"O.K.," he said. "See you tonight."
He reached the lobby at half-past eight. There was no message in his box, and he could see that Jerry's key was already in the cubicle. "I'll be in the dining room if anyone phones," he told the day clerk. He bought a paper from a boy standing near the entrance of the Bolivar and went in to eat.
Hall was having his second cup of coffee when Androtten entered the dining room. The little Dutchman smiled happily when he spotted Hall.
"Good morning, good morning," he shouted. "Hell of a nice day, no?"
"It's nice and sunny," Hall said. "Eating alone? Take a chair."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hall. Damn nice of you."
Hall wanted to shove the incongruous hells and damns down the pink face of the Hollander. "Not at all," he said. "I like company." But the beaming Dutchman brought goose pimples to his spine this morning.
"Excuse me," Hall said, rising. "I'll be back in a minute."
He went to the desk, picked up a pad of cable blanks and an indelible pencil. Then, at the table, he sat with pencil poised over the pad and smiled at Androtten. "Mine is a funny business," he said. "When you get to the capital of a country you can't go right to work, you know. Far from it, Androtten. First you smooch around the town like a prowler, talking to taxi drivers and bartenders and ..."
"Pardon my ignorance, Mr. Hall. But smooch? Is it a real word or journalists' slang?"