“Feather. Feather Prentiss.”
“Silly name.”
She’s silly too. Only Bry doesn’t know it. He lunches with her. Supposed to lunch with her. But he was with Towner.
“Who is she?”
“A friend of Bryan Brewer.”
Gavin whistled.
And a friend of Towner’s. She must see Towner. She must get away from Gavin and reach Towner. She was half-skipping to keep up with Gavin’s stride. He turned east at Fiftieth. “Where are you going?” She tried not to sound uneasy.
“Where do you think?” He was scornful.
“I haven’t any idea. I—”
He was turning south again on Park. “Why do you think I had to take you with me? I can’t get back into the office without your key.”
She stopped right there. “You mean you’re going back to the office?”
“We’re going back.” He urged her forward. “You don’t think I had a chance to finish? She’d have been barging in next thing.”
The building would be near deserted. Eliza was afraid to go back. Afraid of this tall, unpredictable man, of his quick humors, of the gun she knew he carried. More afraid not to bend to his will. Her feet tried to lag but his grasp tightened.
His profile was set. “You’re going back upstairs to finish some letters that you forgot this morning. I’m the fellow you’re walking out with this afternoon when you finish those letters. In case anyone asks.”
“And suppose I tell the truth?” she flared.
“I don’t think you’d be so foolish.” The warning was casual. But it was all the more frightening because of its casualness.
The twelfth corridor was quiet. The elevator man hadn’t been curious; it was too early in the day for ascending visitors to bring suspicion. Some offices worked overtime. It was only a little past one-thirty. They passed the closed doors on either side, stood alone together at Brewer’s. Gavin said, “Open up.”
She fumbled for the key. If she said she’d lost it, what would he do? He’d search her purse himself. She opened the door. He waited for her to step inside, locked the door behind them. His touch on her arm moved her to Bry’s closed office. He opened it.
She didn’t enter. Neither did he. They stood there on the threshold silently. Towner was seated at Bry’s desk. Drawn near was the client’s handsome chair and in that chair was Jones of the F.B.I.
Towner forefingered his moustache. “Er—Miss Williams—”
It was Jones, rising from the chair, who took command.
“Come in, Mr. Keane,” he said. “And your pretty accomplice too.”
Towner gave her the glance of a stranger. Indignation burned her throat. He turned his attention to Gavin. There was curious pleasure in his pale eyes. “You are Gavin Keane?”
Gavin said, “Your pleasure, sir. And you are Towner Clay, I presume?” He crossed the room, shook hands with Towner heartily, ignored Jones behind Towner’s chair.
Eliza sidled into the chair by the door. She was trying to understand but she couldn’t understand because it was a mad tea party. And she was no less mad than the others. Because what she wanted desperately was to warn Gavin again that Jones was dangerous to him, rather than put Towner on guard against Gavin.
Gavin took the chair Jones had vacated, as if it were his by right of heritage.
Towner made a preparatory examination of his nails, fiddled with the desk pen, finally cleared his throat before speech. It was a customary routine but in the silence it seemed endlessly long. He asked then, “You have the Scarlet Imperial?”
Gavin corrected, “I had the Scarlet Imperial.”
“Mr. Keane—” Towner’s face was fine drawn.
“I left it in this office Thursday.” Gavin shrugged. “Unfortunately—”
Jones asked tonelessly, “Why continue this farce, Keane?”
“Please, Mr. Jones.” Towner was gentle.
“Didn’t Bryan Brewer tell you? When he came to pick it up,” again Gavin shrugged, “it was gone.”
“Mr. Keane.” Towner’s finger wandered plaintively to his upper lip.
Gavin’s smile was assured. “Certainly I completed my part of the bargain. I delivered the Imperial to Brewer for you.”
Jones stated, “The girl took it with her when she left here Thursday. It’s as I told you, Mr. Clay. She’s in this with him. He’s been hiding out in her apartment. They may say it’s disappeared. But they know where it is.”
Gavin looked through Jones. “If you can prove any of those statements, I will personally see to it that you receive a citation, my good man.”
