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opened the door for him almost at once, putting out a hand to keep Ditmars
standing in the small elegant entry hall.
Bellow was perturbed about something. "Have you heard?" he asked Ditmars
quickly, in a low voice.
"Heard what?" Taking what seemed to be his cue, Ditmars responded in a
near-whisper. "No, I've heard nothing that would affect the job."
Two of Bellow's fingers were clutching as if unconsciously at Ditmars' shirt.
"It was in the regular news sheet this morning. Only a small item, not
featured. A
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report of vandalism in the Old Cemetery last night, by persons unknown. It
must be some of Ramachandra's people."
"They got the book?"
"No, no." Bellow's answer was reflexive, but then he blinked; he hadn't really
thought of that possibility before.
"At least I don't think they would have been concerned about the book, and
there was nothing in the news sheet about it. No, what they did was haul away
a massive statue, a memorial that Ramachandra had erected years ago, just
opposite Milady Rosalys' conditivium. The statue was on a plot leased by
Ramachandra, so there was nothing my client could do about it at the time&
I'll bet
Person Ramachandra used some massive bribery yesterday, and got the fence
around the cemetery turned off long enough so that his people could get in
there with an airlifter and out again."
"No doubt it could have been managed that way."
Ditmars still spoke very quietly, though he didn't know
why. He was thinking that he didn't want to get inadvertently into a position
of opposing a man like
Ramachandra. Not that Ditmars would always refuse to oppose the powerful, but
first he wanted to be very well informed, and secondly very well paid. "But I
wonder-"
"What?" Bellow whispered.
"Why should that statue have been taken just now? For that matter, why should
Ramachandra want it back at all?"
Bellow silently gestured his inability to answer either question. Then he
turned away, motioning Ditmars to follow him.
In the same room where Ditmars and Bellow had talked two days ago, one of the
oldest-looking men that Ditmars had seen for several decades was sitting
slouched in a deep chair. He made no move to rise as Ditmars entered. Ross
Gabriel's long face was savagely marked with lines that none of the pictures
of eight years ago had shown. He was recognizable to Ditmars only because the
professional thief had been expecting to meet the popoet here.
Gabriel's long frame was curved down into the chair almost fetally. He was as
still as a sleeper but his gray eyes were steady and wide awake when he lifted
his blond-gray head to stare at Ditmars. The deliberately cultivated aging of
the face-evidently now coming to be the preferred fashion for men on many
worlds-somehow suited Gabriel, giving or enhancing a haunted look of tragic
suffering that the old photographs had not shown. A loose, shawl-like upper
garment in rainbow colors prevented Ditmars from seeing whether Gabriel's body
matched his ravaged face or not.
"Ross, this is our newest employee, Person Leodas
Ditmars." Bellow performed the introduction in a politely soothing voice, as
if he feared the two of them might flare up spontaneously when brought into
contact. "Person
Ditmars, Person Gabriel here is quite interested in hearing whatever you may
have to report so far. Including any light you may be able to shed on the
removal of the statuary last night."
"About that I know nothing, I'm afraid," Ditmars said, and paused. Gabriel was
still silently staring at him, not offensively, rather, like some old old man
no longer much interested in anything. Was it real, irreparable age?
Ditmars thought not, for Gabriel's jaw was firm, his earlobes still short, and
the skin of his throat looked tight and smooth.
Ditmars drew in a breath and then delivered a business-
like report. He detailed his scouting expedition of the previous day and
outlined his plans for getting through the fence. The other two men listened,
Gabriel mournful and wordless, Bellow eager, prompting with sharp little
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questions every now and then.
As soon as Ditmars had finished, the agent leaned forward in his chair. "I
take it, then, that you can guarantee to accomplish this mission as we direct?
So neither the cemetery authorities or anyone else will know about it?"
" 'Guarantee' is quite a large word, Person Bellow. I
prefer not to use it. I do expect to be able to do the job just as you want it
done. I've been able to accomplish some much more difficult things
successfully."
"Very good!" said Bellow heartily. "We know your reputation, and I expect
that'll be good enough for us."
Smiling, he looked toward his client. But Gabriel's sad, implacable muteness
did not crack. There was a brief silence that Ditmars broke with a
throatclearing. "Then, Bellow, I'd like to get some details on the layout
inside the conditivium. If I should have to make a new way in, it'll be very
helpful to know just where the casket or sarcophagus or any other interior
furnishings are. Also an exact location
of the old entrance or entrances, which may be completely blocked by now."
Bellow signified agreement. "I can provide all that information for you," he
assured Ditmars in his soothing voice.
"Good. Then as soon as I have the book, I can bring it straight here; or to
some other meeting place if you prefer.
I can leave the photography to you, or take care of that myself also.
Whichever you prefer."
Gabriel blinked, and spoke at last. "Photography?" He croaked the one-word
question like some ancient who had never before heard of the process. Ditmars
found himself wondering what one of the most beautiful women of the
Galaxy had ever seen in this sad, inert figure. Of course in eight years a lot
could happen to a man to change him.
"Well," Ditmars reminded them patiently, seeing that
Bellow also looked a little puzzled, "you won't be able to take the book
itself offworld with you. It has eight veils around it now."
Gabriel raised his gray, ample eyebrows and let them fall. "Of course." He
seemed about to add something, then abandoned the idea. His gaze roamed the
room's walls restlessly.
"If you prefer," said Ditmars, talking to both of them, "I
can photograph the book right there inside the conditivium and then just leave
it there. How many pages has it?"
Gabriel got up quickly from his chair, a movement as surprising as an
invalid's bounding from a bed. Half a dozen long-legged paces carried him
across the room and then part way back, where he stopped to throw himself down
on a couch. His face was sadder than ever, his body once more apparently in a
state of near-collapse.
"No," he said, and his voice was much louder and firmer
than before. "Take no pictures there. Only retrieve the book and bring it here
to me. Also, I'll want you to leave a proper replacement there in-the tomb."
"As you wish," agreed Ditmars, after a pause in which he worried at something [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]