Whiff of Money

Three

On the top floors of most of the older apartment blocks in Paris there are a number of small rooms known as chambres de bonne where servants who worked for the owners of the apartments below used to live. But now servants were almost impossible to find, the owners rented these miserable little rooms to students or to those unable to afford higher rents.

Vi Martin lived in one of these rooms on the eighth floor of an old-fashioned block in Rue Singer. The room was equipped with a toilet basin, a portable electric grill, a bed, one small battered armchair and a plastic wardrobe. There was a table under the attic window on which stood a small transistor radio that never ceased to churn out swing music from the moment Vi woke to the moment she went to sleep. She just could not imagine anyone not living in the perpetual din of swing music.

There were eight other little rooms on her floor. Four of them were occupied by elderly women who went out early every day on cleaning jobs. There were two Spanish couples who worked as servants in the apartments below and two elderly widowers who worked at the post office, a few doors down the street.

These people had the habit of leaving their doors open so they could converse with their neighbours without leaving their rooms.

These conversations were carried on at the top of their voices so the din, plus Vi’s transistor, was a nightmare bedlam of noise.

Vi shared her room with Paul Labrey. They had met at a Left Bank party and Vi had immediately fallen for Labrey. She thought he was terribly with it with his green tinted glasses and his long hair. He told her as they were dancing that he was sharing a room with a Senegalese who was planning to get married and he would have to move out. Did she know of a cheap room he could rent? Under the influence of six large gins and feeling sexually aroused by the way he was holding her, Vi suggested he should move into her pad and share the rent.

Labrey’s hands moved down her back as he regarded her. He decided ‘ he could do a lot worse and moved in the following day, bringing with him an old battered suitcase and a few tattered paperbacks.

When Vi asked him what he did for a living, he grinned. ‘I sell dirty postcards on Place de la Madeleine. It’s a good racket. I catch the tourists when they leave Cook’s.’

She didn’t believe this, for often he wouldn’t return to the room until well after 03.00 hrs. and sometimes he would rush off, swearing, before 08.00 hrs. She was sure he did some shady work — probably in drugs — but she didn’t care. Vi was that kind of a girl. At least he always seemed to have a reasonable amount of money and wasn’t mean with it. After a little persuasion, and after living with her for two months, he even agreed to pay the whole of the rent, and when they ate out at the bistro in Rue Lekain, he always picked up the tab.

She enjoyed sleeping with him in the single bed. He had a lot of technique and wasn’t selfish in his love-making. He was fairly easy to live with. There were times when he revealed a quick, dangerous temper, and once when she nagged him about his dirty fingernails, he slapped her bare bottom so viciously, her screams brought their neighbours tapping on their door. That taught Vi, as nothing else could, not to nag. Until she was seventeen, Vi lived with her parents in Lyons. Her father was well off and retired. Vi had always been a rebel. She loathed the provincial life in Lyons. She dreamed of Paris. Finally, she persuaded

her father to let her study English at the Sorbonne. She learned without regret that both her parents had been killed in a car crash. She inherited three hundred thousand francs. She promptly gave up her studies, hooked up with an American newspaper man, and between the two of them, they ran through the money in two years. The American faded and Vi found herself high and dry with no money. She spent the next two years studying the ceilings of sordid hotel bedrooms while any man with money grunted on top of her.

It was pure luck that she ran across Benny Slade. He was searching for a blonde, long-haired beauty with good legs to work in his studio. Seeing Vi as she walked down Avenue des Champs Elysees looking for a client, he decided she was just what he was looking for.

He put her under contract and paid her a thousand francs a month which covered her rent and food bills.

Vi had no difficulty in dressing herself. When she was short of money she either visited one of the big stores and stole what she needed or found an American tourist who paid her well for her favours. When Labrey appeared on her horizon, she became so much better off, since he paid the rent, that she dropped her street-walking, but remained a nimble shop-lifter.

Returning to her room this evening, her mind was full of Girland. Chez Garin! she thought as she dumped her handbag and coat on the bed. Had she a decent dress? She went to the plastic wardrobe and nicked through the dresses hanging there. She decided the Swiss silk red dress she had stolen from Aux Trois Quartiers store only last week would do. She checked on her store of stockings — also stolen, and then examined her collection of shoes. Satisfied that she had the right clothes, she turned on the radio and stretched out on the bed.