Jones glared.
Towner asked, “Do you—er—have it, Miss Williams?”
She had no intention of admitting it now. Not before Jones, waiting to make an arrest for smuggling, and murder. Not until she was alone with Towner would she give him the truth. Let him wait. He deserved to pay for his ignoring her.
She spoke with indignation. “Of course I don’t. I don’t even know what it is.”
Jones said, “She’s lying.”
“Prove that one too.” Gavin was enjoying himself. Just as if he didn’t know the danger he faced.
Towner was querulous. “Brewer said you had it, Mr. Keane. It’s important I find the Scarlet Imperial. I must take it to Washington.”
Gavin looked about the room casually. “Where is Bry? Isn’t it about time for him to turn up?” His mouth quirked. “Or doesn’t he know you broke in his office?”
Towner looked stricken. “Mr. Keane, I assure you—”
Jones broke in. “Hold it, Clay.” There was iron in his mouth. “I’m taking these two in. There’s some murders to explain as well as the missing Scarlet Imperial.”
Eliza shrank from the distaste on Towner’s thin lips.
“They’ll have more answers when we ask questions at headquarters.”
Gavin’s hand had dropped to his knee. He was arrogant. “What sort of questions?”
“Renfro Hester’s death.”
“I know nothing of it.”
“Josef Pincek.”
“Never heard of him. Any more?”
“Yes, Mr. Keane.” Jones wasn’t irritated. Not now that he’d reached his goal. “There are more. How you entered this country with the Scarlet Imperial. How you came into possession of it. When?”
Gavin moved too quickly; Jones was unprepared. His hand made an abortive motion but Gavin’s voice stopped it. His voice and the gun in his hand.
“Be careful. I might be a killer, Mr. Jones.” His voice was ironic but it was colder than the chill which froze Eliza to the chair. “You too, Clay. Don’t touch that phone. Both of you lift your hands above your head, high. I’m not a bad shot. And no one would hear a shot here on a Saturday afternoon.”
Gavin backed across the room. “Eliza, open that closet door.”
She saw Towner’s face, the quivering of his eyelashes, and she was paralyzed.
“Open it.” Gavin’s voice whipped. The gun covered her too. She obeyed in a dream. “Set the lock.”
Jones said, “Be careful, Keane.”
Gavin paid no heed. “Walk into that closet. Don’t lower your hands. This gun will be on you until Eliza closes the door.”
Towner cringed. “We might not be found until—”
Eliza clenched the doorknob against the determination on Jones’ face as he passed her. She didn’t look at Towner. He would never forgive this humiliation.
“Close the door, Eliza.” She flung it shut. She steadied herself against it, the floor was tilting.
Gavin spoke sharply. “None of that. Go sit down again.”
She weaved to the chair. Gavin sat at the desk, laid the gun in front of him. “Oh no,” she breathed. He couldn’t stay here now.
The closet door rattled. Gavin lifted his voice and the gun. “If you’re thinking of coming out, don’t. I can kill you as you come out as easily as when you went in.” The noise trickled away.
Gavin unlocked
the desk, went efficiently through the remainder of the papers. Those he did not replace, went into his pocket. Again the door rattled.
Gavin said, “I warned you.”
Towner called faintly, “We won’t be found until Monday. I’ll pay you off, Keane. You can’t leave us here.”
“You’ll be found sooner than that,” Gavin was cheerful. “You forgot the chars.”
He crossed the room soft-footed, gun in hand. His silence and his gun warned Eliza. He motioned her to proceed him. She obeyed; she was without strength to refuse.
In the outer office he muttered, “Open that door.” The gun pointed.
She unlocked the corridor door; he closed it after them. His gun wasn’t in sight. She knew it was under his right hand in his pocket and she walked beside him. She could feel it there. She was silent in the elevator, stepping out into the street, the fantastic, unchanged street.
He hailed a cab, put her in, got in beside her. He said to the driver, “Go up Fifth.”
She spoke only once on the ride uptown. “Where are you taking me?”
“With me.”
