by Lester Dent
He lay back, feeling stronger for having eaten, more relaxed, and sure he wasn’t licked yet on the safe problem. He would figure something. One way or another, he would get into that safe. And until he got the job done, he was not going to allow the safe out of sight if he could help it.
He wondered if he just lay there in bed and stared at the wall safe, how long it would be before something came into his head that would get the inner door of the thing open.
He watched the safe all that day.
He watched it most of the next night, tossing sleep-lessly.
TEN
The airliner from South America put down for its scheduled Caribbean refueling stop, taking on 100 octane gas, giving the passengers a few minutes to stretch legs and buy souvenirs. Mr. Hassam gained confidence he was not being trailed, watching the fellow travelers. But he would, he decided, stay with a policy of caution, not getting off at Miami, which was the short route to Brother’s home in Palm Beach, but going on to New York and doubling back. You never knew. Also Miami was dangerous. Many exiles, unfriendly to El Presidente, were in Miami, and since it was more or less known that he was a private courier for El Presidente, an embittered expatriate might take a shot at him just for the satisfaction. They were a bitter lot, those exiles, and they would like nothing better than to pot a treasury courier.
The stewardess offered to put Mr. Hassam’s large suitcase with the other passenger baggage.
“No, no, Miss.” Mr. Hassam shook his head firmly. “No, thank you.” He smiled at the stewardess and told her his little joke. “I have my life preserver with me in the suitcase, you know.”
Later the airliner skirted the east coast of Florida. It flew at high altitude but the day had crystal clarity, and Mr. Hassam was able to distinguish Brother’s mansion among the string of elaborate estates facing the sea near Palm Beach. He was very curious. What was the story down there, he wondered. Had Brother found their man, really?
The arrival in New York was uneventful. Mr. Hassam, never letting the suitcase out of hand, crossed New York City in a succession of taxicabs, entering a cab and riding thirty blocks or so and suddenly dismissing that cab to take another in a different direction, arriving eventually at Teterboro Airport across the Hudson River in New Jersey. Here he chartered a small fast plane to Pittsburgh, from which point he chartered another small plane to Palm Beach.
At Palm Beach, he took another taxicab. The suitcase rode in the seat beside him. He had not deposited the money in the New York bank. That would come later, after the matter of the fingerprints was settled. If they were going to add forged fingerprints to the forged signatures, then this shipment was as good a place as any to start.
Before leaving South America, Doctor Englaster, Miss Muirz, and Mr. Hassam had set up a pre-arranged meeting place. The Indian River Palms, a motel.
Mr. Hassam found Miss Muirz and Doctor Englaster at the Indian River Palms registered in different cottages. He did not ask them by what route they had arrived, and they did not question him.
“Have you contacted Brother?”
Doctor Englaster nodded. “By telephone, yes. We are to come out. He has the man here, he says.”
“How did he sound? I mean his mental health? Stable? You do not suppose this is all a delusion?”
“I do not know a better way to find out than to go out there.” Doctor Englaster was wearing his superior manner.
Brother himself unlocked the iron gate for them, running to them with outstretched hand. “Ah, my friends! My wonderful friends!”
Mr. Hassam watched him closely, for he halfway expected to find Brother as crazy as a loon. Brother hailing them as his wonderful friends did not bolster Mr. Hassam’s confidence, since Brother was notoriously unfond of Miss Muirz. But it developed Brother had not at first noticed Miss Muirz in the car. He brought up at sight of her, controlling himself with obvious effort.
Brother shook hands with Mr. Hassam and Doctor Englaster, but not Miss Muirz. “How are things at home?”
Doctor Englaster opened the car door for Brother to get in with them for the short ride to the house. “Getting ready to blow up with a bang from indications.”
“I gathered as much from the newspapers here. How much time do we have?”
“Who knows. The fuse is lit, that is sure. A few weeks at the outside, I would say, maybe less.”
“Time enough.” Brother waved them under the marquee at the house. “This man I have found, this Harsh, he is perfect. You shall see.”
“Does he know what he is to do? Have you told him?”