She closed her eyes and thought of Girland. What a man! There was something about him that Paul just hadn’t got. Paul was tough, young, good-looking and dangerous, but there was no polish to him. Sometimes she got bored with his green tinted glasses and bis long hair. If he would only wash his hair more often perhaps he would look more attractive.

Thinking of his hair, made her think of her own. She scrambled off the bed and regarded herself in the mirror over the washbasin. Her long blonde hair didn’t look all that hot, she decided, and she began to fill the basin with hot water.

It was while she was bending over the basin, clad only in white panties and bra, her hair floating in the hot water, Labrey came in.

‘If you touch me, I’ll throw water over you,’ Vi said hastily, aware that her position was a strong temptation for his heavy hand.

But Labrey wasn’t in the mood for fun and games. His face was sullen as he sat on the bed. The trip out to Orly had been a drag. Seeing Henry Sherman pass through the police barrier, he had assumed that he would board the New York flight. But when he telephoned Kovski and had reported, Kovski had flown in a rage. He wanted to know if Labrey was sure that Sherman had taken that flight.

Impatiently, Labrey had pointed out that he couldn’t pass the police barrier himself, so how the hell could he really be sure? Kovski had called him an incompetent, idle idiot and had slammed down the receiver. This criticism infuriated Labrey who could never take any form of criticism.

‘What are you doing back at this time — I thought you were working,’ he said as Vi wrung her hair out over the basin.

‘Benny had an unexpected visitor,’ she explained, wrapping her hair in a towel and making herself a turban. ‘What a dreamof a man! He’s taking me out tonight.’

Labrey wasn’t interested. They had an agreement that when either of them felt like a change of sex partners they need not consult each other.

‘You’re not bringing him back here!’ he snapped. ‘I’ll probably be in.’ ‘Bring him to this hole?’ Vi laughed. ‘As if I would! He has class! We’re going to Chez Garin… I bet you’ve never even heard of it.’

I haven’t and couldn’t care less.’ Labrey lit a cigarette and let smoke drift down his narrow nostrils. He felt a pang of jealousy. Girls got taken to the top places if they were willing to lie on their backs, he thought bitterly. ‘You watch it.

Any pal of Benny’s is a suspect.’

‘Not this one! He’s a real doll! After dinner, he is going to show me his Bukhara rug.’ Vi giggled excitedly as she began to dry her hair. ‘He has money. I could have myself a ball for a change.’

‘What’s he doing mixing with a slob like Benny then?’ Labrey asked, now a little curious.

‘He showed Benny a film… a stag film. He wanted to know who shot it and who the man in the film was… don’t ask me why.’ Behind the tinted glasses, Labrey’s eyes became alert. ‘Did you get this guy’s name?’

‘Why, of course! I told you he’s taking me out tonight.’ Vi looked indignant. ‘You don’t imagine I’d go out with a man without knowing his name?’

Labrey sneered.

‘No, you wouldn’t go out with him, but you would sleep with him. What’s his name?’

‘Mark Girland, if it’s any of your business .’

Labrey stiffened. He sat motionless, his brain racing. Drina had often talked of an ex-CIA agent named Mark Girland.

‘One of Dorey’s top men, but they fell out,’ Drina had said. ‘A good thing for us. Girland was a nuisance. You should hear what Malik thinks of him!’

Once when Drina and Labrey were together on a job, Girland had passed them, and Drina had pointed him out to Labrey who had stared at the tall, dark man, envying him because he was now out of this rat race of a racket.

‘Have you swallowed a wasp or something?’ Vi asked, staring at Labrey.

‘Is he tall, dark with a big nose?’

‘I wouldn’t call it big… it’s a dreamy nose.’

‘Is he tall and dark?’ Labrey restrained his impatience with an effort.

‘Yes, and handsome.’

Labrey had telephoned Drina before signing off. Drina had told him that Girland was now involved somehow with Sherman. Labrey felt a wave of excitement run through him.

