There is always love (11 page)

"Not yet. We know where the bracelet is. Our combined intelligences ought to find out how it got there. Let's go it alone."-

"You're the doctor. It's your hunt. Ill have my secretary ring up the hotels and when or if she locates our man switch me onto the wire. Better let me talk for you."

"Fair enough. Get busy."

It was twenty minutes before a voice came through the inter-ofl&ce phone.

"I've located Senor Pedro Lorillo at the Ritz, Mr. Merton."

"All right. I'U take over."

"The desk clerk speaking,'* announced a voice at the other end of the wire.

"Connect me with Senor Pedro Lorillo."

"The Senor is out, sir."

"Then I'U talk with Senora LoriUo."

"She is not registered here."

Greg Merton spoke to Grant but not so softly that his voice would not be audible to the desk clerk.

"Dolores isn't at the hotel, Tom. That's queer. Pedro wrote she was coming with him." He spoke into the transmitter. "That's all. Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Just a minute. Senor Lorillo left word that if anyone inquired for him to say he'd gone to the Bra2dlian exhibit at the Fair to meet a friend who recently had arrived in the United States."

"That's a break. Thanks. I'll get in touch with him there." He cradled the phone. "You heard, Skid?"

"Yeah. I heard. Bright boy, Greg, to pretend we knew the Senor's wife. That got you the information. Just where do we G-men go from here?"

'To the Fair, of course. Brazil, here we cornel"

XII

TRAILING SE5JOR PEDRO LORILLO had not been the cinch he and Grant had anticipated, Greg Merton reflected 60

as he leaned against the iron rafl of the balcony of the Bra-zCian Restaurant above a flowery little court and under a sky like an inverted indigo sieve with gold just beginning to shine through its myriad holes. Below hummed and flowed unceasingly a stream of humanity, on foot, in roll chairs, in buses. The delectable aroma of coffee scented the crisp ah". Gay, swinging music rippled and crashed and tinkled. Changing lights turned white pillars to rosy marble, walls to amethyst, amber and translucent green jade, the Perisphere to cloudy sapphire. He had haunted the place since he had heard this morning that the Brazilian would be here. Skid and he had decided that the best way to follow up the emerald and diamond bracelet was to establish friendly relations, if possible, with the escort of the woman who had worn it.

He glanced at his wrist watch. Grant was due in fifteen minutes. If the Senor didn't appear soon their plan for him to get fratty with the Brazilian and pave the way for Skid's abject apology for last evening would go smash.

A girl leaned over the balcony to look at the garden, a slender girl in black. He recognized the costly simplicity of her ensemble. Janet's clothes were like that. She wore a corsage of orchids, a little more yellow than the hair which showed below her feather turban. His heart stopped and pounded on. Alix Crane! Was she here to meet Lorillo? He must talk with her. Establishing rapprochement with a strange female wasn't in his line. What was his best move?

He didn't need one. Green eyes glinted in his direction between artistically darkened lashes. A gold bag dropped. He recognized the technique. Girl wanted to talk to boy. Girl would talk to boy, pronto. He retrieved the bag.

"Darn slippery things, aren't they?" he sympathized and smiled. Her eyes traveled from the top of his head to his feet, rested on the green-ringed hand which held his soft hat and came back to his eyes.

"They are when one is too weak from hunger to hold them," she agreed.

This was quicker work than Greg had anticipated but he rose to the bait like a veteran and swallowed the line to the tip of the rod.

"Never could bear to read about the starving," he attested with just the right amount of eagerness. "Won't you have dinner with me? I'm a stranger in a strange country." That was right, he was in Brazil, wasn't he?

"I'm really waiting for—"

"Lovely woman should wait for no man." Greg wondered how he could think up such cliches. "Let's begin with an aperitif. They serve them on this balcony. After that, how about a charcoal-broiled beefsteak. They're sensational.'*

•The aperitif first. Perhaps I shall not find you entertaining enough to go on to dinner, Mr.—?" She shrugged her shoulders, looked up into his face as he drew out a chair for her.

"Merton's the name." He laughed and seated himself across the table. "You knew that, didn't you? Just as I know that you are Alix Crane, the singer, whom I've always admired. Never thought I'd have the luck to meet you."

"It isn't so hard."

"So I see. Boy, think of the time I've wasted." He gave an order to the waiter. Elbows on the table she clasped her ungloved hands. It was then that he saw the emerald-and-diamond bracelet glittering against her black sleeve. If that were Mrs. Grant's, Skid's mother had a millionaire-taste in jewelry, all right. It was superb.