“Not yet. I wanted you to inspect him first.”
“Is Harsh cooperative?”
Brother gave a mirthless laugh. “I am making a cooperator out of the fellow. I gave him fifty thousand dollars to show him his pay, then took it away from him and locked it in the wall safe in his room. He has been lying there on the bed in his room for two days watching the safe like a mongrel dog trying to figure how to dig up a buried bone.”
Mr. Hassam exchanged glances with Doctor Englaster and Miss Muirz. Brother’s sanity might be questionable after all. Mr. Hassam felt a strong wish to meet this Harsh person. It might be that Brother’s method was exactly the one to work on Harsh, in which case it was sensible.
They encountered Vera Sue Crosby on the terrace. Brother had not planned the meeting. Beside the lounge chair on which Vera Sue lay was a Benedictine bottle and a glass, both in use. Vera Sue wore a dab of yellow sun-suit, and she was glad to see them, for she was lonesome. She was only a slight bit tipsy. She got up and shook their hands warmly when Brother introduced them as Señor Tomas, Señor Ricardo, and Señorita Maria, friends of his. Vera Sue was ignorant of Spanish and did not know he had presented them as Tom, Dick, and Mary, and she asked them to have a drink with her, which they declined.
“Oh, have a pick-up after your trip. I’m sure glad to see a new face around here. This place has been like a damn morgue.”
Brother declined for them, got Vera Sue back in the lounge chair with a glass in her hand, and they moved on. “She is Harsh’s sillero.” Brother’s lips curled with contempt. “A nothing.”
Benedictine at ten o’clock in the morning, my God, Mr. Hassam was thinking. But a well-stacked little trollop.
Doctor Englaster smiled with superior amusement. “Why did you bring her here, may I ask?”
“She knew a little, and I was not sure when a little might become too much.”
Doctor Englaster suddenly looked appalled. “Do we have to cut her in on the loot?”
“Are you mad?”
Miss Muirz had said nothing, just looked Vera Sue over speculatively. “Having seen this Harsh’s taste in girlfriends, I have a suggestion. I believe he is susceptible. Suppose I see him first.”
An exchange of glances passed among the three men. It was a hell of a good idea, Mr. Hassam thought. One encounter with Miss Muirz and Harsh would have difficulty knowing whether he was coming or going.
Miss Muirz left them to visit Harsh.
Mr. Hassam heard Brother cursing softly in Spanish, his eyes closed, his voice low and furious. He was calling Miss Muirz all the Spanish words that even remotely meant bitch.
Except to serve him breakfast, no one had visited Harsh that morning, not that he cared. He was watching the wall safe with the dull malevolent fury of a lion in a trap. He had been able to think of no way into the safe. Repeated efforts to pick the lock had failed. Now he was lying back glowering in what amounted to a self-induced trance.
When the door opened and someone came in, he did not look around. He thought it was Brother until a whiff of excellent perfume touched his nostrils, when he concluded it was Vera Sue. The greedy little slut!
“Listen, Vera Sue, get the hell out of here—”
His visitor laughed, and he turned his head. He sat erect as if he had been lifted by the eyeballs.
“Gee, I’m sorry, Miss.”
“Good morning, Mr. Harsh. You are Mr. Harsh, I
presume.”
“Uh-huh. I thought you were somebody else.”
“I am Flor Muirz.”
“Well, I’m Walter Harsh, Miss Muirz, the pieces that are left of him. And say now, I can see where the pieces might grow back together in a hurry now you’re here.”
He was taking Miss Muirz in from head to toe. She was a long graceful girl with a big roll of hair on the top of her head that was so blonde that it had a neon light quality.
“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Harsh?”
“Why, yes, sure, thanks. Say, I don’t see how on earth I mistook you for Vera Sue.”
“Don’t let it bother you, Mr. Harsh.”
He grinned. “Well, making a mistake like that would indicate I was going blind or something, but I’ll try not to let it worry me.”
