Chapter 2

Eight floors below, in his private apartment on the second floor, Herr Mathais was desperately attempting to come to some arrangements with two people who seemed intent upon purposefully misunderstanding him. His temper, normally under the good control so necessary to hotel managers, was wearing a bit thin, but he seemed to realize that this was no time to explode.

“It will be only for one hour,” he repeated, certain in his mind that he had made the same statement at least forty times before. “One hour. At the most.”

The little man facing him, dressed in a blue uniform that had long since seen its best years, continued to hug the edge of his seat in the manner of one who had dropped in for a brief visit and should have been on his way long before. He also seemed doubtful as to whether or not his interlocutor was capable of understanding simple Portuguese. “But the Senhor does not comprehend. It is a public place. Private parties there are forbidden.”

“But you close,” Mathais said patiently. “You close sometime. Sometime you have to close. We only wish to go there after you close.”

“Ah!” said the man across from him, who at this point might properly have been called his opponent, if not his adversary. He had immediately noted the obvious flaw in this argument and had pounced upon it at once. “But afterwards, you see, you cannot go. Because afterwards, we are closed.”

Mathais ground his huge teeth together, but maintained an outward calm, albeit a trifle shaky. He thought a moment and decided to try another tack.

“You open at what time?” he asked slowly, speaking with extreme clarity.

The other considered this carefully, and apparently finding nothing incriminating in answering, nodded thoughtfully. “Quite early,” he said, but added sadly, “of course before we open, no one is allowed.”

“I understand,” Mathais said heavily. “Now; what time do you close?”

“Quite late.”

“The time,” Mathais said, almost gritting his teeth. “What time do you close? The exact hour?”

The second man, who had sat throughout this duel in silence, now decided to come to his partner’s aid. “We close at midnight,” he said.

Mathais gave a vast sigh of relief. “You close at midnight. Then, if I wished to come there with my friends after midnight, there would be no one there.” He quickly raised his hand to forestall the inevitable. “Yes. I know it is closed after midnight. But we would only require someone to run the mechanism—the car. And we would pay for this. We would pay money for someone to stay after hours to run the car.”

The magic word “money” seemed to have the necessary effect; or at least it had some effect. The two fell into a huddled conference, jabbering softly to each other. Mathais waited patiently, convinced that he was on the right track.

One might have imagined that his years in Brazil would have taught him better, but he had always been of a basically optimistic nature. The conference finally ended; the first turned back to him with a tragic face. “Senhor. It is not possible. After midnight we are closed.”

A lesser man might have broken; Strauss, Mathais reflected, would have stalked from the room, or lain down upon the floor and shed tears. He, however, was made of stronger stuff. It suddenly occurred to him where he had been making his mistake, and he immediately took steps to rectify it.

“Fifty conto,” he said, staring hypnotically into the eyes of the man seated so precariously before him.

“I beg your pardon?” It was startled, but definitely interested.

“Fifty conto. Fifty thousand cruzeiros.” His eyes flickered across to the other, and he nodded his head slightly in recognition of the presence of the second. “Fifty conto each, that is, of course. A total of one hundred conto. One hundred thousand cruzeiros.”

There was silence. The second turned to the first and then paused. This obviously did not even require a conference. “Senhor,” he said, “exactly what do you want us to do?”

Mathais smiled successfully and leaned forward. “Listen closely,” he said, “I will explain everything. On next Wednesday…”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mathais’ expression did not change. “I said, ‘On next Wednesday.’ And please, just remember as you are listening, one hundred conto. One hundred thousand cruzeiros. Will you remember that?”

“Yes, Senhor, we will remember that.”

“Fine,” Mathais said with satisfaction. “Now see if you can remember this….”