“Anita!”
“And I think the bar should be moved, too. I’m sure it’s absolutely filthy beneath. And it would really look better near the balcony doors. But I understand there are pipes and things to the sink...”
Kek glowered at the instrument. “Will you leave my apartment alone? I liked the desk where it was!”
“You haven’t seen it where it is now.” Anita’s tone expressed surprise at his unadventurous spirit as far as furniture location was concerned. “It looks much better. Of course, we’ll have to change some of the pictures around, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll try to get to that tomorrow. I’m sure that sweet old man will help me.”
Huuygens was gritting his teeth. “You keep that sweet old man out of my apartment!”
“Why, Kek! Certainly you can’t be jealous of an old man? He was a perfect gentleman today— Oh!” Anita suddenly understood. “You don’t have to worry; I was with him every minute he was here. Although I’m sure he’s not from the police. The police wouldn’t give me the keys to your apartment, would they? Besides, if he had the keys, and he was from the police, he could be in here whenever he wanted...”
Kek knew there was nothing incriminating in the apartment; there never was. “That’s not the point...”
“But,” Anita went on, the soul of cooperation, “if you wish, I can have the locks changed tomorrow.”
“Great,” Kek said in disgust. “And just how do I get in when I get back home? Because, my sweet, you are leaving there at once!”
“I can’t, Kek. I’ve already sublet my apartment to some Americans. For an absolutely marvelous price! Especially considering the stove doesn’t work too well, but I don’t suppose that will bother them. They didn’t look the type to eat in very often. I just hope they don’t use my good china, but then, if they don’t cook, they won’t really need china, will they?” She went on with scarcely a pause. “Kek, when you called, you expected your answering service to answer, didn’t you? Was there anything you wanted that I could do for you? There weren’t any messages, because I checked.”
Kek had completely forgotten the original purpose of his call. He stared at the telephone a moment and raised his shoulders. The problem of the apartment and Anita’s tenancy would have to wait.
“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact I was going to ask them to get in touch with you and have you call me.”
“Oh, good! Then you did think of me!”
“Yes,” he said, and smiled wryly. “I wanted you to do me a favor.”
“But of course, darling.”
He stared at the telephone in silence a moment, and then shrugged. “I have a friend, a newspaper man named Jimmy Lewis. Mark down his number.” He gave it, waited a moment, and then continued. “Do you have it? Good. Now; I promised him a story if I came across one, and I have. So I want you to call him and tell him you have a very big tip, but that you won’t be able to give it to him until tomorrow night. Is that clear?”
“Do I tell him the tip is coming from you?”
“You do not. Don’t give him any names. Just sound mysterious.” He thought a moment and grinned. “And sexy. That’ll hold Jimmy. Then tomorrow night you call him and give him the tip. Which is...”
“Why don’t I wait and do it all tomorrow?”
“Because I want to be sure he’s there tomorrow. I don’t want him to take off for parts unknown; I want him available. Incidentally, if he is out of town now, or you can’t get in touch with him, call me back and let me know. I’m at the Ouro Vermelho here in Lisbon. If I don’t hear from you I’ll assume you got in touch with him. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
It occurred to Kek that Anita would probably make a very good secretary at that. “All right. Now, I want you to check on all the flights to Lisbon from Paris — all airlines, even small ones — and tomorrow night after the last one has left — or at least after it’s too late for him to catch the last one, I want you to call Jimmy again. If I know him, he’ll be waiting for the call.”
“I understand. You don’t want him there until Thursday morning. And what do I say to him?”
Kek smiled faintly. “You simply say to him: Wilhelm Gruber is in Lisbon...”
“Wilhelm Gruber? Isn’t he the...?”
“Never mind who he is or isn’t. Jimmy knows who he is. Just do it exactly as I’ve said.”
“Of course.” Anita sounded faintly hurt that Kek could think she wouldn’t. “That’s all I say? That Wilhelm Gruber is in Lisbon?”
“Not quite,” Kek said softly. “You will also say to him: ‘The man to see for all details is the assistant chief of detectives for Lisbon; a man named Michel Morell...’”
André and Kek dined that night at a small restaurant perched at the end of a dock near the northern boundary of the city. Soft lights reflected colorfully from the ripples of the river; a guitarist in one corner bent far over his instrument, softly playing a fada. The occasional whisper of a huge prow cutting through the darkness in midstream gave sibilant counterpart to the music, and made the lights dance wildly in the backwash.
The food was delicious. André finished wiping his plate with a piece of bread, popped it into his mouth, and leaned back, chewing. He swallowed, drew his napkin from his collar, and wiped his face. There was a pleased grin on his face.
“Not bad, eh?” He lit a cigarette from the pack on the table and reached for his glass of cognac. “There are considerations to not living in France. The food here in Portugal is as good or better, and far cheaper. And the cognac?” He kissed the fingers of his free hand. “No comparison...”
“A far cry from the old days of the Resistance, eh?” Kek also took a cigarette and lit it, leaning back comfortably, puffing on it with enjoyment.
“I should hope so!” André grinned. “And every now and then, as an added attraction, a friend from the outside world.” His grin faded. “You leave Friday, eh?”
“Thursday,” Kek corrected him gently.
“The day after tomorrow? But I thought you said...”
“I told Gruber we were leaving Friday.” His gray eyes twinkled. “You see, André, everything in this business is either misdirection, or timing. Or both.” He shrugged. “Senhor Enrique Echavarria will simply have to be ready with one day’s less notice. It’ll give him less time to worry and fret.”
“I suppose you know best, but I hate to see you go so soon. When shall we see each other again?”
“I don’t know,” Kek said honestly, regretfully. “Someplace; sometime...”
“I doubt it,” André said, and shook his huge head ruefully. His eyes came up. “Still, it was good to see you this time. You said before that this life is a far cry from the days of the Resistance. It is — in both ways. At least in those days I was a bit more of a man than I am today. Seeing you again makes me realize it.”
“We were all more men then than we are today. There was more reason to be...”
“Yes.” André sighed and then suddenly grinned. “We had some times together, though, didn’t we? I’ll never forget you and that damned radio you dragged all over the place...”
Kek also grinned. “And you. I remember one time in particular — the time we knocked out that police station at Vic-le-Comte. Georges, dragging that squealing schoolgirl out of the way at the last minute — by her pigtails. And you, running like mad down the street with that rifle of yours in one hand and that suitcase in the other. You looked like a commuter trying to catch the five-fifteen.” His smile faded. “Which reminds me...”