‘Sit down,’ he said, patting the bed.

‘I’m busy, dopey… can’t you see?’ Vi turned to the mirror. I can hear what you say without sitting… ouch!’

Labrey’s hand cracked across her buttocks, making a pistol-like report.

‘Ooooh! You beast!’ Vi cried, dancing with the sting and rubbing herself. She started towards the basin of water when Labrey snarled, ‘Come here and sit down or you’ll get a hiding!’

The note in his voice brought her to an abrupt standstill. She looked at him. His thin, white face had that savage expression she didn’t often see, but when she did, it scared her.

‘All right, all right, you needn’t have hit that hard.’ She came hurriedly and sat by his side. ‘What is it? God! You hurt me!’

I want to know exactly what happened between Girland and Benny. I want every detail… right from the beginning.’

‘What on earth for?’ Vi demanded, bewildered, her eyes opening wide.

Labrey’s hand came down on her naked thigh with another vicious slap that made her squeal. ‘Talk!’

Hurt and now really scared, Vi talked. At the end of her recital, Labrey said, ‘You’re definitely meeting him at this restaurant at nine o’clock tonight?’

‘Yes.’ Vi rubbed the red mark on her thigh. ‘Look what you’ve done to me, you stinking brute!’

‘Shut up!’ Labrey thought for a long moment. ‘You’re sure it was a blue film?’

‘I’ll say. They were on the bed, very busy.’

Labrey got to his feet.

‘Now listen, don’t say a word to anyone about this… do you understand? Don’t go yakking as you always yak.’ He leaned forward, his eyes glittering to stare directly into her eyes. ‘This is important. If you say one word to anyone, I’ll fix you and you’ll stay fixed!’

Vi shrank away from him, horrified by the murderous expression in his eyes.

‘I won’t say a thing… honest’

‘You’d better not. Stay here until I come back. Don’t move from here!’ ‘I’ll stay.’

Again he stared at her for a long chilling moment, then turned and went from the room. She heard him going down the stairs three at the time.

What’s happening, she thought. Oh, God! He’s never been like this before! He looked as if he could kill me! Has he gone crazy! What does it all mean?

She sat there, trembling, the water from the ends of her hair making patterns on the red, soiled bedspread.

Although he was satisfied that he had lost Drina, Girland was still cautious. He wanted to be certain there wasn’t a second tail. As Drina darted off down Rue de Vaugirard, Girland left the shop doorway and retraced his way towards Benny’s studio. He spotted a free taxi, crawling in the traffic, signalled and slid in as the taxi stopped. The taxi moved off again before the cars behind could begin any impatient hooting. Girland told the driver to take him to the American Embassy.

Twenty minutes later, he walked into Mavis Paul’s office. The moment she saw him, she snatched up a heavy ruler and eyed him suspiciously. She had had one embarrassing experience with him and she had no intention of repeating it.

‘Hello, beautiful,’ Girland said, regarding the ruler and keeping his distance. ‘Long time no see. You’re looking as radiant as this May morning. When are we going to have dinner together? I have a new and wonderful Bukhara rug I want to show you.’

Mavis snapped down a switch on the intercom.

‘Mr Girland is here, sir.’

‘ Send him in.’ Dorey ‘s voice was curt.

Mavis flicked her pretty fingers to the door.

‘ On your way, Romeo.’

Girland shook his head sadly.

‘If only you could realise what you are missing. A night out with me is an experience every beautiful girl dreams of.’

I can imagine,’ Mavis said, unimpressed. ‘He’s waiting,’ and putting down the ruler where she could grab it, she continued with her typing.

‘The last time you kissed me…’ Girland began but Mavis seized the ruler.

‘Not another word from you!’ she said, her face red. ‘Go in there!’

The door opened and Dorey peered into the office.

‘What are you waiting for, Girland? Come in… come in,’ he said impatiently.

As Girland wandered into the big room, he said sadly, ‘It’s spring and yet there is still ice around. I find it depressing.’

‘You leave my secretary alone,’ Dorey snapped. He had once caught Girland kissing Mavis and the shock still irked him. ‘She’s a serious girl and you’re wasting your time.’