Miss Muirz smiled and brought him a cup of coffee on a tray with sugar and cream. He held his head up off the pillow, watching the skirt skate around on her hips. It became some trouble for him to keep the coffee cup in place on the saucer.
“Say, you’re not going to be my nurse, by any chance?”
“I’m not a nurse, Mr. Harsh.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t have that kind of luck, anyway.”
She laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe I could be your part-time nurse, if you need one.”
“I’m not sure if that would kill or cure me.”
She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat on the edge of his bed. She drank with him. The expensive odor of her perfume affected his breathing. From the corner of an eye he could see where the cloth of her skirt was drawn tightly across her thigh a few inches from his face, and he began to think what a hell of a place that would be to take a good bite. His chest felt tight.
“How is your arm, Mr. Harsh? I believe I was told it was broken.”
“Yeah, it got mashed between two cars.”
“How is it mending?”
“All right, I guess. Nobody has said different. You say your name is Muirz? How do you spell that?”
She gave him the spelling. “I’m pleased you are on the mend.”
“What kind of name is that, Muirz?”
“I am South American.”
“I figured. You had a little bit of an accent or something.”
“Would you like me to read aloud to you, Mr. Harsh?”
“Huh? Read to me?” Being read aloud to might have been the one thing farthest from Harsh’s thoughts. “Read to me? Well, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You look tired, and being read aloud to is often soothing.”
“Sure, read to me if you want to.” Harsh could not remember anyone ever having read to him aloud.
Miss Muirz began reading aloud to him from Spinoza, which proved baffling for Harsh. He had never heard of Spinoza. Miss Muirz took the book from her purse. It was Ethics, First Part, Concerning God, with Definitions.
“I. By cause of itself, I understand that, whose essence involves existence; or that, whose nature cannot be conceived unless existing. II. That thing is called finite in its own kind which can be limited by another thing of the same nature. For example, a body is called finite, because we always conceive another which is greater. So a thought is limited by another thought; but a body is not limited by a thought, nor a thought by a body. III. By substance, I understand that which is in itself and is conceived through itself; in other words, that the conception of which does not need the conception of another thing from which it must be formed.”
Harsh listened with a blank expression. Jesus, he thought, who had ever heard of such stuff being sprung on a man. However, Miss Muirz had a reading voice that was low and cultured and musical, and her dress had an interesting way of snuggling up when she took a deep breath so that her nipples stuck out at him. But he did not care greatly for Spinoza.
Mr. Hassam jumped to his feet in the library when Miss Muirz joined them. He was irritated because she had been gone nearly an hour. He was tired from the trip, and he wanted to have a look at Harsh himself, then get some sleep. Doctor Englaster had expressed himself as feeling the same way. Neither of them hated Miss Muirz the way Brother did, but neither of them liked her much either.
Doctor Englaster spoke with sarcasm. “Really, you take longer to weave your spells nowadays, don’t you?”
Miss Muirz shrugged. “I weave well-made goods, Doctor.”
“So I have heard.”
Watch out, Doc, Mr. Hassam thought, watch what you say to her. She is not a patient soul like I am and if she should get her fill of you, then you are likely to be in trouble.
“How did Mr. Harsh impress you, Miss Muirz?” Mr. Hassam spoke hastily.
“Perfect.”
“How did you get along with him? Can he be handled?”
“I think so. He reacts normally. I gave him an overdose of sex, followed by an overdose of culture—in other words, I waved my bottom at him, then read to him aloud from Spinoza. Yes, I would say he reacts normally.”
Mr. Hassam considered the combination of Miss Muirz’s bottom and Spinoza, and he wondered how Harsh had survived.
Doctor Englaster spoke sharply. “And you think this man will do for our purpose?”
“Perfectly.” There was a strange look in Miss Muirz’s eyes. “He even has El Presidente’s dirtily eager way with women.”
Walter Harsh took a quick liking to Mr. Hassam and oddly enough it was for reasons which Mr. Hassam preferred to be appreciated. Mr. Hassam walked into the room and Harsh looked at him, seeing a roundly firm short man with pale coffee skin and a large nose the prominent item in a set of homely features. The full-blown mobile lips, the large innocent eyes, were not impressive.
