'Mr. Vance,' he said, 'A pleasure. Your table, as requested, is in the far corner.' He flicked his fingers and a waiter approached.
'Please, Madame, allow us . . .'
'I prefer to manage,' Maggie said, giving him her sexy smile. 'Just show me the way.'
Watched by all the diners, she wheeled Brady to a distant, secluded table.
There were muted whispers: 'Who's he?' 'Pretty nurse.' 'Must have just arrived.'
Finally, settled at the table, the maitre d' handed Brady and Maggie a menu each.
'If I may suggest . . .' he began.
'Go away!' Brady growled in his old man's voice. 'I know what I like! I'm not an idiot!'
The maitre d's smile slipped a little, but Maggie gave him a knowing wink to tell him her patient was difficult. He bowed and went away.
'Lu, pet, you don't have to be rude to the nice man,' Maggie whispered.
'Quiet, baby!' Brady said. 'I'm in character.'
Then he began to examine the menu. The prices against each dish made his eyes widen. 'What a racket!' he muttered. 'Daylight robbery!' He began to search for the cheapest dish, and finally decided on Sole de L'Imperatrice which cost $35.
'We'll have the sole,' he told Maggie who was drooling over the Epicurean dishes.
Maggie's face fell. 'I don't dig fish, honey. I'd adore this Chicken Maryland.'
'Look at the price!'
'You told me we were going to make a million,' Maggie said. 'I'm starving!'
'If we're unlucky, I'll have to pay for your food out of my own pocket. We'll have the sole.'
'Unlucky?' Maggie immediately looked worried. 'You said . . .'
'Quiet!' Brady snapped. 'Act like a nurse! You talk when I speak to you.'
Maggie sighed and began to butter a roll of bread. It wasn't until the sole arrived and was presented with a flourish that Maggie, peering at the contents of the silver dish, brightened. The sole, done in a heavy cream and wine sauce was decorated with sliced truffles, diced lobster and fried oysters.
Brady had sternly refused the maitre d's suggestion that they should begin with a prawn salad, and when the wine waiter offered a white wine, the price of which made Brady cringe, he demanded water.
'If you go on stuffing yourself with bread,' Brady said when the wine waiter had gone, 'you'll get fat.'
'I'm hungry,' Maggie whined, 'but this looks okay,' and she began to attack the sole.
As Brady ate, he surveyed the people at the other tables. 'Ed was right,' he muttered. 'The jewels these old cows are wearing are worth a pile of dough. Look at that old trout on your right. That bracelet is worth at least a hundred thousand.'
'I didn't think I liked fish,' Maggie said, intent on her plate, 'but this is gorgeous.'
There was a sudden commotion at the entrance to the restaurant. The maitre d' hurried forward. Two of his satellites followed.
Wilbur and Maria made their entrance. Maria looked magnificent. Tall, her expression haughty and condescending, she wore an exclusive Balmain creation. Her glittering diamonds put all the other diamonds in the restaurant to shame.
'God almighty!' Brady muttered. 'Look at this! What a woman! Look at that diamond collar! That's worth at least two million! Those bracelets! Three million! Her earrings! She must be wearing six million dollars worth of diamonds!'
Maggie was busy mopping up the fish sauce with a piece of bread. She looked up, regarded Maria as she walked to a table, then she stuffed the bread into her mouth.
'I bet she's a bitch,' she mumbled, her mouth full, 'but I'd give my eyes to have a dress like that,' and she reached for another roll.
Brady wasn't listening. He was doing mental arithmetic. Broken up, those diamonds would fetch at least five million. He had to find out who this woman was.
At this moment, the assistant maitre d' approached. 'I trust you enjoyed your sole, sir,' he said.
'Very nice.'
'Perhaps some cheese or dessert?'
'Dessert,' Maggie said firmly.
'Certainly, Madame.'
Fingers were flicked and four, three tier trolleys, laden with the most exotic and delicious looking truffles, tarts, cakes and compotes arrived.
Maggie had said softly to the serving waiter, 'Something of everything.' She prayed Brady was too occupied to hear, and something of everything was served.
Brady was still eyeing Maria's diamonds, his thoughts were far away. He only came back to earth when the assistant maitre d' asked, 'And what would you care for, sir?'
Brady stiffened and stared at Maggie's plate that was heaped with a selection of dessert that made him blink.
'Just coffee,' Brady said. 'Tell me, who are those two who have just come in?'
The assistant maitre d' beamed. 'Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur Warrenton, sir.'
