He did not insist on a paper bag for the attache case. He thought he would submit that to a little test. He would stop in on the way home, in one of the cocktail lounges along Chestnut Street that catered to people in the financial industry. He would put the " leather" attache case out where people who customarily carried genuine leather attache cases could see it, and see if anyone looked at it strangely.
He had solved the problem of supper, had one AWOL bag and the attache case, and there was time, so why not?
EIGHTEEN
North of Doylestown, on US Route 611, approaching Kintnersville, Matt became aware of a faint siren. When he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw that it was mounted in a State Police car, and that the gumball machine on the roof was flashing brightly.
"Shit," he said.
Penny turned in her seat and giggled.
There was no place to pull safely to the side of the road where they were, so Matt put a hand over his head in a gesture of surrender, slowed, and drove another mile or so until he found a place to stop.
"Mother will not be at all surprised that we wound up in jail," Penny said cheerfully. "She expects it of you."
Matt got out of the car, making an effort to keep both hands in view, and then went back to the State Police car. A very large State Policeman, about thirty-five, got out, and straightened his Smoky-theBear hat.
"Good evening, sir," the State Policeman said, with the perfect courtesy that suggested he was not at all unhappy to be forced to cite a Mercedes driver for being twenty-five or thirty miles over the speed limit.
"Good evening," Matt replied, and took his driver's license from his wallet. "There's my license."
"I'll need the registration too, please, sir."
Matt took out the leather folder holding his badge and photo ID and handed that over.
"That's what I do for a living. How fraternal are you feeling tonight?"
The State Policeman examined the photo on the ID card carefully, then handed it back.
"Being a Philly detective must pay better than they do us. That's quite a set of wheels."
"The wheels belong to the lady."
The State Policeman took a long look at Penny, who, resting her chin on her hands on the back of her seat, was looking back at them, smiling sweetly.
"I don't think I'd have given her a ticket, either," he said. " Very nice."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," the State Policeman said, and turned back to his car.
Matt got back in the Mercedes.
"We're not going to jail?"
"I told the nice officer that I was rushing you to the hospital to deliver our firstborn," Matt said.
"You would do something like that too, you bastard," Penny said, laughing. "But that's an interesting thought. I wonder what our firstborn would look like?"
The question made Matt uncomfortable.
"I didn't have any lunch," Penny went on. "You're going to have to get me something to eat, or you're going to have to carry me into wherever you're taking me."
"I'm taking you to a restaurant, can't you wait?"
"How far?"
"About an hour from here, I suppose."
"Then no. But I will settle for something simple."
I don't have dinner reservations for this place, Matt suddenly thought. For that matter, I don't even know if it's open to the public for dinner. I better find a phone and call.
Ten minutes later, just south of Easton, he saw the flashing neon sign of a restaurant between the highway and Delaware River. Penny saw it at the same time.
"Clams!" she cried. "I want steamed clams! Steamed clams and a beer!Please, Matthew!"
"Your wish, mademoiselle, is my command."
Inside the restaurant, they found a cheerful bar at which a half dozen people sat, half of them with platters of steamed clams before them.
Penny hopped onto a bar stool.
"Two dozen clams and an Ortlieb's for me," she ordered, "and two dozen for him. I don't know if he wants a beer or not. He may be on duty."
The bartender took it as a joke.
"Two beers, please," Matt said.
Two frosted mugs and two bottles of beer appeared immediately.
"And while I'm waiting for the clams, I'll have a pickled egg," Penny said.
"Two," Matt said.
"You're being very agreeable. That must mean you want something from me."
"Not a thing, but your company," Matt said.
"Bullshit," Penny said. "I am not quite as stupid as you think I am. You didn't invite me to dinner in the sticks because you love food or drives through the country, and you've made it perfectly clear that you're not lusting after my body, so what is going on?"
Her eyes were on him, over the rim of her beer mug.
"I want to take a look at the Oaks and Pines Lodge," he said.
"In your line of work, you mean, not idle curiosity?"
Matt nodded.
"You going to tell me why?"
He shook his head, no.
"What I thought was that I would attract less attention if I had a girl, a pretty girl, with me."
She considered that for a moment.
"Okay," she said. "I'm using you, too. I would have gone to watch the Budapest Quintet with you-and you know how I hate fiddle music-if it had gotten me out of the house."
"Pretty bad, is it, at home?"
"Mother's counting the aspirin," Penny said.
"I'm sorry."
"I think you really are," Penny said. "So tell me, is there anything I can do to help you do whatever it is you're not going to tell me you're doing?"
The answer came immediately, but Matt waited until he had taken the time to take a long pull at his beer before he replied.
"I don't even know if this place is open to the public for dinner. Some of them aren't. And I don't have reservations."
"You never were too good at planning ahead, were you?"
"I thought I'd call from here and ask about reservations…"
"But?"
"It would be better, it would look better, if I called and asked for a room."
She smiled at him.
"This is the first time that anyone has proposed taking me to a hotel room, said he did not have sex in mind, and meant it. But okay, Matthew."
"Thank you, Penny," Matt said.
"Why is that, Matt? Because I was on drugs? Because of Tony DeZego? Or is it that you simply don't find me appealing?"
"I find you appealing," Matt blurted. "I just think it would be a lousy idea."
Before she had a chance to reply, he got off his bar stool and went to the pay phone he had seen in the entrance.
When he returned, having learned that he was in luck, the Oaks and Pines Lodge, having had a last-minute cancellation, would be able to accommodate Mr. and Mrs. Payne in the Birch Suite, the clams had been served, and Penny was playing airhead with the bartender, who was clearly taken with her.
Charley Larkin, jacket off, tie pulled down, was sitting behind the very nice mahogany desk and SAC Joseph J. Toner was sitting on the couch with Wohl.
Mr. H. Charles Larkin, Wohl thought, has taken over the office of the supervisory agent in charge of the Secret Service's Philadelphia office.
Is it a question of priorities or rank? Certainly, keeping the Vice President from being disintegrated has a higher Secret Service priority than catching somebody who prints his own money or other negotiable instruments, and it would follow that the guy in charge of that job would be the one giving the orders. But it might be rank too. Larkin has been in the Secret Service a long time. He probably outranks Toner too. What difference does it make?
One of the telephones on Toner's desk rang. Larkin looked to see which one it was, and then picked it up.