Hotel

"I came to check a rumor," Jakubiec said. "It's going round the hotel like a prairie fire that the old gentleman, Mr. Wells ..."

"It isn't rumor," Peter said. "It's fact." He introduced the credit man to Mr. Dempster.

Jakubiec clapped a hand to his head. "My God! - I checked his credit. I doubted his check. I even phoned Montreall."

"I heard about your call." For the second time Mr. Dempster smiled. "At the bank they were vastly amused. But they've strict instructions that no information about Mr. Wells is ever to be given out. It's the way he likes things done."

Jakubiec gave what sounded like a moan.

"I think you'd have more to worry about," the man from Montreal assured him, "if you hadn't checked Mr. Wells' credit. He'd respect you for doing it. He does have a habit of writing checks on odd bits of paper, which people find disconcerting. The checks are all good, of course. You probably know by now that Mr. Wells is one of the richest men in North America."

A dazed Jakubiec could only shake his head.

"It might be simpler for you all," Mr. Dempster remarked, "if I explained a few things about my employer." He glanced at his watch. "Mr. Dumaire, the banker, and some lawyers will be here soon, but I believe we've time."

He was interrupted by the arrival of Royall Edwards. The comptroller was armed with papers and a bulging brief case. Once more the ritual of introductions was performed.

Shaking hands, Mr. Dempster informed the comptroller, "We'll have a brief talk in a moment, and I'd like you to remain for our eleven-thirty meeting. By the way - you too, Miss Francis.

Mr. Trent isked that you be there, and I know Mr. Wells will be delighted."

For the first time, Peter McDermott had a disconcerting sense of exclusion from the center of affairs.

"I was about to explain some matters concerning Mr. Wells." Mr. Dempster removed his glasses, breathed on the lenses and polished them once more.

"Despite Mr. Wells' considerable wealth, he has remained a man of very simple tastes. This is in no sense due to meanness. He is, in fact, extremely generous. It is simply that for himself he prefers modest things, even in such matters as clothing, travel, and accommodation."

"About accommodation," Peter said. "I was considering moving Mr. Wells to a suite. Mr. Curtis O'Keefe is vacating one of our better ones this afternoon."

"I suggest you don't. I happen to know that Mr. Wells likes the room he has, though not the one before it."

Mentally, Peter shuddered at the reference to the ha-ha room which Albert Wells had occupied before his transfer to 1410 on Monday night.

"He has no objection to others having a suite - me, for example," Mr. Dempster explained. "It is simply that he feels no need for such things himself. Am I boring you?"

His listeners, as one, protested that he was not.

Royall Edwards seemed amused. "It's like something from the Brothers Grimm!"

"Perhaps. But don't ever believe that Mr. Wells lives in a fairy tale world. He doesn't, any more than I do."

Peter McDermott thought: Whether the others realized it or not, there was a hint of steel beneath the urbane words.

Mr. Dempster continued, "I've known Mr. Wells a good many years. In that time I've come to respect his instincts both about business and people.

He has a kind of native shrewdness that isn't taught at the Harvard School of Business."

Royall Edwards, who was a Harvard Business School graduate, flushed.

Peter wondered if the riposte was accidental or if the representative of Albert Wells had done some swift investigating of the hotel's senior staff. It was entirely possible that he had, in which case Peter McDermott's record, including his Waldorf dismissal and subsequent black listing, would be known. Was this the reason, Peter wondered, behind his own apparent omission from the inner councils?

"I suppose," Royall Edwards said, "we can expect a good many changes around here."

"I'd consider it likely." Again Mr. Dempster polished his glasses; it seemed a compulsive habit. "The first change will be that I shall become president of the hotel company, an office I hold in most of Mr. Wells' corporations. He has never cared to assume titles himself."

Christine said, "So we'll be seeing a good deal of you."

"Actually very little, Miss Francis. I will be a figurehead, no more. The executive vice-president will have complete authority. That is Mr. Wells' policy, and also mine."

So after all, Peter thought, the situation had resolved itself as he expected. Albert Wells would not be closely involved with the hotel's management; therefore the fact of knowing him would carry no advantage. The little man was, in fact, twice removed from active management, and Peter's future would depend on the executive vice-president, whoever that might be.

Peter wondered if it was anyone he knew. If so, it could make a great deal of difference.