“Well, little Lotus,” he began, “I hope your memory never starts playing tricks on you like mine. This room, for instance—”
A strange expression in the girl’s dark eyes stopped him short. Following her look and gesture he stepped quickly to the inlaid teakwood table.
The thing looked innocent enough. It’s decorated top bore nothing but a vase and a small lacquered tray. One glance underneath, however, explained Lotus’ silent warning.
Fastened to the underside of the table top was a compact little dictaphone, no doubt being used at this moment by a Scorpion eavesdropper!
Back at the spot where he had first stood, Don picked up the conversation.
“This apartment does seem vaguely familiar,” he continued. “It’s like something I dreamed about long ago. Perhaps if you showed me the other rooms it might all come back to me. Shall we try it?”
It was the cue for which the girl had been waiting. With an eager nod she led the way toward a curtained archway.
“Why, certainly, André!” she answered. “There’s no harm in looking around. These are the comrades’ quarters, or at least one section of them, and of course you have been here before. Beyond this hall is a small dining room, and a sort of butler’s pantry. The sleeping quarters are on another level entirely....”
As the heavy curtains fell back into place, Don found himself in a tiny hallway, lighted by a dim overhead lamp. He was about to proceed when the girl’s quick grasp on his arm halted him in his tracks.
“We can talk now,” she whispered, “but we must be brief. I know who you are, Don Winslow!”