"I knew your name when I dropped the bag, Mr. Merton, or I wouldn't have dropped it. I'm not that easy to meet. When you came to the table next ours last night to hunt for a vanity, which I suspect you knew was not there, I asked the maitre d'hotel who you were. He told me that you are the nephew of a filthy-rich woman; filthy is my word, not his."

"The great-nephew, only. And in case it makes a difference to you, quite out of favor with her."

"You look too keen to let that happen. You're in real estate, aren't you?"

"Guilty."

She tapped on the table with finger tips that shone like pink jewels. Her eyes glinted vindictively.

"Do you know Keith Sanders?"

"In a business way, only. Do you?"

"Don't be quaint. You know I do. Is there anyone who reads the papers who doesn't know that he was to back me in a show and wriggled out? You have only to look at those icy blue eyes of his to know that he would stab his dearest friend in the back if it would forward his own fortune."

The venom in her voice didn't improve its tone which Greg had been surprised to find coarse. It was out of character with her exquisite appearance. Her face was flushed now. South American brandy was potent. As if following his thought she nodded toward his untouched glass.

"What's the matter with it? Why don't you drink? Not trying to poison me, are you?"

"Who's being quaint now? Why in heaven's name should I want to poison you? I told you I've been keen to meet you. I don't drink." He achieved a hollow cough. "Doctor's orders."

She regarded him between sweeping black lashes.

"On the wagon? It's a trend. I wouldn't take you for an 62

invalid. You look as fit as they make 'em." She pushed her empty glass toward him and reached for his full one. "Your doctor won't object if someone else drinks yours, will he?"

"On the contrary, he would doubtless prescribe it." He looked around the balcony. The tables were full. No doubt but that the girl had been waiting for Lorillo. Why the dickens didn't he come? Time was stepping on the gas. Skid might appear at any minute and it was up to him to get in a lick or two with the Brazilian in preparation for the apology.

"Looking for someone?"

"A man promised to meet me here, Miss Crane. I rather hope he won't come. It would break up our little party. Where are you singing, now?"

"Miss Crane is at liberty." Her correction was bitter. "But I shan't be long. I have a backer—and here he is!" She held out her hand to the man who stopped at the table. He pressed his lips to it and nodded to Merton who had risen.

"Pardon, carisima, I am regretful that I am late. Alas, I am acquiring the bad habit of the businessmen of your country who keep a lady waiting. I do not know the gentleman who has been so good as to entertain you, no?'*

"Stop acting like a stuffed shirt, Pedro, and meet Gregory Merton. Senor Pedro Lorillo, from Brazil—" She touched her cofsage and giggled. "Where the orchids come from, diamonds too, eh, Pedro?"

Greg couldn't see the Brazilian's eyes—they were looking down at the girl—but there was a hint of eagerness in his voice as he answered:

"That is for you to decide, carisima. The diamonds will be yours when you say you will make me the happiest man in the world. The table is waiting inside—shall we—"

"Join us, Senor Lorillo, for a drink," Greg interrupted hurriedly. He must hold them till Skid came. He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Two minutes more to go.

"Sit down, Pedro. I'm happy where I am," Alix Crane urged. She laid her hand on the Brazilian's sleeve. "Mr. Merton is most amusing. He—^Well look who's herel"

The eyes of the two men followed hers. Lorillo quickly dropped to a vacant chair and intently studied the wine card as Keith Sanders and Linda Bourne crossed to the balcony. They leaned over the rail to look down into the court.

"Did you know they were coming here, Mr. Merton? Is this a plant?" Alix Crane's low, harsh query was more an accusation than a question.

"A plant!" Greg echoed in disturbed surprise. Skid mustn't come in now! Linda might call him by name and he was to be known as Sterling, Tom Sterling, to this man and girl

at the table. He shook his head and leaned forward.

"You're a suspicious person, aren't you? First, about the cocktail and now about Sanders. Why should I 'plant' him here? I hate to admit that I can't get along with anybody, but I'll have to confess that he gets my goat. I see red each time I meet him. Perhaps it's business jealousy. He's the wonder boy in our line in this city."

"You're not the only one who sees red when he appears. I'm just waiting to settle my score with him." Miss Crane's voice was edged. "Senor Lorillo doesn't like hini either, do you, Pedro?"

The Brazilian twisted the stem of his empty glass and smiled. The whites of his eyes stood out with startling distinctness in contrast to his olive skin. Greg's hair prickled at the roots. Something ghoulish about the man.