'I thought I recognized them,' Brady lied. 'Are they staying?'
The assistant maitre d' beamed again. 'They are on their honeymoon. Yes, indeed, they will be with us for the next ten days.'
'Fine looking couple,' Brady said.
A waiter brought the coffee, and the assistant maitre d', with a bow, went to another table.
'Do you have to make such a hog of yourself?' Brady demanded, glaring at Maggie. 'That'll cost me at least fifteen dollars!'
'Worth it,' Maggie said, rolling her eyes. She offered him a portion of rum truffle on her fork. 'Have a bit, honey. It's out of this world!'
'Eat, and shut up!' Brady snapped.
As he stirred his coffee, he dug into his encyclopaedic memory of names. He had long ago made it his business to know the names of the super-rich who owned works of art, and it didn't take him more than a few moments to place Wilbur Warrenton. This handsome man was the son of Silas Warrenton, the Texas oil king, worth billions. No wonder this haughty looking bitch was wearing a fortune in diamonds.
Brady rubbed his chin, his mind very active. If he could get his hands on those diamonds, it might even be better than trying to open the hotel's safe. Although Haddon's plan had, at the time, seemed acceptable, Brady was now not so sure. It depended on where the safe was. It could be inaccessible.
Again, he studied those flashing diamonds across the room, and he felt a lusting urge to have them. He must talk to Haddon, but first, he must find out in which suite the Warrentons were staying. Then to find out if she used the hotel's safe. So many arrogant women wouldn't be bothered to put their jewels each night in a hotel's safe, believing they were just as safe in their suites or bedrooms. Maybe Maria Warrenton was one of those.
He was still thinking, when Maggie laid down her fork with a sigh of contentment.
Brady scowled at her. 'Maybe you'd like some more, Maggie?' he said sarcastically.
'Some more of the truffle?' Maggie's eyes opened wide. 'It really is gorgeous. Perhaps, just --'
'You're not having it!' Brady snapped. 'We're going back to the chalet.'
Maggie giggled. 'Yes, my master,' she said, and getting to her feet, she maneuvered Brady's wheelchair away from the table.
The assistant maitre d' came up swiftly. 'May I help?'
'You may not!' Brady snapped. 'Good night to you!'
Watched by most diners, Maggie wheeled the chair past the Warrentons' table where Maria was regarding a silver bowl of caviar, set in crushed ice, as if it was something a cat had brought in. Then, sighing, Maggie moved the chair into the lobby and down the gentle sloping ramp to their chalet.
'Caviar!' she moaned. 'I've never ever tasted it!'
'Then save up your money,' Brady said, 'and have yourself a ball!'
'Honey, you seem in a bad mood.'
'I'm thinking! Be quiet!'
Back in the chalet with the curtains drawn, Brady left the wheelchair, poured himself a stiff Scotch and sat down in a comfortable armchair.
'Maggie! Business! Get out of that uniform, put on a simple dress and begin collecting information. Locate Mike. I want to talk to him.'
Ten minutes later, Maggie, now in a close-fitting blue dress that set off her figure to perfection, left the chalet.
Twenty minutes crawled by while Brady waited and thought, then Mike came in, still wearing his chauffeur's uniform.
Brady regarded him. This was a man, he thought, not of Brady's world, a tough, disciplined soldier, and Brady was surprised to realize he envied him.
'Come on in, Mike. Make yourself a drink.' He waved to the bottles on the table.
'No, thanks.' Mike closed the door and took a chair opposite where Brady was sitting. 'Maggie said you wanted me.'
'How are you settling in?'
'Okay. The facilities for the staff are good. At the far end of the park there is a staff restaurant. The food is good. I've just had dinner there. I took my place next to one of the security guards who had come off duty. He spotted I'd been in the army. His name is Dave Putnam, an ex-sergeant like me. He's the talkative type. The other security guard was leaving when I arrived. He is older than Putnam who has no time for him. They don't get along together. Putnam was glad to have me for company.'
'Fine,' Brady said. 'Keep him talking, Mike. I want to know about a couple I saw in the restaurant: Mr. and Mrs. Warrenton. She was wearing diamonds that will fetch a big price. See if you can find out if she hands over the diamonds to the guards for safe-keeping when she goes to bed. Don't rush it, Mike. We have a few days. just keep this guy talking, then edge in the Warrentons. Say your boss knows them. And I want you to take a long look at the two house dicks. From what I hear, they are tough cookies.'
