our conversation or about my having been in Spain."
"Is that an order?"
"Yes," he roared. "Yes, damn you, it's an order!"
One of the cars he had flagged slowed down, pulled over to where he stood with Jerry. But it was not a taxi. It was a small chauffeur-driven town car. The young Marques de Runa sat alone in the back seat.
"Good evening," he smiled. "Can I give you and your young lady a lift? You'll never be able to get a public car tonight."
"Thanks." Hall took Jerry's elbow, pulled her toward the door. He made the introductions, then climbed in after Jerry and shut the door. "We were just going to the Bolivar," he said.
"Were you trying to escape from the mobs?" the Marques asked.
"No. The lady has a bad cold. We thought the sea air might do it some good."
"You should try the mountain air," the Marques said. "I always take to the mountain air when I have a cold, Señor Hall. Don't you think the mountain air is better?"
Hall let the question go unanswered. He was looking into the mirror over the driver's seat, studying what he could see in the small glass of the chauffeur's face.
"The mountain air, Señor Hall."
"Oh, yes. Very dry. Perhaps the lady will try the mountain air. What do you think, Jerry?"
"No, thank you," she said, sharply. "I have hallucinations on mountain tops."
The Marques thought this was very funny. But not too unusual, he hastened to add. "For example," he said, "once when I was on a skiing week-end in Austria, three members of our party saw an apparition." He chattered amiably about the experiences on that and other skiing trips, directing his words solely to Jerry. Hall ignored them both. He was still staring at the mirror, and, after catching the chauffeur's eyes for the second time, he knew definitely that the man at the wheel was the little dog who had trailed him to the Ritz and then driven off after Ansaldo's limousine with Androtten as his passenger.
It was only when the car was less than a block from the Bolivar that Hall spoke again. "It's too bad," he said, his eyes trying to focus both on the mirror and on de Runa, "it's too bad about the Phoenix Garage blowing up today."
The chauffeur and the Marques started.
"But—why?" the Marques asked.
"Oh, I don't know. It's just that an officer in the British Embassy was telling me just the other day that the Phoenix Garage was one of the most fascinating establishments in San Hermano. I was planning to visit the garage myself tomorrow. I'm interested in garages, you know."
The chauffeur stopped the car in front of the Bolivar with an abrupt slamming of his brakes.
Hall laughed. "Your chauffeur was daydreaming, I think."
The Marques laughed, or tried to laugh, as if Hall had just made one of the funniest remarks ever heard in San Hermano. "That's what he is," the Marques laughed, "a man who dreams by day. Very good, Señor Hall. Excellent."
Hall got out of the car, helped Jerry to the street. "Thank you again for picking us up," he said. "And do something about your driver before he starts driving into people in his sleep."
The car was in gear and on its way down the street before the Marques could make his answer heard.
"What was so funny about your crack?" Jerry asked.
"I'll tell you tomorrow. Are we still friends?"
"Stop it, Matt. Just leave me alone tonight."
"Sure," he smiled. "Sleep on it. But please to keep the mouth shut, yes?"
"I'm going to my room, Matt."
"May I phone you in the morning?"
Jerry ran into the hotel without answering. Hall stood in the street for a moment, watching the receding crowds in the Plaza. They started to become a blur in his heavy eyes. He entered the lobby. Souza was going over a bill with two guests. Hall nodded to the night clerk, then went into the small bar of the Bolivar to have a drink while Souza got rid of the strangers.
Only one of the four tables in the bar room was occupied. Androtten and a San Hermano coffee dealer sat at this table, three open copper canisters between them. The Hollander was driving a hard bargain for two types of Monte Azul bean.
"Mr. Hall," he smiled, "delighted to see you healthy again. Delighted as hell."
"Healthy again?"
"Damn rumors have been spread about the hotel that you were ill, Mr. Hall. Not seriously as hell, I hope? Why don't you join us? Mr. Rendueles has been trying to make a deal with me on some fairly choice bean."
Hall downed his double Scotch. "No, thanks. I'd better get some sleep."
"Yes. You look sleepy, Mr. Hall. I wonder if we'll ever find time for—you know—my damn story. Eh?"
"One of these days," Hall said. "We'll get the complete story, Androtten. All the facts, in complete detail. Good night." He paid for his drink and went to the desk in the lobby.
"Your key," Souza said. "I have it right here."
"Thanks. What's new?"
"Oh, nothing, señor. Nothing at all." Souza was being profoundly impersonal. "I hope you are feeling better, señor. Oh, yes, message in your box."
