Arthur Hailey - Hotel

As for the presence of the newspaperman during the unhappy scene, obviously it was too late to change whatever damage had been done. For the hotel's sake, Peter hoped that whoever made decisions about the importance of news stories would see the incident as a minor item only.

Returning to his office on the main mezzanine, he occupied himself with routine business for the remainder of the morning. He resisted a temptation to seek out Christine, instinct telling him that here, too, a cooling-off period might help. Sometime soon, though, he realized, he would have to make amends for his monumental gaffe of earlier today.

He decided to drop in on Christine shortly before noon, but the intention was eclipsed by a telephone call from the duty assistant manager who informed Peter that a guest room, occupied by Mr. Stanley Kilbrick of Marshalltown, Iowa, had been robbed. Though reported only a short time earlier, the robbery apparently occurred during the night. A long list of valuables and cash was alleged to be missing, and the guest, according to the assistant manager, seemed extremely upset. A house detective was already on the scene.

Peter placed a call for the chief house officer. He had no idea whether Ogilvie was in the hotel or not, the fat man's hours of duty being a mystery known only to himself. Shortly afterward, however, a message advised that Ogilvie had taken over the inquiry and would report as soon as possible. Some twenty minutes later he arrived in Peter McDermott's office.

The chief house officer lowered his bulk carefully into the deep leather chair facing the desk.

Trying to subdue his instinctive dislike, Peter asked, "How does it all look?"

"The guy who was robbed's a sucker. He got hooked. Here's what's missin'."

Ogilvie laid a handwritten list on Peter's desk. "I kept one o' these myself."

"Thanks. I'll get it to our insurers. How about the room - is there any sign of forced entry?"

The detective shook his head. "Key job sure. It all figures. Kilbrick admits he was on the loose in the Quarter last night. I guess he shoulda had his mother with him. Claims he lost his key. Won't change his story.

More'n likely, though, he fell for a B-girl routine."

"Doesn't he realize that if he levels with us we stand a better chance of recovering what was stolen?"

"I told him that. Didn't do no good. For one thing, right now he feels plenty stupid. For another, he's already figured the hotel's insurance is good for what he lost. Maybe a bit more; he says there was four hundred dollars cash in his wallet."

"Do you believe him?"

"No."

Well, Peter thought, the guest was due for an awakening. Hotel insurance covered the loss of goods up to a hundred dollars' value, but not cash in any amount. "What's your feeling about the rest? Do you think it was a once-only job?"

"No, I don't," Ogilvie said. "I reckon we got ourselves a professional hotel thief, an' he's workin' inside the house."

"What makes you think so?"

"Somethin' that happened this mornin' - complaint from room 641. Guess it ain't come up to you yet."

"If it has," Peter said, "I don't recall it."

"Early on - near dawn's far's I can make out - some character let himself in 641 with a key. The man in the room woke up. The other guy made like he was drunk and said he'd mistook it for 614. The man in the room went back to sleep, but when he woke up started wondering how the key of 614 would fit 641. That's when I heard about it."

"The desk could have given out a wrong key."

"Could have, but didn't. I checked. Night-room clerk swears neither of them keys went out. And 614's a married couple; they went to bed early last night an' stayed put."

"Do you have a description of the man who entered 641?"

"Not enough so's it's any good. Just to be sure, I got the two men - 641 and 614 - together. It wasn't 614 who went in 641's room. Tried the keys too; neither one'll fit the other room."

Peter said thoughtfully, "It looks as if you're right about a professional thief. In which case we should start planning a campaign."

"I done some things," Ogilvie said. "I already told the desk clerks for the next few days to ask names when they hand out keys. If they smell anything funny, they're to let the key go, but get a good look at whoever takes it, then tell one of my people fast. The word's bein' passed around to maids and bellhops to watch for prowlers, an' anything else that don't sit right.

My men'll be doin' extra time, with patrols round every floor all night."

Peter nodded approvingly. "That sounds good. Have you considered moving into the hotel yourself for a day or two? I'll arrange a room if you wish."

Fleetingly, Peter thought, a worried expression crossed the fat man's face.

Then he shook his head. "Won't need it."

"But you'll be around - available?"

"Sure I'll be around." The words were emphatic but, peculiarly, lacked conviction. As if aware of the deficiency, Ogilvie added, "Even if I ain't right here all the time, my men know what to do."

Still doubtfully, Peter asked, "What's our arrangement with the police?"

"There'll be a couple of plain-clothes men over. I'll tell them about the other thing, an' I guess they'll do some checkin' to see who might be in town. If it's some joe with a record, we could get lucky'n pick him up."

"In the meantime, of course, our friend - whoever he is - won't sit still."

"That's for sure. An' if he's smart as I think, he'll figure by now we're on to him. So likely he'll try to work fast, then get clear."

"Which is one more reason," Peter pointed out, "why we need you close at hand."

Ogilvie protested, "I reckon I thought of everythin'."

"I believe you did, too. In fact I can't think of anything you've left out. What I'm concerned about is that when you're not here someone else may not be as thorough or as quick."

Whatever else might be said of the chief house officer, Peter reasoned, he knew his business when he chose to do it. But it was infuriating that their relationship made it necessary to plead about something as obvious as this.

"You don't hafta worry," Ogilvie said. But Peter's instinct told him that for some reason the fat man was worried himself as he heaved his great body upward and lumbered out.

After a moment or two Peter followed, stopping only to give instructions about notifying the hotel's insurers of the robbery, along with the inventory of stolen items which Ogilvie had supplied.

Peter walked the short distance to Christine's office. He was disappointed to discover that she was not there. He would come back, he decided, immediately after lunch.

He descended to the lobby and strolled to the main dining room. As he entered he observed that today's luncheon business was brisk, reflecting the hotel's present high occupancy.

Peter nodded agreeably to Max, the head waiter, who hurried forward.

"Good day, Mr. McDermott. A table by yourself?"

"No, I'll join the penal colony." Peter seldom exercised his privilege, as assistant general manager, of occupying a table of his own in the dining room. Most days he preferred to join other executive staff members at the large circular table reserved for their use near the kitchen door.

The St. Gregory's controller, Royall Edwards, and Sam Jakubiec, the stocky, balding credit manager, were already at lunch as Peter joined them. Doc Vickery, the chief engineer, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, was studying a menu. Slipping into the chair which Max held out, Peter inquired, "What looks good?"

"Try the watercress soup," Jakubiec advised between sips of his own.

"It's not like any mother made; it's a damn sight better."

Royall Edwards added in his precise accountant's voice, "The special today is fried chicken. We have that coming."