Nick stuck around and made conversation with the manager.
“I doubt if they were guests here,” Nick said, just for the sake of saying something. “In fact, for all I know, only one of them — the bearded man — has ever been in Montreal. I should think they must have met sometimes, somewhere, but it doesn’t have to have been here. And yet we do know that this man,” and he tapped the sketch of Judas, “has a visa to Canada. They may have made their headquarters in your country.”
The manager smiled wryly. “Not in my place, I hope. I’d hate to think I might have been harboring a gang of international thieves.” For that was what Nick had called them to avoid going too deeply into details, and it had brought cooperation if not concrete results.
And then the manager’s face froze and a curious look came into his eyes.
“Harboring them,” he repeated faintly. “Not as guests. Surely not as guests or I’d have been certain to have seen some of them, at least. Unless they were disguised? But… perhaps they needed no disguise. Because they were not expecting to be seen. Not after the first time. And you say you think they must have had a place to meet?”
“Yes, I do think so,” Nick said sharply. “What’re you getting at?”
The manager stood up and placed both hands against the front edge of his desk. “We have meeting rooms,” he said intensely. “Private conference rooms. Several companies use them for board meetings or special banquets. For the most part they are used by special appointment only. But one or two companies rent them on a long-term basis. They have private entrances, keys of their own. Even special locks. We.never see these people coming and going — they make these arrangements because of the highly secret nature of their business. I should not even tell you who they are —”
“But you will,” Nick said urgently. “You must. I’m not interested in prying into innocent businesses; I’m looking for one group of highly dangerous people. Thieves? They’re killers, man! I’ve got to know.”
The manager stared at him. “Yes,” he said. “I think you’d better know. One of the rooms is used by a branch of the Canadian Government, and they’ve been using it for years. I’ll vouch for them until hell freezes. The other — Canadian Ceramics, Ltd. Still in the process of building, I was told, so they have no permanent office of their own. I saw one of them, just once. Couldn’t tell you if it might have been one of these men in your pictures. He was elderly, white-haired, distinguished. Produced all manner of references and recommendations and paid for six months in advance. Insisted on absolute privacy because his company had a revolutionary new process in the planning stage and couldn’t take a chance on competitors’ getting wind of it. I’ve heard that kind of story many times before. So, of course, I —”
“Bought it,” Nick finished for him. “Naturally. And you’ve no idea when they hold their meetings?”
“None at all, none at all. They come and go unnoticed just like the Government people —”
“I want to see that room,” said Nick, starting for the door.
“Take you there myself,” the manager said, and led Nick through the lobby.
They walked together around the outside of the building and into a narrow paved road running the side of the hotel.
“Separate entrances, as you can see,” the manager pointed out.
Nick saw. They were not only separate but screened by low brick walls that led into private entranceways. With a reasonable amount of care ten men or two dozen men could easily have come and gone without being noticed.
“Thank you,” said Nick. “This one? Fine. I’ll go in alone.” And his nod was a dismissal.
“But how? I have no key.”
“I have.”
Nick waited until his guide was out of sight and then he went to work with his lockpicker’s special. The lock was a tricky one indeed.
And it was bolted from inside.
He worked quietly, methodically, glad of the bolt within because it must surely mean that someone was in there.
There was a series of low clicks. He waited for a moment, heard nothing from inside, and slid back the bolt.
Then he stopped into a narrow hall and bolted the door behind him. Again he stopped to listen.
Nothing.
There was a solid wooden door at the end of the hall and he glided silently toward it. It, too, was locked.
He picked it and slid inside.
It was a big boardroom with a large and shiny table. The table was bare and the seats around it were empty.
Across the room was another door. That one was half-open.
Nick reached for Wilhelmina and padded to the door.
The room beyond was small, little more than a closet, and a burly man with a bland face sat at a table tapping on a set of keys. And they were not typewriter keys.
Morse code was a language Nick knew well enough to think in. There was no need for him to pause and translate and miss any of the message. He flattened himself against the wall outside the tiny room and listened.
“H.M., H.M., H.M.,” he heard. “Come in T.S. Come in T.S. Report.”
“T.S., Little Rock. T.S., Little Rock. Stinkbomb in Negro section caused severe riot. Whole town in a state of tension. Completed box assignment according M.B. orders, in spite of difficult circumstances. Everyone suspicious of strangers carrying bags. Almost mobbed but got away. However, schedule thrown out. Delay prevents fulfillment of next project. Also, cops at town exits, airport stations, et cetera. Might not be wise attempt departure. Request advice. Over.”
“H.M. to T.S. Do you have secure accommodations where you are? Over.”
“Secure enough. Rundown hotel, Orval Street.”
“Stay there for further orders. Cannot advise otherwise until M.B. gives instructions. He may call on you directly but doubt if he has reached your area as yet. Can only suggest you wait in hotel and repeat contact in two hours. Over.”
Nick heard the smooth click of a switch and then the harsh scraping of a chair. The burly man yawned loudly and got to his feet. His big form loomed in the doorway next to Nick.
Nick leaned back to gain impetus and then lunged forward. Wilhelmina’s barrel cracked sharply, savagely, against the big man’s temple; and then the karate chop of Nick’s left hand sliced axelike deep into the neck.
H.M. dropped without a sound.
His face was a mirror image of one of Hakim’s pictures.
This time Nick was not taking any chances. He quickly tripped the man down to the skin, and then he took the strong adhesive tape he had almost lost hope of using and plastered lengths of it around the mouth, arms and ankles. And when he had done that he took a tiny syringe and a vial from an inner capsule and shot sleep into H.M.’s veins.
The little room contained the small transmitter-receiver and one suitcase, fully packed, Nick took a quick glance at both and then fingered a small switch behind his lapel. The two-way radio sewn into his jacket was no bigger than a cigarette case, but it was powerful and versatile.
“N3 to AXE H.Q.,” he murmured. “Top priority to Hawk… Sir? Found a lead in Hotel Mont Royale. I’ll bring him back to you. In the meantime, here’s another, and this means utmost speed: One of the seven is in Little Rock, in a rundown hotel on Orval Street, with orders to stay there. But he may not stay there long, so…”
He finished his message crisply. Before he signed off he could hear Hawk’s thin voice calling— “Sadek! Get me Sadek here at once. Good, Carter. Good. At last, for God’s sake! Over, out.”
The next call went to Julia. He could hear the bar sounds in the background.
“Buy you a drink, doll?” he said seductively into the tiny microphone.