THE DETECTIVE
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right above him. Here he had been sweating bitter lemons to pull
this gross man out of a tight spot, and he as good as promised to
make him into a criminal. Such injustice! When it could be any–
body here, even Gruber; anybody, but not Acker,
that
he knew, and
he knew Gruber knew it too. So what could he say to the man after
this?
"I see you get my point, Acker. 'Okay, finish that glass and
start your manhunt."
"But why should I be--?"
Gruber bashed his fist down again, and looking away into the
deep, smoky, blue mirror, but not at him in it, sliced his hand
across his bag of chins and growled more hoarsely: "No more, you
hear! I'm up to here, Acker! So don't even think of what you might
want to say. This
is
the end of this particular conversation: the
interview is closed. My Cabaret is open till three. I want to see you
in here again only when you come and say you're finished with
your assignment. 'Otherwise . . .
phhhtt!
Go
on, get the hell out!"
As
best he could, Acker got.
There was no one in the lobby. The air from the sea had
actually come into palpable existence: it flowed, sluggish and warm,
inflating slightly the heavy blue draperies that even at midday
created a byzantinish gloom in the Metropole's entrance, and it
seemed to have washed away the mass of congested guests on its
slow current. Beyond the unattended desk, Acker stopped in the
murky corridor under the main staircase. He tried to collect and
contain the fright that was giving him shivers, as if his skin were
hiccoughing. Then he could not tell what it was, whether he was
suddenly hungry or nauseated. He half-leaned, half-fell back
against the knobbly and carved black oak chair with the broken–
springed, embroidered seat that guarded the foot of the stair, and
seated in which could always be seen either the corrupt bell-captain
:leciphering his racing form or the elevator boy dozing between
rush hours to and from the beach. His palms pressed themselves
together hard in his lap. All right, Acker: think, think, think! Now
what is to be done? So, he had to resume his search? The idea of
what he wanted nagged at him like a ringing tone in the ears
through the gradually swelling drone of the waves of fatigue and
strain and confusion that had begun to buffet his spirit. But he
