The Five Arrows. Chase Allan
murderer!"
"I take it," Jerry laughed, "you were telling him to keep his eyes on the wheel."
"You're learning the language, muchachita."
They found an empty table on the sidewalk. Hall and Jerry had Scotch and sodas. Big Pepe ordered coffee. He was very happy to be with them. He beamed continuously at the girl, and to Hall he swore that never had he seen a more magnificent woman. "Of course," he purred, "she could stand more meat, but for a gringo, she is most magnificent."
"He says you're a sight for sore eyes," Hall translated.
"Then tell him to look at my face."
"The woman thanks you," Hall said.
Jerry pointed to the bar. "There's the little Dutchman," she said.
Androtten was standing alone at the bar, a wine glass in his hand.
"I'll call him over. He's a lonesome bastard too."
The Dutchman was delighted to see Hall. "This is indeed a damn surprise," he said. "Join you at the table? Happy as hell to join you, Mr. Hall. Ah, the nurse of the great doctor. Tell me, nurse, do you think the doctor could cure my rheumatism?" This, he made clear by his gesture of holding his side in mock agony and groaning, was meant to be a joke.
Hall translated the joke for Pepe.
The driver nodded. "I understood most of it," he admitted. "One doesn't drive American tourists for a century and learn nothing."
"Aha," Hall said. "Pepe knows a few words of English, it develops."
Jerry turned to the driver, smiled sweetly at him. "Tell me," she said, "did you ever have your eyes scratched out?"
Pepe grinned, shrugged his huge shoulders. "Did the señorita say I have nice eyes?" he asked Hall.
"No, Pepe. She said your eyes can bring you trouble."
The Asturiano closed his eyes and drew his finger across his throat, making the appropriate sounds. "I understand perfectly," he said.
"Let's sit down one of these days," Androtten said to Hall. "I am willing as hell to give you the damn story of what the Japanese did to me in Java, if you are still damn willing to listen."
"Oh, I am. Anxious as hell, Mr. Androtten." He explained to Big Pepe what had happened to the little man. Pepe's face instantly reflected his deep sorrow.
"I hate to break up this nice party," Jerry said, "but I have to go to work."
"Can we take you back to the Bolivar, Mr. Androtten?"
"Not just yet. I have a damn appointment here at seven."
Hall put some money on the table and followed Jerry to the car. "I forgot to tell you," he said. "There'll be a government car waiting to pick you up at ten to seven."
"The poor man," Pepe sighed. "The cruel Japanese!"
"It's been a wonderful day, Matt."
"When do we repeat it?"
"Can't tell. I'll leave a message for you tonight when I get back."
Hall ate alone after Jerry went to the laboratory, and then wandered around the dark streets of the waterfront, thinking how he could organize his work. That was the damned job, always. Planning your moves. Deciding exactly what it is you're after and then organizing a method of getting it. The letter to Santiago. That was a good start. With luck, there would be an answer in a week. But was a week too far away? How sick was Tabio, and could he hold out for another week? And anyway, was Ansaldo a fascist?
The face of Varela Ansaldo would not leave Hall's mind. Maybe Fielding could find out something, anything. At this moment, Fielding was probably eating a little crow with his dinner at the British Embassy. But would they tell Fielding anything? Did they know anything? And who the hell was Fielding and how in hell did he get the dope in his reports? No, my fine impertinent friend, I am not a British agent. He was the father of Sergeant Harold Fielding who hopped out of the wicker pony cart and picked up one of those thin rifles and died at Jarama.
Santiago's answer. There was the best bet. If the boys in Havana had no dope, at least they would tell him who to contact in San Hermano, and it was a safe bet that when Pedro de Aragon (or would it be a love letter from Maria de Aragon?) wrote, the letter would lead him to someone who would know Souza and Pepe Delgado. They were O.K., but just a little cautious, and this business of squiring Ansaldo's nurse would not set too well with them unless Ansaldo was not Gamburdo's man at all.
Hall was turning a corner when he first noticed the little man walking in the shadows of the opposite sidewalk. A little man in a black suit and a dirty stiff straw hat. Hall slowed his steps, waited for the man in the straw hat to walk closer to the yellowed street light. The man slowed down, too. Hall kept walking. He headed for an avenue, found a cab, told the driver to take him to La Perrichola. He looked around to see the little man get into the other cab at the stand.
"I changed my mind," Hall told the driver. "Take me to the Ritz instead."
He walked slowly into the lobby of the Ritz. It was one of the more modern hotels in New San Hermano. He found a phone booth and called Souza. "Where's Pepe?" he asked.
"Right outside. Do you need him?"
"Very much. Tell him to pick me up near the back entrance of the Ritz. I'm too drunk to trust a strange driver."
Souza laughed. "You Americans," he said. "Pepe will be there in five minutes."
Hall went to the bar, had a short brandy. The little man was sitting behind a potted palm near the street doorway, his face buried in a magazine. Hall looked at his watch and walked to the elevator. "Sixth floor," he said.
He walked through the sixth-floor hall, took the back stairs to the fourth floor, and then looked out of the window at the landing. Big Pepe's LaSalle was parked near the servants' door. Hall listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs above him. Quietly, he walked to the basement, nodded at a waiter relaxing on a bench near the door, and walked slowly to the LaSalle.
"Qué pasa?"
"Trouble. Drive a few blocks down and then come back slowly toward the front of the hotel."
"Sit with me," Pepe said. He tapped the pistol in his pocket.
"No." Hall got down on the floor of the back part of the car. "And take your white hat off."
The car shot down three streets, then Pepe turned the corner, rode a block, and started to crawl along the street on which the main entrance of the Ritz opened. "Souza said you were in trouble," Pepe said. "He says you are not a borracho."
"I was followed. Watch for a little man in a black suit and a stiff straw hat. Park a block from the entrance to the Ritz and keep your motor running."
"Claro."
"I think he tried to sell me perfume this afternoon when I was walking with that nurse."
"She needs no perfume," Pepe said.
"She is not my woman," Hall said.
"Did you see that other woman who came with the doctor?" Big Pepe snorted violently. "I hate maricones," he said.
"I hate them too, Pepe. Did you know that Franco is also a homosexual?"
"They are all maricones. Hitler, Franco. They are all the same."
"Putas y maricones," Hall said. "La Nueva España!"
Big Pepe cleared his throat and spat out of the window. "Arriba España." Hall could feel the low, toneless laugh in the Asturian's throat.
"I think I see your dog," Pepe said. He described him for Hall. "He acts as if he lost something."
"Me."
"Falangista?"
"I