Part 16 (1/2)
”I was going to ask you that very question.”
”Ah. An impa.s.se. Let me consider this.”
An English inflection, an undertone of Asia or Africa. A slightly sibilant s s. Educated, soft-spoken. A pleasant voice, all in all.
”Very well, sir. I believe you may already have encountered an emissary of mine. If my guess is right, you overcharged him in a transaction recently. He paid five hundred dollars for a book priced at a dollar ninety-five.”
”Not my fault. He ran off without his change.”
An appreciative chuckle. ”Then you are the man I a.s.sumed you to be. Very good. You have pluck, sir. The police seek you in connection with a woman's death and you persist in your efforts to sell a book. Business as usual, eh?”
”I need money right now.”
”To quit the country, I would suppose. You have the book at hand? It is actually in your possession as we talk?”
”Yes. I don't believe I caught your name.”
”I don't believe I've given it. Before we go further, sir, perhaps you could prove to me that you have the volume.”
”I suppose I could hold it to the phone, but unless you have extraordinary powers...”
”Open it to page forty-two, sir, and read the first stanza on the page.”
”Oh. Hold on a minute. 'Now if you should go to Fort Bucklow / When the moon is on the wane, / And the jackal growls while the monkey howls / Like a woman struck insane... Is that the one you mean?”
A pause. ”I want that volume, sir. I want to buy it.”
”Good. I want to sell it.”
”And your price?”
”I haven't set it yet.”
”If you will do so...”
”This is tricky business. I have to protect myself. I'm a fugitive, as you said, and that makes me vulnerable. I don't even know whom I'm dealing with.”
”A visitor in your land, sir. A pa.s.sionate devotee of Mr. Kipling. My name is of little importance.”
”How can I get in touch with you?”
”It's of less importance than my name. I can get in touch with you, you, sir, by calling this number.” sir, by calling this number.”
”No. I won't be here. It's not safe. Give me a number where I can reach you at five o'clock this afternoon.”
”A telephone number?”
”Yes.”
”I can't do that.”
”It can be any telephone at all. Just so you'll be at it at five o'clock.”
”Ah. I will call you back, sir, in ten minutes.”
Rrrring!
”h.e.l.lo?”
”Sir, you have pencil and paper?”
”Go ahead.”
”I will be at this number at five o'clock this afternoon. RH4-5198.”
”RH4-5198. At five o'clock.”
Rrrring! Rrrring!
”h.e.l.lo?”
”h.e.l.lo?”
”h.e.l.lo.”
”Ah. If you could say something more elaborate than a simple h.e.l.lo h.e.l.lo ...” ...”
”What do you want me to say?”
”Very good. I'd hoped it was you. I won't use your name aloud, and I trust you won't use mine.”
”Only if I want to call your club and have you paged.”
”Don't do that.”
”They said you weren't a member. Extraordinary, isn't it?”
”Perhaps I haven't been altogether straightforward with you, my boy. I can explain everything.”
”I'm sure you can.”
”The elusive item. Can I a.s.sume from your advertis.e.m.e.nt that it hasn't slipped out of your hands?”