But Mr. Hassam at once did a thing which set him in solid with Harsh. What Mr. Hassam did was give the wall safe a knowing glance, then wink at Harsh. He did this so the others did not observe. It had the same effect on Harsh that an orator is striving for when he opens his speech with a gut-buster joke. It warmed up the audience, got it interested. The little smoky guy might be an operator, Harsh thought.
Brother made introductions. “Señor Hassam. Doctor Englaster.” He shrugged and added, “My associates.”
The first impression Harsh got of Doctor Englaster was the same one that Mr. Hassam had formed after long acquaintance. The man liked to smell of himself. Harsh noted Doctor Englaster was impressive physically, a man taller than himself by several inches, with well-proportioned shoulders and arms, and smooth flexible looking hands. The well-fitting clothes, the good grooming, meant the man had been successful for a long time. Harsh did not think he would ever be buddy-buddy with the man.
Doctor Englaster did the talking.
“How are you, Harsh? Physically, I mean.”
“Okay, I guess, considering. Making progress, anyhow.”
“I should like to examine you.” Doctor Englaster’s English was good, very Oxford.
“You’re a real doc?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a head-shrinker?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you a psychiatrist or whatever they call it?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Doctor Englaster, who was indeed a practicing psychiatrist, wondered how Harsh had guessed it. Brother had indicated Harsh was a mental oaf, which could be an error. “Psychiatrists are, as you may know, also medical doctors. It is as a medical doctor that I wish to examine you.”
“You mean my arm?”
“Well, yes, the arm. But a complete physical inspection also.”
Doctor Englaster was El Presidente’s personal physician, and the purpose of going over Harsh was to search for scars, old bone fractures, or other items which might indicate Harsh was an imposter. But Doctor Englaster was not going to tell Harsh this was his reason.
“Are you going to be my regular doctor?”
“Conceivably so, if I decide you are acceptable.”
The remark made no hit with Harsh. He had decided he did not like Doctor Englaster.
; “Well, goddamn it, you don’t need to act like it was veterinary work.”
The three conspirators conferred with Brother in the second floor solarium following Harsh’s physical examination.
“Well?” Brother looked to them for opinions.
“I could swear the man is El Presidente.” Miss Muirz seemed dazed. “It is literally inconceivable.”
Doctor Englaster fitted a cigarette in a very long platinum holder. “The man does not speak a word of Spanish.” He was not very fond of Harsh either. “That is a serious obstacle.”
Brother shrugged. “Nothing.”
“The exiled president of a South American country who cannot speak a word of Spanish?” Doctor Englaster’s eyebrows shot up. “That is nothing? Why, it is preposterous, man.”
Miss Muirz was shaking her head. “No. Harsh can manage. When El Presidente goes into exile, he will be afraid of assassination. He will allow no Spanish-speaking strangers near him.”
Mr. Hassam thought the same thing. “El Presidente is sure to take another identity, pretend to be someone else, when he first goes into exile. That is where Harsh can step in. We can get away with it.”
Doctor Englaster frowned. “What about the teeth? Dental records are a means of identification, just as are blood types and fingerprints.”
“They made X-rays of Harsh’s teeth at the hospital. Those X-rays are no longer in the hospital’s files.” Brother smiled at Doctor Englaster. “It will be very simple. El Presidente’s personal dentist is connected with your clinic, is he not?”
“Yes, but—”
“You will substitute Harsh’s X-rays for the genuine X-rays of El Presidente’s teeth.”
They fell silent. Mr. Hassam imagined each of them enjoying the same greedy line of thinking. They had worked for years falsifying those signatures on El Presidente’s investments abroad, working with the open-faced daring of a traveling salesman juggling two wives, hoping they could eventually find a man to serve as a figurehead for El Presidente long enough to enable the conspirators to liquidate the foreign deposits, now amounting to some sixty-five million, and make off with the money. It was a fabulous scheme. The possibility of its imminent fruition filled them all with the same heat.
