Whirligig

by Fish, Robert L. ;

  It was pointless to waste time conjecturing that he should have foreseen this complication; the point raised by Waldeck was completely justifiable from the Belgian’s standpoint. And the responsibility for discovering a solution remained with himself, Kek Huuygens. It would be necessary for him to come up with a scheme that would protect them both from any contingency. And that would include the possibility that somehow the income-tax bloodhounds might discover the identity of Messrs. Vrebal et al., and try to tax—He paused. They wouldn’t just tax his million; they’d tax the entire five million he had collected—which was more than his paltry million by far—and throw him in jail on top of it for fraud.

  No; he had to get rid of the money so that even if he were caught, at least the money would be safe. And not just hide it. He had to get rid of it legally and still somehow retain possession of it in case he weren’t picked up, which was by far the greater possibility. Actually get rid of it and still keep it …

  He sat farther back on the sofa, leaning his head against the cushioned back, giving his imagination full rein, allowing it to jump from idea to idea, hoping it would light some spark in his mind that could be developed into a useful plan. One thing was certain: it was fortunate that Waldeck had come. The visit definitely ruled out safe-deposit boxes. They were available at too few hours, and there were court orders that could command that they be opened. Still, a court order could open his private safe, if it came to that. He allowed himself to consider that small portion of his planning completed. The bonds stayed where they were, at least for the time being. Next step …

  Another false name? He ruled it out instantly, shaking his head, impatient with himself. There were too many false names in the affair as it was, and in any event it would provide scant protection. Actually, the name Kek Huuygens was as foreign to the affair as any he might invent—other than “the sergeant” to Mr. Zak—and he was lucky to have been able to keep the others straight in his mind. No false name, no matter what the scheme.

  Swiss banks? Not half as easy to open an account there as people tended to believe, even when the funds were completely legitimate; doubly complicated when they were not. Still, it was an idea, and if no better idea came he could begin studying means of getting the bearer bonds physically over there.

  Brazil? Again he shook his head. As in the case of Switzerland, he was sure he could manage to get the bonds—or even cash—to Brazil without too much trouble, but going to Brazil would be, in effect, running away, and the thought of flight was highly distasteful. It would degrade the beauty of the scheme—he might just as well have held up a man with a gun and robbed him of the money. And any hope of American citizenship, of course, could be forgotten.

  Come on! he commanded his brain. I know you’ll eventually come up with something because you always have, but don’t make me wait until I have ulcers! In Brussels you dreamed up that trick with Alex DuPaul and the Hals in about five minutes, while the fat man was talking; don’t take a month with this one. Although, he was forced to admit, the problems were considerably different. Maybe I should have stayed with simple smuggling, he thought dispiritedly, and left financial shenanigans to bankers, who were trained for that sort of thing. He put his mind back to his own problem. There had to be a simple solution; there always was—some easy means to provide against his losing the money under any possible set of circumstances. Whether the tax people or the police or anyone else managed to see through the original plan and pick him up …

  But the idea failed to come. At one in the morning he recognized his mind was merely getting exhausted, and he gave it all up as a bad job. He turned off the lights and went to bed, slipping in beside Lisa quietly so as not to disturb her, his mind still whirling. And he rose in the morning after a sleepless night in a mood as disturbed as he had carried to the pillow with him.

  He came into breakfast with a dark, brooding look on his broad, handsome face, his hair tousled, his face unshaven. Lisa had disappeared somewhere, but her previous presence was obvious. She had, as usual, spread half the morning paper across the table, hiding his plate in a manner to prevent eating. It was her habit to eviscerate those sections that interested her, leaving the dross scattered about for Kek’s amusement. It hadn’t amused him in the past and it particularly didn’t amuse him now. He started to sweep the papers to the floor and then paused; the headline staring up at him had tickled that spot in his brain that brought forth his ideas, and he was far too experienced with that slight electric shock to disregard it, even though at the moment he was quite conscious of not understanding it.