The message was from Souza himself, and the ink was not yet dry. "I can't speak now," it read.
"Thank you. Good night." Hall put the message in his pocket and went to his room.
He flung himself across the bed, yielding to the fatigue that was tearing at every nerve and muscle in his body. In the dark, he managed to get rid of his shoes and his suit, letting them drop to the floor when he had taken them off. He tried to think of all that had happened that day, of what he would have to do tomorrow. The fading shouts of the crowds in the Plaza grew fainter. The bed grew softer. He fell asleep.
The phone bell woke him in a few minutes. Souza was calling. "Señor Hall, the drinks you ordered are on the way upstairs," he said. "I am sorry for the delay, but we have a new waiter, and he is not accustomed to our system yet."
"Oh, I get it." Thecabrónof a night waiter was gone. The invisible, detestedcabrónwhom Hall had never seen. He half expected Miguelito or Juan Antonio to be standing in the hall when he heard the knock on the door. Instead, there was a short, swarthy man in his forties, balancing a tray of brandy and soda in his right hand, a professional waiter down to his flat feet and his bland smile.
"Shall I bring it in, señor?"
"Please. Set it down here, on the little table."
The waiter closed the door, put the tray down. "CompañeroHall," he said, the bland smile gone, "permit me to introduce myself. I am Emilio Vicente, delegate of the Waiters' Union." He shook Hall's hand, then gave him a calling card. It was Major Segador's private card.
"Turn it over,CompañeroHall."
The short message on the reverse side indicated that Hall was to trust Vicente.
"I am happy to know you," Hall said. "Will you have a drink with me?"
"Some other time,compañero. Tonight I have a message. Major Segador suggests that should you need any assistance in a hurry, you can call upon me. I am at your orders."
"Thank you."
Emilio Vicente picked up his tray. "Compañero," he said, "it might seem a little dangerous, but the Major assured us that you do not lack forcojones."
"What?"
"Good night,CompañeroHall. You look as if you could use some sleep."
Hall slept through the morning. He rose at noon, staggered into a cold tub, and then ordered a breakfast of steak and eggs. Vicente wheeled the table into the room.
"I have been thinking of the major's offer," Hall said. "There's something you can do for me. Do you know anything about the Marques de Runa?"
"Yes. He's a Falangist. His family owns one of the biggest import and export companies in the country. The young one works there, too."
"What is he up to now?"
"Perhaps we can find out."
"Good. Do you know anything about his chauffeur?"
"No. But we can find out."
"Do you mind if I ask Pepe Delgado to check up too?"
"Not at all,compañero. He is very reliable."
San Hermano had settled back to her old routines when Hall left his room. The trolleys ran, cars moved along all the streets, the loud speakers on the poles and buildings had been taken down, and street sweepers were groaning over the litter of signs and papers they themselves had helped scatter over the whole city the day before. Yesterday's crowds had gone back to their jobs, their homes, their own quarters.
The papers had little news about Tabio's condition. They carried his speech and, in most cases, described the events which had followed Tabio's speech as a spontaneous demonstration on the part of the people.El Imparcialmerely said that a great crowd had heard the speech over the public amplifiers and that Red hoodlums had severely beaten some anti-communists who had joined the crowd in the Plaza to listen to the address of the President.
Hall scanned the papers at a café table in Old San Hermano while Pepe went to telephone some friends who were doing some further checking on the Marques de Runa. The information Pepe received over the telephone was very brief. At six o'clock that morning, the Marques de Runa and his chauffeur had taken a plane for Natal from the San Hermano airport.
"Wait for me in the car." Hall went to a phone himself, called Margaret Skidmore.
"Hi, Pirate," she said. "Getting lonesome for the farm?"
"Sure. How about you?"
"I can't get away this week," she said. "How about the week-end?"
"I'll have to let you know tomorrow. Tell me, Margaret, how well do you know the Marques de Runa?"
"Very well. Why?"
"Oh, nothing much. I left my notebook in his car last night, I think."
"I know. He told me."
"About the notebook?"
"No. About your red-headed girl friend. She sounds like a good substitute for farming."
"Cut it out," Hall laughed.
"Is she the gal you were dreaming about at the wrong time one day last week?"
"No. But about my notebook. It's not too important, but I had some interesting things in it, Margaret. I was wondering how to reach the Marques."
"It would be impossible today," she said. "He just left for Barcelona on a business trip."
"Is he a good friend of yours?"
"Freddie? He's my fiancé."
