nto the gray eyes of the stubby little man.
"A check of your inventory records would be helpful."
"I do not open my records for a stranger who wanders in from the street. My customers would not look kindly upon a supplier who failed to keep their transactions confidential."
"The law requires you to list your arms sales with the Defense Department, so what's the big secret?"
"Are you with Defense, Mr. Pitt?" asked Mapes.
"Indirectly."
"Then whom do you represent?"
"Sorry, I can't say."
Mapes shook his head irritably and rose. "I'm a busy man. I have no time for games. You can find your own way out."
Pitt remained in his chair. "Sit down, Mr. Mapes . . . please."
Mapes found himself looking into a pair of green eyes that were as hard as jade. He hesitated, and considered challenging the command, then slowly did as he was asked.
Pitt nodded at the telephone. "So we both know where we stand, I suggest you call General Elmer Grosfield."
Mapes made a nettled face. "The Chief Inspector of Foreign Arms Shipments and I seldom see eye to eye."
"I take it he frowns on classified weapons' being sold to unfriendly nations."
Mapes shrugged. "The general is a narrow-minded man." Mapes leaned back in his chair and stared speculatively at Pitt. "What, may I ask, is your connection with Grosfield?"
"Let's just say he respects my judgment more than he does yours."
"Do I detect a veiled threat, Mr. Pitt? If I don't play ball, you cry foul to Grosfield-is that it?"
"My request is simple," said Pitt. "A check of the whereabouts of the naval shells you bought from Lee Raferty in Colorado."
"I don't have to show you a damn thing, mister," Mapes replied stubbornly. "Not without a logical explanation or proper identification, or, for that matter, a court order."
"And if General Grosfield makes the request?"
"In that case I might be persuaded to string along."
Pitt nodded at the phone again. "I'll give you his private number
"I have it," Mapes said, fishing through a small box. He found the slotted index card he was looking for and held it up. "Not that I don't trust you, Mr. Pitt. But if you don't mind, I prefer using a number from my own file."
"Suit yourself," said Pitt.
Mapes lifted the receiver, inserted the card in the automatic-dialer phone, and pressed the code button. "It's after twelve o'clock,"
he said.
"Grosfield is probably out to lunch." Pitt shook his head. "The general is a brown-bagger. He eats at his desk."
"I always figured him for a cheapass," Mapes grunted.
Pitt smiled, hoping Mapes couldn't read the anxiety behind his eyes.
Abe Steiger rubbed the sweat from his palms on his pant legs and picked up the phone on the third ring, taking a bite from a banana before he spoke.