He said to the driver at Sixty-fifth street, “The Echelon.”
It was the newest, the most exclusive and the most expensive of the Fifth Avenue hotels. It wasn’t a place where anything of violence could take place. She walked beside Gavin into the Black Starr and Frost simplicity of the lobby.
In the exact center of it, she held out her hand. “Awfully sorry I can’t remain for lunch.” Any one of a half dozen civilized men and women could hear her words. “It’s been amusing.” He couldn’t pull the gun here; he dare not use it. Not unless he wanted to pay the penalty,
It was that easy. She turned her back on his half-opened mouth and walked out of the hotel.
CHAPTER SIX
ELIZA DIDN’T KNOW IF Gavin followed until she had hailed a cab and was seated in it alone. Only then did she take a full breath.
“The Ritz,” she said.
It wasn’t such a long chance. Feather’s luncheon date must be with Bry, otherwise Bry would have been lunching with Towner. If she’d been lunching crosstown, Feather would have summoned a cab. She wouldn’t walk further than across the street. Across to the Ritz.
Eliza played the hunch and it was good. Bry and Feather sat together at a wall table in the Grill. Eliza didn’t hesitate. She walked straight to them. She said, through clenched teeth, “I want to know where Towner Clay is staying.”
Bry edged to his feet. He didn’t understand why her eyes were fixed on Feather. Nor did she explain.
Feather trickled laughter. “Haven’t you found him yet, my dear?”
Eliza waited. Under her eyes, Feather was uneasy. “He’s at his own apartment, I presume. Where he’s been all week. On Fifth. Next to the Pierre.”
Eliza said coldly, “Thank you.”
Bry caught her arm as she turned. “Then it was true? What Gavin said?” He didn’t want to believe it.
“Not the way Gavin said.” She shook off his arm. “In case you’re interested, Gavin has just locked Towner Clay and Jones in the file closet of your office.”
She left on his open-mouthed astonishment. She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see Feather exterminating her with Bry. In the most devastating way, casually, humorously. She went out the Forth-sixth street entrance, walked east until she caught a cruiser. She said, “The Pierre. On Fifth.”
She would phone the office custodian to release Towner and Jones. She couldn’t do it herself; she didn’t want to be taken by the F.B.I. She didn’t know if Towner would effect her release; he remained free of the law; he expected her to do the same. She would wait in his apartment; she didn’t doubt her ability to get into it.
She left the cab at the Pierre; she didn’t see the one draw up behind hers. She didn’t know she was followed until the hand fell on her shoulder. At the very door of the apartment house. She twisted from under it as she swung around. She looked up at Bry.
“Don’t go in there,” he said.
“Why not?”
He begged, “Talk to me first.”
She hesitated. He didn’t look as if he were dangerous to her. He looked worried. But she didn’t throw away suspicion.
“Talk here,” she said.
“Not here.” He glanced uneasily over his shoulder. “Your place—mine—”
Bry and Gavin knew too many tricks. She took another step towards the apartment. “First I must call the office. To release Towner.”
“He’s all right. I sent word to the Super.” Bry waited, his eyes still pleading.
She wouldn’t be alone with him. Only in public. Central Park was across; it would be safe on a Saturday afternoon in spring, green and sunlit.
She gestured. “Over there.” He wasn’t satisfied but he walked with her, across the Avenue. He didn’t lose his tension until they were on the curving path, until they had wound into the heart of the greenery, until they found a bench. They weren’t alone on the bench but the grandfather on the opposite end didn’t know about them. He sunned his beard, his hands folded on his waistcoat. The children scattering peanut shells on the walks didn’t see them.
She said, “Say what you have to say.”
He studied her face. It was as if she held the key. She was surprised at his question. “How well do you know Towner Clay?”
She was rigid. He couldn’t have followed her from the Ritz to delve into Gavin’s implication. He wouldn’t have left Feather abruptly, as he must have left her, only for this.
She answered him to get past this deviation, to advance to his real purpose. She answered him truthfully, “Better than I know anyone in this world.” She knew no one else; Towner was her only friend, her one link with the living.
He didn’t take his eyes from her. “He sent you to me.”
“Yes.” It could be admitted now.
“Do you know why?”
“Yes.”
He waited but she didn’t say any more. He said it. “To steal the Scarlet Imperial.”
It was an ugly allegation, but she didn’t flinch from it. “Yes.”
“Do you know why?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t understand all of it yet. He had empowered Brewer to find the Imp, to turn it over to him. It wasn’t to save the price he must pay for delivery. Money didn’t matter to Towner; he had too much of it.
There could be only one reason, the one she had decided upon before, because Towner did not believe that Bry, once the Imp was in hand, meant to turn it over to him. Because somewhere his information had slipped. Neither Bry nor Towner knew that the other had for ultimate goal the return of the Imp to Feroun Dekertian. Someone had juggled truth to each man, someone who didn’t mean for Dekertian to have the Imp. Someone … Gavin Keane. She said slowly, “Yes, I know why.”
“And you were willing to steal it for him?”
“Yes.”
He hadn’t believed it of her, even when Gavin must have convinced him of it, because Gavin required someone to divert suspicion from himself. He didn’t want to believe it now of her, his eyes hurt her.
She needn’t keep silent longer; she could explain to Bry. He and Gavin were separate; it had been proven today. It was as she had believed in the beginning; Bry was the innocent bystander.
She said, “Yes, I was willing to steal to get the Scarlet Imperial. Towner and I have been after it for a long time.”
He drew away from her. She cried out, “It isn’t what you think.” Bry must understand; she mustn’t remain branded a thief in his eyes. He must be made to understand. She began haltingly, “When I was a little girl I lived in Manchukuo. I think I was born there. I think my family were Americans. I don’t know. I don’t even know my real name. I had to forget it for so long.” She’d never told anyone all of it, not even Towner, not even Thad. “I saw them killed. Because they were white foreigners. The monkey people, the invaders, thought I was dead too. I pretended I was dead. Until finally they
went away.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how many days.”
He hesitated. “You couldn’t have been very old.” He understood.
“I was probably about six,” she said.
“But … what did you do?”
She said simply, “I wandered. With other refugees. I spoke Chinese, probably better than English. I was young enough to have been more with my amah than my mother. At any rate, I remember the amah better. I don’t remember anything of my mother except the way she looked when the guns tore her open.”
He breathed, “God!” Angrily.
But she had no real memory of it now; it was only something she could never forget. “I wandered up and down the countryside. I passed for Chinese. My hair and eyes are dark, and living outdoors darkens skin like mine. I must have been about twelve years old when I reached Shanghai. I went to work as a kitchen maid. I’d always been hungry. That way I’d get more to eat. I figured that out myself.” She was still proud of it. And proud that she’d never attached herself long to any one group. She’d lived alone, like a cat; alone in her own tight box. No one, not even the kindest, had ever been able to find her, to lay one finger touch on her inner spirit. She had no possessions, animate or inanimate, of which she could be deprived. She’d been a tough little roadside beggar before she graduated to the streets of Shanghai. She cared for no one, and no thing.
Until Thad came. She took a breath.
“Later I figured I’d get more to eat and more money if I worked in a cafe.” And more freedom. “I was trained by then. I even worked in the best hotels.” Never too long in one place. Wily as a shadow. And as elusive.
Until Thad came. “I passed everywhere as Chinese, perhaps Eurasian.” Thad who had known her without need of explanation. “And then—” She didn’t want to talk about Thad. She said, “You wonder why I’m telling you all this.”
“No.” He put his hand on hers. It was a gesture of kindness, nothing more.
She began again. “There was a boy, one of your American flyers…. The Flying Tigers.” His hand stirred, moved away. “He—we were in love. He was coming back. We were going to be married. He didn’t come back.” There was no anguish now, only pity for the girl who had dreamed of escaping the degradation of her life; who had waited, believing. “A long time after, I found out. A man who’d known him brought me word. He was dead.” Her voice was quiet. “He’d died in prison. For stealing the Scarlet Imperial.”
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