“Okay.” I hung up and opened the door to the phone booth. The drunk was waiting for me. '
“Come out of there and fight like a man, you pansy!”
He held up both fists and weaved, snorting loudly.
“I’m not a pansy.” I stayed seated in the phone booth. I was just too damn tired to fight.
“Then how come you’re advertising that way with your bare rear end hanging out?”
“I’m really a vice cop,” I told him in a low, conspiratorial tone. “I’m out to lure fruits so we can nail them.”
“No kidding.” He was impressed. “Anything I can do to help?” He stood back and all but bowed me out of the phone booth.
“No,” I told him as I started back down the bar. “But thanks for the offer, anyway.”
“Gee,” he bounced along at my side. “You guys are terrific. You sure could have fooled me.”
“It’s dear of you to say so, sweetie.” I patted his cheek, gave it a little pinch, and pushed through the swinging doors.
I went down the street to the first cheap hotel in sight. After I checked in, I sent the bellhop out to buy me a pair of pants. Then I filled the tub with hot water and soaked my mistreated bottom for a good hour. Finally I crawled out of the tub, patted it dry, and hit the sack. Uncomfortable as it was sleeping on my stomach, I still slept deeply.
The first thing I did after I woke the next afternoon was call Putnam. “American original.” I gave him the password so he’d know I was the one-and-only, bona-fide, dyedin-the-wool Steve Victor.
“Here’s what we’ve managed to piece together,” he told me. “After the accident, he drove Hortense back to her hotel and dropped her off. We don’t know where he went after that, but wherever it was, that must be where he’s hiding Cromwell. Now he’s at your hotel, posing as you. We’ve been tapping his wire. Most of his calls are from Hortense. He’s going right ahead with the wedding plans. He’s even made arrangements to rent a yacht for the honeymoon.”
“A yacht?”
“Yes. The idea is that he and Hortense are going to sail up the Potomac."
“That must be how he plans to get Cromwell out of Washington,” I deduced.
“It seems likely. He’s a pretty shrewd customer. Calling me last night was really a stroke of genius. It tied up all the loose ends. If he’d been right in thinking you were dead, I would have bought his story about Cromwell dying and marked the case closed. And I would have gone to the wedding none the wiser.”
“You mean you’ve been invited to the wedding? ”
“Well, why not?” Putnam sounded a little hurt that I’d even raised the question. “After all, we have been rather closely associated for quite a while. You certainly meant to ask me, I hope. I mean, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of the situation. If I’m not wanted--”
“Of course I meant to ask you,” I told him soothingly.
“Wouldn’t think of getting married without you. I’m just surprised Stevkovsky thought of it.”
“Well, even the Russians aren’t all bad. They have some consideration for people’s feelings even if some other people don’t.”
“When is the wedding?” I interrupted his brooding.
“Day after tomorrow.” He mentioned the hour.
“Where?”
“In the Vedic Temple. Our wire-tap picked up a lot of talk about that. It was the closest Hortense could come to Zoroaster.”
The Vedic Temple! “Okay,” I told Putnam. “I’ll see you in church.”
There was nothing else to do for the next two days except relax and wait. I caught up on my sleep, read a lot, and only left my hotel room for quickie meals. I didn’t want to take even the slightest chance of Stevkovsky or one of his cohorts spotting me. My biggest asset was for him to go on thinking I was dead.
Finally the big day arrived. For a bridegroom, I wasn’t at all nervous. But then why should I have been? I Was only being married by proxy, after all.
I’d checked out the details with Putnam. It was to be a formal affair. It hadn’t been hard for him to find out what Stevkovsky was wearing, down to the last detail. I duplicated it—-white tie, tails, ruffled shirt--right down to the last ruffle. Then, over the outfit, I donned a long raincoat, buttoned it up to the collar, and topped it off with a slouch hat and dark glasses.
At some point after the ceremony, during the reception, Stevkovsky would have to leave Hortense’s side to make arrangements to have Cromwell transferred to the yacht. When that happened, I intended to shed my outer garments, make my appearance, and temporarily replace him. I hoped to be able to grab Hortense for a little while and pump her as to their honeymoon plans. Putnam had been unable to find out where they were boarding the yacht, or what their eventual destination was to be. If I was lucky, I’d be able to get that information in time to intercept them and rescue Cromwell once again. My final preparation for that moment was to slip a midget revolver into the raincoat pocket.
Putnam provided a closed car to transport me to the Vedic Temple. The driver pulled up around the back. His instructions were to wait there with the motor running. I waited inside the car until the noises from the front entrance of the place announced that the bride had arrived. Then I took advantage of the commotion to slip in through the back entrance.
Putnam was there waiting for me. He guided me to a small side room. “You’ll be safe in here,” he assured me. “It’s only used for storage. And you can see both the chapel and the main room where the reception is to be held from here. All you have to do is stand on this chair and look over the transom.”
“Check.” I mounted the chair and verified the range offered my vision.
“I’ll see you later.” When I’d climbed down, he moved the chair back so he could leave the room. “Oh, and congratulations,” he added. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy.”
Sarcastic so-and-so! I replaced the chair, climbed up again and studied the crowd. Hortense certainly had a lot of important friends. I spotted half a dozen well-known congressmen, three senators, and one Supreme Court judge. The judge’s smile may have been a little stiff, but he was doing his best to be courteous to a young lady with henna-dyed hair and a low-cut gown that was just a bit too revealing for the occasion. I guessed Hortense had really gone all out in exerting some gentle pressure to tone up the proceedings.
Some of the nabobs had even brought their wives. Looking at them and contrasting them with the other ladies present-—friends of Hortense, probably co-workers, I guessed—I could see why some of the men must have had reason to stray into Hortense’s pasture. Alas, the wives were a dowdy lot; middle-aged spread had caught up with them, and they lacked the excitement generated by the other girls. I was reminded of Perle Mesta’s remark20 that Washington is a town populated by the most interesting, brilliant, distinguished, influential men in the world—and the women they married when they were very young!
Finally the crowd was seated in the chapel and the wedding started. Organ music sprang up, and after a moment I watched myself—anyway, that’s what it felt like marching down the aisle to a fate worse than death -- which was also what it felt like. And I’ll be damned if my best man wasn’t Charles Putnam!
They halted before the altar. The organ switched over to Here Comes the Bride, and Hortense made her appearance on the arm of a United States Senator. She looked as if she’d stepped right out of a bride’s book. Her gown was white satin, her veil white tulle, and she carried a large bouquet of forget-me-nots. She might have been a casual bride to half the Washington legislators once, but right now she was every inch a real, legitimate bride, and her face bore a look of exaltation that testified of her revirginization.
The Vedic priest began the ceremony. It was long and involved incense and candles and a lot of mumbo-jumbo in a language that was strange to me. But he switched over to English for the last part. Cold fear clutched my vitals as I heard myself saying “I do” and then watched myself kissing the bride.