Otto said: “I am going now. It is my ob—objective to be in Washington upon the eleventh day from to-night and telling all that I know.”
He did not look at the man again. The Lüger from the desk-drawer was in his pocket, and in it was a full clip of cartridges. He turned away and went swiftly to the door and turned out the light and in a moment was out of the suite and had locked all the doors behind him and was going softly down the stairs.
He left the building by the back door and went through the paved yard and into the alleyway and came out on to June Street at the end of the block. Before he crossed into Gate Avenue, he turned and looked up at the window of Altinger’s inner office. The blind was down and there was no light behind it; he knew there would not be, but it was no harm to make certain.
He went down Gate Avenue with a quick, sure stride in which the limp was barely perceptible. He felt light and hard and almost gay. He found his car where he had parked it and drove off, not too fast, towards his apartment house. He heard himself whistling—and realized with a little shock that the air was something from the Offenbach
He stopped three blocks away from the house and parked inconspicuously upon a dirty, narrow by-street. He walked the rest of the way and reached his apartment without so much as being seen by anyone else in the house. He locked the outer door and stripped and took a shower. But he did not shave, although the beard was beginning to be stubbly upon his face, and when he dressed himself it was in the faded sweater and dungarees which he had bought in the waterfront store.
He put his money in his belt and some socks and two worn shirts and a toothbrush in the duffel bag which went with the clothes. He took a light, long polo-coat from its hanger and tied it up in an ugly bundle which he strapped to the duffel bag. He was ready—a full seventy-five minutes ahead of his careful schedule. He was smiling as he went softly out of the apartment door and reached the rear stairs, still with no one seeing him, and made his way down them and thence to the street behind the house.
He was very careful as he went to his car by devious ways. He was not followed and knew he could not be so soon, but he wanted to leave no impression upon any eyes which saw him.
The by-street was empty when he got into the car and drove away. He look off the greasy peaked cap and set it on the seat beside him and was secure in the thought that the street-lights were not strong enough to show any incongruity between his clothes and the car.
He had a long time before his next move, and there was no point in picking up the
He went to Panama Pat’s, which is dirty and crowded and filled with the riffraff of the port, but which is completely unknown to sightseers and serves meals both admirably cooked and enormous.
He parked the car two hundred yards away and presently drifted into Pat’s and was safely lost among the throng. He had a drink at the bar and then sat down in one of the narrow single-seater booths and ordered a steak.
He was half-way through it when he heard the voices from the bigger booth at his back. Whether the men had been there all the time or had just sat down he did not know. He heard the rustling of a newspaper, and then the first voice.
“See they pinched his wife now,” it said, and mentioned a famous Nazi name.
“So what?” The second voice was scornful. “That won’t help ’em any.”
“Maybe not. But they done it jest the same. They pull that all the time!”
“Yeah. Regular standard Nazzy trick. They figure th’ bes’ wayta make surea gettin’ a guy’sta grab his dame or his kid ’n then he’ll cometa them without no more trouble!”
Otto heard no more. His heart seemed to stop beating and then to start again with a shaky, irregular thumping.
He had not even considered the possibility!
He fought against blind panic and began to think. Was there any chance—any chance at all—that they would somehow guess at what Clare meant to him? Was there any way in which the thought of her might occur to them? Because, even if it were just the thought, with nothing to base it on save her very existence, they might try! They would have to use any and every potentiality! They might try!
But would they even get the thought? Altinger had seen her, of course. . . .
And so had Carolyn Van Teller! So had Carolyn Van Teller!
He closed his eyes—and he could see the smile with which Carolyn Van Teller had looked at Clare as they both stood by his bed. . . .
He pushed his plate away and rapped upon the table for the dirty-coated Chinese waiter. His mouth was dry and his heart was thudding somewhere up in his throat and he felt as if he were going to vomit.