Run, Spy, Run

His room turned out to be a modest, clean little affair on the seventh floor. The tiny bathroom was windowless. Nick locked the door, hung his jacket over the knob and placed the parcel on the bed. Then he loosened his tie and prepared for work. A swift check of the room showed nothing to be wary of. The windows faced Central Park, offering a vista that had somehow lost appeal. The face of the building was blank and featureless except for the windows; only a fly would be able to navigate so sheer a façade. The fire escapes were on the other side of the building, well away from his room.

Nick opened his Liggett's bag, empty of all but his briefcase and its welcome contents, and took out the flask.

Glass in hand, he settled down to inspect Hawk's present. Wilhelmina, Hugo and Pierre had taken the parcel's place on the bed.

The bulging wallet contained a number of cards, licenses and memoranda that would all need memorizing. A résumé informed him that Peter Cane was an instructor at an Ivy League college, a young man with an apparently great future in archaeology. It was just as well he'd been in on that Bahrein expedition, he reflected, or he'd have had more studying to do than he could handle. But Hawk had counted on Nick's past experience to help him with the present. The rest of the information on Peter Cane dealt with his background, his personality, and his family history. The letter from the girl, hinting at a touch of gentlemanly restraint and possibly shyness in his character, fitted in nicely.

A hundred and fifty dollars in cash rounded out the contents of the wallet. A separate envelope revealed a thousand dollars in traveler's checks for Peter Cane, and a neat, satisfying pile of fives, tens and twenties for Nick Carter. The total budget was over five thousand dollars. Nick riffled the bills. Automatically, he split the pack and began worrying the bills into creases and folds to take away some of the newness. He had no intention of spreading them around in the guise of Peter Cane, underpaid instructor, but if he did have to dip into the reserve fund he certainly wasn't going to flash wads of brand new money.

The blue address book was filled with names, phone numbers and street addresses of people in places like New Haven, Princeton, Bennington, and so on. Most of them were male and clearly in the academic field. A sprinkling of feminine names relieved the New York area. And there was his sister's address in Yellow Springs. How very homey.

The pressboard binder with the stack of typewritten sheets was the next item to command his attention. He read swiftly but with care: