The main thoroughfare of Cap Antoine, one of the five paved streets in the capital, had had its name hastily changed from Avenue Girard to Boulevard Chef de Bataillon Richereau, and there had not been time in the past twelve months to prepare proper signs as yet. However, since the avenue was known throughout the Caribbean as Sucker Street, it made small difference.
The public way fulfilled André’s description faithfully. The west side of the road had at intervals to forsake bistros and all-night pharmacies mainly dealing in for-the-prevention-of-disease-only merchandise to accommodate the wharves that ran out to sea and provided dock space for the many visitors who, in turn, provided Ile Rocheux with its main source of income. The east side of the street, however, was not so penalized. From almost every doorway jukeboxes polluted the humid night air with enough noise to make ordinary thinking impossible, let alone the careful planning of a workable burglary. Or two workable burglaries, Kek thought. André, happily leaving these problems to his admittedly more intelligent companion, glanced into each passing doorway thirstily, wetting his lips.
“One little beer can’t hurt.”
“Later,” Huuygens said firmly.
“Just one little beer?” Nostalgia enfolded André. “We should have tapped that brandy back on the boat before we left.”
“It will still be there when we get back.” There was a slight pause which both men properly interpreted to mean if we get back. Kek marched along. “How much further?”
André sighed. “Two streets down, then left one short block. Look, Kek, how about at least some tonic?”
“Tonic?”
“With some gin in it to take away the taste...”
“Later,” Huuygens said relentlessly, and followed André around the requisite corner. They walked on for less than a minute. Then—
“It’s that building—” André started, and stopped dead in his tracks. Huuygens walked right into the man. It was like walking into a brick wall. He rubbed his forehead again, beginning to get irritated.
“Now what’s the matter?”
André merely pointed. Kek looked up. The building they had been approaching, easily identifiable because of its height, was ablaze with lights. André was staring, astonished.
“What on earth—! It’s after midnight. It’s supposed to be a business office, not a bar! They ought to have been closed hours and hours ago!”
Oddly enough, the fact that the building was lit up like a hospital ship in a war zone seemed to dispel Kek’s displeasure with the way things had been going that evening. He stared up at the lighted building, a smile beginning to crease his lips.
“Well, well!” he said winking at André. “How’s your island French?”
“My what?”
“Can you do the accent they’re afflicted with down here? After all,” Kek pointed out logically, “you’ve been here two weeks, and all I’ve had to practice on was Girard’s few words.” He considered his statement and amended it. “Well, not exactly few...”
“Not me,” André said positively, and shook his head. “They talk as if they were eating at the same time. Why?”
Kek disregarded the question. “Well, in that case keep quiet and let me do the talking.”
“Talking to who?”
“To anybody. Try to merely look intelligent, or at least prosperous.”
Things were getting confused as far as André was concerned. “What do you mean? How do you look prosperous?”
“By not looking poor, of course. Let’s go.”
He started across the street. André stood a moment, wondering what their conversation had been all about, and then realized where Kek was heading. He sprang after him, grabbing his arm.
“Kek, Kek! Where do you think you’re going?”
Huuygens surveyed him companion calmly. “Into the building, of course. That’s why we came here. Up to the third floor.” He looked up at the building and sighed. “Probably by foot. I doubt they have elevators.”
“But there are people up there!” André sounded as if any building infested with people should call an exterminator.
“Of course there are people up there — it saves us the trouble of breaking and entering, which is against the law.” Kek paused, thinking. “I wonder if merely entering is against the law? I shouldn’t think so. I’ll have to check that some day. The things one has to know if one is to become a successful professional thief! Frightening!” He smiled at André in kindly fashion. “Ah, well. Let’s go.”
André stared at Kek a moment, shrugged philosophically, and followed. Who was he to question Kek Huuygens? Although he would have sworn that breaking into an office that had people in it was basically a poor operation, at least in theory.
They crossed the street, pushed into the empty lobby, discovered — as Kek had anticipated — that elevators were a needless luxury in the edifice, and began to climb the stairs. At the third floor Kek consulted a small directory mounted at the landing, and led the way to the office they wanted. Through the frosted glass brilliant illumination could be seen. Kek winked at André and turned the knob, nor did he appear at all surprised to find the door opening under his touch. André swallowed and followed.
The outer office was empty, the receptionist’s desk abandoned. Still, they could see lights pouring from the various offices into a central corridor. André looked about nervously and then bent down, whispering into Kek’s ear. He tried to be as silent as he could about it, but to his own ears he seemed to be shouting.
“Kek, this is insane! Let’s get out of here!”
Huuygens smiled at him and pushed through the little swinging gate that separated the waiting area from the offices proper. He walked down the hallway, poked his head into the first doorway, shook it in disappointment, and marched farther along the corridor. André, more convinced by the moment that his old friend was dealing from a short deck, followed, prepared to at least save the other from his own folly, if hitting someone on the head was enough to do it.
At the third office Kek apparently found what he had been looking for, which had to be the people André had so correctly stated were on the premises. André saw a big smile light up Kek’s face, and heard an unbelievably correct imitation of the island accent issuing from the other’s lips.
“Ah, madame — working hard, I see. Well, I shall not disturb you. It is simply that M’sieu Paquet wishes me to show this client the plans for his new home. We outside salesmen have no hours! No, no, that’s perfectly all right. Go right ahead with your cleaning. If you finish before we’re through, you can leave. I’ll lock up.”
He smiled and continued down the hallway, with André on his heels. As the big man passed the small office he saw an elderly woman on her knees, scrubbing the parquet floor; she didn’t bother to raise her head at his passage. Kek came at last to the room he wanted, a large drafting room with wide drawing-files in one corner. The cleaning woman had obviously done the room, for the entire arrangement was incredibly neat, with dust covers on all tables, all drafting machines at precisely the same angle, all gooseneck lamps arched to the same degree. Even the wastebaskets, now empty, occupied equivalent locations beneath each table. Kek nodded.
“Let us hope their filing system is equally neat.”
He walked over, studied the lock on the first drawer, tried it, and smiled as the drawer slid open. “My, my! What security! On the other hand, I don’t suppose many people go around stealing architect’s drawings. The resale market must be rather limited...”
André let out the breath he had been holding, it seemed to him, for several hours. “Kek, you’re incredible! How did you know it would just be a cleaning woman up here?”