Free Agent in Place by Helen MacInnes Page B

Just following my instincts, I guess. I’m going to make quite sure that he won’t publish the name of Shandon House.”
    “And what about you?” Rick asked.
    “You can introduce me as the man who has access to Shandon House. That’s all. We’ll keep the Kelso name out of it.”
    Rick shook his head. “So that’s why you chose to bring him to Katie’s apartment? He will see her name on the door-plate. Not yours. And you can slip down—”
    “Okay, okay. Let’s get ready. Lock up tight. Check the windows, will you, Rick?”
    As he spoke, Chuck pulled the couch well to one side, and turned back the rug that lay underneath. Next, he was over at the desk again, lifting the folder with the precious memorandum. He laid it under the rug, which he then smoothed into place. Satisfied with the look of it, he began heaving the couch into its original position. “That should do. I won’t be gone for any length of time, but I don’t trust that desk lock; any nitwit could force it open. Windows okay? Put four records on the player. Leave a couple of lights on.” Chuck picked up Holzheimer’s copy of Part I to carry inside his jacket. His duplicate copy was shoved inside a magazine, a folded newspaper flung carelessly on top.
    “See this?” he asked as he opened the front door. “It’s said to be burglar-proof.”
    Rick stared at the new lock on the door. “When did you have that put in?”
    “A couple of days ago. The old one was too easy.”
    And so, thought Rick, if I had slipped downstairs for a pair of gloves, I’d have been locked out. My key for this door would have been useless. He began to laugh.
    “It’s no joke,” Chuck said. “That damned lock set me back thirty-six dollars.”
    So it’s this way, Rick was arguing with Mischa (or with Oleg, if it came to that): we got the second and third parts. Wasn’t that worth the disclosures in the first part? And Mischa (or Oleg) would have to agree. Neither of them would pin a medal on him, but they couldn’t say he had botched the assignment either. He looked at Chuck as they reached Katie’s door. “You really are full of surprises,” he said, and shook his head.
    “As soon as you identify me to Holzheimer as his source—”
    “I still can’t imagine why you are taking the risk of letting him see you.”
    “Insurance.”
    “Against what?”
    “Against a delay in publication. He’ll carry more weight with his editor if he can say he has actually met me. And also—” Chuck paused.
    Rick braced himself. He had underestimated Chuck tonight. “Also what?”
    “I’ll be able to identify him again, if necessary.”
    “Suspicious, aren’t you?” Rick unlocked Katie’s door and they stepped into the disordered hall.
    “Yes,” Chuck said frankly. “That’s the hell of this kind of business,” he added with distaste. “You have to think twice about every move you make, judge it from all angles.” There was another pause. “I wish to God I had never—” He broke off.
    “Backing out?” Rick concealed a rising hope.
    “No.” Chuck looked straight ahead, and was depressed by the view. The living-room was dark except for one light somewhere round the corner but he could feel, if not see, the combined clutter of objects inside. It was one unholy mess, he thought: no expense spared on the furnishings and pictures, and yet everything—like Katie’s own styles of dressing (they varied each month according to whim)—looked as though it came from some attic or flea-market. “How can you stand this?”
    “Stand what?” asked Katie’s voice. Rick and Chuck looked at each other, stepped into the living-room and got a full view of the dining alcove at its lighted end Rising from its marble-topped table were four startled people: Katie, dressed in her current style of satin blouse, turquoise jewellery and Indian headband; a squat blond man, with shaggy hair and full beard, his eyes glaring at the two intruders; a tall thin black man with a