Hall put his arm through Margaret's. "Let's you and me look, then," he said.

"Don't go!" the Marques cried. "You're both dressed too well. They'll kill you."

"I'd better not go with you, Matt."

"But I insist. I'm going and you're coming with me."

They watched de Runa stiffen. "Now don't be a child," she said. "Hall will bring me back intact."

"Don't go," the Marques said.

Hall freed his hands. For a moment he thought he would have to use them on the Marques. Then Margaret tugged his arm. "Let's go if we're going,"

she said. "You wait right here for me with Giselle, Freddie. I'll meet you here in half an hour."

The fire was five blocks from the Ritz. There was a half block heap of glowing brick and rubble. Behind the rubble stood an old church, one wall partially blown out. The firemen were playing streams of water into and around this hole.

"G.o.d!" Margaret said. "The stench!"

"Oil. My guess is that a thousand gallons of oil went up in smoke."

In the crowd standing at the rim of the fire lines, a taxi driver turned around and glanced at Hall. "Some fire," he said.

"What happened?"

"Garage. The Phoenix Garage went up in smoke. Blew a hole in the Cathedral when it exploded."

"The Phoenix Garage?"

"That's what it is, senor." The driver moved closer to the gutted rubble.

"You wait here, Margaret. I'm going to talk to the firemen." He crossed the fire lines, found his way to the engine captain near the main hydrant. When he returned to Margaret, he gave her a complete report.

"The fire chiefs say that the Reds didn't blow up the church at all," he said. "Seems as if the gasoline tanks in the garage caught fire by themselves."

Margaret laughed. "Don't tell Gis," she said. "She's already cabled a story to the States that the Reds burned the church."

_Chapter eleven_

Duarte knew about the Phoenix Garage before Hall returned to the Mexican Emba.s.sy. "Commander New dropped in while you were at the fire," he explained. "He told me."

"Does he know anything else about it?"

"Not about the fire. But he does know a little more about Fielding. He says that Fielding's files have been cleaned out. There wasn't a single copy of any of Fielding's reports when the British officials opened the files."

"But the British have all the dope, Felipe. Fielding's reports--at least the ones he showed me--were all carbons of the reports he made to his Emba.s.sy."

"I know that. But if his reports are now in the hands of the Falange, the Axis knows it too. It will give them time to cover their traces. It will also put the finger on you. One of the things they did find in the office was a note Fielding had made reminding himself to prepare copies of certain reports for you, Mateo. That might explain what happened to you in that Falangist cafe on the waterfront the other day. Fielding had already been killed when you were drugged."

Hall lay down on the couch in Duarte's office, took his shoes off. "I'll be all right in a few minutes," he said. "I just need about ten minutes of this."

"I'll get some cold beer."

"No. I don't need it. Listen, Felipe, do the British know that I was drugged?"

"I don't think so. I didn't tell them, anyway. I wouldn't, without your permission."

"Maybe you should tell them. It might do some good. But what are we going to do now that we know about the fire? I still feel like a drunk on a merry-go-round."

Duarte laughed. "You can always get off and go home," he said.

"No. It feels worse when I get off."

"I did something this morning, Mateo. I sent word to General Mogrado through one of our diplomatic couriers."

"Mogrado? Of the Spanish air force?"

"He's living in Mexico City now. I asked him to rush everything he could get on Ansaldo. The largest Spanish Republican colony in the hemisphere is in Mexico, you know. I figured that surely there must be one man among the exiles--a doctor, a former Army officer, someone--who could give us the dope on Ansaldo."

"Sounds like a possibility."

"We'll see."

"Don't let me fall asleep here. I've got things to do."

"Then get some rest. I've got to complete my report." Duarte turned to his typewriter, glanced at what he had written on the sheet in the machine. "Mateo," he said, "I'm meeting Dr. Gonzales in an hour. We're going to try to reach Lavandero with your Havana information on Ansaldo.

Will you join me?"

"No. I have some unfinished business myself. I think that before the night is over we'll know a lot more about Ansaldo."

"What are you going to do?"

Hall stifled a yawn. "I'm going to take a chance and shoot the works on someone who can talk. It might work."

"Be careful, Mateo. You look very tired."

"I'll turn in early. Let's have breakfast at your place tomorrow, eh?"

Hall found a phone booth in a tobacco shop near the Emba.s.sy. He called Jerry.

"I knew it would be you," she said. "I was waiting for you to call, you dog."

"I hope you're hungry," he said. "I'm taking you to dinner."

"I'm famished. Where are you?"

"I can be at the Bolivar in about fifteen minutes. Meet me in the lobby?"