Hotel

"If I appeared to, I'm sorry."

"For God's sake! If you know the details already, why ask?"

"Frankly," Dumaire said, "I was hoping for the confirmation that you just gave me. Also, the offer I am authorized to make is somewhat better."

He had fallen, Warren Trent realized, for an ancient, elementary gambit.

But he was indignant that Dumaire should have seen fit to play it on him.

It was also obvious that Curtis O'Keefe had a defector in his own organization, possibly someone at O'Keefe headquarters who was privy to high-level policy. In a way, there was ironic justice in the fact that Curtis O'Keefe who used espionage as a business tool, should be spied upon himself.

"Just how are the terms better? And by whom are they offered?"

"To reply to the second question first - at present I am not at liberty to say."

Warren Trent snorted, "I do business with people I can see, not ghosts."

"I am no ghost," Dumaire reminded him. "Moreover you have the bank's assurance that the offer I am empowered to make is bona fide, and that the parties whom the bank represents have unimpeachable credentials."

Still irked by the stratagem of a few moments earlier, the hotel proprietor said, "Let's get to the point."

"I was about to do so." The banker shuffled his notes. "Basically, the valuation which my principals place upon this hotel is identical with that of the O'Keefe Corporation.

"That's hardly surprising, since you had O'Keefe's figures."

"In other respects, however, there are several significant differences."

For the first time since the beginning of the interview, Warren Trent was conscious of a mounting interest in what the banker had to say.

"First, my principals have no wish that you should sever your personal connection with the St. Gregory Hotel or divorce yourself from its financial structure. Second, it would be their intention - insofar as is commercially feasible - to maintain the hotel's independence and existing character, Warren Trent gripped the arms of his chair tightly. He glanced at a wall clock to his right. It showed a quarter to twelve.

"They would, however, insist on acquiring a majority of the outstanding common shares - a reasonable requirement in the circumstances - to provide effective management control. You yourself would thus revert to the status of largest minority stock holder. A further requirement would be your immediate resignation as president and managing director. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

Warren Trent filled a single glass from the Thermos jug on his desk.

"What do you have in mind - that I become a busboy? Or perhaps assistant doorman?"

"Scarcely that." Emile Dumaire sipped from the glass, then regarded it.

"It has always struck me as quite remarkable how our muddy Mississippi can become such pleasant tasting water."

"Get on with it!"

The banker smiled. "My principals propose that immediately following your resignation you be appointed chairman of the board, initially for a two-year term."

"A mere figurehead, I suppose!"

"Perhaps. But it would seem to me that there are worse things. Or perhaps you'd prefer the figurehead to be Mr. Curtis O'Keefe."

The hotel proprietor was silent,

"I am further instructed to inform you that my principals will match any offer of a personal nature concerning accommodation here which you may have received from the O'Keefe Corporation. Now, as to the question of stock transference and refinancing. I'd like to go into that in some detail."

As the banker talked on, closely consulting his notes, Warren Trent had a sense of weariness and unreality. Out of memory an incident came to him from long ago. Once, as a small boy, he had attended a country fair, clutching a few hoarded pennies to spend on the mechanical rides. There had been one that he had ventured on - a cake walk. It was a form of amusement, he supposed, which had long since passed into limbo. He remembered it as a platform with a multiple-hinged floor which moved continually now up, now down, now tilting forward, backward, forward ...

so that perspective was never level, and for the cost of a penny one had an imminent chance of falling before attaining the far end. Beforehand it had seemed exciting, but he remembered that nearing the finish of the cake walk he had wanted, more than anything else, merely to get off.

The past weeks had been like a cake walk too. At the beginning he had been confident, then abruptly the floor had canted away beneath him. It had risen, as hope revived, then slanted away again.

Near the end the Journeymen's Union held a promise of stability, then abruptly that too had collapsed on lunatic hinges.

Now, unexpectedly, the cake walk had stabilized once more and all he wanted to do was get off.

Later on, Warren Trent knew, his feelings would change, his personal interest in the hotel reviving, as it always had. But for the moment he was conscious only of relief that, one way or another, the burden of responsibility was shifting on. Along with relief was curiosity.

Who, among the city's business leaders, was behind Emile Dumaire? Who might care enough to run the financial risk of maintaining the St. Gregory as a traditionally independent house? Mark Preyscott, perhaps?

Could the department-store chieftain be seeking to augment his already widespread interests? Warren Trent recalled having heard from someone, during the past few days, that Mark Preyscott was in Rome. That might account for the indirect approach. Well, whoever it was, he supposed he would learn soon enough.

The stock transaction which the banker was spelling out was fair.

Compared with the offer from O'Keefe, Warren Trent's personal cash settlement would be smaller, but offset by a retained equity in the hotel. In contrast, the O'Keefe terms would cast him adrift from the St. Gregory's affairs entirely.

