Hotel

"By the way," Peter said. "I was looking for Dr. Ingram. I don't see him anywhere."

"You won't." The tone was curt. Eyes regarded him suspiciously. "You from a newspaper?"

"No, the hotel. I met Dr. Ingram a couple of times.

"He resigned. This afternoon. If you want my opinion, he behaved like a damn fool."

Peter controlled his surprise. "Do you happen to know if the doctor is still in the hotel?"

"No idea." The man with the hearing aid moved on.

There was a house phone on the convention mezzanine.

Dr. Ingram, the switchboard reported, was still shown as registered, but there was no answer from his room. Peter called the chief cashier. "Has Dr. Ingram of Philadelphia checked out?"

"Yes, Mr. McDermott, just a minute ago. I can see him in the lobby now."

"Send someone to ask if he'll please wait. I'm on my way down."

Dr. Ingram was standing, suitcases beside him, a raincoat over his arm, when Peter arrived.

"What's your trouble now, McDermott? If you want a testimonial to this hotel, you're out of luck. Besides which, I've a plane to catch."

"I heard about your resignation. I came to say I'm sorry.

"I guess they'll make out." From the Grand Ballroom two floors above, the sound of applause and cheering drifted down to where they stood. "It sounds as if they have already."

"Do you mind very much?"

"No." The little doctor shifted his feet, looking down, then growled,

"I'm a liar. I mind like hell. I shouldn't, but I do."

Peter said, "I imagine anyone would."

Dr. Ingram's head snapped up. "Understand this, McDermott: I'm no beaten rug. I don't need to feel like one. I've been a teacher all my life, with plenty to show for it: Good people I've brought on - Jim Nicholas for one, and others, procedures carrying my name, books I've written that are standard texts. AR that's solid stuff. The other - he nodded in the direction of the Grand Ballroorn - that's frosting."

"I didn't realize . .

"All the same, a little frosting does no harm. A fellow even gets to like it. I wanted to be president. I was glad when they elected me. It's an accolade from people whose opinion you value. If I'm honest, McDermott - and God knows why I'm telling you this - it's eating my heart out, not being up there tonight." He paused, looking up, as the sounds from the ballroom were audible once more.

"Once in a while, though, you have to weigh what you want against what you believe in." The little doctor grunted. "Some of my friends think I've behaved like an idiot."

"It isn't idiotic to stand up for a principle."

Dr. Ingram eyed Peter squarely. "You didn't do it, McDermott, when you had the chance. You were too worried about this hotel, your job."

"I'm afraid that's true."

"Well, you've the grace to admit it, so I'll tell you something, son.

You're not alone. There've been times I haven't measured up to everything I believe. It goes for all of us. Sometimes, though, you get a second chance. If it happens to you - take it."

Peter beckoned a bellboy. "I'll come with you to the door."

Dr. Ingram shook his head. "No need for that. Let's not crap around, McDermott. I don't love this hotel or you either."

The bellboy looked at him inquiringly. Dr. Ingram said, "Let's go."

16

In the late afternoon, near the cluster of trees in which the Jaguar was hidden, Ogilvie slept again. He awoke as dusk was settling, the sun an orange ball nudging a ridge of hills toward the west. The heat of the day had changed into a pleasant evening coolness. Ogilvie hurried, realizing it would soon be time to go.

He listened to the car radio first. There appeared to be no fresh news, merely a repetition of what he had heard earlier. Satisfied, he snapped the radio off.

He returned to the stream beyond the small clump of trees and freshened himself, splashing water on his face and head to banish the last vestiges of drowsiness. He made a hasty meal from what was left of his supply of food, then refilled the Thermos flasks with water, leaving them on the rear seat of the car along with some cheese and bread. The makeshift fare would have to sustain him through the night. Until daylight tomorrow he intended to make no unnecessary stops.

His route, which he had planned and memorized before leaving New Orleans, lay northwest through the remainder of Mississippi. Then he would traverse the western shoulder of Alabama, afterward heading due north through Tennessee and Kentucky. From Louisville he would turn diagonally west across Indiana, by way of Indianapolis. He would cross into Illinois near Hammond, thence to Chicago.

The remaining journey spanned seven hundred miles. Its entire distance was too great for a single stint of driving, but Ogilvie estimated he could be close to Indianapolis by daybreak where he believed he would be safe. Once there, only two hundred miles would separate him from Chicago.

Darkness was complete as he backed the Jaguar out of the sheltering trees and steered it gently toward the main highway. He gave a satisfied grunt as he turned northward on U.S. 45.