Lanny hadn't known that his mind could work so fast. Perhaps it was something that had already reasoned itself out in his subcon-sciousness. Zaharoff had stolen Robbie's papers, including the drawings of the Budd ground-type air-cooled machine gun, essential to the making of deals. Somebody ought to punish the thief and teach him a lesson; as Robbie had put it in his playful way: “Fight the old Greek devil with his own Greek fire.”
The clerk, who looked as if he had just been lifted out of a bandbox, was bored. He tapped his pencil on the polished mahogany top of the counter which separated him from the public; the midafter-noon train had come in, and no automobiles were arriving. Two bellhops, in blue uniforms with rows of gold buttons, sat on a bench around a corner of the lobby, and poked each other in the ribs and tried to shove each other off their seats; the clerk moved over to where he could see them, and at his stem taps the bellhops straightened up and stared solemnly in front of them.
Around this corner sat a young lady who attended to the telephone switchboard; she too was mentally unoccupied — there being no gossip over the wires. The clerk moved toward her and spoke, and she smiled at him. Lanny moved to where he could see them; it was what the French call le flirt, and promised to last for a few moments. Lanny noted that the clerk had passed the point where he could see the pigeonholes.
The boy did not dart or do anything to reveal the excitement that had gripped him. He moved with due casualness to the far end of the counter, raised the part which was on hinges and served as a gate, and stepped behind it, just as if he belonged there. He went to the pigeonholes, took out the Zaharoff letter, and slipped it into his pocket. A bright idea occurring to him, he took a letter from another pigeonhole and slipped it into the Zaharoff hole. The clerk would think it was his own mistake. Still quietly, Lanny retraced his steps; he strolled over to one of the large overstuffed chairs of the lobby and took a seat. Le flirt continued.
VIII
It was Lanny Budd's first venture into crime, and he learned at once a number of its penalties. First of all, the nervous strain involved; his heart was pounding like that of a young bird, and his head was in a whirl. No longer did he have the least interest in a Tauchnitz novel or any other. He was looking about him furtively, to see if anybody hiding behind a pillar of the lobby had been watching him.
Second, he discovered that stealing involves lying, and that one lie requires others. What would he say if anyone had seen him? He had thought that the letter was in the pigeonhole of his own room. A mere mistake in numbers, that was all. But why had he not asked the clerk for the letter? Well, he had seen the clerk busy talking with the young lady. What were the chances that the clerk would know the name of Budd, and realize that Budd and Zaharoff were rivals for the armaments trade of the world?
Third, the moral confusion. Lanny had always been a good little boy, and had done what his parents asked him, and so had never had any serious pangs of conscience. But now — should he have done it or not? Did one bad turn deserve another? Should you really fight the devil with fire? After all, who was going to punish Zaharoff if Lanny didn't? The police? Robbie had said that Zaharoff could do anything with the police that he chose — was he not the richest man in France and an officer of the Legion of Honor?
Lanny wished that his father would come and decide the matter for him. But the father didn't come; he had a deal to discuss, and might be gone for a long time. If Lanny got hungry, he was to go to the restaurant of the hotel and have his supper. But Lanny didn't think he'd ever be hungry again. He sat and tried to figure out, was he ashamed of himself or was he proud? It was the famed New England conscience at work, a long way from home.
He tried to imagine what might be in that letter. His fancy went off on excursions wild as the Arabian Nights. The agent who had stolen Robbie's portfolio from the ship was waiting to tell what he had found, and where it was now hidden; Robbie and Lanny would go at once to the place, and with the help of the Budd automatic would retrieve the property. The shape of the envelope suggested that the letter might be from a lady. Perhaps a woman spy — Lanny knew about them from a recent American movie.
What might the handwriting reveal? After many cautious glances Lanny took out the letter and, keeping it covered by his book, studied the inscription. Yes, undoubtedly a woman's. Lanny held the book and letter up to his nose; still less doubt now. The old rascal, living in this fashionable hotel with his duquesa, was receiving assignation notes from another woman! Lanny knew about such doings, not merely from movies, but from gossip of his mother's friends. He had heard how politicians and others were trapped and plundered by blackmailers. Robbie would let Zaharoff know that he had this incriminating document in his hands, and Robbie's property would be returned to him by a messenger who would neither ask nor answer questions.
Persons came into the hotel, and others departed; Lanny watched them all. Some took seats and chatted, and Lanny tried to hear what they were saying; from now on he was surrounded by intrigues, and any chance phrase might reveal something. Two ladies sat near him, and talked about the races, and about a skirt cut in the new fashion, with slits on the side. They were shallow creatures, heedless of the undeclared war now going on in Europe, Lanny got up and moved to another chair.
Presently came a sight which he had been expecting. Through the revolving glass doors of the entrance strode a large figure in a voluminous black frock coat, with a black silk tower on his head. The doorman in gorgeous uniform was revolving the doors for him, lest he have to make even that much effort with his hands. The bellhops leaped to attention, the clerk stood like a statue of gentility, the conversation in the lobby fell to whispers, the whole world was in suspense as the munitions king strode down the pathway of red velvet, smelling his way with his prominent hooked nose.
He stopped at the desk. Lanny was too far away to hear a word that was spoken, but he could understand the pantomime just as well. The clerk turned and took a letter from a pigeonhole and handed it to the great man with a respectful bow and murmur. The great man looked at it, then handed it back to the clerk. The clerk looked at it and registered surprise. He turned hastily and began taking other letters from pigeonholes and looking at them. Finally he turned to the great man with more bows and murmurings. The great man stalked to the lift and disappeared.
IX
Robbie came at last; and Lanny said quickly: “Something has happened. I want to tell you about it.” They went up to the room, and Lanny looked around, to be sure they were alone. “Here's a letter for Zaharoff,” he said, and held it out to his father.
The other was puzzled. “How did you get it?”
“I took it out of his box downstairs. Nobody saw me.”
Even before the father said a word, almost before he had time to comprehend the idea, Lanny knew that he shouldn't have done it; he wished he hadn't done it.
“You mean,” said Robbie, “you stole this from the hotel desk?”
“Well, Robbie, he stole your papers, and I thought this might refer to them.”
Robbie was looking at his son as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was hearing. It was most uncomfortable for Lanny, and the blood began burning in his cheeks. “Whatever put that into your head, son?”
“You did, Robbie. You said you would fight the old devil with his own Greek fire.”