Jeff waited in front of the desk and Vidal leaned back in his chair. "As I understand it, Miss Holmes is competing with you for the shares your stepbrother has recently inherited. If this is so, I can understand why you were here, since Mr. Baker was working for you. What I can't understand is how Miss Holmes knew your stepbrother was here."
"Neither can I," Jeff said.
Vidal frowned. "You are from the same city in the States? You knew her there?"
"I never saw her before"— Jeff hesitated, his tone ironic as certain memories came flooding back— "until I met her on the plane coming down."
"Then perhaps you would give me your opinion. From what you know would you say Miss Holmes had any reason to kill Mr. Baker?"
"You believe her story?"
Jeff knew what his answer would be, but he took a moment to think back and erase all prejudice. When he spoke, his grin was fixed.
"If you mean about what happened tonight, yes."
Thank you." Vidal rose. "We like Americans here. Your
businessmen have done much for this country and it is bad publicity when one of you is murdered. We shall do our best to find out who is responsible. . . . We will need your statement In the morning. You do not speak Spanish? Then Ramon can handle it.**
"Where did you leam English?" Jeff said as his curiosity got the best of him.
"In the States mostly, Ramon and I have spent some time in Washington. In your F.B.I, school.**
THE MAN in the baggy suit and shapeless felt Jeff Lane had seen at the foot of the stairs was waiting outside the gate of die second-floor anteroom. With a gesture that ordered Jeff to follow, he led him downstairs and back through the main room to the front entrance. Not until they were on the outer steps did he stop and wave one hand to indicate Jeff was now on his own.
There was still a lot of traffic on the Avenue but up beyond the trees which lined it the sky was clear and bright and the air was dry and comfortably cool. Not knowing exactly where he was, Jeff turned left toward a lighted shop on the opposite corner, hesitating on the curb to light a cigarette, and at the same time watching for a cruising taxi. He did not know he had company until he heard the voice beside him.
^Senor Lane?"
Jeff flipped the match away and turned to find the man at his elbow. Slender and not very tall, he was clad in a
dark suit, and Jeff studied Mm a moment, trying to penetrate the shadows that obscured the face while he wondered if this was a touch of some kind. Curious as to how the fellow knew his name, he let the silence build. The sentence that followed got his undivided attention.
"I have heard what happened to Senor Baker."
THow did you know who I was?"
**I have friends in Segumal. I have been wailing for you.*'
"Senor Baker has told me about you. I have done some work for him. I was, outside the Tucan tonight when you arrived, though I did not know who you were then, nor did I know what happened until much later."
Other questions came to Jeff's mind but it suddenly occurred to him that this man, whoever he was, might prove very helpful indeed. That he seemed to be offering his services seemed clear, and when Jeff understood this he touched the man's elbow and said:
"Let's get a beer and talk some more."
"I would like that," the man said and kept pace with Jeff as they crossed the street and entered the comer store which had a cigar-stand in the front and a restaurant in the rear. They found a table along the wall and gave their order, and now Jeff could see that the man was neatly dressed, that his hands were clean, that his eyes were bright and alert. He was getting bald on top, which made it difficult to guess his age, but when he smiled he looked younger than Jeff had first thought.
1 am Julio Cordovez," he said simply and seemed pleased when Jeff offered his hand. "My work is the same as Senor Baker's. He came to me because he did not know the city or our language. He needed help."
"Did he get it?"
"He seemed satisfied with my work."
you think I might need some help too, is that it?"
"I thought I should speak to you,**
Jeff grunted softly. "Well, you could be right, Julio. How much do you charge?"
Cordovez tipped one hand, his tone apologetic. **As you know things are expensive in this city. I was paid eighty B's a day for my services and the use of my car. I thought now I should offer you my services if you so desire.*
"At the same price?' 7
"No. For my expenses only. I do not know why anyone should kill Senor Baker, I liked him. He was a good friend. If I can help find out who did this thing I will be only too happy. But it is difficult to work alone. It presents problems, and those in Segumal wil want to know who I represent 9 *
Jeff grinned at him, liking the little man and his forthright answers. "What you mean/' he said, "is that you d like a client/'
"It would be easier for me.**
"O. K., M Jeff said. "You've got one. The same pay. 3 *
"It is not necessary but"—Cordovez shrugged and his smile came—"if you insist I will be most grateful/*
Jeff did not say so, but he had an idea he was the one who should be grateful. He knew no more about the city and the language than Baker had known, and he needed help; a lot of help. He sampled the beer the waiter brought and spoke of the two cables the police had found in Baker s wallet. He asked if Cordovez knew Baker had gone to Barbados for Grayson.
"Oh, yes"
"But you don't know why?**
"Baker told me he was going, but he used an expression I did not understand. I was not sure what he meant. He said he had a chance to make a quick 'score* for a few days* work. Would that mean a lot of money?**
"Something like that."
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
"And I know this. Baker knew Grayson in the States. In a place called Las Vegas, but under another name. From things that were said I think Grayson could not go back until he had settled some accounts. It was for this he needed Baker s help. I think he was frightened about something."
Jeff nodded, remembering how Grayson had looted the treasury of the partnership his father had established and wondering if something of that nature had happened in Las Vegas. When he finished his beer without speaking, Cordovez asked if there was anything he could do for Jeff tonight.
^ Td like to take another look at Baker's room," he said, "if you think you can get in."
Cordovez said he thought he could, and this proved to be no idle boast. For when they walked down the third-floor hall of the Tucan, fifteen minutes later, he had a ring of keys in his hand and it took him only three tries to turn the lock.
Jeff moved in first to snap on the light, and Cordovez stopped to turn the bolt. "Strangers do not always understand such locks," he said. "They assume the door is locked when they leave but this is not so. It is necessary to use a key from the outside."
"Oh," Jeff said, understanding now how Karen Holmes had been able to walk in to find Baker dead, how he himself had walked in on her.
"You think the police may have overlooked something?" Cordovez said.
"Probably not,'* Jeff said, "but there's no harm in trying.**
He glanced round, aware that the window was open, the curtain bulging with the night breeze. He stepped to the chest and began to open drawers and then, at some small sound behind him, he stopped.
"EasyP
It was a voice lie had never heard before, and as he turned he saw Cordovez standing very still, his gaze fixed on the man who apparently had slipped from behind the curtain, a compactly built fellow with a wide, thin-lipped mouth and a muscular jaw. His face was deeply tanned, his curly light-brown hair was cut short. He was well dressed and at first glance looked like a successful young business executive, which, in a sense, he was. What spoiled the illusion was the gun in his hand.