"You're kidding!"
"No. I'm to be the Marquesa de Runa. Didn't you know?"
"Does anyone else know it?"
"Yes," she said. "He does. Now don't start cross-examining me about that! It's my affair."
"I won't. You always know what you're doing."
"Thanks. I feel like doing some plowing over the week-end. With you. Let's talk about it then, if it still interests you. And in the meanwhile, I'll have someone look through the car for your notebook."
"Thanks a lot."
Hall went to the car. "Let's go back to the hotel," he said, "and find Souza. Or is the day clerk reliable?"
"Don't worry," Pepe said. "Arturo can be trusted. That's why Souza got him the job."
"We have a lot to do, Pepe. I want to search the room of the Dutchman, Androtten. We'll need all the help we can get."
They found the task very simple. Androtten had left that morning with a small handbag on what he described to the clerk as a two-day buying trip in the south. With the day clerk standing guard at the phone and Vicente lounging in the hall to sound any needed alarm, Hall and Pepe entered the Dutchman's room with a pass key and drew the blinds.
There was a picture of Androtten and what was evidently his family in a portable leather frame on the bureau. It showed Androtten and a fat blond matron sitting at a table, with a youth in his teens at Androtten's left and a little girl leaning at the woman's knee. "He's a family man," Pepe said.
"We'll see." Hall went through the wastebasket, the clothes hanging in the closet, every drawer in the bureau. He examined every piece of luggage for false sides and bottoms, hidden compartments, and stray papers. In the traveling bag he found in the closet, Hall discovered a heavy brown envelope. Inside was the picture of a young colonial Netherlands officer and a letter from the Dutch Government-in-Exile. The letter regretted to inform Androtten that his esteemed son, Lieutenant Wilhelm Androtten II, had perished fighting the Nazi invaders in the battle for the Lowlands, and had been posthumously awarded the second highest decoration the Queen gave such heroes. Hall had to guess at the contents of the letter, using his German as a basis for deciphering the Dutch.
"Does this look like that boy grown up?" he asked Pepe.
"I think so, Mateo. What does the letter say?"
Hall gave him the gist of the letter as he understood it. "But I still think he's a fraud, Pepe. Let's examine the labels on his clothes again."
The labels revealed only what Androtten had already indicated. London, Amsterdam, New Orleans, Rio. He had purchased no clothes in San Hermano.
"Let's get out of here, Pepe."
"Where are you going now?"
"I've got to write a letter in my room. But wait for me. I think we're going to visit Duarte when I've got the letter finished."
His own room, he soon discovered, had also been searched that day. The lock on his traveling bag had been picked, and the stethoscope was missing. He flung the new straw hat in the closet and went to the lobby. Pepe was talking to the day clerk. He grinned at Hall, asked, "So soon?"
"I changed my mind." Then, to the clerk, "Where is Miss Olmstead? At the University laboratory?"
"No, señor. She went to the country with the two doctors."
"Do you know where exactly?"
"No. Only that she went to the country. They will not be back tonight. They left an hour ago."
"Come on, Pepe. We have to get started."
They sat down in the car. "First stop the Mexican Embassy," Hall said. "But wait there for me. I won't be too long."
"What happened?"
"My room was searched. The stethoscope is missing."
"That means trouble, Mateo."
"Sure. It also means that someone was careless. Where the hell were Arturo and Vicente?"
"It's a big hotel, Mateo. We were talking about it only this morning. Duarte wants you to stay with him in his house for the night."
"What do you think about it?"
"Duarte is right."
"But I have a good gun, Pepe. And good friends."
"I know that, Mateo. But stay with Duarte tonight. I think that tonight someone else should sleep in your bed. Duarte suggested three pillows or a log. Then, in the morning, if there are no bullet holes in the pillows ..."
"Or the log ..."
"... or the log, then you can say it was a mistake to sleep at Duarte's house tonight. Someone followed me this morning, Mateo. I drove him crazy, but I couldn't get a look at him myself. It was very funny. But it is also serious."
Hall put the gun back in his pocket. "Maybe it is," he said. "I'll stay with Duarte."
"It is the right thing to do, Mateo. I'll leave you with Duarte. I have to see Souza and some other friends tonight."
Pepe waited at the curb until Hall was admitted to the Mexican Embassy. Then, his eyes sweeping the streets for signs of anyone shadowing him on foot or by automobile, he took the most roundabout route he could devise to reach the Transport Workers' Union headquarters.
