“Have your people contact Sakna Kahn.”
“We know who he is. That will be done.”
She wanted to pull her hand away from his, but she knew that it was not time to reveal her feeling. She smiled at him. She remembered the girl who had come to her room. Possibly Karl Ehrlich would find some way of preventing trouble from that direction. It was so obviously not his style to kill, but rather to persuade, that she considered it quite safe to say:
“You called Roger Darron a fool. He is more than that. A girl came to me last night and told me that she had gathered enough information from Roger so as to make a great deal of trouble for all of us if Roger once again walks out on her. She was afraid that Roger was too interested in me. She mentioned your name, said that she knew which U. N. delegates you were contacting.”
Karl Ehrlich took his hand away slowly, looked down at the clean nails. His lips barely moved as he said, “Indeed? That is very interesting.”
“You know how much all this means to me in a personal way, Karl. It would be a shame if you and I were to get along beautifully, and yet have the entire thing spoiled by this troublesome woman’s jealousy.”
“She is a Pole, I believe.”
“I don’t know. Her name is Wanda Dziemansek. I have the telephone number of the apartment where she is staying at present.”
“I know where it is. You realize, of course, that there would have been no need for you to leave Ceylon if Darron were trustworthy?”
“I had imagined that that could be the case.”
He glanced at his watch. “We must hurry. I have an appointment.” He snapped his fingers loudly and the waiter came hurrying over.
He stepped out of the taxi at the entrance to the hotel. With the taxi door still open, he stood and looked down at her, the afternoon sun bright on his face. “I will see you tonight,” he said. It was not a question.
Latmini looked at him steadily.
“If you wish.”
“At seven thirty. I will telephone you in your room. Until then, Stella. Do not worry.”
She looked up into his face, thinking of how each individual feature was blameless in itself, and yet the effect of the whole was one of brutality and ruthlessness. Karl Ehrlich, salesman of death. There was an air of inevitability about him, a courteous and smiling doom.
She shuddered as the taxi drove away, turned quickly and went through the lobby to the elevators.
At seven she stepped out of her bath.
She hurriedly slipped on the dark green dress she had bought in Los Angeles.
It was a lightweight wool, and it pleasantly exaggerated the slimness of her waist, the long clean lines of her throat. She lit a cigarette and stood at the window. The cars had turned on their lights and the people on the sidewalks walked leisurely.
The knock on the door came at seven twenty-five. Having expected the loud ring of the phone, she was momentarily startled, and then realized that Karl Ehrlich had decided to come up rather than call.
Affixing a smile on unwilling lips, she unfastened the chain and swung the door wide. A strange young man walked in, smiling and unflustered. He was tall, almost as tall as Ehrlich, but he had none of Karl’s solidity. This man looked wiry and alert. He had a frank, smiling face, friendly eyes and a scrubbed look.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong room,” she said quickly.
He pushed the door shut. “Not at all, Miss Walters. Not at all.” He didn’t take his hat off, merely shoved it so far back that a lock of red-brown hair fell across his forehead. He had freckles across his nose and a deep scar near the corner of his mouth.
He sat down on the couch, tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and lit it. He looked at her calmly and with approval. She saw that his eyes were brown like Karl’s. But not as wise as Karl’s. Younger. More naive. She suddenly felt completely capable of handling this friendly young American.
“Sit down, Miss Walters. You look uncomfortable. Pretty dress.”
“You’ll have to tell me what it is that you want,” she said, unsmiling and firm. With a lazy motion he reached into his hip pocket, pulled out a wallet and flapped it open. She saw the silver gleam of the badge, the bright glint of blue enamel.
“Lady, you are entertaining the law. Sit down, honey.”
Abruptly she sat. “On second thought,” he said, “suppose you show me some identification.” His voice was still warm and friendly.
Her mind racing madly, she walked over to her suitcase, unlocked it and took her passport out and carried it over to him.
He glanced at her and at the picture. “Latmini, huh? Is that the way you say it? Latmini Perez. Maybe you don’t write so good. On the register it looks like Janice Walters of Los Angeles.”
She managed a smile. “There is a man here who would pester me, Mr.—”
“Mr. Joe Harrigan. Now tell me about this man and how he’d bother you.”
“Well, he’s just a man. What difference does it make, Mr. Harrigan?”
He stood up so suddenly that it startled her. He walked over to the bureau, yanked open the drawers and fumbled through them. Over his shoulder he said, “It’s a hell of a life, having to do this sort of thing. Don’t look so indignant.” He looked in her purse and then looked at the green dress. “Guess you couldn’t hide anything under that, Miss Perez.” She was conscious of the knife she had taped back to her ribs before dressing.
He sat down again. He yawned and said, “Well, it’s like this. About three o’clock today, as near as the guy from the Medical Examiner’s office can make it, somebody did a little work on a couple people named Darron and Dziemansek. I understand you know ’em.”
Her throat felt dry and tight. It would be dangerous to lie and dangerous not to lie. In a subdued tone she said, “I know them.”
“Glad you didn’t lie. You wouldn’t know ’em now.”
Latmini fought for control when the room swam before her eyes. Harrigan’s face seemed to swell to five times life size and then recede so far away that she could barely see it. Out of a mist he said, “Sorry I gave it to you so fast. Want some water?”
She nodded and with surprising speed he appeared with a glass of cold water. She sipped it gratefully.
Harrigan said, “I just spent quite a bit of time proving to myself that you didn’t leave the hotel after you came back at one thirty-five. Near the phone in the apartment where they were killed is a scratch pad. There was nothing written on it, but on the sheet that was gone somebody had written ‘Janice Walters — Amot.’ And here you are. Other people are checking other things. I’m checking you. Okay?” She nodded. “So tell me why your name is on the pad.”
“I didn’t know where to go for a room. Mr. Roger Darron was supposed to have made a reservation for me. I believe a friend wrote him from Ceylon. I called him when I got in town and he sent me here.”
“Also I find out that this Darron, or somebody who looks like he used to look, came to see you.”
“He was being friendly. He wondered if I wanted anything.”
“Then his gal friend comes to see you at three in the morning. Why?”
“She was jealous. She thought he liked me.”
Harrigan grinned at her. She suddenly felt that there was a brain behind those brown eyes, a brain not as naive as his expression. And not as friendly. “I can see how you might make her jealous. She didn’t look so good when I saw her. What are you doing in this country, Miss Perez?”
“Just a visit. Some shopping. I’m a tourist.”
“Who was this friend who steered you to this Darron guy?”
At that moment the phone rang. She hurried to it and pressed the receiver close to her ear so that the sound of Karl’s voice wouldn’t be audible to the listening Harrigan.
“Stella? I’m down in the bar. Shall I come up?”