It was Bollinger himself who provided an explanation, when the others had been allowed to return to their beds. “I discovered where the paint cans and the rest of it came from. Look, the side exit from this building is only a few steps away from the side exit to that building still under construction. Just inside the door are paint cans, boxes of towels and ashtrays, and even a pair of painter’s coveralls.”
“Show me,” Rand said. He looked around for Leila but she was gone. Perhaps the day really had tired her out.
The resort manager led Rand to the unfinished building. Looking at the piles of paint cans, Rand had little doubt that this was the source of the vandal’s supplies. He opened a box of red bath towels, and a carton of blue ashtrays.
“Anything else here?” he asked.
“Just drapes. Apparently he didn’t have time for those.”
“What about the carpeting? And soap and cigarettes?”
“They’re stored in one of the other buildings. He just took what was close at hand. And he wore a painter’s coveralls over his own clothes.”
“I suppose so,” Rand agreed. The splotches of paint seemed fresh, still tacky to his touch. “What I’d like to know is why... why risk discovery by going after that paint and the other things? He had to make at least two trips, one with the paint cans and the second to return the coveralls and probably gather up a few other things to throw around the room. Who knew these things were here?”
“They all did. I took them on a tour of the place the first day and showed them in here.”
“Coveralls,” Rand mused, “but no shoes. The shoes with the orange paint might still turn up.”
“Or might not. He could have tossed them into the bay.”
“All right,” Rand conceded. “I’m at a dead end. We’ll have to call in the authorities.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Just what I said. The people here don’t want publicity. Nor do I.”
“They’re not archeologists, are they?”
“Not exactly,” Bollinger admitted.
“Then what were Leila and Fanger doing here?”
“A mistake. Cairo University believed our cover story and sent them down for the conference. Fanger, a retired agent himself, knew something was wrong from the beginning. Then you came, and it scared one of them enough to commit murder.”
“You have to tell me what’s going on here,” Rand said.
“A conference.”
“Britain, America, France, Russia, and China. A secret conference in the middle of nowhere, policed by armed guards.” He remembered something. “And what about the violet room? Who’s in there?”
“You ask too many questions. Here’s a list of all our guests.” Rand accepted the paper and scanned it quickly, refreshing his memory:
First Floor: Red — Ivan Rusanov (Russia)
Orange — Leila Gaad (Egypt)
Yellow — Herbert Fanger (Egypt)
Green — Dr. Tao Liang (China)
Second Floor: Blue — Dr. Wayne Evans (Britain)
Indigo — Rand
Violet—
White — Jeanne Bisset (France)
Black — Harvey Northgate (U.S.)
“The violet suite is empty?” Rand questioned.
“It is empty.”
Rand pocketed the list. “I’m going to look around.”
“We’ve cut the telephone service. It will do you no good to try phoning out. Only the hotel extensions are still in operation.”
“Thanks for saving me the effort.” He had another thought. “You know, this list doesn’t include some very good suspects — yourself and your employees.”
“I would never have created that havoc. And my guards would have used a gun rather than a knife.”
“What about the cooks and maids? The painters working on the other buildings?”
“Question them if you wish,” he said. “You’ll discover nothing.”
Rand left him and cut through the lounge to the stairway. He was anxious to check out that violet suite. It was now after midnight, and there was no sign of the others, though he hardly believed they were all in their beds.
He paused before the violet door and tried the knob. It was unlocked, and he wondered if he’d find another body. Fanger’s door had been left unlocked so that the killer could return with the paint cans. He wondered why this one was unlocked. But he didn’t wonder long.
“Felix? Is that you?” a woman’s voice called from the bedroom. It was the Frenchwoman, Jeanne Bisset.
“No, just me,” Rand said, snapping on the overhead light.
She sat up in bed, startled. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s as much my room as yours. I’m sorry Felix Bollinger was delayed. It’s been a busy night.”
“I...”
“You don’t have to explain. I was wondering why he kept this suite vacant, and now I know.” He glanced around at the violet furnishings, deciding it was the least attractive of those he’d seen.
“Have you found the killer?” she asked, recovering her composure. She was a handsome woman, older than Leila, and Rand wondered if she and Bollinger had known each other before this week.
“Not yet,” he admitted. “It might help if you were frank with me.”
She blinked her eyes. “About what?”
“The purpose of this conference.”
She thought about that. Finally she said, “Hand me a cigarette from my purse and I’ll tell you what I know.”
He reached in, found a case full of white cigarettes ringed in black, and passed her one. “Is the house brand any good?” he asked. “I used to smoke American cigarettes all the time, but I managed to give them up.”
“They’re free and available,” she said, lighting one. “Something like Felix Bollinger himself.”
“You were going to talk about the conference,” he reminded her.
“Yes, the conference. A gathering of do-gooders trying to change the world. But the world cannot be changed, can it?”
“That all depends. You’re not archeologists, then?”
“No. Although the Russian, Rusanov, knew enough about it to fake a few lectures after Fanger and Miss Gaad turned up. No, Mr. Rand, in truth we’re nothing more than peace activists. Our five nations — America, France, Britain, China, Russia — are the only ones who have perfected nuclear weapons.”
“Of course! I should have realized that!”
“We are meeting here — with funds provided by peace groups and ban-the-bomb committees in our homelands — to work out some coordinated effort. As you can see, we’re no young hippies but sincere middle-aged idealists.”
“But why only the five of you? And why out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“A larger meeting would have attracted the press — which would have been especially dangerous for Dr. Tao and Ivan when they returned home. We heard of this place, just being built, and it seemed perfect for our purpose.”
“Do you remember who actually suggested it?”
She blushed prettily. “As a matter of fact, I did. I’d met Felix Bollinger in Paris last year, and—”
“I understand,” Rand said. “You sent out some sort of announcement to the press to cover yourselves, and Cairo University believed it.”
“Exactly.”
“Which one of you did Fanger recognize?”
She looked blank. “He didn’t admit to knowing any of us.”
“All right,” Rand said with a sigh. “Thanks for the information.”
He left and went in search of Leila Gaad.
He found her finally in her room — the last place he thought of looking. The orange walls and drapes assaulted his eyes, but she seemed to enjoy the decor. “I think I’ve found our murderer,” she announced. “And I’ve also found a concealed communication for you to ponder.”