Free At Swords' Point by Andre Norton

Kater was also included in this conference. And for some reason that thought was almost reassuring. Quinn ventured to ask a question.
    “Could this — this Doppelganger be working for the police?”
    For the second time he heard her chuckle.
    “In his life time the Doppelganger had a varied career and served numerous masters. But none of his activities were on the side of the law. Explain to me this matter of currency smuggling.”
    Quinn was forced to a quick decision. The entrance of the Doppelganger and his mysterious paymasters had apparently been to his advantage. He believed it the proper time to speak the truth. So now he outlined the events of the past two days from his discovery of the counterfiet bills to his exit from the de Witt.
    She heard him out with her usual stone-set calm. When he had completed the tale she nodded twice — with her bulk it was almost the agreement of a seated Buddha.
    “Mijnheer, now that is the truth. Do not glare so at me— have I not approved it? Also I see why you think that someone has been to no small trouble to put about you a ‘frame’ — as you say. And I am impressed —”
    Kater arose, stretched, and sat tall, tail curled over his front paws, a graven image of impassive dignity. He was like the Jonkvrouw — both of them possessed the same unshakeable belief in themselves and their powers. Now the woman put out a hand and selected from a box by her elbow a long slender cigar. Acrid smoke curled up. Quinn relaxed. Without another word being spoken he knew his acceptance was complete.
    “Indeed,” she repeated between puffs, “I am impressed, Roajact. You have managed your affairs with a surprising amount of good sense — so far —”
    “I probably have half the police force at my heels,” he reminded her flatly.
    “For the Doppelganger few will mourn. Undoubtedly there are those in authority who will be willing to shake you by the hand for being the accidental instrument of his taking off. It is more to the point to discover who sent him to your window ledge. Yes, Johan?”
    Quinn had not heard the door open.
    “The Doppelganger took strange pay, his paymaster is unknown, Jonkvrouw. I have spread the word that you would learn it. Perhaps by morning —”
    She blew a perfect smoke ring. “Very well, Johan. I do not like this development. Strange paymasters coming among us do not make for good feeling — not at all. Now for you, Mijnheer. Tonight you shall remain here. In the morning — well, we shall see. Johan, give Mijnheer the Captain's room. Sleep sound, Roajact, within the walls of the Wise Tomcat you are safe.”
    Quinn offered thanks which she waved aside with the hand which held the cigar. Then he followed Johan up the stairs, past the entrance of the dining room — two more flights — to a short hall from which two doorsopened. Johan pulled ajar the one on the left. They stepped into a kind of attic filled with a jumble of broken furniture and dusty boxes. The windows here were boarded up with heavy wooden shutters on the inside.
    But Johan went through this to a closet on the other side where he jerked downward on a wooden clothes peg. A back panel opened — so small and narrow an opening that, though neither was a large man, they had some trouble wriggling through it.
    The room beyond was provided with a cot, a chest of battered drawers, and no windows. Johan jerked a thumb at the cot. Then he was gone without a word and the panel closed behind him.
    By the weak light of a low-watt bulb swinging on a cord from the ceiling Quinn examined his cheerless quarters. They did not improve upon inspection, but he was too tired to quibble. The excitement which had buoyed him up during his escape from the hotel and his passage at arms with the Jonkvrouw was ebbing, and he was very sleepy. He snapped off the light and stretched out on the cot. And almost before he rested there he was asleep.
    It was pitch dark when he awoke with a dull ache behind his eyes