Girland folded himself down in the visitor’s chair. ‘It’s never a waste of time. Where there’s a will, there’s a woman.’

Dorey snorted and sat behind his desk.

‘You are sure Drina was following you?’

‘Of course.’ Girland took the 8mm film from his pocket and put it on the desk. ‘Lock it away. Now the Soviets are interested that film could be dynamite for Sherman.’

‘You think Drina spotted Sherman?’

‘I’m sure of it.’ Girland reached for one of Dorey’s hand-made cigarettes and lit it. ‘I can’t understand why they didn’t alert the police that he was travelling on a false passport. They could have got him cold. Why follow me?’

‘Kovski is a fool,’ Dorey said. ‘We can thank our lucky stars.’

‘Well, at least, he knows you have met Sherman and there is a film involved.’ Girland thought for a moment. ‘If Kovski thinks this is important enough — and it’s my bet he will — he will put pressure on Benny Slade.’

‘Who’s he?’ Dorey demanded.

Girland told him.

‘Benny had to see the film. The girl meant nothing to him. I had to show him the film to get a lead on the man who shot it. Kovski could work on Benny who is soft. If they twist his arm, he will sing. If Benny sings, Sherman is in real trouble.’

Dorey considered this.

‘I can’t do anything official, Girland. I’m relying on you. Can you protect this man?’

‘Oh, sure, but it’ll cost.’ Girland studied Dorey. ‘You did say expenses, didn’t you? I don’t want my money frittered away.’ ‘This is important. Spend what you like.’ Girland looked at Dorey.

I would never have expected to hear you make such a statement,’ he said. ‘Well, well… of course it’s Sherman’s money you’re spending, but even at that…’

Dorey banged his fist on the desk.

I want action and I want results! You’ll be paid, but I want results.’

‘Take it easy. I know a couple of toughies who can take care of

Benny. Instead of screaming for results, Dorey, let’s have some money.’

Dorey took from his drawer a thick envelope which he tossed across the desk.

‘Here’s ten thousand in traveller’s cheques.’

‘Thank you… now I can get to work.’

Girland stowed the envelope away in his pocket.

‘Don’t lose them! They’re unsigned!’ Dorey hated to see Girland take so much money from him so casually.

‘The way you’re working yourself up, you’re heading for an ulcer.’ Girland reached for the telephone. He spoke quietly, then replaced the receiver.’ That takes care of Benny.’ There was a pause, then he went on, ‘Maybe you had better alert Sherman the Soviets are interested in him.’

‘How can I?’ Dorey lifted his hands and slammed them down on his desk. T can’t send him a coded cable. He’s never learned to decode a cable for himself. I’m cut off from him. This is unofficial, and it has to remain unofficial.’

Girland stroked the end of his nose while he thought. ‘I’m beginning to see now that I’ll have to earn my money,’ he said with a crooked smile. ‘I’m not so sure I’m going to like this job.’

‘If you don’t want it then give me back my money!’ Dorey barked.

‘I’m not as sure as all that’ Girland got up and began to move to the door.

‘And leave my secretary alone!’ Dorey said.

‘What nasty ideas come into your little mind.’ Girland looked sadly at Dorey, eased himself out of the room and closed the door.

At the sight of him, Mavis picked up the ruler.

Girland came slowly over to her desk, placed his hands on it and leaned towards her.

‘My father told me never to be afraid of a pretty girL Since you are the loveliest star in my sky… kiss me.’

She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly put down the ruler as Dorey opened his door.

‘You still here, Girland?’

Mavis returned to her typing and Girland straightened up. He regarded Dorey with an exasperated expression.

‘The only person who could ever have loved you was your mother,’ he said, ‘and I am sorry for her.’

‘Never mind about my mother,’ Dorey snapped. ‘You get off and earn your money.’

Girland glanced at Mavis who was pounding away on her typewriter, shook his head and moved out into the corridor.

As he closed the door after him, Dorey stamped back into his office.

Without pausing in her typing, Mavis smiled.

