Who, among the city's business leaders, was behind Emile Dumaire? Who might care enough to run the financial risk of maintaining the St. Gregory as a traditionally independent house? Mark Preyscott, perhaps?
Could the department-store chieftain be seeking to augment his already widespread interests? Warren Trent recalled having heard from someone, during the past few days, that Mark Preyscott was in Rome. That might account for the indirect approach. Well, whoever it was, he supposed he would learn soon enough.
The stock transaction which the banker was spelling out was fair.
Compared with the offer from O'Keefe, Warren Trent's personal cash settlement would be smaller, but offset by a retained equity in the hotel. In contrast, the O'Keefe terms would cast him adrift from the St. Gregory's affairs entirely.
As to an appointment as chairman of the board, while it might be a token post only, devoid of power, he would at least be an inside, privileged spectator to whatever might ensue. Nor was the prestige to be dismissed lightly.
"That," Emile Dumaire concluded, "is the sum and substance. As to the offer's integrity, I have already stated that it is guaranteed by the bank. Furthermore, I am prepared to give you a notarized letter of intention, this afternoon, to that effect."
"And completion, if I agree?"
The banker pursed his lips, considering. "There is no reason why papers could not be drawn quickly, besides which the matter of the impending mortgage expiry lends some urgency. I would say completion tomorrow at this time.
"And also at that time, no doubt, I would be told the purchaser's identity."
"That," Emile Dumaire conceded, "would be essential to the transaction."
"If tomorrow, why not now?"
The banker shook his head. "I am bound by my instructions."
Briefly, in Warren Trent's mind, his old ill temper flared. He was tempted to insist on revelation as a condition of assent. Then reason argued: Did it matter, providing the stipulations pledged were met?
Disputation, too, would involve effort to which he felt unequal. Once more, the weariness of a few minutes earlier engulfed him.
He sighed, then said simply, "I accept."
9
Incredulously, wrathfully, Curtis O'Keefe faced Warren Trent.
"You have the effrontery to stand there telling me you've sold elsewhere!"
They were in the living room of O'Keefe's suite. Immediately following the departure of Emile Dumaire, Christine Francis had telephoned to make the appointment which Warren Trent was keeping now. Dodo, her expression uncertain, hovered behind O'Keefe.
"You may call it effrontery," Warren Trent replied. "As far as I'm concerned it's information. You may also be interested to know that I have not sold entirely, but have retained a substantial interest in the hotel."
"Then you'll lose it" O'Keefe's face flushed with rage. It had been many years since anything he wished to buy had been denied him. Even now, obsessed with bitterness and disappointment, he could not believe the rejection to be true. "By God! I swear I'll break you."
Dodo reached out. Her hand touched OKeefe's sleeve, "Curtie!"
He wrenched the arm free. "Shut up!" A vein pulsed visibly across his temples. His hands were clenched.
"You're excited, Curtie. You shouldn't ...
"Damn you! Keep out of this!"
Dodo's eyes went appealingly to Warren Trent. They had the effect of curbing Trent's own temper which had been about to erupt.
He told O'Keefe, "You may do what you please. But I'd remind you you have no divine right of purchase. Also, you came here of your own accord with no invitation from me.
"You'll rue this day! You and the others, whoever they are. I'll build!
I'll drive this hotel down, and out of business. Every vestige of my planning will be directed at smashing this place and you with it."
"If either of us lives so long." Having contained himself already, Warren Trent felt his own self-control increase as O'Keefe's diminished. "We may not see it happen, of course, because what you intend will take time.
Also, the new people here may give you a run for your money." It was an uninformed prediction, but he hoped it would prove true.
O'Keefe raged, "Get out!"
Warren Trent said, "This is my house still. While you are my guest you have certain privileges in your own rooms. I'd suggest, though, you don't abuse them." With a slight, courteous bow to Dodo, he went out.
"Curtie," Dodo said.
O'Keefe did not appear to hear. He was breathing heavily.
"Curtie, are you all right?"
"Must you ask stupid questions? Of course I'm all right!" He stormed the length of the room and back.
"It's only a hotel, Curtie. You got so many others."
"I want this one!"
"That old man - it's the only one he's got . .
"Oh yes! Of course you'd see it that way. Disloyally! Stupidly!" His voice was high, hysterical. Dodo, frightened, had never known him in a mood so uncontrolled before.
"Please, Curtie!"
"I'm surrounded by fools! Fools, fools, fools! You're a fool! It's why I'm getting rid of you. Replacing you with someone else."
He regretted the words the instant they were out. Their impact, even upon himself, was of shock, snuffing out his anger like a suddenly doused flame. There was a second of silence before he mumbled, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
Dodo's eyes were misty. She touched her hair abstractedly in the gesture he had noticed earlier.
"I guess I knew, Curtie. You didn't have to tell me."
She went into the adjoining suite, closing the door behind her.
10
An unexpected bonus had revived the spirits of Keycase Milne.
During the morning, Keycase had returned his strategic purchases of yesterday to the Maison Blanche department store. There was no difficulty and he received prompt, courteous refunds. This, at the same time, relieved him of an encumbrance and filled an otherwise empty hour. There were still several more hours to wait, however, until the specially made key, ordered yesterday from the Irish Channel locksmith, would be ready for collection.
He was on the point of leaving the Maison Blanche store when his good fortune occurred.
At a main floor counter, a well-dressed woman shopper, fumbling for a credit card, dropped a ring of keys. Neither she nor anyone else but Keycase, it seemed, observed the loss. Keycase loitered, inspecting neckties at a neighboring counter, until the woman moved on.
He walked the length of the other counter, then, as if seeing the keys for the first time, stopped to pick them up. He observed at once that as well as car keys there were several others which looked as if they fitted house locks. Even more significant was something else which his experienced eyes had spotted initially - a miniature auto license tag. It was the kind mailed to car owners by disabled veterans, providing a return service for lost keys. The tag showed a Louisiana license number.
Holding the keys plainly in sight, Keycase hurried after the woman, who was leaving the store. If his action of a moment earlier had been observed, it was now obvious that he was hastening to restore the keys to their owner.
But on joining the press of pedestrians on Canal Street, he palmed the keys and transferred them to a pocket.
The woman was still in sight. Keycase followed her at a cautious distance. After two blocks she crossed Canal Street and entered a beauty parlor. From outside, Keycase saw her approach a receptionist who consulted an appointment book, after which the woman sat down to wait.
With a sense of elation, Keycase hurried to a telephone.
A local telephone call established that the information he sought was obtainable from the state capital at Baton Rouge. Keycase made the long distance call, asking for the Motor Vehicle Division. The operator answering knew at once the extension he required.