Duarte had had no word from General Mogrado. "I'm sure he met the courier," he told Hall. "But I'm worried by his silence. It is not like him."
"Give him another night, Felipe. In the meanwhile, I'll send another letter to Havana. I just can't believe that the evidence on Ansaldo is not available on this side of the ocean. If it's nowhere else, it must be in Havana."
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because I know Havana. I know what the Spanish Republicans and the secret police must have there. I tell you, Felipe, we can hang Ansaldo in Havana. Do you remember where and how I first saw Ansaldo in Burgos? Well, there was a photographer standing and working in front of me for hours that day. I know who he was, Felipe. He was the man fromArriba. I don't doubt but that either the Spaniards or the Cubans have a complete file ofArribain Havana. And I'm willing to bet my bottom dollar that I'll find those pictures of Ansaldo in that file."
"I hope so, Mateo. But I hope you don't have to go. Are you very tired?"
"I could stand an hour's sleep before dinner."
"We'll go to the house. Dr. Gonzales might join us for dinner. And Lavandero is going to try to join us after dinner."
They went to Duarte's house in one of the Embassy's cars. Hall stretched out on the couch under the mural of Madrid and fell asleep in a few minutes. It was some while before he was rested enough to dream, and then the figures in the mural above the couch began to move through his sleep in a macabre procession.
Duarte woke him in an hour. "Twice you yelled in your sleep," he said. "And then you started to twist like a chained snake. Bad dreams, Mateo?"
"I guess so," Hall said, his fingers working the muscles at the back of his neck. "I always dream about the bombardments when I feel bad."
"Gonzales and Lavandero can't meet us tonight. They're both at the Presidencia. I think Tabio is getting weaker."
"Is that what they told you?"
"No. They just said they couldn't meet us."
"Too bad. What have you got cooking?"
"I don't know,amigo. I hired a new cook and she won't allow me to put my face in the kitchen."
"She must be a smart cook."
"We'll find out in a few minutes. I forgot to tell you, but Gonzales had some news for us tonight. He says that Gamburdo is planning to delay the actual start of Congress for another week. His game is to allow the present high feelings of the people to cool down a bit before the Congress starts its business."
Hall was puzzled. "I don't quite understand the maneuver," he said.
"The Congress has to choose a delegation for the Inter-American parley, and to compose its mandate. Gamburdo still wants a delegation committed to neutrality."
"Can he get away with it?"
"Who knows? He was a long way toward success when Don Anibal stopped him. The real question is how long can Don Anibal be counted on to get out of bed and fight for an anti-fascist war policy?"
A soft rain had started to fall while Hall was sleeping. It splashed gently against the open shutters of the cottage, embracing the house, the palms and the papaya trees on the grounds, its soft rhythms throwing Hall into a small boy's melancholy. He talked little during dinner, and when he did, it was to subject Duarte to his reminiscences of rainy days when he was very young.
They swapped yarns for hours, listened to Duarte's endless collection of Mexican and flamenco records, and killed a bottle of black rum.
"I'm going to sleep until noon," Hall said when they quit for the night.
But his sleep was cut short very early in the morning by Pepe, who arrived with the news that Jerry had returned from the country late at night and was trying desperately to contact Hall.
He phoned her at once.
"Matt," she said, "can you come over right away? I think that I owe you an apology."
Jerry was waiting for him in her room. She had not had any sleep for a full night, and her eyes showed it. Hall noticed that the two ash trays in the room were filled to the rims with fresh cigarette stumps.
"What's up?" he asked.
"I'm out of cigarettes. Have you got any?"
"Only Cubans. They're very strong."
She accepted one, choked a bit on the first puff, then continued smoking.
"Give," he said. "What happened?"
"You were right, I think. I can't swear to it, but I'm sure I recognized his voice. The little Dutchman, I mean."
"Androtten?"
She nodded. "He was at the ranch. I'm certain of it."
"Wait a minute, baby. Sit down. Relax. Now start from the beginning. What ranch?"
"Oh, I thought you knew. I went to Gamburdo's brother's ranch with Ansaldo and Marina. Doctor was ripping mad. There was entirely too much interference in the Tabio case, he said, and he'd called for a showdown. He said he was going to stay on the ranch for a few days, or at least until the politicians who were interfering with him would come to their senses. He said we'd all just take a holiday until we could go back to work."
"Who else was at the ranch?"
"Gamburdo's brother, two men I've never seen before, and our hostess."
"Were you introduced to the two men?"