Malik sat behind his small, shabby desk and listened to what Labrey had to tell him. He thanked the gods that all his agents weren’t as stupid and as unreliable as Drina. He decided this long-haired boy with his ridiculous green tinted glasses was worth five of Drina. When Drina had reported that he had lost Girland, Malik couldn’t see how he was to make further progress. Now Labrey had come to him and had opened it all up again… or rather, Labrey’s girl had done so.

‘Can you trust this girl?’ Malik asked. His fiat green eyes surveyed Labrey.

‘Can you trust any woman?’ Labrey shrugged. So this is Malik, he was thinking. He had heard a lot about this man from Drina, and it gave him a kick to have direct contact with him. He was everything that Labrey would wish to be: big, muscular, ruthless and very efficient. ‘I’ve thrown a scare into her, but it might not stay thrown.’

‘Have you anything you can use against her?’ ‘She steals from shops… she’s always at it’ ‘You have proof of this?’ ‘Her place is full of stolen stuff.’

‘That is not proof. We will have to make use of her as Girland is interested in her. Would she work for us?’ Labrey hesitated.

I don’t think so. She has no brains. She has no feeling for politics. All she thinks about is money, clothes and sex.’

Malik thought for a moment: a massive stone-like figure, his huge killer hands resting on the desk.

‘Then we will pay her. What do we pay you?’ ‘Eight hundred a month.’

‘We will pay her six hundred. Tell her she has no choice. Tell her we need her. If she won’t co-operate, then one night something bad will happen to her… frighten her. Make sure she understands that Russia rewards good agents, but punishes bad ones. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘Arrange it then.’ Malik regarded Labrey. ‘I shall have further work for you. You have done well. I will see you get more money.’

When Labrey had gone, Malik unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and switched on a tape recorder. From the drawer he took a sensitive button microphone, so sensitive it didn’t need leads to the recorder. He tapped the microphone gently to make sure the magic eye of the recorder reacted, then he clipped the microphone over his wristwatch and covered the watch with his frayed shirt sleeve. He walked down the corridor to Kovski’s office. Kovski was busy writing a minute. He started violently when he saw Malik who had moved silently to Kovski’s desk.

‘Will you never learn to knock?’ Kovski snarled, putting down his fountain pen.

Malik sat on the hard, upright chair.

‘Sherman will be arriving at the Kennedy airport in another five hours,’ he said. ‘We know he is travelling on a false passport and in disguise. I understand he would not be welcomed by us as the future President. It occurred to me that you could alert the American airport police that he is travelling on a false passport.’ Kovski stared at him. ‘And suppose I do?’

‘The police will have to take action: the Press will hear about it, there will be a scandal: Sherman won’t be elected President,’ Malik said.

Little red patches or rage appeared on Kovski’s face. Had he thought of this himself, he might have acted, but coming from Malik made this impossible as Malik had foreseen.

‘Since when have you been asked to dictate policy?’ Kovski demanded, his voice shaking with fury. ‘This is not your job! Your job is to find out why Sherman came to Paris and why Dorey has talked to Girland!’

‘An anonymous cable to the American police at the Kennedy airport would result in Sherman’s embarrassment,’ Malik said woodenly. T suggest it is your duty to send this cable.’

‘Are you telling me what my duty is?’ Kovski shouted.

‘Yes.’

Kovski glared with hatred at the big man sitting so relaxed before him.

‘Be careful,’ he said viciously. ‘You are in disgrace! You are nothing! A word from me could send you for years to Siberia. You are to do what I tell you! Understand that! I will not listen to your views which are of no importance because you are stupid!’ His rage so carried him away that he found he was no longer afraid of Malik.

‘By sending this cable, you would be certain that Sherman could not become President of the United States,’ Malik said, his face expressionless.

‘You think so, you fool?’ Kovski snarled. ‘Are we so sure this man is really Sherman? We have only the word of that idiot Drina! If this man is really Sherman — and there are doubts and we alert the American police, then how are we to find out why he came here? This is what we want to find out! As soon as the CIA know we know who he is, they will throw up a smokescreen and then we will find out nothing!’

‘We don’t need to find anything out if you will send the cable. We will have achieved what we want… Sherman, won’t be elected President.’

