"One of these days," Hall said. "We'll get the complete story, Androtten. All the facts, in complete detail. Good night." He paid for his drink and went to the desk in the lobby.

"Your key," Souza said. "I have it right here."

"Thanks. What's new?"

"Oh, nothing, senor. Nothing at all." Souza was being profoundly impersonal. "I hope you are feeling better, senor. Oh, yes, message in your box."

The message was from Souza himself, and the ink was not yet dry. "I can't speak now," it read.

"Thank you. Good night." Hall put the message in his pocket and went to his room.

He flung himself across the bed, yielding to the fatigue that was tearing at every nerve and muscle in his body. In the dark, he managed to get rid of his shoes and his suit, letting them drop to the floor when he had taken them off. He tried to think of all that had happened that day, of what he would have to do tomorrow. The fading shouts of the crowds in the Plaza grew fainter. The bed grew softer. He fell asleep.

The phone bell woke him in a few minutes. Souza was calling. "Senor Hall, the drinks you ordered are on the way upstairs," he said. "I am sorry for the delay, but we have a new waiter, and he is not accustomed to our system yet."

"Oh, I get it." The _cabron_ of a night waiter was gone. The invisible, detested _cabron_ whom Hall had never seen. He half expected Miguelito or Juan Antonio to be standing in the hall when he heard the knock on the door. Instead, there was a short, swarthy man in his forties, balancing a tray of brandy and soda in his right hand, a professional waiter down to his flat feet and his bland smile.

"Shall I bring it in, senor?"

"Please. Set it down here, on the little table."

The waiter closed the door, put the tray down. "_Companero_ Hall," he said, the bland smile gone, "permit me to introduce myself. I am Emilio Vicente, delegate of the Waiters' Union." He shook Hall's hand, then gave him a calling card. It was Major Segador's private card.

"Turn it over, _Companero_ Hall."

The short message on the reverse side indicated that Hall was to trust Vicente.

"I am happy to know you," Hall said. "Will you have a drink with me?"

"Some other time, _companero_. Tonight I have a message. Major Segador suggests that should you need any a.s.sistance in a hurry, you can call upon me. I am at your orders."

"Thank you."

Emilio Vicente picked up his tray. "_Companero_," he said, "it might seem a little dangerous, but the Major a.s.sured us that you do not lack for _cojones_."

"What?"

"Good night, _Companero_ Hall. You look as if you could use some sleep."

_Chapter twelve_

Hall slept through the morning. He rose at noon, staggered into a cold tub, and then ordered a breakfast of steak and eggs. Vicente wheeled the table into the room.

"I have been thinking of the major's offer," Hall said. "There's something you can do for me. Do you know anything about the Marques de Runa?"

"Yes. He's a Falangist. His family owns one of the biggest import and export companies in the country. The young one works there, too."

"What is he up to now?"

"Perhaps we can find out."

"Good. Do you know anything about his chauffeur?"

"No. But we can find out."

"Do you mind if I ask Pepe Delgado to check up too?"

"Not at all, _companero_. He is very reliable."

San Hermano had settled back to her old routines when Hall left his room. The trolleys ran, cars moved along all the streets, the loud speakers on the poles and buildings had been taken down, and street sweepers were groaning over the litter of signs and papers they themselves had helped scatter over the whole city the day before.

Yesterday's crowds had gone back to their jobs, their homes, their own quarters.

The papers had little news about Tabio's condition. They carried his speech and, in most cases, described the events which had followed Tabio's speech as a spontaneous demonstration on the part of the people.

_El Imparcial_ merely said that a great crowd had heard the speech over the public amplifiers and that Red hoodlums had severely beaten some anti-communists who had joined the crowd in the Plaza to listen to the address of the President.

Hall scanned the papers at a cafe table in Old San Hermano while Pepe went to telephone some friends who were doing some further checking on the Marques de Runa. The information Pepe received over the telephone was very brief. At six o'clock that morning, the Marques de Runa and his chauffeur had taken a plane for Natal from the San Hermano airport.

"Wait for me in the car." Hall went to a phone himself, called Margaret Skidmore.

"Hi, Pirate," she said. "Getting lonesome for the farm?"

"Sure. How about you?"

"I can't get away this week," she said. "How about the week-end?"

"I'll have to let you know tomorrow. Tell me, Margaret, how well do you know the Marques de Runa?"

"Very well. Why?"

"Oh, nothing much. I left my notebook in his car last night, I think."

"I know. He told me."

"About the notebook?"

"No. About your red-headed girl friend. She sounds like a good subst.i.tute for farming."

"Cut it out," Hall laughed.

"Is she the gal you were dreaming about at the wrong time one day last week?"

"No. But about my notebook. It's not too important, but I had some interesting things in it, Margaret. I was wondering how to reach the Marques."