Arthur Hailey - Hotel

"Do you believe that?"

"It might be true. Then again, it might not. We'll know better after we've done some questioning tomorrow."

By tomorrow, Peter thought, a good deal might be clearer. Tonight held a quality of unreality. He inquired, "What happens next?"

"We intend to pay a call on the Duke and Duchess of Croydon. If you don't mind, we'd like you along."

"I suppose . . . if you think it necessary."

"Thank you."

"There is one other thing, Mr. McDermott," the second detective said. "We understand that the Duchess of Croydon gave some sort of written permission for their car to be taken from the hotel garage."

"I was told that, yes."

"It could be important, sir. Do you suppose anyone kept that note?"

Peter considered. "It's possible. If you like, I'll telephone the garage."

"Let's go there," Captain Yolles said.

Kulgmer, the garage night checker, was apologetic and chagrined. "Do you know, sir, I said to myself I might need that piece of paper, just to cover me in case anything got asked. And if you'll believe me, sir, I looked for it tonight before I remembered I must have thrown it out yesterday with the paper from my sandwiches. It isn't really my fault, though, when you look at it fair." He gestured to the glass cubicle from which he had emerged. "There's not much space in there.

No wonder things get mixed. I was saying just last week, if that place was only bigger. Now, you take the way I have to do the nightly taffy . . ."

Peter McDermott interrupted, "What did the note from the Duchess of Croydon say?"

"Just that Mr. O. had permission to take away the car. I kind of wondered at the time . . ."

"Was the note written on hotel stationery?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you remember if the paper was embossed and had 'Presidential Suite' at the top?"

"Yes, Mr. McDermott, I do remember that. It was just like you said, and sort of a small size sheet."

Peter told the detectives, "We have special stationery for that particular suite."

The second detective queried Kulgmer, "You say you threw the note out with your sandwich wrappings?"

"Don't see how it could have happened any other way. You see, I'm always very careful. Now, take what happened last year ..."

"What time would that be?"

"Last year?"

The detective said patiently, "Last night. When you threw out the sandwich wrapping. What time?"

"I'd say around two in the morning. I usually start my lunch around one.

Things have quieted down by then and . . .

"Where did you throw them?"

"Same place as always. Over here." Kulginer led the way to a cleaners' closet containing a garbage can. He removed the lid.

"Is there a chance of last night's stuff still being in there?"

"No, sir. You see, this is emptied every day. The hotel's fussy about that. That's right, Mr. McDermott, isn't it?"

Peter nodded.

"Besides," Kulgmer said, "I remember the can was almost full last night.

You can see there's hardly anything in there now."

"Let's make sure." Captain Yolles glanced at Peter for approval, then turned the garbage can upside down, emptying its contents. Though they searched carefully, there was no sign either of Kulgmer's sandwich wrappings or the missing note from the Duchess of Croydon.

Kulgrner left them to attend to several cars entering and leaving the garage.

Yolles wiped his hands on a paper towel. "What happens to the garbage when it leaves here?"

"It goes to our central incinerator," Peter informed him. "By the time it gets there, it's in big trolleys, with everything from the whole hotel mixed up together. It would be impossible to identify any one source. In any case, what was collected from here is probably burned by now."

"Maybe it doesn't matter," Yolles said. "All the same, I'd like to have had that note."

The elevator stopped at the ninth floor. As the detectives followed him out, Peter observed, "I'm not looking forward to this."

Yolles reassured him, "We'll ask a few questions, that's all. I'd like you to listen carefully. And to the answers. It's possible we might need you as a witness later."

To Peter's surprise, the doors of the Presidential Suite were open. As they approached, a buzz of voices could be heard.

The second detective said, "Sounds like a party."

They stopped at the doorway and Peter depressed the bell push. Through a second, partially opened door inside, he could see into the spacious living room. There was a group of men and women, the Duke and Duchess of Croydon among them. Most of the visitors were holding drinks in one hand, notebooks or paper in another.

The Croydons' male secretary appeared in the interior hallway. "Good evening," Peter said. "These two gentlemen would like to see the Duke and Duchess."

"Are they from the press?"

Captain Yolles shook his head.

"Then I'm sorry, it's impossible. The Duke is holding a press conference.

His appointment as British Ambassador was confirmed this evening."

"So I understand," Yolles said. "All the same, our business is important."

While speaking, they had moved from the corridor into the suite hallway.

Now, the Duchess of Croydon detached herself from the group in the living room and came toward them. She smiled agreeably. "Won't you come in?"

The secretary injected, "These gentlemen are not from the press."

"Oh!" Her eyes went to Peter with a glance of recognition, then to the other two.

Captain Yolles said, "We're police officers, madam. I have a badge but perhaps you'd prefer me not to produce it here." He looked toward the living room from where several people were watching curiously.

The Duchess gestured to the secretary who closed the living-room door.

Was it imagination, Peter wondered, or had a flicker of fear crossed the Duchess's face at the word 'police'? Imagined or not, she was in command of herself now.

"May I ask why you are here?"

"There are some questions, madam, that we'd like to ask you and your husband."

"This is scarcely a convenient time."

"We'll do our best to be as brief as possible." Yolles' voice was quiet, but its authority unmistakable.

"I'll inquire if my husband will see you. Please wait in there."

The secretary led the way to a room off the hallway, furnished as an office. A moment or two later, as the secretary left, the Duchess re-entered, followed by the Duke. He glanced uncertainly from his wife to the others.

"I have informed our guests," the Duchess announced, "that we shall be away no more than a few minutes."

Captain Yolles made no comment. He produced a notebook. "I wonder if you'd mind telling me when you last used your car. It's a Jaguar, I believe." He repeated the registration number.

"Our car?" The Duchess seemed surprised. "I'm not sure what was the last time we used it. No, just a moment. I do remember. It was Monday morning.

It's been in the hotel garage since then. It's there now."

"Please think carefully. Did you or your husband, either separately or together, use the car on Monday evening?"

It was revealing, Peter thought, how, automatically, Yolles addressed his questions to the Duchess and not to the Duke.

Two spots of color appeared on the Duchess of Croydon's cheeks. "I am not accustomed to having my word doubted. I have already said that the last occasion the car was used was on Monday morning. I also think you owe us an explanation as to what this is all about."

Yolles wrote in his notebook.

"Are either of you acquainted with Theodore Ogilvie?"

"The name has a certain familiarity . . ."

"He is the chief house officer of this hotel."

"I remember now. He came here. I'm not sure when. There was some query about a piece of jewelry which had been found. Someone suggested it might be mine. It was not."