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"Good." Joe's expression relaxed a trifle. "But you're in a somewhat different
position, Angie. You had no idea what you were getting into here. I'd like to
be able to offer you a way out, but that's not possible. It's too late. You're
in it now, hell or high water, and all we can do is fight it out together."
In the silence that followed all three people at the table distinctly heard a
faint groan from the direction of the bedrooms. After exchanging startled
glances they were pushing back chairs, bumping into one another, rushing to
get a look at their host
The one they called the old man had raised himself on one elbow in the bed. He
groaned again as the three breathing folk rushed into his room, and he seemed
to be trying to speak. Angle, with a rush of relief, thought that he looked
much more human than he had for many hours.
The three clustered around him, all talking at once, then all falling silent
as they concentrated on trying to understand what he was trying to say. Their
efforts were still in vain.
Then Uncle Matthew collapsed, groaning, flat on his back once more. He gave up
trying to talk. Still, he looked better, more alive, than he had for many
hours.
Joe went to the bedroom windows, making sure that the special curtains were
tightly drawn. The old man now looked as if he were sleeping peacefully.
Except that there was no sign of breathing. But Angle noted a faint pulse
visible in his temple; when she put her fingers on the wiry arm she could feel
it in his wrist as well.
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Joe, leading the others back to the living room, looked almost elated "He's
starting to come out of it, and that's great. Especially in daytime. His
vitality's usually down once the sun's up. I'd say if he makes it through the
day there's a good chance he'll really snap out of this tonight."
John expressed agreement. "Then he can tell us what happened."
"God, I hope so. He just doesn't get sick, in my experience. Actually he looks
like he's been drugged. But I never heard of any drug that would take effect
on one of them& tell me again about this woman who was with him last night."
Angie and John obliged. Shortly after Joe had heard that episode in greater
detail, he put on his topcoat and got ready to depart. On the verge of
leaving, he delivered a few hearty comments obviously meant to boost their
morale, capped by his firm promise to return. He also advised against their
leaving the apartment for any reason.
"But right now I'd better move along. There're things
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I can do better from outside, and I'm going to start doing 'em." He looked at
Angie. "I'm not going to offer to escort you away from here. I honestly don't
know if you'd be safer staying here or coming with me, but I suspect that
staying here is best."
"If John's staying here, I'm staying too. What would I do, go home and wait
alone for them to catch up with me there?"
Joe, looking gloomy, thought about it and shrugged. "I don't know if they'd
try to
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do that or not. I just don't know."
"What're you going to do?" John asked him.
"Try to contact Mina, for one thing." He looked at Angie, groping for some
quick way to explain. "An old friend of an old friend. She might be a big
help."
John nodded.
In another moment Joe was gone, out the front door. The viewing screen gave no
sign that anyone had observed his departure.
"I feel a lot better with Joe on the job," said John after the door was bolted
up securely after him.
"I do too. At least I certainly did when he was here. Johnny, I wish you'd
tell me more about this mess we're in."
John led the way back into the kitchen, where "he started to make himself a
sandwich. "I'll tell you what I can," he said. Then he nodded in the direction
of the bedrooms. "He could tell his own story much better than I can. I guess
he thought that listening to the tape would break it to you gradually I don't
know.
I've been trying to figure out how to tell you about him for about a month
now, and I'm still trying."
"Go ahead." Now her voice was subdued; John had his sandwich made, and she was
starting mechanically to clean up the coffee cups, the paper towels, the knife
with cheese on it.
John sat at the table, munching between sentences. "All right. He's not really
my
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uncle, and his name isn't really Matthew Maule. At least that's only one of a
number of names he uses. When I was kidnapped, at the age of sixteen, he was
calling himself Dr. Emile Corday. Just an old friend of the family, visiting
from
London. The Chicago cops are probably still looking for Dr. Corday. Not that
he did anything to be ashamed of then. The people he hurt were all
kidnappers."
"Oh."
"So I'll tell you what I can. But I can't tell it the way he would. I can't
even find the right place to begin."
Chapter 6
Out in the corridor, heading directly for the elevators, Joe Keogh got as far
as the door of the next apartment down the hall before his brisk passage was
interrupted.
She came out into the hallway smiling in his direction, making eye contact as
if she was determined to intercept him and was not going to be too subtle
about it.
She might easily have seen him coming, for the door that she emerged from was
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strategically placed at a bend in the passage, so anyone looking through a
wide-
angle viewer from inside would command the stretch of hallway in front of the
Maule apartment. She was a fortyish lady, average height, overweight but
trying to carry it well, with skillfully if showily dyed hair, rich black
streaked with silver. Subtle things about her face suggested that battles had
been and were still being fought across that territory, again with skill, to
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