‘You are a triple fool!’ Kovski’s voice was completely out of control. ‘How many more times do I have to tell you, idiot?

What we want to know is why he came here… go and find out! As long as Sherman believes he has come here and has got back safely to America, we have him where we want him!’

‘But we have him where we want him by sending this cable’, Malik said quietly.

‘Get out!’ Kovski slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘Do what I tell you! Find out why Sherman has been here! That’s your job!’

A thin smile lit up Malik’s stone-like face.

‘Those are your orders?’

‘Yes! Get out and do your job!’

Malik nodded and rose to his feet.

I am compelled to obey your orders,’ he said, staring at Kovski, ‘but I only obey them because you are my superior.’

He left the office, quietly, shutting the door after him and returned to his own office. He turned off the tape recorder, rewound the tape, listened for a few seconds to the playback, then satisfied he had an excellent recording, he ran off the tape. He found a large envelope and wrote on it: Conversation between Comrade Kovski and myself. May 5th. Subject: Henry Sherman. He put the spool of tape into the envelope and sealed it with Sellotape, then dropped the envelope into his pocket, This was yet another tape to be added to a small collection he had in a safe deposit bank not far from the Soviet Embassy: yet another nail in Kovski’s coffin.

Still careful he wasn’t being followed, Girland made his way from the American Embassy to Pierre Rosnold’s studio on Rue Garibaldi. The studio was housed on the fourth floor of an old-fashioned building, but there was nothing old-fashioned about the ornate elevator nor about Rosnold’s entrace. The double doors that led to the studio were covered with white suede, embossed with gilt scrolls and which opened automatically when Girland broke an invisible beam as he approached them. He found himself in a small lobby, draped in red velvet with gilt chairs, and a glass-topped gilt table on which were spread the usual glossy magazines.

Girland decided that Rosnold’s set-up was of better taste and smelt more of money than Benny’s exotic studio.

As he was surveying the scene, a door facing him opened and an elderly man, wearing a black hat and a light-grey overcoat came into the lobby. He moved with the arrogance of the very rich. In his right gloved hand, he carried a bulky envelope. His long, thin aristocratic face, the lines around the weak, sensual mouth, the smudges under his baggy eyes made him look like an ageing Casanova. His satisfied expression swiftly changed to startled apprehension as he saw Girland. He gave Girland a quick, uneasy glance, then moving quickly, he left the lobby, clutching his envelope and Girland heard him entering the elevator.

‘Yes?’

Girland glanced around.

A woman stood in the doorway, regarding him. She was tall, probably in her early thirties, slim, dark with a heart-shaped face that could have been a tinted plaster mask.

‘Mr Rosnold please,’ Girland said with his most charming smile.

The smile bounced off her like a golf ball slammed against a wall.

‘Mr Rosnold is not here.’

‘You mean he doesn’t work here any more?’

‘He is not here.’

‘Then where do I find him?’

Again the dark eyes went over Girland, examining his clothes. From the bleak expression that showed in her eyes, the woman thought nothing of him.

‘Do you want a sitting?’

The automatic doors swung open and another elderly, rich looking man came in. He hesitated for a brief moment at the sight of Girland, then gave the woman a wide, toothy smile.

‘Ah, Mile Lautre, how well you are looking.’ He again glanced uneasily at Girland.

The woman stood aside and smiled. The plaster mask cracked for a moment, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

‘Please go in, monsieur. I won’t be a moment.’

The elderly man slid around her and passed through the open doorway.

‘If you will give me your name, I will tell Mr Rosnold you have called.’

‘It’s urgent. When will he be back?’. Girland asked.

‘Not before Monday. May I have your name?’

‘It’s very urgent. Where can I contact him?’

The woman stared at him. She was as hostile as a barbed-wire fence. ‘Your name please?’

‘Tom Stag. Mr Rosnold and I have business together.’

‘I’ll tell Mr Rosnold when he returns.’ The woman began to back through the doorway. ‘Perhaps you will telephone for an appointment on Monday,’ then she closed the door.

Girland left and crossed to the elevator. He thumbed the call button and while he waited, his mind was busy. When the cage stopped before him, he got in and went down to the ground floor. Before leaving the elevator, he took out his wallet and extracted two ten franc notes. He walked over to the concierge’s window and tapped.