As to an appointment as chairman of the board, while it might be a token post only, devoid of power, he would at least be an inside, privileged spectator to whatever might ensue. Nor was the prestige to be dismissed lightly.

"That," Emile Dumaire concluded, "is the sum and substance. As to the offer's integrity, I have already stated that it is guaranteed by the bank. Furthermore, I am prepared to give you a notarized letter of intention, this afternoon, to that effect."

"And completion, if I agree?"

The banker pursed his lips, considering. "There is no reason why papers could not be drawn quickly, besides which the matter of the impending mortgage expiry lends some urgency. I would say completion tomorrow at this time.

"And also at that time, no doubt, I would be told the purchaser's identity."

"That," Emile Dumaire conceded, "would be essential to the transaction."

"If tomorrow, why not now?"

The banker shook his head. "I am bound by my instructions."

Briefly, in Warren Trent's mind, his old ill temper flared. He was tempted to insist on revelation as a condition of assent. Then reason argued: Did it matter, providing the stipulations pledged were met?

Disputation, too, would involve effort to which he felt unequal. Once more, the weariness of a few minutes earlier engulfed him.

He sighed, then said simply, "I accept."

9

Incredulously, wrathfully, Curtis O'Keefe faced Warren Trent.

"You have the effrontery to stand there telling me you've sold elsewhere!"

They were in the living room of O'Keefe's suite. Immediately following the departure of Emile Dumaire, Christine Francis had telephoned to make the appointment which Warren Trent was keeping now. Dodo, her expression uncertain, hovered behind O'Keefe.

"You may call it effrontery," Warren Trent replied. "As far as I'm concerned it's information. You may also be interested to know that I have not sold entirely, but have retained a substantial interest in the hotel."

"Then you'll lose it" O'Keefe's face flushed with rage. It had been many years since anything he wished to buy had been denied him. Even now, obsessed with bitterness and disappointment, he could not believe the rejection to be true. "By God! I swear I'll break you."

Dodo reached out. Her hand touched OKeefe's sleeve, "Curtie!"

He wrenched the arm free. "Shut up!" A vein pulsed visibly across his temples. His hands were clenched.

"You're excited, Curtie. You shouldn't ...

"Damn you! Keep out of this!"

Dodo's eyes went appealingly to Warren Trent. They had the effect of curbing Trent's own temper which had been about to erupt.

He told O'Keefe, "You may do what you please. But I'd remind you you have no divine right of purchase. Also, you came here of your own accord with no invitation from me.

"You'll rue this day! You and the others, whoever they are. I'll build!

I'll drive this hotel down, and out of business. Every vestige of my planning will be directed at smashing this place and you with it."

"If either of us lives so long." Having contained himself already, Warren Trent felt his own self-control increase as O'Keefe's diminished. "We may not see it happen, of course, because what you intend will take time.

Also, the new people here may give you a run for your money." It was an uninformed prediction, but he hoped it would prove true.

O'Keefe raged, "Get out!"

Warren Trent said, "This is my house still. While you are my guest you have certain privileges in your own rooms. I'd suggest, though, you don't abuse them." With a slight, courteous bow to Dodo, he went out.

"Curtie," Dodo said.

O'Keefe did not appear to hear. He was breathing heavily.

"Curtie, are you all right?"

"Must you ask stupid questions? Of course I'm all right!" He stormed the length of the room and back.

"It's only a hotel, Curtie. You got so many others."

"I want this one!"

"That old man - it's the only one he's got . .

"Oh yes! Of course you'd see it that way. Disloyally! Stupidly!" His voice was high, hysterical. Dodo, frightened, had never known him in a mood so uncontrolled before.

"Please, Curtie!"

"I'm surrounded by fools! Fools, fools, fools! You're a fool! It's why I'm getting rid of you. Replacing you with someone else."

He regretted the words the instant they were out. Their impact, even upon himself, was of shock, snuffing out his anger like a suddenly doused flame. There was a second of silence before he mumbled, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Dodo's eyes were misty. She touched her hair abstractedly in the gesture he had noticed earlier.

"I guess I knew, Curtie. You didn't have to tell me."

She went into the adjoining suite, closing the door behind her.

10

An unexpected bonus had revived the spirits of Keycase Milne.

During the morning, Keycase had returned his strategic purchases of yesterday to the Maison Blanche department store. There was no difficulty and he received prompt, courteous refunds. This, at the same time, relieved him of an encumbrance and filled an otherwise empty hour. There were still several more hours to wait, however, until the specially made key, ordered yesterday from the Irish Channel locksmith, would be ready for collection.

He was on the point of leaving the Maison Blanche store when his good fortune occurred.