Part 8 (1/2)

”There's no danger, old man. No danger. Besides ...” Fielding reached into his jacket pocket, took out a small black automatic. ”She's loaded, and I can shoot in the dark, if need be. My Betsy is all I need.”

”This is silly,” Hall protested.

”Go on, now, old man. No one is going to break in to the office at this hour of the night. I'm in no danger at all.”

”If you say so.” Hall got up. ”Don't see me to the door. I know my way.”

The old man put his arm around Hall's shoulder. ”We English,” he said, ”we're an undemonstrative tribe. Take pride in our cold hearts. But underneath the ice some of us have hearts. I'm glad to know you, Hall.

And I'm glad we had this little chat. Good night, and sleep well. You're all in.”

”Good night, Fielding. And thanks. You're swell.”

Hall left the office, rode the elevator to the main floor. Outside, the reliable driver was asleep at the wheel, his right hand under the white chauffeur's cap which rested on his lap. Hall stood near the open window, smiling sardonically at Big Pepe. O.K., pal, he thought, we'll find out about you right now. He cleared his throat, suddenly barked, ”Arriba Espana!”

Big Pepe awoke with a startled growl. The hand under the cap swung up toward the window. It was clenched around a large nickeled revolver.

”It's me, Pepe,” Hall laughed. ”Hall.”

The driver groaned, shoved the pistol into his trouser-pocket. Then he also laughed. ”Get in,” he said. ”Get in and thank your stars you're still alive.”

Hall joined him in the front seat.

”Arriba Espana,” Pepe muttered, starting the car. ”That is no joke in the heart of any Delgado from the Asturias. That is an abomination.”

”You're an Asturiano?”

”Look at me, _companero_. Do I have the face of a Gallego? Do I have the head of a Catalan? Do I have the eyes of a Madrileno or the soul of a _puta_?”

”You fought in the war against the fascists?”

”Mother of G.o.d, he's asking me if I fought! Always until eternity they will ask, Delgado, did you fight? And what will I say?”

”Watch out!” Hall screamed. ”You'll hit that pole!” He grabbed for the wheel. Big Pepe's steel arm stopped him.

”_De nada_,” the driver laughed. ”Didn't Fernando tell you I am a reliable driver?” The car missed the pole by inches, whirled around a corner on two wheels, and then rolled casually down the Avenida de la Liberacion. Another mad turn, and they were at the Bolivar.

”The Englishman, Fielding,” Hall said. ”He wants you to pick him up at the office and take him home.”

”_Bueno._” Big Pepe put the car in gear.

”How much do I owe you?” Hall shouted.

”_Manana, companero, manana._” Big Pepe had to stick his head out of the window and look back, while the car moved ahead, to answer Hall. One more _manana_, the American thought, and the reliable driver would drive his car through a wall. He watched the car turn the corner on two wheels.

Souza was still on duty. He handed Hall the key to his room. ”You look very tired, Senor Hall,” he said. ”I hope you sleep well.”

”Thank you. Good night, _amigo_.” When he got to his room, he phoned down to the desk.