Stiletto by Harold Robbins

anything,” Strang said.
    “Right now I can’t,” Baker said. “But I have some ideas.”
    “Going to put a tail on him?” Strang asked.
    Baker shook his head. “It would be wasted. In the circles in which that guy moves anyone we could put on him would stick out like a sore thumb. Besides it would make too much of a stink. You know how careful the chief is with important people.”
    “Then what are you going to do?” Strang asked.
    Baker smiled. “The first thing is to leak to the newspapers that he was questioned. The next thing to do is to find someone that will stick close enough to him to maybe learn something and be of real help to us.”
    “Like who?” Strang asked.
    “Like a dame,” Baker said. “He’s quite a ladies’ man. Well, we’re on to one that will fit right in. Society. Racing cars. The works.”
    “If he is the Stiletto, it might be dangerous for her,” Strang said.
    “She says she can handle him,” Baker answered. “And I’ve had a look at her record and, believe me, if she can’t, then nobody can.”

11
    The party was in full swing when Cesare entered the stateroom. He stood in the doorway, his eyes searching for the hostess. She saw him at almost the same time as he saw her and came hurrying forward, her hand outstretched.
    “Cesare, my dear boy,” she said, as he kissed her hand. “I’m so glad you could come.”
    “I would sooner die than miss Madame’s sailing.” He smiled.
    She smiled, her somber eyes glowing under the rich gray hair. Her voice lowered and assumed a tone that was much like the voice Cesare had heard on the telephone just a few weeks ago. “This stateroom is next to his,” she whispered. “There is a connecting door between the two bathrooms. He should be aboard in about ten minutes.”
    He didn’t speak and she raised her voice as another guest approached. “And thank you for the lovely flowers.”
    “It is a pleasure, Madame,” he answered.
    He watched her turn to the other guest and move away. Once she had been a very beautiful woman, one of the most famous in international society. Her name still conjured up visions of glamorous ballrooms and princes. But now, she belonged to Don Emilio.
    He moved toward the bathroom door slowly. He heard her laughter as he opened the door. How many more like her were there who walked the borderline of the two worlds? For that matter how many more were there like himself?
    ***
    Emilio Matteo put his coat up against the wind that blew in from the chilly Hudson River as he got out of the taxicab in front of the pier. He looked up at the ship morosely as the detectives got out beside him. Without speaking, he gave one of them a bill for the driver.
    “This way,” the detective said and started for the pier.
    “I know the way,” Emilio said sourly. They walked onto the pier and over to the gangplank.
    The little steward led them down a corridor on the first-class deck. Sounds of merriment came from behind the doors where bon voyage parties were almost at their height. The
Italia
was due to leave in less than an hour. The steward opened a door.
    “This way, signore.” He bowed.
    Emilio entered the suite and the detectives followed him. There was a small bar set up in the corner of the room.
    The steward came in after them. “Is everything to the signore’s satisfaction?” he asked Emilio.
    Emilio gave him a bill. “Fine,” he said.
    The steward bowed again and left. The two detectives looked around. The oldest turned to Emilio. “This is pretty snazzy, Matteo,” he said.
    Emilio smiled at him. “Nothing but the best,” he said, crossing to the bar. “You didn’t think I would stay in one of those lousy cabins the government pays for, did you?”
    The detective grinned. “I guess not.”
    Emilio opened a bottle and poured himself a drink. He threw it down his throat. “Ah,” he said, “that’s good whisky. It warms you up a little after that cold wind on the docks.” He turned to the