A fat, elderly woman, her hair in steel curlers, a shawl around her shoulders opened the window and regarded him with that stony, indifferent stare that most Paris concierges cultivate.

‘Excuse me,’ Girland said and turned on charm. I am sorry to disturb you, madame. I want to see Mr Rosnold very urgently.’

‘Fourth floor,’ the concierge snapped and prepared to shut the window.

‘Perhaps you could help me.’ Girland put the two ten franc notes on the shelf of the window, keeping a finger on them.

The woman looked at the notes, then at Girland. She became visibly less hostile.

‘I’m sure you are busy,’ Girland went on. ‘Of course, I expect to pay for your time.’ He took his fingers off the notes. ‘I’ve already been to the fourth floor. I am told Mr Rosnold is away. I need to see him urgently. Do you happen to know where he is?’

‘Didn’t you ask his secretary, monsieur?’ the concierge asked, eyeing the notes that lay between them.

‘I did, but she was evasive. You see, madame, Mr Rosnold owes me a sum of money. If I don’t find him quickly and persuade him to pay me, I shall be in trouble.’ Girland turned on his boyish smile. ‘But perhaps you can’t help me.’ He extended his finger, but the concierge got there first. She drew the two notes out of Girland’s reach and palmed them.

I know where he is,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘His secretary had a letter from him yesterday. I know his handwriting and the stamp interested me. The Alpenhoff Hotel, Garmisch… that’s where he is. When he left, he told me he would be away a month.’ ‘When did he leave, madame?’ ‘Last Monday.’

‘You are very kind… thank you, madame.’ T hope you get your money, monsieur,’ she said. ‘He is not a nice gentleman.’

Her old fat face crinkled into a grimace. ‘He is mean.’

Girland again thanked her and walked out onto the busy street. He glanced at his watch. It was 16.20 hrs. He decided to visit Sammy’s Bar and talk to Jack Dodge, the second lead Benny had given him.

He found Sammy’s Bar on Rue Berry off Avenue des Champs Elysees: a typical, dimly lit bar like so many bars that grow like mushrooms around any tourist haunt. He pushed open the door and walked into a long narrow room, the bar to the left with the standard stools, to the right were banquettes and tables. At this hour the place was empty except for the barman who was browsing over a racing sheet, Biro in hand, a look of concentration on bis handsome face.

As soon as Girland saw him, he guessed he must be Jack Dodge. This man with his sandy-coloured hair, his sun lamp complexion, his bulky shoulders and the shadow of dissipation under his close-set eyes looked the part of a stallion: a sensual lump of muscle and flesh: whose brain and mind were as small as his sexuality was enormous.

The barman glanced up, then pushed the racing sheet away. He gave Girland a smirking grin and placed big hands on the bar counter.

‘Yes, sir?’ he said. ‘What is your pleasure?’

Girland hoisted himself on a stool.

‘Rye whisky and ginger ale.’

‘Yes, sir… a nice reviving drink.’

‘That’s what I need. Have one with me.’

I won’t say no.’ The barman made two drinks with a lot of unnecessary flourishes. ‘First one today.’

He placed one of the glasses before Girland and lifted the other.

‘Sante.’

They drank, then Girland asked casually, ‘Are you Jack Dodge?’

The barman lifted a sandy eyebrow.

‘That’s me. Can’t say I’ve seen you before. I have a good memory for faces.’

"That’s good news. I want you to remember a girl’

I get a lot of girls in here. I won’t swear I can remember them all. It’s the men I concentrate on.’ He grinned slyly. ‘They pick up the tab.’

I understand. Well, never mind about the girl for the moment. Are you still happy working for Pierre Rosnold?’ Girland asked, his dark eyes on Dodge’s face.

If he had leaned across the bar and punched Dodge in the eye, he wouldn’t have got a bigger reaction.

Dodge reared back. His close-set eyes went blank with shock. The blood moved out of his face leaving his skin blotchy under the sun lamp complexion, but he recovered quickly. For a brief moment, when Girland could almost hear his brain creaking, he stood motionless, then pulling himself together, he eyed Girland with sudden suspicion.

