just information.' Dodge hesitated, but the power of money was too much for him. He finished his drink, then made another while his brain creaked.
'What do you want to know?' he asked finally. T came across an 8 mm movie,' Girland said. 'It is labelled "A Souvenir from Paris". It shows you, wearing a hood, performing with a dark-haired girl. Three other films were shot, probably at the same time. Mean anything to you?'
Dodge again looked at the money. 'You really mean that's for me?' Girland pushed five ten dollar bills across the counter. 'You get the rest when you talk,' he said. Dodge snapped up the bills and stowed them away in bis hip pocket.
'This is strictly confidential.'
'You are right out of it,' Girland promised. 'What do you know about this movie?'
'Well, Rosnold called me. This was to be a special job. Okay, I make these movies. It's business and pleasure. I do a job for Rosnold two or three times a week. Last month, he called me. I went to the studio and there was this girl. I've never seen her before... a new one.' He thought for a moment. The memory seemed to please him because his face broke into a sensual leer. 'Very good... an amateur, you understand, but good.'
' Did you get her name?'
Dodge shook his head.
'No. Rosnold called her Cherie, but I did get she and he were buddy-buddies. We made four films. Rosnold paid me $50 a film.' Again the leer. 'It was a pleasure.'
'Let's do better than that,' Girland said. 'What makes you think Rosnold and the girl were buddies?'
'The way they behaved ... the way they talked. I could tell. I guess Rosnold digs for her.'
'Yet Rosnold took the shots while you were working on her?'
'That's nothing... that's business. I've worked with wives while their husbands took the shots. When you make a stag, it's strictly business. Besides, I got the idea the girl was stoned.'
'What makes you say that?'
'Well, you know... L.S.D. She was higher than a kite and as hot as a stove.'
'You think she had taken L.S.D.?'
'I'm damn sure she had.'
Girland grimaced.
'What did they talk about... did you hear anything?'
'Well... I had to rest between the shootings.' The leer irritated Girland. 'While I was building myself up, they got in a huddle. They were planning to go to Garmisch together as soon as the shooting was processed.'
'What do you know about Rosnold?'
Dodge shrugged.
'He's one of the bright boys. When he isn't making movies or photographing the snobs, he organises a group of nuts who call themselves Ban War. He tried to get me to join the organisation but it didn't interest me. How the hell can you ban war anyway? It's like bashing your nut against a wall. Anyway, he makes a good thing out of it. Every sucker who joins pays ten francs and the money goes into Rosnold's pocket.'
The door swung open and four American tourists, each with a camera slung around his neck, came into the bar, shattering the quiet atmosphere as they climbed thirstily onto stools away from Girland.
I see you're getting busy,' Girland said. He slid the other dollar bills over to Dodge. 'Forget you've seen me,' and he walked out onto the street.
It now looked as if his next stop would be Garmisch, but first he wanted more information. He headed back to the American Embassy.
Four
His hands clammy, his heart thumping, Henry Sherman handed his false passport to the blue-uniformed official at Orly airport. The man glanced at the photograph, glanced at Sherman, nodded, stamped the passport and returned it with a brief 'Merci, monsieur.'
Sherman walked through the barrier, consulted the index board and found his flight left from Gate 10. He glanced at his watch. He had twenty-five minutes before take-off. Nice, easy time, he thought as he walked down the long aisle towards Gate 10. He paused at the bookstall to buy the New York Times and a couple of paperbacks, then as he was starting on his way again, there was an announcment over the tannoy.
'There will be a one hour delay on Flight AF