  It was a scandal headline; he studied it intently for a full minute before its significance struck him. He smiled broadly, poured himself a cup of coffee, lit a cigarette, and concentrated on the beautiful idea in greater detail. Like most of his schemes it had come into his mind almost in one piece, an inspirational flash, but he never allowed that fact to prevent him from minutely examining each phase of an idea for hidden dangers. He realized that in the Waldeck scheme he had overlooked several possibilities, and he did not intend to repeat that mistake. Still, if it worked, it would resolve all of their problems. He folded the paper with the headline down, placed it aside, and raised his voice.

  “Lisa!”

  “Yes?” She came in from the hallway, drying her hands.

  “Sit down.” She sank into a chair, looking at him wonderingly, as if surprised by his tone of voice, and also a bit apprehensive. Kek reached over and poured her a cup of coffee, dropped in three lumps of sugar, and then leaned back again, studying her in quiet fashion. Lisa left the coffee untouched. Kek smiled to take the first sting from his next words. “Sweet, how would you like a divorce?”

  Her expression changed from being apprehensive to merely being cross. Morning was not Lisa’s best hour.

  “Darling, do me a favor. Please don’t say such things, even in joking. And if you feel you must, please save them at least until noon. At the earliest.”

  “I’m not joking,” Kek said quietly, and his voice convinced her he was not.

  Her eyes clouded; she looked at Huuygens like a child being unfairly punished for something it hadn’t done.

  “But why? What have I done? Why do you want a divorce? Aren’t you happy living with me?”

  “Extremely,” Kek said with all sincerity. “And I expect to continue to be happy living with you.” He paused a moment and then added, “But not as man and wife.”

  She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “But why?” she wailed.

  Kek rose, moved about the table to take a chair beside her, the final details of his scheme clicking into place like safe-tumblers. “You can even retain your married name, sweet,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand. “We’ll continue exactly as we are, except that we will no longer be married.”

  “But why?” Lisa asked again, this time with a touch of exasperation.

  Kek took a deep breath and told her. Her delft blue eyes, which had been so downcast, began to sparkle before he was half-finished, as her sharp brain saw the plan in all its detail and easily projected it to its logical conclusion. Out of politeness, though, she allowed him to finish.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, and smiled at him proudly. “It’s marvelous.” She came to her feet. “I suppose I’d better get dressed and go find a lawyer. How about some of those friends of your Swiss friend? They’d probably know someone.”

  Kek shook his head. “I’d rather not. They’d know someone who was sufficiently disreputable, but nobody sufficiently reputable. You want someone in between. Also, we don’t want anyone too smart. I have a feeling their lawyers are quite smart. It would be pointless to find ourselves being blackmailed in an attempt to avoid the mere possibility of being blackmailed.” He looked up at her. “And we want someone who can be handled. Do you know exactly what I mean?”

  “I know exactly what you mean, darling.” She smiled at him brightly. “I may have difficulty handling you, but I don’t find other men so
complicated …”

  The telephone call from the lawyer came a little before noon, and Kek frowned in surprise, even as he answered and heard the man begin to speak. He was a bit worried that in that brief time Lisa had already selected a lawyer; it didn’t seem possible for her to have screened very many in only three hours. He put the thought away as being unworthy; Lisa to his knowledge had made no mistakes as yet, which was more than he could say for himself. He returned his attention to his caller.

  “I beg your pardon, I’m afraid I missed what you said.”

  “I said my name is Ahlberg, Thomas Ahlberg, and I am an attorney.” There was a moment’s hesitation and then the voice plunged on. “I’ve been retained by your wife to represent her in a divorce action. I asked her the name of your attorney, but she didn’t know it. If you could give me his name and telephone number, I can handle the affair with him. I’m sure you’ve already notified him.”

  “I’m afraid I have no lawyer.” Kek sounded quite casual. “Actually, you see, I feel no need for one.”

