"The poor man," Pepe sighed. "The cruel Japanese!"
"It's been a wonderful day, Matt."
"When do we repeat it?"
"Can't tell. I'll leave a message for you tonight when I get back."
Hall ate alone after Jerry went to the laboratory, and then wandered around the dark streets of the waterfront, thinking how he could organize his work. That was the damned job, always. Planning your moves. Deciding exactly what it is you're after and then organizing a method of getting it. The letter to Santiago. That was a good start. With luck, there would be an answer in a week. But was a week too far away? How sick was Tabio, and could he hold out for another week? And anyway, was Ansaldo a fascist?
The face of Varela Ansaldo would not leave Hall's mind. Maybe Fielding could find out something, anything. At this moment, Fielding was probably eating a little crow with his dinner at the British Embassy. But would they tell Fielding anything? Did they know anything? And who the hell was Fielding and how in hell did he get the dope in his reports? No, my fine impertinent friend, I am not a British agent. He was the father of Sergeant Harold Fielding who hopped out of the wicker pony cart and picked up one of those thin rifles and died at Jarama.
Santiago's answer. There was the best bet. If the boys in Havana had no dope, at least they would tell him who to contact in San Hermano, and it was a safe bet that when Pedro de Aragon (or would it be a love letter from Maria de Aragon?) wrote, the letter would lead him to someone who would know Souza and Pepe Delgado. They were O.K., but just a little cautious, and this business of squiring Ansaldo's nurse would not set too well with them unless Ansaldo was not Gamburdo's man at all.
Hall was turning a corner when he first noticed the little man walking in the shadows of the opposite sidewalk. A little man in a black suit and a dirty stiff straw hat. Hall slowed his steps, waited for the man in the straw hat to walk closer to the yellowed street light. The man slowed down, too. Hall kept walking. He headed for an avenue, found a cab, told the driver to take him to La Perrichola. He looked around to see the little man get into the other cab at the stand.
"I changed my mind," Hall told the driver. "Take me to the Ritz instead."
He walked slowly into the lobby of the Ritz. It was one of the more modern hotels in New San Hermano. He found a phone booth and called Souza. "Where's Pepe?" he asked.