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interests? Suppose money was offered by any other government? Money was the greatest temptation of all. A man in Mahler’s position, as desk clerk at a crossroads hotel, could be very useful to a lot of people. He should have asked for a receipt. The threat of giving it to the appropriate German authorities, as proof that Mahler was working for a foreign power, might deter him from acting contrary to Slater’s wishes, and it might secure Mahler’s services in the future.
    Slater shook his head and turned back toward his hotel. This was a dirty business, and he must be getting soft, but he had always believed that it was much better to motivate a man positively than negatively with potential threats. He differed in this aspect of his profession with some of the best operators in the business.

 
chapter six
     
    AT SEVEN O’CLOCK that evening, Wyman entered the dining room alone and was conducted to an empty table. Slater entered less than a minute later and looked for Mahler. He was seated at the center table talking to a very busty blonde German girl with a peaches-and-cream complexion. Slater stood in the entryway until he caught Mahler’s attention and then asked the waiter to show him to Wyman’s table. The dining room was almost full and there was nothing unusual in Slater’s request, since the custom in Europe was to fill up every available seat.
    “Excuse me,” said Slater, as Wyman looked up, “I hope you don’t mind my joining you.” Slater appeared to hesitate. “You are an American, aren’t you?”
    “Yes.” Wyman looked annoyed. Slater didn’t seem to notice.
    “My name’s Carmichael, Bruce Carmichael. I’m over here on a buying trip—leather business. What’s your business?”
    “My own,” said Wyman dryly.
    “Nothing like being your own man, I always say.” Slater looked cautiously around the room. “Confidentially, I’m really here on a pleasure trip. My father owns the department stores—at least he will be the owner. He runs them for my grandfather. They think I’m an idiot, and they just want to get me out of the way, but,” Slater’s smile was positively ingenuous, “I’m not so dumb.” He looked very smug.
    Wyman inspected Slater. The “department stores” hadn’t landed on deaf ears.
    “My name is Ronald Wyman. I’m vice-consul at the American Consulate in Zurich.”
    “A diplomat! Well, this is an honor, Mr. Wyman.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Carmichael, but I’d much rather own some department stores.” Wyman’s smile was charming.
    “Why, for heaven’s sake? It’s terribly dull.”
    “There’s more money in it.”
    “Money isn’t everything, you know,” said Slater cheerfully. He could tell that Wyman was growling inwardly at his fatuous remark.
    The headwaiter was nearby, and Wyman signaled him to come over.
    “Rüdi,” said Wyman, “I want you to take my order personally. I want to make certain I get better service than I did this morning.”
    “Yes, sir. I’ll be happy to take your order.” Rüdi appeared very uncomfortable.
    Slater noticed that he seemed to bulge all over. His collar was too tight, and his body strained at every button. He had a face like a great chunk of dough.
    “I want whatever you recommend, Rüdi,” Wyman smiled. “I’ll leave everything in your hands.”
    “Yes, sir. A Chateaubriand, perhaps, medium rare, and a bottle of dry red wine, Beaujolais.”
    “Sounds excellent, Rüdi,” said Wyman, “except for the wine. I would prefer a bottle of Tuborg beer.”
    “Ah—yes, sir—,” Rüdi hesitated.
    Slater had been watching him carefully. Something had happened between Rüdi and Wyman that had suddenly changed their relationship. For the moment, whatever it was escaped Slater.
    “And what would you like to order, sir?” Rüdi turned to Slater.
    “Steak sounds fine, but I would prefer that dry red wine you were talking about.”
    “Yes, sir.” Rüdi appeared relieved. It was difficult to tell exactly, but Slater