Thieves Fall Out Read Free Page B

brought it up, I wouldn’t mind at all,” said Pete, looking carefully at his glass.
    “Lot of money floating about. Some it sticks to a man, if he’s got the stuff.” Abruptly, Hastings’ hand closed on Pete’s bicep. His fingers were surprisingly strong. Only by flexing his muscles could Pete avoid a bruise. “Bit of all right,” said Hastings admiringly, letting his hand drop casually. To anyone watching he seemed to be telling a funny story that he had punctuated by squeezing the American’s arm. He smiled tightly, revealing nicotine-yellow teeth.
    “I used to box,” said Pete. “In the Army.”
    “Branch?”
    “Infantry. Third Army.”
    “Rugged boy,” said Hastings, ordering another round. Pete wondered what he had in mind. They drank the next round in silence. Finally Hastings spoke: “Let me see your passport, if I may. Just put it on the bar in front of me, discreetly.”
    Mystified, Pete did as he was told. Hastings flicked the booklet open with one finger, glanced at the photo, picked at it with his nail, felt the texture of the paper, and then, all in a half minute, let the passport close. “Thanks very much,” he said.
    Pete put the document back in his pocket.
    “Like you to meet a friend of mine,” said Hastings. “Lady who lives here in the hotel. Might have a chat with her. Get to know her. Then later on we’ll have a talk, you and I. How does that sound, eh?”
    Just weird, said Pete to himself. “Mighty interesting.” he said aloud.
    “Good chap,” said Hastings. “Fact you haven’t a bean won’t bother her at all,” he added, to Pete’s surprise.
    * * *
    “There you are, my dear,” said Hastings, and he and Pete rose as a slender, dark-haired woman walked toward them from the main lobby. She was dressed in white, very simply, with a tight-fitting blouse that revealed the sculptural line of her figure. She wore no jewels and her hair was drawn softly back from her face, revealing an oval face with black eyes and scarlet lips. Pete guessed her age at thirty.
    She gave her hand briefly to each of them. Her smile was brilliant. “Come, let’s sit over here, in the shadows.” She spoke with an agreeable French accent; her voice was low and musical, “I always feel like a spy when I sit in this room,” she said, as they sat around a circular table in an alcove hidden from the lobby by potted plants.
    “American…Peter Wells. This is the Comtesse de Rastignac,” mumbled Hastings.
    “Mr. Wells is very brave to come here in July,” said the Countess.
    “Came here to look for oil, too, on his own hook. Much braver.”
    Pete grinned at the Frenchwoman. “Bravery or ignorance,” he said. “I just thought I’d come out and try my luck. It’s usually pretty fair.”
    “I can see.” She clapped her hands loudly and a servant came and took their order: tea. Pete preferred a drink, but he was growing hungry again and the idea of tea wasn’t disagreeable.
    “Oh…bit of business. Excuse it, Wells. Did the consignment get routed properly?” Hastings’ voice became suddenly low.
    She nodded serenely. “Everything has been taken care of.” She turned to Pete. “How long have you been here?”
    He told her; then Hastings interrupted. “Boxer, too.”
    The Countess looked startled. “What?”‘
    “Boxer. You know…chap fights with boxing gloves, fighter, pugilist. In the Army.”
    “Ah, how interesting!” She smiled mockingly. “You must give us a demonstration,” she said.
    “I didn’t bring any gloves,” said Pete a little sharply, wondering why Hastings had this obsession about his boxing days.
    “We don’t use them in Egypt, anyway,” said the Countess cryptically.
    “Must be off.” Hastings stood up abruptly. “Can’t wait for tea, my dear. I’ll call you in the morning. Meantime, keep in touch, Wells. I’m at the Semiramis Hotel. Call me around noon tomorrow. Might have a drink, have a talk.”
    “I’d like that, sir,” said Pete, standing