“I was afraid of that,” I told her. “I booked the Maharajah at five and Whelkin at six, and then when I spoke to Demarest, I was going to set up the call for seven. I made it four instead when I remembered we’d need light.”
“There’s flashcubes in the carrying case.”
“They’re a little obvious, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m glad we caught Demarest when it was still light enough out to see him. With Whelkin it may not matter. We may not be able to coax him out of the hotel.”
“You think he’s staying there?”
“It’s certainly possible. I’d have called, but what name would I ask for?”
“You don’t think he’s staying there under his own name?”
“In the first place, no. In the second place, I have no idea what his right name might be. I’m sure it’s not Rudyard Whelkin. That was a cute story, being named for Kipling and growing up to collect him, but I have the feeling I’m the only person he told it to.”
“His name’s not Rudyard Whelkin?”
“No. And he doesn’t collect books.”
“What does he do with them?”
“I think he sells them. I think”-I looked at my watch-“I think he’s sitting in a booth in the lobby of the Gresham,” I went on, “waiting for my call. I think I better call him.”
“And I think I better take his picture.”
“Be subtle about it, huh?”
“That’s my trademark.”
The first phone I tried was out of order. There was another one diagonally across the street but someone was using it. I wound up at a phone on the rear wall of a Blarney Rose bar that had less in common with Sangfroid than the Hotel Gresham did with the Carlyle. Hand-lettered signs over the back bar offered double shots of various brands of blended whiskey at resistibly low prices.
I dialed the number Whelkin had given me. He must have had his hand on the receiver because he had it off the hook the instant it started to ring.
The conversation was briefer than the one I’d had with the Maharajah. It took longer than it had to because I had trouble hearing at one point; the television announcer was delivering football scores and something he said touched off a loud argument that had something to do with Notre Dame. But the shouting subsided and Whelkin and I resumed our chat.
I apologized for the interference.
“It’s nothing, my boy,” he assured me. “Things are every bit as confused where I am. A Eurasian chap’s sprawled on a bench in what looks to be a drug-induced coma, a wild-eyed old woman’s pawing through a shopping bag and nattering to herself, and another much younger woman’s flitting about taking everyone’s picture. Oh, dear. She’s headed this way.”
“She sounds harmless,” I said.
“One can only hope so. I shall give her a dazzling smile and let it go at that.”
A few minutes later I was back in the Pontiac studying a close-up of Rudyard Whelkin. He was showing all his teeth and they fairly gleamed.
“Subtle,” I told Carolyn.
“There’s a time for subtlety,” she said, “and there’s a time for derring-do. There is a time for the rapier and a time for the bludgeon. There is a time for the end-around play and a time to plunge right up the middle.”
“There’s a Notre Dame fan in the Blarney Rose who would argue that last point with you. I wanted a drink by the time I got out of there. But I had the feeling they were out of Perrier.”
“You want to stop someplace now?”
“No time.”
“What did Whelkin say?”
I gave her the Reader’s Digest version of our conversation as I headed uptown and east again. When I finished she frowned at me and scratched her head. “It’s too damned confusing,” she complained. “I can’t tell who’s lying and who’s telling the truth.”
“Just assume everybody’s lying. That way the occasional surprises will be pleasant ones. I’ll drop you at the Blinns’ place. You know what to do?”
“Sure, but aren’t you coming in?”
“No need, and too many other things to do. You know what to do after you’re through with the Blinns?”
“Have a big drink.”
“And after that?”
“I think so. Want to run through it all for me one more time?”
I ran through it, and we discussed a couple of points, and by then I was double-parked on East Sixty-sixth next to a Jaguar sedan with DPL plates and a shamefully dented right front fender. The Jag was parked next to a hydrant, and its owner, safe beneath the umbrella of diplomatic immunity, didn’t have to worry about either ticket or tow.
“Here we are,” I said. “You’ve got the pictures?”
“All of them. Even Atman Singh.”
“You might as well take the camera, too. No sense leaving it in the car. How about the Blinns’ bracelet? Got that with you?”
She took it from her pocket, slipped it around her wrist. “I’m not nuts about jewelry,” she said. “But it’s pretty, isn’t it? Bern, you’re forgetting something. You have to come in with me now if you want to get to the Porlock apartment.”
“Why would I want to get to the Porlock apartment?”
“To steal the lynx jacket.”
“Why would I want to steal the lynx jacket? I’m starting to feel like half of a vaudeville act. Why would I-”
“Didn’t you promise it to the cop?”
“Oh. I was wondering where all of that was coming from. No, what Ray wants for his wife is a full-length mink, and what’s hanging in Madeleine Porlock’s closet is a waist-length lynx jacket. Mrs. Kirschmann doesn’t want to have any part of wild furs.”
“Good for her. I wasn’t listening too closely to your conversation, I guess. You’re going to steal the mink somewhere else.”
“In due time.”
“I see. I heard you mention the furrier’s name and that’s what got me confused.”
“Arvin Tannenbaum,” I said.
“Right, that’s it.”
“Arvin Tannenbaum.”
“You just said that a minute ago.”
“Arvin Tannenbaum.”
“Bernie? Are you all right?”
“God,” I said, looking at my watch. “As if I didn’t have enough things to do and enough stops to make. There’s never enough time, Carolyn. Have you noticed that? There’s never enough time.”
“Bernie…”
I leaned across, opened the door on her side. “Go make nice to the Blinns,” I said, “and I’ll catch you later.”
CHAPTER Seventeen
I called Ray Kirschmann from a sidewalk phone booth on Second Avenue. The Bulldogs had more than doubled the point spread, he informed me dolefully. “Look at the bright side,” I said. “You’ll get even tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow I got the Giants. They never got anybody even unless he started out ahead.”
“I’d love to chat,” I said, “but I’m rushed. There’s some things I’d like you to find out for me.”
“What am I, the Answer Man? You want a lot for a coat.”
“It’s mink, Ray. Think what some women have to do to get one.”
“Funny.”
“And it’s not just a coat we’re talking about. You could get a nice collar to go with it.”
“Think so?”
“Stranger things have happened. Got a pencil?” He went and fetched one and I told him the things I wanted him to find out. “Don’t stray too far from the phone, huh, Ray? I’ll get back to you.”
“Great,” he said. “I can hardly wait.”
I got back into the car. I’d left the motor running, and now I popped the transmission in gear and continued downtown on Second Avenue. At Twenty-third Street I turned right, favored the Hotel Gresham with no more than a passing glance, turned right again at Sixth Avenue and left at Twenty-ninth Street, parking at a meter on Seventh Avenue. This time I cut the engine and retrieved my jump wire.