Mike nodded. The pain in his side was nagging him. 'Okay. Putnam said he would be around later tonight. I'll have another word with him.' He got to his feet, controlling a grimace of pain. 'I'll get me some fresh air. See you,' and he walked to the door.
Brady watched him leave. He felt a sudden unease. Was there something wrong with this big, tough looking soldier? he wondered. Those sunken eyes, the tight, yellowish skin, and he had spotted sweat beads on Mike's forehead. Maybe it was a slight fever. He knew Mike had been in Vietnam. Some minor thing that would pass.
Brady rubbed the back of his head, frowning, then his mind shifted to the Warrenton diamonds.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Closing the cabin door, Manuel Torres pushed aside the table and lifted the trap door. He reached down and helped Fuentes out of the fish smelling hole.
Fuentes was shaking with fright. 'What happened?'
'I bluffed them,' Manuel said, 'but not for long. Can you swim?'
Fuentes' eyes opened wide. 'Swim? Yes.'
'Maybe you'll have to. That cop is tough. I know of him. Wait,' and Manuel turned off the light. He left the cabin like a shadow. Hiding behind the mast, he was able to look down on the quay.
Detective Jacoby was sitting on a bollard, smoking a cigarette. He was looking directly at the fishing vessel, and Manuel nodded to himself. Unseen, he returned to the cabin.
'You swim, my friend,' he said. 'They'll have a search warrant within an hour, and they'll crawl all over my boat.'
'Swim where?' Fuentes asked, his voice husky.
'No distance. The third boat on the port side. The owner is a good friend of mine. You tell him I sent you. Then when you see my cabin light go out, you return. No problem.'
After Lepski's telephone call, it took Beigler more than an hour to obtain a search warrant and to send two detectives down to Manuel's fishing vessel. As Manuel had anticipated, the boat was thoroughly searched. If Fuentes had been on board, he would have been discovered.
Manuel gave Lepski a sly smile when the search ended. 'I hope now, Mr. Cop, you are satisfied that I am a man of truth,' he said. 'My good friend, Fuentes, is happy with his family in Havana.'
Lepski glared at him and stamped down the gang plank.
Manuel stood on deck and watched the four detectives walk to their cars. When they had driven away, he returned to his cabin and turned off the light.
Half an hour later, he helped Fuentes climb aboard.
'They won't bother us again,' Manuel said. 'Get dry and sleep.'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Just after midnight, the feverish activities in the kitchens of the Spanish Bay Hotel came gradually to a halt. The chef and the second chef had gone home. The last meals had been served. Only the third chef remained. He would be on duty until 05.30, ready to prepare a meal for the few, returning from nightclubs or the casino, who demanded eggs and ham, scrambled eggs and sausages, grilled steaks and coffee.
At 01.30, the dishwashers and the cleaners had gone home, leaving the kitchens immaculate. The third chef and two waiters remained to pander to the pampered.
The third chef was Dominic Dezel. He was thirty years of age. Dark, not without good looks, his short stature irked him. More than anything else, he wished he'd been born like his brother, a chef now working at a two star restaurant in Paris. His brother took after the father who was a giant of a man, whereas Dominic took after the mother who was almost a dwarf.
Dominic had been the sauce chef at one of the Relais hotels in France. Dulac, on vacation, and looking for talent, had been impressed by the sauce that was served with his ris de veau and scampi. He had talked to Dominic, and had persuaded him to come to the Spanish Bay Hotel as third chef. The pay and the living conditions had been impressive, and Dominic was happy to reign over the kitchen from midnight to 05.30. It wasn't often, at these hours, his services were required. He spent the time in the chef's office, reading cook books and planning to open his own restaurant when he had accumulated enough capital. From time to time, there was a telephone call and he would hurry into the kitchens to prepare a meal.
The night was quiet. The two waiters were dozing in the still-room, away from the chef's office. Dominic, his feet on the chef's desk, was thinking about France, thinking of his family and planning to return when he had saved enough money.
The time was 02.30. Anita Certes came into the kitchens like a ghost. Bare-footed, silent, she closed the door, then paused. When she had finished her evening duties, preparing the penthouse suite, she had concealed herself in the women's rest room in the basement of the hotel. Down the corridor from this rest room were the kitchens. She had locked herself in a toilet and sitting on the lid of the toilet, she had waited and waited. At 02.25, she came silently from the rest room and listened. The hotel was silent. She thought of the night detective who patrolled the hotel. He could be anywhere.