«The friends of Tinamou are never far away,» replied the man.
«You followed him?» asked the clerk.
«He never knew. Make your call.»
The Englishman continued on his way to the door of an office at the rear of the store. He went inside, picked up the telephone, and dialed. It was answered by the aide of the most powerful man in Rio.
«Senhor Graff’s residence. Good afternoon.»
«Our man at the hotel deserves a large tip,» said the clerk. «He was right. I insist on talking to Herr Graff. I did precisely as we agreed, and I did it superbly. I’ve no doubt he’ll be calling. Now, Herr Graff, please.»
«I’ll pass along your message, butterfly,» said the aide.
«You’ll do no such thing! I have other news I’ll tell only to him.»
«What does it concern? I don’t have to tell you he’s a busy man.»
«Shall we say a countryman of mine? Do I make myself clear?»
«We know he’s in Rio; he’s already made contact. You’ll have to do better than that.»
«He’s still here. In the store. He may be waiting to talk to me.»
The aide spoke to someone nearby. The words, however, were distinct. «It’s the actor, mein Herr. He insists on speaking to you. Everything went as scheduled during the past hour, but there seems to be a complication. His countryman is in the bookshop.»
The phone passed hands. «What is it?» asked Maurice Graff.
«I wanted you to know that everything went exactly as we anticipated…»
«Yes, yes, I understand that,» interrupted Graff. «You do excellent work. Now, what’s this about the Engländer? He’s there?»
«He followed the American. He was no more than ten feet from him. He’s still here, and I expect he’ll want me to tell him what’s happening. Should I?»
«No,» replied Graff. «We are perfectly capable of running things here without interference. Say to him that we’re concerned he’ll be recognized; that we suggest he remain out of sight. Tell him I do not approve of his methods. You may say you heard it from me personally.»
«Thank you, Herr Graff! It will be a pleasure.»
«Yes, I know it will.»
Graff handed the telephone back to his aide. «The Tinamou must not let this happen,» he said. «It starts again.»
«What, mein Herr?»
«All over again,» continued the old man. «The interference, the silent observations, one upon the other. Authority becomes divided, everyone’s suspect.»
«I don’t understand.»
«Of course you don’t. You weren’t there.» Graff leaned back in his chair. «Send a second cable to the Tinamou. Tell him that we request he order his wolf back to the Mediterranean. He’s taking too many risks. We object, and cannot be responsible under the circumstances.»
It took several phone calls and the passage of twenty-four hours, but word that Graff would see him finally came, shortly past two o’clock the next afternoon. Holcroft leased a car at the hotel and drove northwest out of the city. He stopped frequently, studying the tourist map provided by the rental agency. He finally found the address, and swung through the iron gates into the ascending drive that led to the house at the top of the hill.
The road leveled off into a large parking area of white concrete, bordered by green shrubbery that was broken up by flagstone paths leading through groves of fruit trees on either side.
The clerk at the bookstore had been right. The Graff estate was spectacular. The view was magnificent: plains nearby, mountains in the distance, and far to the east the hazy blue of the Atlantic. The house itself was three stories high. A series of balconies rose on both sides of the central entrance: a set of massive double doors—oiled mahogany, hinged with large, pitted triangles of black iron. The effect was Alpine, as if a geometric design of many Swiss chalets were welded into one and set down on a tropical mountain.
Noel parked the car to the right of the front steps and got out. There were two other automobiles in the parking area—a white Mercedes limousine and a low-slung, red Maserati. The Graff family traveled well. Holcroft gripped his attaché case and camera and started up the marble steps.
«I’m flattered our minor architectural efforts are appreciated,» said Graff. «It’s natural, I suppose, for transplanted people to create a touch of their homeland in new surroundings. My family came from the Schwarzwald… The memories are never far away.»
«I appreciate your having me out here, sir.» Noel put the five hastily drawn sketches back into his attaché case and closed it. «I speak for my client as well, of course.»
«You have everything you need?»
«A roll of film and five elevation sketches are more than I had hoped for. Incidentally, the gentleman who showed me around will tell you the photographs were limited to the exterior structural detail.»
«I don’t understand you.»
«I wouldn’t want you to think I was taking pictures of your private grounds.»
Maurice Graff laughed softly. «My residence is very well protected, Mr. Holcroft. Besides, it never crossed my mind that you were examining the premises for purposes of theft. Sit down, please.»
«Thank you.» Noel sat opposite the old man. «These days some people might be suspicious.»
«Well, I won’t mislead you. I did call the Pôrto Alegre Hotel to see if you were registered. You were. You are a man named Holcroft from New York whose reservation was made by a reputable travel agency that obviously knows you, and you use credit cards cleared by computers. You entered Brazil with a valid passport. What more did I need? The times are technically too complicated for a man to pretend to be someone he’s not, wouldn’t you agree?»
«Yes, I guess I would,» replied Noel, thinking that it was the moment perhaps to shift to the real purpose of his visit. He was about to speak, but Graff continued, as if filling an awkward silence.
«How long will you be in Rio?» he asked.
«Only a few more days. I have the name of your architect, and naturally I’ll consult with him when he’s free to see me.»
«I’ll have my secretary telephone; there’ll be no delay. I have no idea how such financial arrangements are made—or, indeed, if there are any—but I’m quite sure he’d let you have copies of the plans if they would be helpful to you.»
Noel smiled, the professional in him aroused. «It’s a question of selective adaptation, Mr. Graff. My calling him would be as much a matter of courtesy as anything else. I might ask where certain materials were purchased, or how specific stress problems were solved, but that’d be it. I wouldn’t ask for the plans, and I think he’d be reluctant to say yes if I did.»
«There would be no reluctance,» said Graff, his bearing and intensity a reflection of a military past.
… If he wasn’t a general, or a muckedy-muck in the High Command, I’ll piss port wine…
«It’s not important, sir. I’ve got what I came for.»
«I see.» Graff shifted his heavy frame in the chair. It was the movement of a weary old man toward the end of a long afternoon. Yet the eyes were not weary; they were strangely alert. «An hour’s conference would be sufficient, then?»
«Easily.»
«I’ll arrange it.»
«You’re very kind.»
«Then you can return to New York.»
«Yes.» It was the moment to mention the Von Tiebolts. Now. «Actually, there’s one other thing I should do while I’m here in Rio. It’s not terribly important, but I said I’d try. I’m not sure where to begin. The police, I imagine.»
«That sounds ominous. A crime?»