"I do not know him, carisima, I know only that he has made you suffer. For that I will challenge him."

*To a duel! For goodness' sake, don't, Pedro." Alix Crane was breathless with anxiety. "It would be grand publicity for me. Front page. Headlines. But it would be the end of you in this country." She smiled with alluring charm. "I would much rather have you alive than Sanders dead. They are going. Good riddance."

Greg Merton held his breath as both Alix Crane and Lorillo watched Linda and Sanders cross the room to the corridor. Time for Skid. If he were to meet them at the door and Linda called him by name the little scheme of making friends with the two at this table would blow sky high.

"I have an apology to make to you, Miss Crane?" he confessed hurriedly. Immediately their eyes turned to him. Now if he could hold them tUl Lindy and Sanders were out of sight the situation would be saved. "It is from my friend, Tom Sterling."

"The gentleman who objected to being laughed at? So Sterling's the last name. Sanders' current secretary supplied the first." Her eyes narrowed speculatively. "What form will that apology take?"

"You must not accept the apology, I will handle that, carisima**

Alix administered a conciliatory pat on the Brazilian's hand.

"No, you won't. I will. Fve had considerable of this sort of thing to do during a life that wasn't all sweetness and light before I met you, Pedro. Is Mr. Sterling rich, Mr. Merton, or is he just another white-collar worker? What is so funny about my question?"

Greg caught the flash in Lorillo's eyes before he looked 64

down at the lighter he was holding to his cigarette. Into what sort of a mess was he getting Skid? It didn't look so good. Good or not, he must put over the plan.

"If you knew Sterling as I do, you, also, would have laughed at the question, Miss Crane. He's not a New Yorker. Woolly West. Oil. Wells of it pouring out liquid gold. Hasn't many friends here—"

"The charming Senora who clung to him last evening would make up for a dozen others. She has what you call here in the States, the glamour, yes?"

"No use, Pedro." Alix' voice was sharp as a knife thrust. "Keith Sanders has her fascinated. The night we saw them dining together I knew her number was up. She devoured him with those enormous brown eyes of hers. Tell me more about your friend Sterling, Mr. Merton."

"I've said he is rich; did I forget to add that he is sensationally generous, to those whom he admires? Like Seiior Lorillo, he says it with orchids and diamonds. Why not? A jeweled bracelet counts no more in his expense budget than a corsage of gardenias does in mine. He's sensitive, though, has an inferiority complex I've never seen equaled. There he is now! Just coming on the balcony. Mind if I call him over? If he comes, don't be too hard on him about last evening; he's terribly cut up to think he made such a hick of himself."

"Me, Alix Crane, hard on a man with wells of oil pouring out liquid gold? How do you get that way? Invite him to join us." She lifted her chin, smoothed her slim hips. "Something tells me I shall like your sensitive friend. Be quick. He looks as if he were about to burst into tears."

Skidmore Grant's lachrymose expression brightened as he saw Merton's beckoning hand. At the table he looked from Lorillo's inscrutable face to Alix Crane's smiling one. His brown eyes, humble with apology, rested there.

"Say, this is—is darned good of you, Miss—Miss—"

"Crane," she supplied graciously. "Sit down again, all of you. I understand you have a little speech to make to me?" She was smiling at Grant, with the smile which made her so attractive, as he sank gratefully into a chair beside her.

"I have. I'm on my knees in apology for—" He swallowed hard and betrayed all the symptoms of an inferiority complex.

"Suppose we forget it, shall we, Mr. Sterling, and be friends?" She extended a slender hand which Skid grabbed as if it were a life-preserver flung to a ship-wrecked sailor on a wide, wide sea.

"Friends! You betcha! I'll say it with flowers and—"

"Sehorita Crane is most forgiving," Lorillo's suave voice

interrupted, "but I was her host. It is with me you should settle accounts, Senor, is it not?"

"Righto, Senor Lorillo." Grant's ruddy face took on a purplish tinge. "I'm sorry, I'm darned sorry it happened. What can I do to make you believe it?"

"You don't have to do anything for him," Alix Crane intervened testily. "You're doing all right. I'm the injured party. I'll name the penalty.*'

"As you say, carisima." Lorillo twisted his glass. For an instant his eyes appeared to be all white.

"You're a sport. Miss Crane, for giving me a chance to square myself. As a guarantee of our peace pact, be my guests at dinner, will you?"

"Sure, we'll be your guests at dinner, with pleasure, Tommy darling."

Grant looked down at the hand she had laid on his. His ruddy color faded a trifle.