It took me a while to get out of the area, and another while for the elevator to come. It seemed like a much longer while than it took but eventually I was back up on the fifth floor.
I found him—Gordon Hammer, the young man with the pinched-in cheeks—and grabbed his shoulder and shook. He looked startled. I said, «That fourteen-year-old you told me about—What did you say her name was?»
«Stephanie?»
«Yes, yes. She’s a little girl, right? You said only fourteen.»
I was holding my arm out at shoulder level—my shoulder level, which would make her quite small, but maybe not for a fourteen-year-old.
But Hammer’s lips swelled and he sputtered for a moment or two.
Finally he said, «No. She’s taller than you are—if you don’t mind my being personal.»
I suppose I looked grim enough to show that I did mind so that his moment of laughing faded into anxiety again. Then he said, «And she’s fat, really fat. No one would call her little.»
13 DOROTHY 4:25 P.M.
That removed the last possible source of confusion—the last one I could think of unless some entirely unknown factor had entered into it. It was back down to the second floor and my watch showed the time to be nearly half past four. I had a notion it was too late to find the next person I needed—the one who had seen the woman. When the elevator didn’t come after fifteen seconds, I damned it quite loudly and dashed down the stairs.
I probably didn’t beat the elevator but there was no way in which I could stand still, even to save time. I ran across the lobby to the cloakroom, dodging through the crowds, and then pushed past the two or three people standing there.
«Listen,» I gasped. «Where’s the attendant?»
«I’m the attendant,» said an elderly woman, still pretty, with white hair, metal-rimmed glasses, and a refined way of speaking which she probably cultivated very carefully. Her nameplate said: Dorothy.
«Not you. The other one. Dyed yellow hair, fat arms, tinted glasses, nose twitches. I don’t remember her name… Excuse me, excuse me. This is important. I’ll be out of your way in a minute.» That last was to the other people waiting there, who looked increasingly exasperated.
The elderly attendant—Dorothy—smiled as though she recognized the picture without trouble. «That’s Hilda. She gets off at four.»
«Do you know where she lives?»
«No,» she said briefly and disapprovingly. (Come on, I thought impatiently, you can’t think for a minute I have anything improper in mind.) She turned to the other people, clearly dismissing me.
I said, «Well, wait, let me ask you one question. Is there a woman around here that you and Hilda call Little Pepper.»
She smiled again. «Oh, sure, that’s the—» Then she stopped and said primly. «I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m busy.»
But I was off and running again. It was someone familiar, someone both she and Hilda knew, someone who was little, and peppery, and well known to them.
Now to get to the sixth floor at last, and it was still well before five.
14 GINGER 4:35 P.M.
The inner room looked empty. I didn’t have to go in to check its corners; it had the unmistakable look of emptiness, and my heart sank. I was bubbling over with resentment and I wanted things straightened out right now.
The good-looking black receptionist, or secretary, or whatever, was at her desk. I remembered her name. Sarah had called her Ginger. She was eyeing me with a controlled amusement and I was quite certain she remembered me.
«Can I help you?» she said.
«I don’t know. Can you tell me where Miss Vosto—Voskovek might be?» In my impatience, I found myself still stumbling over the name.
I felt there was no use asking. She was gone.
But Ginger said, «I don’t know where she is, but I know she’ll be back. Won’t you wait?»
Her voice was friendly, and she continued to be amused. I wasn’t sure what it was she was amused about, but it made me feel uncomfortable.
I sat down abruptly and fidgeted. I had nothing to read, and although I consulted my watch often enough, its capacity to console and distract me was sharply limited. Ginger’s equanimity, her apparent warm and confident acceptance of the fact that Sarah would be back, was all that kept me in my seat after a while.
15 SARAH VOSKOVEK 5:00 P.M.
It was just about five o’clock when I heard her footsteps outside. I had no doubt it was she—short footsteps, fussy but firm, with the high heels making sharp clicking noises. I stood up.
She walked in, looked at me, stopped in clear consternation, and said, «Is something wrong, Darius?»
I said, «I want to speak to you.»
She said, «Can you wait a bit till I clear up some things?»
«Will you have to rush away to go home then?»
«No,» she said doubtfully. «Not if it’s something important.»
«It’s important.»
«Then please wait.» She didn’t seem unduly disturbed.
I sat down again and returned to my fidgeting. After a while, Ginger stacked some papers neatly at one side of her desk, made some scrabbling noises under the desk which I interpreted as getting her shoes on, and took her purse out of a desk drawer.
She said in a brisk voice, «I’m leaving, Sarah.» I took it she was giving fair warning that we would be alone together.
She smiled at me as she left—wishing me luck, I think, which was nice of her but inappropriate to the occasion.
Sarah’s voice came back, clear and serene. «Very good, Ginger. Have a nice evening.»
Two more minutes passed. Sarah came into the outer room, looked casually out into the hall, then closed the door softly, pulled down a shade, and motioned me into the inner room.
«If you want to talk further about our last topic of conversation,» she said, «we couldn’t do it with anyone else here, you understand.»
I sat down on the couch in her office. She remained standing.
I said, «Did you know the hired hands around here call you Little Pepper?»
«I’ve heard the phrase,» she said indifferently. «Where did you hear it?»
I ignored her question. I said, «You heard Giles Devore speak my name in hatred. Through clenched teeth, I imagine.»
«Clenched teeth or not, he did.»
«I’m sure of it. Not, however, at the autographing session. There were three people near him part or all of the time. There were Isaac Asimov, Teresa Valier, and Nellie Griswold, and not one heard him say a thing about me.»
She said, «I didn’t say it was at the autographing session. I believe I said ‘later.’»
«I don’t remember your exact words,» I said. «I got the impression, however, that it was at the autographing session. I was wrong, I suppose. And I’m not surprised, since I’m a very poor detective. I’ll accept your statement now that it was later—but might it not have been earlier?»
«Why earlier?»
«You were here at the beginning, weren’t you, when you apologized to Asimov and asked after me.»
«I told you about that.»
«Yes, and about the time when Asimov was talking to you, he became aware that Giles was present, so I suspect you two came in together.»
«I leave you to your suspicion.»
«It’s more than a suspicion. None of the press people will admit to having escorted Giles to the autographing room, but someone did, because the cloakroom girl saw him that morning. He tried to get a package for which he didn’t have the ticket and the cloakroom girl said, Little Pepper urged him onward lest he be late. How about that, Little Pepper?»