Whiff Of Money

Mary Sherman was tall and elegant: a woman in her early forties. She looked as if she had stepped out of a Beaton photograph: immaculately dressed by Balmain, she was extremely conscious that before long she would be the First Lady of the United States. She was a shrewd, cold and calculating woman with a burning ambition for her husband and herself. She had a cold, magnetic charm. She seemed to have an irresistible interest in people who felt, when they met her, that their cares were her cares: it was a trick that served her husband well.

As Sherman came into the big, comfortable lounge, Mary was at her desk, writing a letter. She turned, looked inquiringly at him with those blue, impersonal eyes and then got to her feet.

'Henry! I've been waiting.' She moved to him and kissed his unshaven cheek with a little grimace of disapproval. 'Was it all right? What happened?'

During the drive back to Washington from Kennedy airport, Sherman had got rid of his false moustache, but he had retained the heavy sun goggles. He had picked up his car which he had left at the airport, but his return hadn't been so lucky as his leaving. As he had come in through the back entrance to his imposing house, Morgan, one of the F.B.I, agents responsible for his security, had stepped out of the shadows. The two men had confronted each other, genuine horror in Morgan's eyes.

Sherman realised Morgan's position and he gave him his wide, easy smile, strictly reserved for the people who might vote for him.

'I felt like a breath of fresh air, Morgan,' he said, 'so I slipped out. I'm feeling fine now.' He put his hand on Morgan's arm, patting it as he had patted so many arms of possible voters. 'Naughty of me ... I'm sorry. Let's keep it between ourselves, huh?' Then before the horrified agent could protest, Sherman had left him and had entered the house.

'Morgan spotted me as I was coming in,' Sherman said, stripping off his overcoat, 'but it's more than his job's worth to report it.' He dropped wearily into an arm chair.' Sit down, Mary... let me tell you.'

She sat by his side.

'Have you found her?'

'Not yet.' Sherman went on to tell her about his talk with Dorey and what Dorey was doing.

Mary listened to this, her eyes incredulous.

'You mean there is only this ex-agent looking for her?' she exclaimed. 'This is ridiculous, Henry! Why didn't you consult the police?'

'And make this official?' Sherman shook his head. 'Use your brains! We have no choice but to hope Dorey's man will find her.'

'A crook! Henry!'

He looked at her.

'We have to find her, Mary... this man will find her'

She made a savage little movement with her hands.

'And then ... what?'

'It is possible he will be able to persuade her...'

'Oh, for God's sake! Persuade her? Gillian? How can any man persuade a little fiend like that!' She got to her feet and began to move around the big room, beating her fists together. 'Gan't you realise she is determined to ruin us! Why did I have to produce such a child! Listen, Henry . . . you must give up the election. At least, if you withdraw, we can keep our social life intact, but once those filthy films get into the wrong hands ... how can we face anyone and who would want to see us again?'

Sherman got wearily to his feet. He crossed over to the telephone, consulted his pocket address book, then dialled Dorey's home number in Paris.

'Who are you calling?' Mary demanded shrilly.

'Dorey. He may have news for us.'

Dorey was in bed, asleep, when the sound of the telephone bell woke him. He became instantly awake and alert.

'Is that you, Dorey?' He recognised Sherman's voice.

'Yes ... you've got back all right?'

'All right... have you any news for me?'

'Yes... some good... some bad. I must be careful. We are talking over an open line.' There was a pause, then he went on,

'You remember Uncle Joe?'

Sherman stiffened.

'Of course ... what is this, John?'

'His nephews are now interested. Mr Cain was recognised as he left Orly. Joe's nephews know Mr Cain and I met.'

Sherman's face went slack with shock. Watching him, Mary jumped to her feet in alarm.

'What is it, Henry?'

He waved her to silence.

'Do they know about the movie?' he asked Dorey.

'I don't think so, but they are curious. My man has been alerted.'

'Well, go on... what else?'

'My man is going to Garmisch ... he should be on his way in an hour or so,' Dorey said. 'He has received information that the party you are interested in is there.'

'Garmisch... Germany? Are you sure?'

'Yes. The party is staying at the Alpenhoff Hotel'

'Do you think your man can handle this?'

'If he can't, no one can.'

'Then I suppose I must accept this situation . . . I'm not happy about it, but I am relying on you.'

I will do my best, sir.' Dorey's voice sounded flat. Sherman's obvious lack of confidence hurt him. 'I will telephone you again,' and he hung up.

Sherman slowly replaced the receiver and then turned and looked at Mary.

'A Russian agent recognised me at Orly and now the Russians are on to this.'

Mary's hand went to her mouth; her face became waxen.