closed. The hell with this, Lammiter thought, and took a step back towards the door.
Salvatore said quickly, “We never like to leave by the way we entered. Let me show you another way, Mr. Lammiter, much simpler.”
Rosana was upset. “No, no—not yet.”
Salvatore pointed to Brewster. “He’s had no sleep for three nights. Now he wants to sleep. And you want to waken him?” He shook his head, and then he smiled gently, as he looked at the Englishman. “Let him sleep. Then he will be more himself when we have the meeting tonight. Mr. Lammiter can come back then. This way, Mr. Lammiter.” He had opened another door, a small door in a side wall, which Lammiter had, untilthis moment, imagined as leading into a closet; now he saw it led into a small hall used as a kitchen.
Lammiter hesitated. Salvatore seemed almost too anxious to get him to leave. Perhaps Salvatore hadn’t approved of his orders to conduct the strange American to Tony Brewster’s rooms. He was saying now, “Come, Mr. Lammiter. I know this is all most disappointing, but I’ve an appointment at six. I’ll have to hurry.”
Rosana broke into a rush of Italian. “You brought him here. It would be better if you weren’t seen with him again. I’ll show Mr. Lammiter the way downstairs. I’ll watch at the window until you cross the Piazza. Then he and I shall leave, too.”
“Is he coming back here for the meeting tonight?” Salvatore was speaking in Italian, too.
“I suppose so.”
“Then why did Tony want to see him now? Couldn’t that have waited until tonight?”
“Tony wanted to brief him about our meeting.”
“When is it?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
“If Tony is awake,” Salvatore said doubtfully. He looked down at the peacefully dozing Englishman, and his taut face relaxed into a fleeting smile of sympathy. “Better if we postponed our meeting until tomorrow morning. He needs sleep.”
“But we have little time—” Rosana’s voice was sharp with worry.
“Is it really so important that we meet here tonight?” he asked impatiently. “I thought our job was almost over. Is there something new?”
Rosana said firmly, “We meet tonight. Tony wants our final reports.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “All right, all right.” He turned towards the kitchen, and then paused. Casually, he asked, “How much does the American know?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Then that’s about as much as I do.” He looked at Lammiter speculatively. “What is he, anyway? Our special envoy to the White House?” He laughed briefly. “You never can tell what Tony will think up next. And, Rosana—take away that bottle from him before you leave. He’s had more than enough. And you’d better set the alarm clock for a quarter to eleven, or he won’t be awake to let us in.” Then he turned to Lammiter. “Goodbye,” he said in English. “I’m sorry your first visit turned out to be such a waste of time—for both of us.” He made a wry grimace.
“Give me a hand to stretch Brewster on the bed,” Lammiter said. “He will sleep better.”
“We might only waken him again.” He looked searchingly at the American. “You understand Italian?” he asked unexpectedly.
Lammiter smiled. “You mean I was listening to you and Rosana? I just liked the way she talked, that’s all.” It was an evasive answer, but it was all that Lammiter felt like giving, somehow.
Rosana’s laugh was unexpected.
“Don’t get too interested in Rosana,” Salvatore said with heavy good humour. “Tony would not approve of that. Arrivederci.” He entered the narrow kitchen, opened the door in its end wall, listened, and then stepped quickly into the hallway outside. The door closed behind him, locking itself with a decided click.
Rosana’s eyes were angry. “Salvatore makes such silly jokes—” She crossed over to the side of the window to look down on the Piazza. “He’s always like that. He’s too clever, too bitter.”
“Perhaps he needs a
Salvatore said quickly, “We never like to leave by the way we entered. Let me show you another way, Mr. Lammiter, much simpler.”
Rosana was upset. “No, no—not yet.”
Salvatore pointed to Brewster. “He’s had no sleep for three nights. Now he wants to sleep. And you want to waken him?” He shook his head, and then he smiled gently, as he looked at the Englishman. “Let him sleep. Then he will be more himself when we have the meeting tonight. Mr. Lammiter can come back then. This way, Mr. Lammiter.” He had opened another door, a small door in a side wall, which Lammiter had, untilthis moment, imagined as leading into a closet; now he saw it led into a small hall used as a kitchen.
Lammiter hesitated. Salvatore seemed almost too anxious to get him to leave. Perhaps Salvatore hadn’t approved of his orders to conduct the strange American to Tony Brewster’s rooms. He was saying now, “Come, Mr. Lammiter. I know this is all most disappointing, but I’ve an appointment at six. I’ll have to hurry.”
Rosana broke into a rush of Italian. “You brought him here. It would be better if you weren’t seen with him again. I’ll show Mr. Lammiter the way downstairs. I’ll watch at the window until you cross the Piazza. Then he and I shall leave, too.”
“Is he coming back here for the meeting tonight?” Salvatore was speaking in Italian, too.
“I suppose so.”
“Then why did Tony want to see him now? Couldn’t that have waited until tonight?”
“Tony wanted to brief him about our meeting.”
“When is it?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
“If Tony is awake,” Salvatore said doubtfully. He looked down at the peacefully dozing Englishman, and his taut face relaxed into a fleeting smile of sympathy. “Better if we postponed our meeting until tomorrow morning. He needs sleep.”
“But we have little time—” Rosana’s voice was sharp with worry.
“Is it really so important that we meet here tonight?” he asked impatiently. “I thought our job was almost over. Is there something new?”
Rosana said firmly, “We meet tonight. Tony wants our final reports.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “All right, all right.” He turned towards the kitchen, and then paused. Casually, he asked, “How much does the American know?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Then that’s about as much as I do.” He looked at Lammiter speculatively. “What is he, anyway? Our special envoy to the White House?” He laughed briefly. “You never can tell what Tony will think up next. And, Rosana—take away that bottle from him before you leave. He’s had more than enough. And you’d better set the alarm clock for a quarter to eleven, or he won’t be awake to let us in.” Then he turned to Lammiter. “Goodbye,” he said in English. “I’m sorry your first visit turned out to be such a waste of time—for both of us.” He made a wry grimace.
“Give me a hand to stretch Brewster on the bed,” Lammiter said. “He will sleep better.”
“We might only waken him again.” He looked searchingly at the American. “You understand Italian?” he asked unexpectedly.
Lammiter smiled. “You mean I was listening to you and Rosana? I just liked the way she talked, that’s all.” It was an evasive answer, but it was all that Lammiter felt like giving, somehow.
Rosana’s laugh was unexpected.
“Don’t get too interested in Rosana,” Salvatore said with heavy good humour. “Tony would not approve of that. Arrivederci.” He entered the narrow kitchen, opened the door in its end wall, listened, and then stepped quickly into the hallway outside. The door closed behind him, locking itself with a decided click.
Rosana’s eyes were angry. “Salvatore makes such silly jokes—” She crossed over to the side of the window to look down on the Piazza. “He’s always like that. He’s too clever, too bitter.”
“Perhaps he needs a
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