Scarlet Imperial (18 page)

He followed her from the apartment, to the elevator. “You will explain?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t now; she could only stand there holding tightly to her purse. If Gavin stepped out of the elevator, she’d scream, scream at the top of her voice. She wouldn’t be party to another of his murders. The elevator wait was endless. She pressed the button again, held her finger on it. She must get Dekertian away in time.

The cage opened. Only the asthmatic elevator man was inside it. There was no one in the small lobby downstairs. She hurried across it, followed by the silent Mr. Dekertian. A cab idled on the corner of Madison. She half-ran up the street to catch it. Mr. Dekertian’s small, staccato steps pattered behind her. She leaned breathless against the seat. “Go over to Fifth and downtown.” She would give the address when they were safely away. Even the lamp post wore ears.

Mr. Dekertian offered, “Cigarette?” He passed the small bright box. “You need one, I think.”

“Yes.” She took one. Fatima. In the pocket of the man who had been killed by Gavin. Not a usual brand. She spoke with difficulty. “This is not a usual brand.”

“Turkish.” He held a small gold lighter to her cigarette. “There was once an American brand of the same name.”

She didn’t look at him. “You are Turkish?”

“I am Persian. Iranian. These cigarettes are the gift of a Turk with whom I sometimes do business.”

She identified him. “The Bey.”

“You know El Bey?” There was no surprise in his voice. The cab weaved through the bright spring thoroughfare of Fifth Avenue. All those flowered hats didn’t know what could happen in New York. They didn’t dream that fantasy rode down Fifth Avenue in a yellow cab.

“I have heard of him.”

“He is a dealer in precious stones.”

She hadn’t asked credentials of Mr. Dekertian; he was so entirely the Iranian diplomat. She’d been off guard; she’d forgotten the many playing parts in this grab for the Scarlet Imperial. She said, “You know Towner Clay.” It was half-question.

“A long time ago, yes.” He lighted his cigarette. She was only half-reassured. He questioned, “We are going to the Ritz?”

“No.”

A sharpness pricked his voice. “Who is waiting for whom at the Ritz?”

She said, “No one.” He had heard Gavin through the receiver. “The man who called is after the Imp. He’s dangerous. That’s why I had to get you away.”

“Where do we go? To meet Mr. Brewer?”

She said slowly, “I don’t know where Bry Brewer is.” Nothing could have happened to him, not in daylight in New York. “We’re going to my apartment. We’ll get in touch with Bry from there.”

She leaned forward, gave the apartment address to the driver. It was too late to change her mind now if Dekertian were an imposter. She’d talked too much. But she could demand credentials. She could try to reach Towner before turning over the Imp.

The cab stopped. Mr. Dekertian said, “Allow me.” He paid the driver. Davis opened the house door, Clarence held the elevator. If only Richards and Franz were on duty. In case Dekertian were not Dekertian. They wouldn’t be until five o’clock, forty minutes more. She could delay that long. Leaving the elevator, she turned back to Clarence. “Ask Richards to ring me, please, when he comes on duty.”

She opened the door of the apartment. She’d forgotten Clemence. The woman came to the foyer as Eliza entered. “It’s you, Miss Williams.”

“Yes.” She made her smile bright. “No company today?”

Clemence’s glance rested on Mr. Dekertian while she spoke. “No, Miss Williams. No company. Nothing unusual.”

The two women exchanged silent message.

Eliza said, “Let me take your hat, Mr. Dekertian.” She opened the coat closet. “If you’ll be seated in the living room and excuse me for a moment.” She went into the kitchen with Clemence, closed the door.

Clemence was too polite for spoken curiosity but her eyes moved in the direction of the living room. “Do you want me to stay?”

Eliza couldn’t ask it. Clemence had the long trip to St. Nicholas Avenue; it was Saturday. She said, “No. You’ve stayed late now.”

“I thought you’d feel better if I waited for you.”

“Thank you.” She paid the tall dark girl. “Go quietly this way. He’ll think you’re still here.”

“I could call the police.”

“Oh, no!” Not if he really were the envoy. “He’s from the Iranian embassy. Just wait until I’m back in with him, then slip away.” She returned to the living room.

Mr. Dekertian was at the window, looking out. Looking down at that bench in the park? He turned on her entrance. “I am surprised that you should know the Bey.” Suspicion was a gloss over his eyes.

She said, “I don’t know him. Only his name.”

“He has been seeking the Scarlet Imperial for many years. He has had agents in this country to steal it.”

“You know whom?”

He sat down on the glossy white chair. The pinseal case leaned against the crease of his left trouser leg. “Potts, of course. Renfro Hester.”

