"Arnold was everything I wanted to be. Big, good-looking, a fine athlete when he cared to try. He had a handsome allowance and he was willing to share it with someone who could act as his jester and run his errands. At the time I was pretty proud that he chose me because I was in school OB a scholarship and I had to work for my spending money, Arnold even took a girl away from me once—it took no great doing—but even that didn't discourage me. He was a great guy and I was his buddy and in my eyes the evil things he did never seemed vicious. •
*When he wrote me a year and a half ago I was selling printing in New York and not breaking any records, Arnold
drew a fascinating picture about what life was like down here and the amount of money that could be made. He needed an assistant and it was a chance of a lifetime." He raised one hand a few inches and let it fall.
"Apparently I was still enchanted by some of the things that happened a long time ago, or maybe it was just because I was tired of selling printing. Anyway, I came. He moved me right into a wing of my own here. He wanted me in the house because what good is a whipping boy if he's not available? . . . Yes/' he said, Tm an assistant down in the office. I get a salary. Not as much as it should be, but then I get my room and board with the job.*"
He said other things along the same line, but Jeff heard him only with his ears. His mind had moved to other things and he had an idea that Fiske was telling the truth. He was ashamed of what he had done but not violently so; his bitterness was a passive thing. To Jeff it seemed that essentially this was a nice guy, hard to dislike but with no drive and small ambitions. Such bitterness as he felt had been absorbed with resiliency and he seemed accustomed to shouldering the blame for his failures.
For all this his presence had its effect on Diana Grayson. When she looked at him her brittleness was less apparent and the feminine softness of which she was capable seemed to flourish. Understanding his shortcomings she apparently found in him something that was both comforting and desirable.
"Do you know why Arnold wanted to raise cash, Mrs. Grayson?" Jeff said when Fiske fell silent.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
Jeff told her about Carl Webb and how Harry Baker had been employed to act as the middleman.
"Did you know Arnold went to the Tucan last night with the cash?" he asked.
"Did he?"
"Don t you know? You followed him, didn't you?"
"I beg your pardon/'
"You and Mr. Fiske drove up to the Tucan right after Arnold got there/' He glanced at Fiske. "You went around the side of the hotel How long were you there?"
Fiske glanced at the woman as though asking for her assistance and she gave it at once, her voice distant and emphatic.
"I don't know where you got your information/' she said, "but this much I can tell you. We didn't follow Arnold and we didn't go to the hotel/ 7
"You knew about the money/' Jeff said, persisting. "Luis Miranda knew about it. Who else might know?"
She shrugged thin shoulders and stood up, her glance bleak and her voice astringent, Tm sorry/' she said. "Perhaps you'd better ask Arnold. He may be at the office now,**
Jeff rose, aware that the interview was over. He thought he understood a little of the character of these two just as he understood the woman was the stronger. Unhappiness had left scars on her emotions but she had not been broken. That she held her husband in contempt seemed obvious, but to Jeff it also seemed that there remained a calculated desire to make him pay for what he had done to her.
"When Baker's body was found/' he said, "there wasn't any cash. I'm pretty sure Arnold delivered it, because he was still scared of the Westwind crowd. Whoever has it now will probably stand trial for murder."
She was looking right at him now, a suggestion of smugness in her smile that was disconcerting. If she was at all worried she did not show it.
Td very much like to get my hands on it/* she said. **By rights most of it should be mine anyway.*"
ONCE AWAY from the avenida Urdaneta, the broad thoroughfare which had been cut straight through the downtown section of the city from west to east, the streets on the north side were narrow and congested and the buildings were tightly spaced and dark with age and decay. Always there was a slope to the streets and all vehicular traffic moved in one-way patterns. That is why Julio Cordovez, who was to continue on to Segurnal in search of additional information, let Jeff out at the corner and pointed to a building a few doors down in the wrong direction.
At this hour of the afternoon the narrow street stood in shadow and to leave room for even a single line of traffic many of the parked cars stood with two wheels on the all too narrow sidewalks. Jeff passed the narrow front of a shop that displayed radios and record-players, an undertaking establishment that featured three open caskets in its plate-glass window., the wider doorway of a garage with a recessed ramp and one gasoline pump and came finally to this entrance, the side of which bore two tarnished brass plates, one of which said: Grayson Enterprises.
Inside there was only darkness and a flight of narrow stairs that led to the second-floor hall. Groping his way along this, Jeff wondered why Grayson should have selected such an address, instead of one of the more modern buildings, until he opened the heavy wooden door and realized that his stepbrother had made himself very comfortable indeed.
For he stood now in a tliree-room suite, one side of which opened on an inner court, hidden from the street, but green with shrubbery. Thick masonry walls provided natural air-conditioning and no sounds filtered in from outside. A rug covered the ancient tiles of the flooring and the two chairs and the sofa were upholstered in light-green leather. A secretary's typewriter desk stood near a tall window and at the moment Arnold Grayson seemed to be bidding his employee a fond and affectionate farewell.
A cardboard carton beside the desk was half full of discarded papers, and the smartly dressed black-haired girl was holding her bag and a wrapped package as she laughingly protested some suggestion in Spanish. Grayson, in shirtsleeves, had both hands on the girl's shoulders, and even as he glanced at Jeff, he kissed first one cheek and then the other. He turned her toward the door, opened it, and then, as she went past, gave her a resounding smack on a well-rounded hip that brought forth a squeal and a giggle.
But the instant he closed the door his expression changed. Beneath the little mustache the mouth flattened, the tan face twisted, and the pale eyes were arrogant and resentful. His voice was cold, impatient, and accusing.
"What the hell do you want?** he demanded.
The Jekyll-and-Hyde performance came as no surprise to Jeff, but he still wondered if some of the things he had recently read about multiple personalities could apply to his stepbrother. The animosity displayed was of long standing, for he understood that Arnold had always felt that, as the stepson, he had never had the breaks that had been given to Jeff. Now, trying not to show his displeasure, he disciplined his voice.
"You know what I want, Amy."
^Not today," Grayson said, turning on his heel and starting along a short corridor, which led past a smaller office to a larger room very elegantly furnished in a heavy, mascu-
line way. "I'm busy. I've got more important things to do/'
Jeff considered the oversized desk, the oversized divan. An open door revealed a small bathroom and in an alcove was a water-cooler, a cellaret, and an icebox. Apparently Grayson conducted his business with all the privacy and comforts of home but at the moment his customary arrogance and assurance were missing. He was tossing papers into an open attache case on the desk with hands that were fumbling and uncertain. He seemed charged with a nervous tension that was beyond his control. Then, remembering Carl Webb and his mission, Jeff thought he had the answer.