Read Online The Man Who Went Up In Smoke by Maj Sjöwall, Per Wahlöö - Free Book Online

it. Then he said, "It must have been Stefi. Or else the man who was here before me. I really can't remember what his name is."
    'Stefi," said Martin Beck. "Does he still work here?"
    'She," said the young man. "It's a girl—Stefania. Yes, she and I work in shifts."
    'When is she coming in?"
    'She's bound to be here already. I mean in her room. She lives here at the hotel, you see. But she has the night shift this week, so she's probably asleep."
    'Could you find out?" asked Martin Beck. "If she's awake, I'd like to speak to her."
    The youth lifted the receiver and dialed a number. After a while he replaced the receiver.
    'No answer."
    He lifted the flap door in the desk and came out.
    'I'll see if she's in," he said. "Just a moment."
    He got into one of the elevators and Martin Beck saw from the signal light that he had stopped at the second floor. After a while he came down again.
    'Her roommate says she's out sunbathing. Wait a moment and I'll go get her."
    He disappeared into the lounge and returned a moment later with a girl. She was small and chubby, wearing sandals on her feet and a checkered cotton robe over her bikini. She was buttoning up the robe as she came toward Martin Beck.
    'I'm sorry to bother you," he said.
    'It doesn't matter," said the girl called Stefi. "Can I help you with anything?"
    Martin Beck asked her if she had been on duty during the particular days in May. She went behind the desk, looked in the black book and nodded.
    'Yes," she said. "But only in the daytime."
    Martin Beck showed her Alf Matsson's passport.
    'Swedish?" she asked without looking up.
    'Yes," said Martin Beck. "A journalist."
    He looked at her and waited. She looked at the passport photograph and cocked her head.
    'Ye-es," she said hesitantly. "Yes, I think I remember him. He was alone at first in a room with three beds, and then we had a Russian party, so I needed the room and had to move him. He was awfully angry that he didn't get a telephone in the new room. We haven't got telephones in all the rooms. He made such a fuss about not having one, I was forced to let him exchange rooms with someone who didn't need a telephone."
    She closed the passport and put it down on the desk.
    'If it was him," she said, "that photo's not very good."
    'Do you remember if he had any visitors?" said Martin Beck.
    'No," she said. "I don't think so. Not so far as I can remember, anyhow."
    'Did he use the phone a lot? Or did he receive any calls which you can remember?"
    'It seems to me that a lady rang several times, but I'm not certain," said Stefi.
    Martin Beck pondered awhile and then said, "Do you remember anything else about him?"
    The girl shook her head.
    'He had a typewriter with him, I'm sure. And I remember that he was well dressed. Otherwise I can't remember anything special about him."
    Martin Beck put the passport back in his pocket and recalled that he had run out of cigarettes.
    'May I buy a pack of cigarettes here?" he said.
    The girl bent forward and looked in a drawer.
    'Certainly," she said. "But I've only got Tervs."
    'That's fine," said Martin Beck, taking the pack made of gray paper, with a picture of a factory with tall smokestacks on it. He paid with a note and told her to keep the change. Then he took a pen and a pad from the desk, wrote down his own name and that of his hotel, tore off the sheet and handed it to Stefi.
    'If you can think of anything else, perhaps you'd call me, would you?"
    Stefi looked at the piece of paper with a frown.
    'I've just remembered something else when you were writing that note," she said. "I think it was that Swede who asked how you got to an address in Újpest. It might not have been him, I'm not certain. Perhaps it was a different guest I drew a little map for him."
    She fell silent and Martin Beck waited.
    'I remember the street he was asking about, but not the number. My aunt lives on that street, so that's why I remembered it."
    Martin Beck pushed the pad toward her.
    'Would you be good