But all this was unimportant beside the news that one of my special charges, one of my two cherished responsibilities, my handsome, girl-murdering baby, Ruyter himself, had gone and got himself trapped by a U.S. government agent.
Exactly what Larry Fenton thought he was doing wasn't clear. Unless he had much better connections among the local authorities than seemed likely, he was in no position, alone, to stage a legal arrest on foreign soil. On the other hand, he probably wasn't commissioned to deliberately remove Mr. Ruyter from the living and file him among the dead. Such commissions-contracts, they are called in underworld circles-are usually reserved for one government organization only, an organization to which he didn't belong and I did.
And if Larry had in mind just a quiet kidnapping followed by a quick trip across the border to the south, why had he picked the biggest hotel in the biggest city in Canada to close in on his quarry? A dark alley or country lane would have been more suitable. Probably Hans Ruyter had been counting on something like this when he took the risk of coming here tonight.
But this didn't really matter either. The grim fact staring me in the face was that Hans was in serious trouble. lie must not be harmed, Mac had said. They must get through You will go as far as necessary.
He had given me the blank check with his signature on it. It looked very much as if I was going to have to fill it in and cash it.
XVI
JENNY WASTED no time wringing her hands or asking what to do-certainly she didn't ask me. The brief look she threw my way wasn't that of a lover, but of a fast-thinking woman trying to estimate the various factors of a troubled situation.
There was a quick, whispered conference between mother and daughter. Penny located a high-heeled white pump that had bounced under the bed, and set it beside one that hadn't. Jenny stepped into the shoes and headed for the door, patting her hair into some kind of order. The kid stayed at her side like a well-trained puppy. Both of them glanced around as I started to follow. There was a curious, hostile similarity between the two pairs of eyes, one with glasses and one without, that looked back at me coldly and dismissed me as an unfortunate nuisance nothing could be done about-but it occurred to me that some plausible explanation of my behavior would be required eventually.
Just getting Hans out of hock wasn't enough. I was going to have to make it look good to him and his female associate-not to mention Marcus Johnston, but that was something I'd worry about later. Maybe I could pull some strings by way of Washington and have Johnston called off if he started to present a real problem. -
For the moment, my big concern was how to sell my rescue act-assuming I could carry it off-to the people most immediately concerned. I had to come up, fast, with a convincing reason why a presumably more or less patriotic citizen like Dave Clevenger would voluntarily involve himself on the wrong side of this international hassle-a reason that would finally impress my sincerity upon Jenny, who hadn't been impressed with my best efforts to date. I also had to convince Hans, himself, of my friendly and unofficial status, and he probably wasn't a man whose judgment would be clouded by gratitude, no matter what you did for him.
Jenny walked right up to the door of her room, started to look in her purse for the key, remembered she'd given it to Penny, and glanced at the kid, who shook her head. Jenny shrugged, and knocked. There was a moment of utter silence; then somebody turned the knob from inside and pulled the door open. Jenny marched right in, trailed by her daughter and, at a discreet distance, me.
It was a trite little scene inside; it could have been a still from a Grade B movie. Hans Ruyter, distinguished-looking in sports coat and slacks, lounged negligently by the closet door. At his feet lay a small automatic pistol, one of the Spanish jobs in which the barrel is exposed instead of being buried in the machinery as is the case with many American automatics, for instance the larger Colts.
The slim, naked barrel had been threaded for a silencer, which was in place. Whether Ruyter habitually carried his weapon that way, or whether he'd assembled it hastily in the darkness of the closet when he knew he was trapped, there was no telling.
It was a professional outfit, although the best pros don't rely upon firearms and prefer not to monkey with incriminating and illegal gadgets like silencers. Besides being embarrassing to have around if you're searched, they aren't as effective as they're cracked up to be, and that big cylinder screwed to the end of the barrel usually masks the sights and prevents you from shooting with any great accuracy.
The wicked little gun with its sneaky accessory told a lot about Hans Ruyter, professionally speaking-both good and bad. His attitude, however, was irreproachable. He looked self-confident and rather bored with the proceedings, which is the way for a prisoner to look, of course, even if he's scared silly. It makes the other guy wonder what he's got up his sleeve.
At the other side of the room, by the hall door, Larry Fenton was responding to the treatment by looking nervous and harassed. His gaunt face was shiny with sweat; even his shaved head showed beads of perspiration. He waved us past him left-handed, and used the same hand to close the door, being careful not to move his eyes or the gun-a sawed-off.38 revolver-very far from Ruyter.
Once inside, Jenny swung to face him. "Just what do you think you're doing in my room?" she demanded. "I don't care who you are, you've no right to break in here like this and frighten my daughter and threaten my… my friends! Now you just put that silly gun away and-"
Larry grimaced impatiently. "Shut up, lady."
"Well, I must say-"
"Don't."
Jenny opened her mouth angrily and closed it again. She was putting on a pretty good show, but I thought her attitude of high indignation just a little overdone. This was obviously the angle she and the kid had decided to play. What else they'd decided on, in their thirty-second council of war, remained to be seen. I was more interested in Larry at the moment. There had been shaky overtones in his voice when he first spoke, but he was gaining confidence. He risked a brief glance my way.
"I was hoping you'd come, Clevenger," he said, surprisingly. He seemed to have forgotten that we hadn't parted friends. He went on: "That's one reason I let the girl go.
Oh, yes, I saw you sneaking out, honey, but I figured you were just going to get your mother, and maybe our detective here, and that's what I wanted. Now we're all here together, one big happy family… You can give me a hand with this handsome joker, Clevenger."
He was talking briskly enough now, but his eyes were kind of pleading. They were saying, as near as I could tell, that he'd apologize for hitting me, he'd do anything I wanted, once we were out of here, but there was no time for any of that personal stuff now. Right now we were allies in a room full of enemies, and he was counting on me to help.
I said, "You name it, amigo."
"First get his gun, there. Cover him for me while I get some information from the women… Careful, don't get between us. He's a real wise guy."
I refrained from pointing out that I'd been picking up wise guys' guns when he was still picking up rattles and putting them in his mouth and making happy gurgling noises, undoubtedly enchanting his proud young mother. Well, almost that long ago. I walked over cautiously and looked at Ruyter from a safe distance. Hans didn't move aside to let me reach the weapon by his shoe.