"Healthy again?"
"Damn rumors have been spread about the hotel that you were ill, Mr. Hall. Not seriously as hell, I hope? Why don't you join us? Mr. Rendueles has been trying to make a deal with me on some fairly choice bean."
Hall downed his double Scotch. "No, thanks. I'd better get some sleep."
"Yes. You look sleepy, Mr. Hall. I wonder if we'll ever find time for—you know—my damn story. Eh?"
"One of these days," Hall said. "We'll get the complete story, Androtten. All the facts, in complete detail. Good night." He paid for his drink and went to the desk in the lobby.
"Your key," Souza said. "I have it right here."
"Thanks. What's new?"
"Oh, nothing, señor. Nothing at all." Souza was being profoundly impersonal. "I hope you are feeling better, señor. Oh, yes, message in your box."
The message was from Souza himself, and the ink was not yet dry. "I can't speak now," it read.
"Thank you. Good night." Hall put the message in his pocket and went to his room.