important,” he said. “Where the hell is the boss?”
I told him about the fake phone call from Kranepool and that Chambrun had taken off half an hour ago.
“Could he have gone to his temporary quarters?” Jerry’s voice was hard and cold. I glanced at Ruysdale. She was shaking her head at me. No answer from Chambrun’s room. I told Jerry.
“Jesus! He wouldn’t listen to me,” Jerry said.
Part Two
One
Y OU HAVE TO BEAR in mind that, to me, Chambrun was a kind of superman. He was also a cantankerous taskmaster as far as the Beaumont was concerned. Nothing happens to superman, but a perfectionist like the Great Man could be sidetracked if he saw something going wrong with the Swiss-watch workings of the hotel. Things were going wrong that night, like the invasion of the Spartan Bar by David Loring’s female admirers. I refused to be panicked in spite of the butterflies that were flapping around in my stomach. I could visualize the boss downstairs, driving the ladies out of the Spartan and raising general hell with the main floor staff, including Mike Maggio, the night bell captain. You didn’t let things get out of hand at the Beaumont, and someone had.
It wasn’t an illogical idea. “If he was going to the penthouse, he might have gone down to the lobby to get the one elevator that goes to the roof,” I said to Ruysdale and Shelda. Shelda was holding tightly to my hand and I felt strong and tall and manly! “Things are kind of screwed up downstairs, and you know the boss.”
Ruysdale nodded, as if she were only half listening. “I know the boss,” she said. “His first concern tonight is what’s going on in the open house. If he went through the lobby and saw something wrong, he’d make a note of it, but he wouldn’t have let himself be sidetracked. He thought Kranepool had sent for him.”
I couldn’t get it through my head that Chambrun could be made to do something he didn’t want to do. I couldn’t believe that any kind of violent thing could have happened to him; not in the Beaumont, not in the place he controlled so effectively. And yet someone had broken through security and fired a shot at a man in his bed earlier that night. If that had been an inside job—one of Battle’s four trusties—as Chambrun had suggested, then Chambrun was in no danger from them. They had known who was in the bed.
“The Battle case is what he’s concerned with, I’ll admit,” I said. “Maybe he stumbled on something connected with it. Maybe he ran into Richard Cleaves or someone else he knows who might be involved. He would let himself be sidetracked, wouldn’t he, if he thought he was onto something important?”
Ruysdale didn’t answer. I knew I was fishing for comforting answers. She was way ahead of me, assuming the worst, and moving to face it. She was at the phone again, asking Karl Nevers, the night manager, and Mike Maggio, the night bell captain, to come up to the office at once.
Then Jerry Dodd was with us. His bright eyes asked a question without words.
“Nothing,” Ruysdale said in a flat voice.
“What about that first phone call?” Jerry asked.
“I took it,” Ruysdale said. “An unfamiliar male voice said he was Lester Kranepool, the assistant D.A ., and would Mr. Chambrun come up to the penthouse at once.”
“You don’t know Kranepool?”
“Never heard of him until tonight,” Ruysdale said. “I’ve never seen him or spoken to him until he phoned.”
“Except that wasn’t Kranepool,” Jerry said. “Damn! One thing’s for sure. The boss wouldn’t leave the hotel voluntarily without letting you know, Betsy—letting some one of us know.”
“That’s for sure,” Ruysdale said. “Let’s face it, Jerry. There’s nothing voluntary about what’s happened to him.”
“If there is, I’ll break his goddam neck,” Jerry said.
There was no one with the title of Assistant Manager at the Beaumont. I knew why in the next few minutes. Ruysdale was the boss’s
I told him about the fake phone call from Kranepool and that Chambrun had taken off half an hour ago.
“Could he have gone to his temporary quarters?” Jerry’s voice was hard and cold. I glanced at Ruysdale. She was shaking her head at me. No answer from Chambrun’s room. I told Jerry.
“Jesus! He wouldn’t listen to me,” Jerry said.
Part Two
One
Y OU HAVE TO BEAR in mind that, to me, Chambrun was a kind of superman. He was also a cantankerous taskmaster as far as the Beaumont was concerned. Nothing happens to superman, but a perfectionist like the Great Man could be sidetracked if he saw something going wrong with the Swiss-watch workings of the hotel. Things were going wrong that night, like the invasion of the Spartan Bar by David Loring’s female admirers. I refused to be panicked in spite of the butterflies that were flapping around in my stomach. I could visualize the boss downstairs, driving the ladies out of the Spartan and raising general hell with the main floor staff, including Mike Maggio, the night bell captain. You didn’t let things get out of hand at the Beaumont, and someone had.
It wasn’t an illogical idea. “If he was going to the penthouse, he might have gone down to the lobby to get the one elevator that goes to the roof,” I said to Ruysdale and Shelda. Shelda was holding tightly to my hand and I felt strong and tall and manly! “Things are kind of screwed up downstairs, and you know the boss.”
Ruysdale nodded, as if she were only half listening. “I know the boss,” she said. “His first concern tonight is what’s going on in the open house. If he went through the lobby and saw something wrong, he’d make a note of it, but he wouldn’t have let himself be sidetracked. He thought Kranepool had sent for him.”
I couldn’t get it through my head that Chambrun could be made to do something he didn’t want to do. I couldn’t believe that any kind of violent thing could have happened to him; not in the Beaumont, not in the place he controlled so effectively. And yet someone had broken through security and fired a shot at a man in his bed earlier that night. If that had been an inside job—one of Battle’s four trusties—as Chambrun had suggested, then Chambrun was in no danger from them. They had known who was in the bed.
“The Battle case is what he’s concerned with, I’ll admit,” I said. “Maybe he stumbled on something connected with it. Maybe he ran into Richard Cleaves or someone else he knows who might be involved. He would let himself be sidetracked, wouldn’t he, if he thought he was onto something important?”
Ruysdale didn’t answer. I knew I was fishing for comforting answers. She was way ahead of me, assuming the worst, and moving to face it. She was at the phone again, asking Karl Nevers, the night manager, and Mike Maggio, the night bell captain, to come up to the office at once.
Then Jerry Dodd was with us. His bright eyes asked a question without words.
“Nothing,” Ruysdale said in a flat voice.
“What about that first phone call?” Jerry asked.
“I took it,” Ruysdale said. “An unfamiliar male voice said he was Lester Kranepool, the assistant D.A ., and would Mr. Chambrun come up to the penthouse at once.”
“You don’t know Kranepool?”
“Never heard of him until tonight,” Ruysdale said. “I’ve never seen him or spoken to him until he phoned.”
“Except that wasn’t Kranepool,” Jerry said. “Damn! One thing’s for sure. The boss wouldn’t leave the hotel voluntarily without letting you know, Betsy—letting some one of us know.”
“That’s for sure,” Ruysdale said. “Let’s face it, Jerry. There’s nothing voluntary about what’s happened to him.”
“If there is, I’ll break his goddam neck,” Jerry said.
There was no one with the title of Assistant Manager at the Beaumont. I knew why in the next few minutes. Ruysdale was the boss’s
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