Menlo finally arrived, and sat down to discuss terms with Harrow. It was just as Bett had said, plus some nonsense about a dentist. Harrow agreed to everything, and it should have been over then, but all at once Harrow started asking questions about Menlo’s past and Menlo had to tell him his whole life story before they were finished.
Parker, waiting in the dining room, smothered his irritation, cursing Harrow for a fool. He came close to bursting in and settling it right there, but there were two other things that had to be settled first. He had to talk to Harrow, and he had to be sure where the money was. The money and the mourner would be in the same place. When Harrow put Menlo on the send for the mourner, Parker would find out where he went from the elevator operator, and that’s where he would later find the money. So he held back, controlling his impatience.
Menlo finally did leave, and the moment he was gone Parker walked into the living room.
Harrow turned, saw him, and dropped his drink. “My God!”
“Keep it low,” Parker said.
“He — he said you were dead.” Harrow pointed foolishly at the door. “He said you were dead.”
“He thought I was. He still thinks so. Sit down, Harrow. Take a minute, get used to the idea.”
“My God,” Harrow said again. He went over and sat down on the white leather sofa. He pressed his left hand to his chest. “You shouldn’t do that. My heart isn’t all that strong.”
“You want a drink?” Parker asked.
“Scotch. I think. Yes, plain Scotch.”
“On the rocks?”
“Yes. It doesn’t matter.”
Parker made the drink, and one for himself, and came back to the sofa. He handed one glass to Harrow, and Harrow swallowed half the Scotch in one gulp. Then he breathed deeply for a few seconds, and after that he settled down. He settled down so much he looked up at Parker and said, “You’re alive, but you don’t have the mourner. He has it.”
“You really want to go through all that garbage with the FBI? What makes you think Menlo couldn’t wriggle out of it? He’s a big man back home; that wasn’t crap he was feeding you. He tells his boss he got the money but couldn’t get Kapor because his plans got fouled up, that he was in Miami holing up until he could get back to Washington to try again. They’ll swallow it, they’ve got no reason not to trust him. So then he’s free, and there’s a whole espionage apparatus he can turn around and aim at you. You call the FBI on him, and he’ll make you dead. Menlo’s no boy to play with.”
Harrow pursed his lips, and chewed his cheeks, and stared into what was left of his drink. “You could be right.”
“So instead you leave Menlo to me. He gives you the statue, then I take care of him. And he won’t be coming back to bother you or anybody else.”
“And what do you want for this?”
“Just the gun, same as before.”
“I don’t have it here.”
“You better get it quick. If Bett gave you some fancy ideas about crossing me too, forget it. Menlo didn’t even manage to kill my partner. He’s in a private rest home in Washington, and if he doesn’t hear from me at the same time every day, he’ll know you made trouble for me. Then he makes trouble for you.”
“From a hospital bed?”
“He won’t be in it forever.”
Harrow thought that one over. Finally he said, “All right. The gun is in the hotel safe. I’ll have it sent up.”
“After we take care of Menlo. We don’t want any bellboys coming in at the wrong time.”
“No. You’re right.”
There was a soft rapping at the door. Harrow looked startled, and Parker said, “That’s him now.”
“So quickly?”
“Don’t let it throw you. Just go out there and let him in. Get the statue away from him before he sees me, so he doesn’t get a chance to try and break it or something.”
“The statue!” Harrow hurriedly got to his feet. “The statue,” he muttered, and went out through the doorway into the foyer. Parker, still seated on the sofa, heard him say, “You were very quick. Is that it?”
Then Menlo’s voice, “Yes, this is it.”
“Go on in,” Harrow said. His voice was shaking, and Parker shook his head in disgust. “Go on in.”
But Menlo didn’t tip. He came on in through the foyer doorway, and stood stock still when he saw Parker sitting there. The blood drained from his face, and then all of a sudden he did something peculiar with his face, twisting his mouth around. Then he pitched over forward onto the carpet.
Harrow came in, clutching the mourner to his chest. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Parker got to his feet. “The goddam fool. The poison.”
“Poison? You mean, in his tooth?”
“Yeah.” Parker knelt beside him. “He’s dead all right.”
“For God’s sake, man, how do we explain this?”
“We don’t. We stash him away in a closet or something. Tonight, around midnight, pour some booze over him and drop him off the terrace. Who’s to know what floor the poor drunk fell from? Bett will be here to corroborate your story. He didn’t fall from here.”
“I couldn’t do that!” Harrow was staring at Menlo’s body with horror.
“Bett can. All right, call down for the gun now.”
“But—”
“Call for the gun! Stop worrying about Menlo.”
Harrow made the call, his voice trembling, while Parker dragged the body out onto the terrace into a corner where it couldn’t be seen from inside the suite. He heard Harrow ask that the package that was being held for him in the safe be brought up to the suite.
They waited in silence. Harrow seemed more shaken by Menlo’s death than Parker would ever have guessed. He kept working on the Scotch bottle.
After a while a bellboy came with a small package wrapped in brown paper. Harrow tipped him and sent him on his way, while Parker opened it. The gun was inside all right. Parker stowed it away inside his jacket. “Phone Bett. Tell her to come up here but don’t say that I’m here.”
After he’d made the call, Harrow said, “She said she’d be at least half an hour.”
“That’s all right. I’ll be back by then.”
Parker went out to the elevators. He pushed the button, and when the elevator on the left arrived, he asked the operator, “Did you take a fat man down from here about fifteen minutes ago?”
“Not me.”
Parker pushed a ten into his hand. “Forget I even asked.”
“Yes, sir!”
The elevator went back down, and Parker pushed the button again. The other elevator came up this time, and Parker asked the same question, with another ten in his hand.
“Yes, sir, I did. Just about fifteen minutes ago,” the operator answered.
“What floor did he get off?”
“Seven. Then he came right back up here, a few minutes later.”
“Wait here a minute. I want to get this ten’s brother.”
“I’m with you, sir.”
Parker went back to suite D. Harrow wasn’t in the living room. Parker found him in the bedroom, lying on his back, his left hand palm up over his eyes and his right hand holding a glass half full of Scotch.
Parker left him there for a minute, went out to the terrace, and rifled Menlo’s pockets. He found the room key, and went to the bedroom. “Harrow,” he said. “Get up from there. I’m going to want privacy when I talk to your daughter. You take off for a while.”
Harrow sat up. He looked ashen, but he was busy gathering shreds of dignity around him. “That’s not the proper tone of voice.”
“Come on, I’ve got an elevator waiting.”
“You’ve got an elevator waiting?” Harrow seemed bemused by the idea. He got to his feet, took the mourner up from the bed, and put it in a closet and locked the closet door, then pocketed the key and followed Parker out of the suite.