  “But Mr. Huuygens—”

  “Let me finish. My wife and I have discussed this divorce, and we agreed quite amicably, I might say, that under the circumstances we would both benefit from obtaining one. So I see no reason why you can’t handle the matter by yourself.”

  “Because it just isn’t done. And besides—” The lawyer stopped dead for a moment and then continued. “I don’t believe you fully appreciate the problem, Mr. Huuygens. Would it be possible for you to drop by and see me? This afternoon would be best, if you can make it. I’m at 112 West Forty-eighth. On the second floor.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Kek said, wondering how in the world Lisa had managed to find someone that far away in that short a time. “Would three o’clock be all right?”

  “Fine,” Mr. Ahlberg said, but he still sounded doleful.

  Kek appeared at the lawyer’s office at three o’clock sharp. The building had obviously seen better days, and Kek suspected that its tenants had as well. Or perhaps not. The first floor was jointly occupied by a bookshop and a music store; since there were only four stories, the builders had not considered an elevator necessary, and Kek tramped up the dingy stairway to the second floor, where he found the legend THOMAS AHLBERG, ATTORNEY, alone on a frosted-glass panel of a door. He walked in, and was not at all surprised when the elderly secretary, given his name, instantly ushered him into the inner office.

  The man sitting behind the desk was heavyset, in his middle fifties, partially bald, and with large ears that stuck from his head almost at right angles. The surprising feature about him, though, was his enormous, almost innocent blue eyes. Kek wondered if Lisa had considered that innocence advantageous, and if so, why. He glanced about the room, noting the cracked plastic cushions on the ancient couch, the faded Daumier prints, the tilted Venetian blind in need of repair. At Mr. Ahlberg’s request he stopped his inspection and drew a chair across the threadbare rug, seating himself across from the stocky lawyer.

  “Yes, sir,” he said calmly. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes.” Ahlberg’s voice was a bit more raspy than Huuygens had noticed on the telephone; he imagined with that voice the other handled few court cases. From the appearance of the office, he probably handled few cases of any nature. “You see—” The lawyer stopped again, and then, after apparently realizing the bad news could not be kept back forever, went on. “Your wife,” he said sadly, “intends to ask you for a flat settlement in lieu of monthly alimony payments. That is why I think you should have a lawyer.”

  “Why?”

  “Did she discuss this phase of the matter with you at all?”

  “No. But I can’t see where it’s important.”

  “I’m afraid it might be. You see,” Ahlberg went on almost desperately, apologetically, “she intends to ask you for a settlement of one million dollars …”

  Kek stared at him with no expression. Ahlberg raised a hand hurriedly.

  “I attempted to point out to her that such a demand was sheer nonsense, madness, especially for a childless woman. I told her that if your lawyer took the matter to court, she’d be laughed at. No jury—”

  He suddenly seemed to become aware of the calmness of the other’s gaze. Under that tranquility his voice faltered and he became silent. Kek smiled faintly.

  “Is that what she wants?” He sounded a bit amused, but more admiring. “Lisa never was picayune. Well, then, what’s the problem?”

  Ahlberg was staring at him with open mouth.

  “I assume,” Kek continued smoothly, “that you have, or can arrange, a corresponding firm of attorneys in Reno who can handle the details there? I don’t mind the money, but I refuse to have my good name damaged by undertaking a divorce in this state.”

  Ahlberg nodded at him in dazed fashion. Kek smiled at the man reassuringly. “Fine. In that case, since there is no disagreement between my wife and myself, I assume you can handle the affair for both of us?”

  Ahlberg nodded again. He still did not seem to have recovered sufficiently to try to use his voice.

  “There is one thing,” Kek went on, his voice now thoughtful, his gray eyes contemplating the other’s childlike blue eyes. “Would the firm of attorneys in Reno need to know the terms of our settlement?”

  Ahlberg shook his head silently.