“And—?”

“There are others? These I do not know.”

“There are others. Perhaps not from the Bey.” She added, “Two men are dead.”

He lighted one of his Turkish cigarettes. Only the eyes moved in his brown face. “One is not surprised. Other men have died for the Scarlet Imperial.”

Yes, other men. And the Scarlet Imperial must be returned to Iran before others met death.

“You will now give me the Scarlet Imperial.”

She came out of her dream with startled eyes. If he had been holding a gun pointed at her, she wouldn’t have been surprised. He wasn’t. He was the same small man, smoking the same thin, aromatic cigarette. If she could only be sure. If it were safe to be rid of the cursed treasure.

“You think perhaps I am not myself?” He had looked into her mind. He seemed almost amused at her disbelief. His eyes turned down to his brief case. “But I am. I assure you.” He took up the case, opened it. “You may see.” He didn’t search through it. He took out a handful of papers, passed them across to her.

They couldn’t have been arranged. There were letters from the State Department, from oil companies, from the Iranian Premier, from Bryan Brewer. He took from his pocket, his wallet. “There is also my passport, my driver’s license—do you require more?”

She returned the papers. “No, Mr. Dekertian.” He must be authentic. There was no necessity of reaching Towner. She rose from the couch. “I will give it to you.” Again her glance rested on him. “I don’t know that you can carry it safely away from here.”

He said, “I will taxi to the Waldorf Astoria. The hotel will keep it safely for me tonight. Tomorrow I will take it to Washington.”

“You’d best ship it to Washington. The mails are safe. If you carry it, you might not reach Washington.” He said gravely, “I will take care.”

She left him in the chair with his cigarette. She was almost light-headed in her relief as she went to her bedroom. To be rid of the burden. To be safe. She didn’t want adventure ever again. Intrigue wasn’t a dashing affair; it was sordid. She lifted down the hat box, opened it on her bed. The giddy feathered hat was a bright swirl in the tissue paper nest. Beneath it there was no jeweled Easter egg. The purple fascinator was there but the Scarlet Imperial was no longer there.

She returned with her cold empty hands. Mr. Dekertian saw them and his face did not alter. He measured ash into the exact center of the water lily that served as tray. “It is gone.”

“Yes.”

The silence was long. “I hid it. No one knew it was here.” Someone had come, had searched and found.

He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t blaming her. He was resigned to the inevitable. “I did not expect to find it.”

She said, “We will find it. There’s only one person who could have taken it. We’ll go to Towner—”

She heard the faint click. She was afraid to turn her head. She knew it was a man because Mr. Dekertian had come punctiliously to his feet. She turned slowly. Gavin was in the foyer. She should have remembered. He still had the key to her apartment, the key he had stolen.

She said hopelessly to Dekertian, “This is Gavin Keane.”

Gavin’s quick smile was brazen impudence. His stride across the floor, his handshake was effrontery. “Delighted, sir. We’ve been worried about you, Brewer and I.” He turned his eyes on Eliza. They were dark in the twilight. “Why did you kidnap Monsieur Dekertian?”

Her voice was husky. “Gavin Keane is the man who stole your Imperial.”

Gavin’s hand went into his pocket. She didn’t move.

Mr. Dekertian picked up his brief case. “Where can I see Mr. Brewer?”

“I’ll take you to him,” Gavin smiled.

She cried out louder, “This man stole your Imperial.”

Mr. Dekertian was without emotion. “I understood you to say that. But I must see Mr. Brewer.”

Gavin said, “He’s waiting for you at his apartment.”

“You mustn’t go with him,” Eliza said. “He has a gun.”

Mr. Dekertian’s eyes lidded for a moment. “I can see that he has a gun.”

She beat against his fatality. “He’s the only one who could have taken the Imperial. He has a key.”

Gavin’s face was in shadow. “You mean you’ve mislaid it?”

“You stole it. You are the only one who could come in here and steal it. You’re the only person who’s been here.”

Mr. Dekertian was moving towards the foyer. She cried again, “You can’t go with him. Don’t you understand—”

He said, “You are forgetting the gun.”

She saw Gavin’s hand jutted in his pocket. She quivered back against the wall.

Gavin smiled. She didn’t like his smile. “You too, Eliza.”

She said, “No.”

His jaw was set. “If you think I’m going to let you upset the apple cart now, I’m not. You’re coming with us.”

She set her teeth. “I’m not going.”

He took a step towards her. Mr. Dekertian spoke softly. “Please let us have no violence.”

