Prelude to Terror by Helen MacInnes Page B

Don’t draw attention to the fact that you are interested. Please!”
    There were a lot of pleases around there, he thought. Was she worried about his safety, or the success of this little mission?
    “Something is still puzzling you,” she said.
    “You left one thing out.”
    Her eyes widened.
    “How did Renwick become interested in me in the first place?” Did I blow it? Yet I followed Marck’s instructions. I believed in them, damn it. Secrecy, security, no contact with Basset, complete discretion. All to save a man’s life, a man who was already dead.
    “Through Lois Westerbrook. She’s been under surveillance ever since she bought those pictures in Vienna. It made us curious when she turned up in New York as Jane Smith and hired a detective to have you followed. That was on the day of the Dali exhibition. She was making sure that she’d meet you at the Schofeld Gallery. Unobtrusively.” Avril was smiling.
    He said stiffly, “There were reasons for that.” Shock upon shock, he thought: followed, by God... “Don’t tell me you own a detective agency in New York.”
    “Of course not. The man who runs it was curious about Miss Jane Smith, who paid his fee in cash by special messenger—all two hundred and fifty dollars of it. Obviously, her bank account was in some other name. He made a few inquiries, and—” She shrugged her shoulders. “Well—you know how inquiries spread.”
    “No, but I can make a guess. Your next step was to check me out?”
    “We were interested in her contacts,” she admitted.
    “Just making sure I hadn’t been attending auctions in Vienna for the last three years.” He had to smile. In a way, this was comic. “I visited Basset in Arizona. Didn’t that seem suspicious?”
    She shook her head. “Victor Basset and you were just—” She stopped short, searching for a kinder word than “used”.
    “A couple of ignorant fools?” How do you like that, Basset? And it’s the goddamned truth.
    She said quickly, “You are neither ignorant nor a fool. If you were, Bob would never have bothered about you. And would I have told you so much? But how else can we protect you?”
    There was that word again: the second time protection had been mentioned. “I’m in no danger.”
    She was silent. Then she rose from the bench where they had been sitting. “Aren’t you?” she asked quietly as they began walking towards the distant gate. “Can I give you a lift? Drop you not too far from your hotel?”
    “Thanks, no. I’ll stay here for a while.” And get my thoughts in better order.
    “Then I’ll leave you now. Call Bob as soon as you’ve got the name on that cheque.”
    He remembered the Ruysdael. “I won’t have time to telephone anyone until I get that damned painting stowed away safely. I’m responsible for it.” Of course, he reconsidered, the waiting time in Vienna was no longer needed. His instructions would be altered. “With Ferenc Ady dead, I might be leaving on Saturday’s flight to New York.” And goodbye, he thought, to those two promised weeks in Vienna.
    She had halted. “They may not tell you he’s dead, not until they want you to leave Vienna.” Perhaps not even then, she thought.
    “Why on earth—” he began.
    “I don’t know; it’s just a possibility. In any case, you’ll have to play along with them. Forget you know about Ady, or his name.”
    “Play dumb,” he said angrily.
    “Play it smart—as usual.” There was a brief pause. She added, “About getting in touch with Bob—you had a good point there. The picture could slow you down. I think one of us will have to meet you near the auction room. We’ll let you know.”
    Which reminded him. “I may be changing my hotel.” Or perhaps it wasn’t necessary now. He’d be leaving soon, it was hardly worth-while.
    “ That ,” she said with emphasis, “might be a very good idea.” He looked at her quickly, but she went on, her voice calm and casual, “What’s the new