  “Ah. Good. I’m afraid I value my privacy. By the way, did you discuss your fee with my wife?”

  At last Ahlberg managed to find his voice. “I told her my usual fee, which would normally have been two hundred dollars. That would have included the girl and the photographer, as well as the hotel room, of course,” he added hastily, not wishing to be accused of overcharging. “However, if she’s going to Reno, my fee will only be a referral—a matter of fifty dollars—since there isn’t anything for me to do here and since you are both in agreement. The lawyers in Reno, of course, may charge more; they usually do. But I don’t think they’ll go over five hundred at the most.”

  “Your fee is far too little,” Kek said sternly. “Far too little! The woman will receive one million dollars, largely as a result of your efforts. The least she can pay you is a decent fee. I should think something in the neighborhood of five thousand dollars. I shall certainly speak to her. I’m rather surprised. Normally she is one of the most generous of people.”

  Ahlberg hastened to defend his client. “But she didn’t—we didn’t even discuss—”

  “There is just one more thing,” Huuygens went on, quite as if the other had not spoken. “As I said, I dislike publicity intensely. I know that a flat settlement of a million dollars in a divorce suit is quite uncommon, and the newspapers would make quite a bit out of it. This would disturb me very much, you realize. As well as my wife, naturally, who would be at the mercy of every unscrupulous man in the country. I hope I can count on your cooperation?”

  “Completely,” Ahlberg assured him, his blue eyes wide and honest. “Absolutely completely! And it has nothing to do with the fee,” he added sincerely. “I never divulge the affairs of any of my clients. It’s a matter of ethics.”

  “I’m quite sure it is, with you,” Kek said softly, and came to his feet. He held out his hand, shaking the other’s hand firmly. “You’ll take care of it then? Fine. Well, good afternoon.”

  He nodded politely to the gray-haired secretary on his way out to the dark and dreary hallway. As he made his way down the warped steps to the street he shook his head in admiration for Lisa’s remarkable acumen. She had probably picked the first or second name from the telephone book, but she had been far brighter than he. She had realized as soon as she saw Ahlberg that the best man for their purpose would be an honest man …

  Lisa left the next morning for Reno, equipped as usual as if she planned to stop over there for a year or so on an extended trip around the world. It took her all afternoon and half of the night to pack, but she obviously considered it not only worth it, but essential. Kek often wondered if she wore half of the
things she took.

  He put her on the train at Grand Central—she refused to have anything to do with airplanes, although the DC-4 had already made its appearance and reduced the time to the West Coast to a mere sixteen hours. He tucked her into her compartment with a dozen of the latest novels, half in English and the balance in French, sufficient bonbons, and fondly kissed her good-bye. Her eyes misted.

  “Darling, are you quite sure this is necessary?”

  “Quite, sweet.”

  “What will you do while I’m gone?”

  “Wait for you to come back,” Kek said quietly.

  “But what will you do for meals?”

  “I’ll eat at the same restaurants we do when you’re here, of course.”

  Lisa stuck her tongue out, made a face, and then became serious again.

  “Do you know where the laundry is? It’s on Lexington, two blocks down. We passed it coming to the station. It’s on the left-hand side of the street. Tell the man no starch in your shirts and—”

  “I know what to tell the man, sweet.”

  “And if it gets cold, your winter overcoat is stored on the shelf in—”

  “Sweet, it won’t get cold. The weather here is insane, but not quite that bad. It’s almost summer, remember?”

  “And I do wish you’d try and smoke less, darling. Someday—”

  “Someday I’ll go back to a pipe,” Kek said, and grinned at her. “When I’m old and gray …”

  There was a tap on the door, and a moment later it was opened cautiously. The porter stood there. “We’ll be leaving soon, sir.”

  “Right.” The door closed and he embraced Lisa with a fierceness that almost took her breath away. Suddenly she wondered, despite everything, if she should go through with it. But she knew it was necessary; the money involved was too important.