"I like your brand," the man said heartily, but his jovial attitude looked false. He was still a Do-Right Daddy with his provincial mentality screwed up too tight to ever be at ease with a pretty girl — especially a high-class whore. Jeanyee took his arm and they strolled through an archway at the far side of the room.
The other man said, "I… I'd like to… to meet… to go with Miss… ah, Miss Lily." Nick grinned. He was up so tight he couldn't talk. A first-rate house of assignation in Paris or Copenhagen or Hamburg would show those two the door — politely.
Pong-Pong Lily got up and strolled to him, a dream picture of liquid loveliness in a pink cocktail dress. "You flatter me, Mr. O'Brien."
"You look the… the prettiest to me." Nick saw Ruth's eyebrows rise at the boorish remark and Suzi Quong's face hardened slightly.
Pong-Pong put a graceful hand on his arm. "Shall we…"
"We sure shall." O'Brien took a long pull at his glass and walked with her, carrying the drink. Nick hoped he had an early date with his confessor.
When the two couples had gone Hans Geist said, "Don't feel hurt, Suzi. He's just a countryman who has had a lot to drink. I'm sure you delighted him last night. I'm sure you're one of the prettiest girls he's ever seen."
"Thanks, Hans," Suzi answered. "He's not so much. A real rabbit, and oh so very tense. I felt uneasy with him all the time."
"He just went straight?"
"Oh, my yes. He even asked me to put out the light when we were half undressed." Everybody laughed.
Akito said kindly, "A girl as lovely as you cannot expect every man to appreciate her, Suzi. But remember — every man who truly knows beauty, will admire you. Every one of you girls is an outstanding beauty. We men know that and you suspect it. But beauty is not rare. To find girls like you with beauty and intelligence, ahl — there is the rare combination."
"Plus," Hans added, "you are politically informed. In the vanguard of society. How many girls are there in the world like that? Not very many. Anne — your glass is empty. Another?"
"Not right now," the beauty cooed.
Nick frowned. What was this? Talk about treating a duchess like a whore and a whore like a duchess! This was a prostitutes' paradise. The men were in the role of pimps but they behaved like visitors to a finishing school tea dance. And yet, he thought reflectively, it's an excellent tactic. Effective with women. Madame Bergeron built one of the most famous houses in Paris and accumulated a fortune with it.
A small Chinese in a white coat came in from the far archway carrying a tray of what appeared to be canapes. Nick ducked barely in time.
The waiter passed the tray, put it on a coffee table and departed. Nick wondered how many others were in the house. Thoughtfully he assessed his weaponry. He had Wilhelmina and an extra magazine, two lethal gas bombs — "Pierres" — in the pockets of his jockey shorts, which were as much magician's equipment as his coat and a variety of explosive charges.
He heard Hans Geist say, "…and we'll meet Command One on the ship a week from Thursday. Let's make a good impression. I know he's proud of us and pleased by the way things are going."
"Are your negotiations with this group going well?" Ruth Moto asked.
"Splendidly. I never thought it could go otherwise. They are merchants and we want to buy. Matters usually go smoothly in such a situation."
Akito asked, "Who is Alastair Williams? Britisher with Vickers' oil division. I'm sure I've met him somewhere before yet I can't place him."
After a moment of silence Geist replied, "I don't know. The name is not familiar. And Vickers doesn't have a subsidiary they call the oil division. Exactly what does he do? Where did you meet him?"
"Here. He's with the guests."
Nick raised his head for an instant, saw Geist pick up a telephone, dial. "Fred? Look on your guest list. Have you added an Alastair Williams? No… When did he arrive? You never admitted him? Akito — what does he look like?"
"Big. Plump. Red face. Gray hair. Very English."
"Was he with any others?"
"No."
Hans repeated the description into the phone. "Tell Vlad and Ali. Find a man who fits that description or there's something wrong here. Check out all the guests with English accents. I'll be there in a few minutes." He replaced the telephone. "This is either a simple matter or a very serious one. You and I better go…"
Nick lost the rest as his keen hearing detected a sound outside. One or more cars had arrived. If the room filled up he'd be caught between the groups. He crawled to the hall entrance, keeping the furniture between himself and the people at the fireplace. When he was around the turn he stood up and walked toward the door just as it opened to admit five men.
They were talking jovially — one was high, supported by another as he giggled. Nick gave them a broad smile and waved a hand toward the big room. "Come right in…"
He turned and went briskly up the wide staircase.
There was a long corridor on the second floor. He went to the windows overlooking the drive. Two big cars were parked under the floodlights. The last group seemed to have driven themselves.
He went toward the rear, past a luxurious sitting room and three lavish bedrooms with the doors open. He came to a closed door and listened with his little stethoscope, heard nothing, and went into the room and closed the door behind him. It was a bedroom with articles here and there showing it was occupied. He searched swiftly — desk, bureau, two expensive pieces of luggage. Nothing. Not a scrap of paper. It was the room of a large man, by the size of the suits in the closet. Perhaps Geist's.
The next room was more interesting — and nearly disastrous.
He heard vigorous, panting breaths and a moan. As he slipped the stethoscope back into its pocket, the next door down the hall opened and out came one of the men who had first arrived and Pong-Pong Lily.
Nick straightened and smiled. "Hello. Have a nice time?"
The man stared. Pong-Pong exclaimed, "Who are you?"
"Yes," a hard and loud man's voice repeated behind him. "Who are you?"
Nick whirled to see the thin Chinese — the one he suspected had been behind the mask in Maryland — approach from the stairway, his footfalls noiseless on the thick carpeting. A slim hand was disappearing inside his jacket to where a shoulder or clamshell holster might be.
"I'm Command Two," Nick said. He tried the door at which he had been listening. It was unlocked. "Good night."
He hopped through the door and slammed it behind him, found the catch and locked it.
There was a gasp and a growl from a king-size bed where the other early arrival and Jeanyee were untangling themselves. They were nude.
Fists thundered on the door. Jeanyee screamed. The naked man hit the floor and lunged toward Nick with the overweight purposefulness of a man who had played football long ago.
Chapter VII
Nick sidestepped the rush with the graceful ease of a matador. Carrington hit the wall with a crash, adding noise to the clatter from the door. Nick used a savate kick and a hand chop, both placed with the precision of a surgeon's strokes, to put him gasping on the floor.
"Who are you?" Jeanyee almost screamed.
"Everybody is interested in little me," Nick said. "I'm Command Three, Four and Five."
He watched the door. Like everything else on the premises it was of top quality. They'd need a ram or a sturdy piece of furniture to break through.
"You're what?"
"I'm Baumann's son."
"Help!" she yelled. Then thought an instant. "You're who?"
"Baumann's son. He has three. It's a secret."
She slid to the floor and stood up. Nick's eyes flowed over the long, beautiful body and his memory of what it could do gave him an instant's tingle. Someone kicked the door. He felt proud of himself — I've still got that old nonchalance. "Get dressed," he barked. "Quick. I've got to get you out of here."