He printed a short, two-paragraph note on one of the pieces of paper, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope. He addressed the envelope, sealed it, finished his breakfast, put on his overcoat, and went out to the elevator.
In a drugstore two blocks from the Graceling Hotel, Cain bought a twenty-two-cent stamp. There was a mailbox on the opposite corner, and he dropped the envelope inside after noting on the front the times that mail was picked up there.
Before returning to the Graceling, Cain bought a newspaper from one of the sidewalk vendors. In his room, he read it carefully. There was no mention of the episode in Hillsborough. Cain had not expected that there would be; for one thing it had happened well past midnight, too late for the morning editions; for another, and more importantly, he knew that Agenrood would not have called in the police. But he read the paper thoroughly just the same.
He lay on his bed, thinking, for the remainder of the afternoon. At five o’clock, he went out to a nearby restaurant and ate a light supper. On the way back from there, he stopped at a parking garage that had a telephone booth. He inserted a dime and dialed a number from memory. A man’s voice answered.
“Hello?”
Cain did not say anything.
“Hello?” the voice repeated.
Cain held the receiver away from his ear.
“Hello? Hello? Who is this?”
Cain hung up and left the garage.
The distinguished-looking man who sat in James Agenrood’s private office at Consolidated Trades, Incorporated, tamped the dottle from his briar pipe and said, “Let’s have a look at this note, Jim.”
Wordlessly, Agenrood passed a folded sheet of paper across his marble-topped desk. The distinguished man picked it up, unfolded it, and read:
Agenrood:
What happened Wednesday night can happen again, if there is a need for it. And if there is, you can be sure a garage wall will not be my primary target.
Stay by your phone this weekend.
The distinguished man folded the paper again and laid it carefully on Agenrood’s desk. “No signature,” he said.
“Did you expect there to be one?”
“Easy, Jim.”
“I’m all right.”
The distinguished man refilled his pipe. “What do you think he means?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“He wasn’t trying to kill me the other night at all. He’s not a professional assassin.”
“Unless he’s freelancing.”
“That’s possible, I suppose,” Agenrood said. “In any case, he knows a lot about me. I don’t know how, but he’s got my private telephone number at home.”
“He called you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line, and then he hung up.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“It was him,” Agenrood said.
“You haven’t talked to the police, have you?”
“I’m not a fool, Len.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that,” the distinguished man, Len, said.
“I’ve put Reilly and Pordenza on it. They’re good men.”
“Sure.”
“They learned that a dark blue sedan was abandoned in the Mission District some time Wednesday night. It had been stolen earlier in the evening from a downtown parking lot. First three letters on the plate were DRD. It looks like that was the one he used.”
“That bases him in San Francisco,” Agenrood said. “The envelope this note came in was postmarked there.”
Len nodded.
Agenrood said, “Did Reilly and Pordenza learn anything else?”
“No.”
“Well, whoever he is, he’s got to be known to the National Office,” Agenrood said. “Only somebody within the Circle could find out as much about me as he seems to know.”
Len rubbed his nose with an index finger. “Can you think of anybody who has a grudge against you? Anybody you pushed, no matter how lightly, at one time or another?”
“None that would try anything like this.”
“Give me their names anyway.”
Agenrood wrote several names on a sheet of paper from his desk and gave the list to Len. He glanced at it briefly and tucked it into the pocket of his olive silk suit. “Are you staying home this weekend?”
“What else can I do?”
“I can put a couple of men on your house in case he tries something.”
“No, Len,” Agenrood said. “How would that look?”
Len nodded slowly. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
“I don’t think he’ll do anything until after he talks to me,” Agenrood said. “I’ll be all right.”
“If he calls, you let me know right away.”
“I will.”
Len stood. “Try not to worry, will you? We’ll find him before long.”
Agenrood did not speak. The two men went to the door. When Len had gone, Agenrood closed the door and stood looking at it for a long moment.
“I hope so,” he said finally, in a whispering voice. “I sincerely hope so.”
On Saturday night, shortly past eight, Cain left the Graceling Hotel for the first time since Thursday evening. There was an icy wind off the bay, blowing ethereal wisps of fog overhead; he walked quickly. On Pine Street, near Powell, he entered a quiet, dark cocktail lounge. He ordered a draft beer from the red-vested barman, and then carried it with him into the rear of the lounge to where a public telephone booth stood between the rest room doors.
Inside the booth, Cain set the glass on the little shelf beneath the phone and dialed the same number that he had on Thursday night.
Presently, there was a soft click and a man’s voice said guardedly, “Yes?”
“Agenrood?”
A brief pause. “Yes?”
“Did you get my note?”
Another pause, longer this time. Then, “I received it.”
“Did you understand it?”
“I think I did.”
“Good,” Cain said. “I thought you would.”
“Just who are you?”
“You don’t really expect me to tell you that, do you?”
“All right, then. How much do you want?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
Cain heard Agenrood suck in his breath.
“Did you hear me, Agenrood?”
“I heard you.”
“Well?”
“I don’t keep that kind of money.”
“But you can get it readily enough.”
“Suppose I don’t agree?”
“What do you think?”
“You’re making a large mistake,” Agenrood said. “I represent—”
“I know who you represent.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” Cain said.
“If I pay it, you won’t live to spend it.”
“If you don’t,” Cain said, “you won’t live. Period.”
There was a long silence.
“Well. Agenrood?”
“I’ll have to think it over.”
Cain smiled. “You do that.”
“How can I get in touch with you?”
Cain continued to smile. “Stay by your phone, Agenrood,” he said, and replaced the receiver.
James Agenrood paced the wine-colored carpet in his study nervously. He said, “He called about eight tonight, Len.”
The distinguished man stood holding a snifter of brandy by Agenrood’s desk. His features were grim. “And?”
“He wants two hundred thousand dollars.”
Len said, “My God!”
“He’s deadly serious. It was plain in his voice.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Agenrood said. “That’s why I asked you to come by.”