Free As Time Goes By by Michael Walsh Page A

had been meant to throw him off the scent, written by Ilsa under duress from her husband, who suspected that Rick's magnanimity was not entirely altruistic, and who had gone to New York—where Rick could not follow? What if the Lasz losweren't really in London at all? What if they really had gone to America? Then that was that; he couldn't go back, unless he wanted a one-way ticket to Old Sparky at Sing Sing. But where could he go? He was beginning to run out of places.
    "How long we gonna stay here, boss?" interjected Sam, reading his thoughts, as usual.
    "Until we find Victor Laszlo."
    "If wefind Mr. Laszlo," corrected Sam.
    "We will," Rick answered, smoking a cigarette and looking down onto Dover Street. "We have to."
    "If you say so," said Sam. "This sure ain't like Paris. Or New York. I mean, a fella can't hardly get something decent to eat."
    Rick turned to look at his friend. "You know those are two places I told you not to talk about," he growled.
    "Aw shucks, boss, you can't go holdin' on to the bad memories forever. What's done is done: you can't change what happened back home." Sam bit his lower lip. "Anyway, it wasn't your fault, how things turned out."
    "Of course it was my fault," snapped Rick. "Who else's could it be?"
    Sam was getting as agitated as Rick. "If that's the way you want to be about it, fine," he said. "If you want to drag this thing around with you for the rest of your life, you go right ahead. But as for me, every time I bite into one of those awful steak-and-kidney pies, I'm gonna remember me the leg of lamb at the Tootsie- Wootsie—"        
    "Shut up, will you?"
    "—and the steak frites at La Belle Aurore, and—"
    "I said shut up!" A knock at the door interrupted the argument. "Get that, will you?"
    Sam padded over to the door and opened it.
    "Hello, Sam," said the visitor, entering. It was Re nault. "Ah, Ricky, still living the life of a man of lei sure, I see." The dapper little Frenchman had traded in his Vichy uniform for a Savile Row suit, atop which he wore an elegant homburg. He looked like a minor diplomat, which was how he was happy to pass himself off, especially to the English ladies. "Whereas I have been working hard, procuring useful information."
    "The day will never come when you have to work hard for a living, Louie," said Rick. "Not without a fight."
    "Work is in the eye of the beholder," Renault re sponded. "Should I choose not to behold it, that is en tirely my business." With a flourish he produced a silver cigarette case and flipped it open. "A gift from one of my new admirers."
    "What exactly was she admiring?"
    Renault puffed out his chest. "Resourcefulness is the hallmark of the true gentleman," he said.
    "I'll bet" Rick took one of the offered cigarettes. "What gives?"
    Renault lit up, took a puff, and collected his thoughts. He smoked like a bird pecking for worms, darting at the cigarette rather than embracing it, whereas Rick preferred long, slow drags. Sam didn't smoke at all. It was another of the white man's vices he had learned to live without.
    "Well, among other things, I think I may have found a way to discover the whereabouts of our friend Victor Laszlo—and, of course, of your friend Miss Lund as well." Renault paused to savor the effect of this partic ular bit of intelligence on his listeners.
    Rick, however, only nodded, a barely perceptible tilt of his head. "Go on," he said.
    Renault smiled. "Not even Victor Laszlo, whose consideration of the comfort and feelings of his fellow man is second only to his way with the fair sex, can expect us to wait here forever. Furthermore, my sense of duty as a Frenchman and a patriot has compelled me to contact De Gaulle's headquarters and offer my services in the struggle against Hitler."
    That had been part of their plan all along.
    "It's about time," said Rick.
    Renault relaxed into a chair. One of the qualities he found most lacking in the Americans was a sense of style, of presentation, of savoir faire.