Gavin ignored him. He was moving in on her and when she could see the look in his blue eyes, fear came into her. But she flung defiance in his face. “You can’t force me to go with you.”

He said something under his breath. She didn’t know what.

His left hand shot out, clutched her arm. She screamed once as he swung her about. She didn’t scream again. The sharp pain in her head stifled the sound in her throat. She knew he had struck her and that she was falling.

Everything was black and silent. Black and silent as Feroun Dekertian’s lizard eyes. A void. Pain came through first, with it the rushing in her ears, the pinwheels before her eyes. Her hands had feeling, the feeling of rough softness. She slit her eyes slowly, fearfully. The lights from the night street illuminated the room, the same crystal and white room where she had fallen. The stuff she had felt was the white rug. She pushed herself up, turned on the table lamp. Her head swirled and she sat down quickly on the nearest chair. Her hand moved with care to the back of her head. There was no blood on her hand. Gavin hadn’t used the gun; he’d knocked her out.

Why hadn’t he killed her? Because there was a witness, Mr. Dekertian. Why hadn’t he killed both of them? Even he realized the hue and cry that would upraise if a member of a legation were murdered in cold bipod. But he had taken Mr. Dekertian with him, at gun point. Was Mr. Dekertian to be found a suicide?

Her watch blurred. Nearing eight o’clock. She had been out—how long? Long enough for Gavin to carry through what he had planned. Dekertian hadn’t protested; he had believed Gavin was working with Bry. He had refused to listen to her. It wasn’t only the gun in Gavin’s hand. Dekertian had been eager to go. It was as if he wanted to get away and seized Gavin as opportunity.

Doubt of Dekertian’s identity again flooded her. Was there a real Dekertian while another of El Bey’s henchmen carried the diplomatic credentials? When would the true envoy be found?

Her head was clearing. She mustn’t delay longer; she must reach Towner. She stumbled to her bedroom, searched the telephone directory. Towner Clay was not listed. She dialed information. Another blank wall. There was no Towner Clay. She doused her face with cold water until her brain was clear, changed rapidly to a black dress, black coat, close-fitting black hat. The elusive shadow of black against night. If anyone tried to follow her, she would leave no scent. Gavin might not have been satisfied that she would be unable to act tonight; he might have left someone to prevent it. No one was going to stop her from reaching Towner now.

No one—but where were the police? Where was Jones? It couldn’t be that he and Towner were still locked in the office. Bry had had them released. Nor was it possible that Jones, released, would forgive and forget. She couldn’t remain here formulating questions to which she knew no answers. She must get to Towner. Before it was too late.

Franz brought up the elevator. It might have been any evening, any quiet evening on Washington Square. She might have been on her way to a neighboring restaurant.

“Good evening, Miss Eliza.”

She said, “Good evening, Franz.” He didn’t see the ivory of her face; he didn’t know the ways of a world of violence. She had to shatter his belief in gentleness. She asked, “Are the police still guarding the house?”

His sigh was small, pleased. “No, Miss Eliza. They finished their investigations this morning.”

She wasn’t sure; they might not be watching openly. Secretly they must have the house under their eyes. Yet Gavin had come and gone this evening.

Richards was smiling in the lobby. A broad smile because the comfortable daisy patterned lounge had no alien uniforms cluttering it. He said, “Lovely evening, Miss Liza.”

She said, “Yes, isn’t it?” And she remembered. “Didn’t Clarence tell you I wanted you to ring me when you came on?”

“That Clarence.” His red face solidified. “He never remembers nothing on a Saturday night. Was it important, Miss Liza?”

“No,” she smiled. Not important. Only the call would have come while Gavin was there. What good would it have done?

“I’m sorry, Miss Liza.”

“It wasn’t anything,” she reassured him. “Do you think you can get me a cab?”

“Yes, indeed.”

She waited within the doorway while he whistled. No one loomed in the darkness. The night was mild, a lovely night, Miss Eliza. Not a night for dark deeds. A cab whirred to the curb. Richards held the door for her. She didn’t know the driver. It didn’t matter who the cabbie was, good or bad. She gave Towner’s address. There remained in her only the fatalism of Dekertian. Either Towner could wind things up tonight, make everything right, or this would go on, around and around the world. She and Towner, Gavin and Potts and Dekertian, and the hirelings of El Bey. Only Bry Brewer would be free of it, because he wasn’t of it, because his was a different world. Towner could make things right, everything except Gavin Keane. He couldn’t change Gavin to her dream of Gavin. Gavin was an adventurer and a thief, a man who would let nothing stand in his way. Even if it meant clubbing the girl he had kissed.