"No, that's just it. They were not there when we arrived. They came on horseback after we'd been there for some hours. Señora Gamburdo said they were merely neighbors who wanted to talk over a cattle deal with her husband."
"And what makes you think she was lying?"
"I can't say, exactly, Matt. I didn't like the way she explained them to me—it was as if she felt that I insisted upon an explanation. That was when I decided to tell Ansaldo that I wanted to come back to town this morning. I told him there was some shopping I'd neglected. He didn't seem to object at the time."
"When did Androtten arrive?"
"I don't know. I told you—I didn't see him. I just heard his voice. It was about five in the afternoon, I'd say. I was taking a dip in the pool—alone. There was a puppy playing around the pool. He found one of my red beach shoes and started to chew on it. Then he took the shoe in his mouth and carried it over to the side of the house and left it near a hedge.
"It was when I went for the shoe that I heard Androtten. Some sort of a conference was going on in the room above the spot where the pooch had dropped my shoe. I recognized the voices of Ansaldo and Marina and the two others. But most of the talking was being done by a new voice. I thought I recognized it. Then he stopped speaking Spanish and switched to German. I'm sure it was German."
"What was he saying?"
"I couldn't make it out. But he was very angry."
"And it was Androtten?"
"Definitely."
"Could you see into the room?"
"No. I didn't try, anyway. I was afraid. I just picked up my shoe and beat it."
Hall hesitated. He gave Jerry a fresh cigarette, lit it for her. "Could they have seen you?" he asked.
She shook her head. "But that's not the end of it," she said. "After dinner, Ansaldo took me for a walk in the garden. He made a lot of small talk about different cases. Then he asked me why I insisted upon returning to town. I told him again that I wanted to buy some things to take home for friends. He was very pleasant about it. He asked me, half-seriously, if the real reason I wanted to go back was because I had a date with you. He was acting the part of a jealous lover when he said it."
"Acting?"
"I'm sure he was only acting. Because when he said that I just laughed and said, 'Good heavens, no, doctor! The last time I saw Hall he said he was going to make a small fortune writing the story of that little Dutchman's experience with the Japs, and my guess is that he'll be spending the next few days locked up in his room with the Dutchman.'
"Ansaldo stopped dead in his tracks when I said that, Matt. He asked me which Dutchman I mean—but only after he had caught his breath."
"What did he say when you told him you meant Androtten?"
"Nothing much. He made a joke—a bad one—about Flying Dutchmen. And then he continued talking about medical cases."
"And that was the last you saw of him?"
"Just about. My train left at five-thirty this morning. He was asleep when I left."
"Who drove you to the station?"
"Marina and a ranch hand. Marina was glad to see me go. He hates to see me around Ansaldo."
"Why? Is Ansaldo also a fairy?"
"God, no!" Jerry laughed. "He's anything but."
"You're exhausted. Let me get you some breakfast," he said. "And then, when you catch your second wind, maybe you'll remember some other details."
"I'm sure I've told you everything, Matt."
He picked up the phone, asked for Vicente. "Ham and eggs?" he asked Jerry.
"No. Just coffee and toast."
Hall gave Vicente the order. "And one other thing," he told the waiter. "The woman is in trouble. Some one will have to keep an eye on her today. And let me know when the fat little foreigner on this floor returns to town. He is a dangerous enemy."
"All those words for coffee and toast?" Jerry asked. "I've learned a few words, Matt. I know thatmujeris woman."
"Good for you. I was asking him about his wife. She's been ill."
"Oh." Jerry relaxed in her chair. "Tell me, Matt. What was it all about at the ranch? There was something wrong there. I know. Why should Ansaldo have wanted me around? And who is Androtten?"
"That's a big order, baby. There's only one thing I definitely know about it. I know that Ansaldo is a hot shot in the Falange. I know that two Falange agents arrived in San Hermano on board a Spanish ship the other day, and that they were traced to the ranch. But I can only guess that the two neighboringestancierosyou saw were these two visiting Falange agents."
"And Androtten?"
"Again I'm guessing. I know that a Nazi general named Wilhelm von Faupel is the man who actually runs the Falange. I know something about the way the Nazis work. O.K. So I assume that Androtten—if it really was Androtten whose voice you heard—is a Gestapo agent. That would make sense. Hitler orders Tabio's death; the job is handed to Hitler's Falange, and a Gestapo officer tags along to run the show in San Hermano as his comrades run it in Spain. It would all make sense if we could prove that the two visitingestancieroswere the Falange agents off theMarques de Avillar, and that Androtten was the man you heard."