I don’t know him,’ he said. ‘Excuse me. I’ve things to do.’

‘Don’t be so obvious,’ Girland said. ‘You have nothing to do except talk to me. I know what your side-line is, but that doesn’t mean I’ll make trouble for you. How would you like to pick up an easy hundred bucks?’

‘I told you, sir, I have things to do.’ Dodge began to move away down the bar.

‘If you don’t want my money, I can always call Inspector Dupuis of the vice squad and turn you in. Please yourself.’

Dodge hesitated, then glared at Girland. ‘Just who the hell are you?’

‘Look on me as your pal,’ Girland said and smiled. He took ten ten-dollar bills from his wallet. These he had got by cashing some of his traveller’s cheques at the American Express on his way to the bar. ‘All yours, buddy, for a little information which won’t go further. Don’t look so anxious. I’m not after you. I want to find a girl who went through a performance with you before Rosnold’s camera.’

Dodge eyed the money, licked his full lips, took a drink, then looked at the money again.

‘You mean that’s for me?’

‘That’s right. No strings to it… just information.’ Dodge hesitated, but the power of money was too much for him. He finished his drink, then made another while his brain creaked.

‘What do you want to know?’ he asked finally. T came across an 8 mm movie,’ Girland said. ‘It is labelled "A Souvenir from Paris". It shows you, wearing a hood, performing with a dark-haired girl. Three other films were shot, probably at the same time. Mean anything to you?’

Dodge again looked at the money. ‘You really mean that’s for me?’ Girland pushed five ten dollar bills across the counter. ‘You get the rest when you talk,’ he said. Dodge snapped up the bills and stowed them away in bis hip pocket.

‘This is strictly confidential.’

‘You are right out of it,’ Girland promised. ‘What do you know about this movie?’

‘Well, Rosnold called me. This was to be a special job. Okay, I make these movies. It’s business and pleasure. I do a job for Rosnold two or three times a week. Last month, he called me. I went to the studio and there was this girl. I’ve never seen her before… a new one.’ He thought for a moment. The memory seemed to please him because his face broke into a sensual leer. ‘Very good… an amateur, you understand, but good.’

‘ Did you get her name?’

Dodge shook his head.

‘No. Rosnold called her Cherie, but I did get she and he were buddy-buddies. We made four films. Rosnold paid me $50 a film.’ Again the leer. ‘It was a pleasure.’

‘Let’s do better than that,’ Girland said. ‘What makes you think Rosnold and the girl were buddies?’

‘The way they behaved… the way they talked. I could tell. I guess Rosnold digs for her.’

‘Yet Rosnold took the shots while you were working on her?’

‘That’s nothing… that’s business. I’ve worked with wives while their husbands took the shots. When you make a stag, it’s strictly business. Besides, I got the idea the girl was stoned.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Well, you know… L.S.D. She was higher than a kite and as hot as a stove.’

‘You think she had taken L.S.D.?’

‘I’m damn sure she had.’

Girland grimaced.

‘What did they talk about… did you hear anything?’

‘Well… I had to rest between the shootings.’ The leer irritated Girland. ‘While I was building myself up, they got in a huddle. They were planning to go to Garmisch together as soon as the shooting was processed.’

‘What do you know about Rosnold?’

Dodge shrugged.

‘He’s one of the bright boys. When he isn’t making movies or photographing the snobs, he organises a group of nuts who call themselves Ban War. He tried to get me to join the organisation but it didn’t interest me. How the hell can you ban war anyway? It’s like bashing your nut against a wall. Anyway, he makes a good thing out of it. Every sucker who joins pays ten francs and the money goes into Rosnold’s pocket.’

The door swung open and four American tourists, each with a camera slung around his neck, came into the bar, shattering the quiet atmosphere as they climbed thirstily onto stools away from Girland.

I see you’re getting busy,’ Girland said. He slid the other dollar bills over to Dodge. ‘Forget you’ve seen me,’ and he walked out onto the street.

It now looked as if his next stop would be Garmisch, but first he wanted more information. He headed back to the American Embassy.