The Day of the Guns Read Online Free PDF Page A

met we were friends of the same side and had fought for the same things. George the Third was a final identity signal only top inside people could possibly know. He didn’t question the validity of my knowing it as I didn’t his.
    He answered, “In truth,” and held out his hand. The identity change had been completed. But like all Europeans, there were pleasantries first and it was only over a glass of wine that he asked the question.
    “What business may I help you in, Mr. Mann?”
    “There is a Hungarian translator in the U.N. named Gregory Hofta.”
    “Yes, I know of him.”
    “Any opinion?”
    His shoulders moved in a characteristic shrug. “There has never been any need for inquiry. Why?”
    “He is often seen with a British subject, another translator ...”
    “Ah,” he smiled. “Edith Caine. Is that it?”
    “That’s it.” I drank half the glass and waited.
    “So, is this intrigue political or personal?” He grinned knowingly.
    I didn’t smile back at all. “It started from a personal angle, but it may have political repercussions. My interest is the Caine woman. There is a security leak in the U.N. somewhere and it could be there.”
    “But Hofta is not a Hungarian Communist,” he said. “He was born in Budapest, but long ago became an American citizen. He was graduated from one of your larger colleges and has been with the U.N. since it was founded.”
    “Good cover if it is that way. I don’t think I have to remind you of how planning for the future worked for the Nazis ... or the Reds either for that matter.”
    His head furrowed in a frown. “But this connection ...”
    “What do you know of the two of them?”
    He finished his wine, refilled our glasses and sat down again. “Generally I have seen them together at certain restaurants ... Hungarian restaurants. Twice they have been at one of our gatherings, at a rally and again at a party one of my associates gave.” “How intimate were they?”
    Midros spread his hands, searching for a word. “They seemed to be ... well, more than ... friends, shall we say? Other intimacies I cannot vouch for.”
    “Your organization is pretty tight, isn’t it?”
    “We have ways of finding things out, if that’s what you mean.”
    “That’s what I mean. Can you run a check on Hofta?”
    “Yes, how far?”
    “See who he left behind in Europe. Let’s find out just how much of an American he really is.”
    I didn’t have to explain any further. He got the connection immediately with all its implications. He had a mind like a computer, too, and was putting things in their places right then. He nodded, offered me another drink I refused and said, “It will be done, Mr. Mann. I expect that you will contact me?”
    “Yes.”
    Outside the rain was coming down harder, the reflected lights making a kaleidoscopic pattern in the asphalt streets. I ducked my head into it and walked to Broadway, then out over to my hotel. Out of habit I checked my box and saw the pink message slip there. When I slipped it open it read, “Edith called to get your number. Didn’t give it to her knowing how hoople you are on the subject, but she said she can be reached at EN 2-7254 between four and six.” It was signed, “Wally.”
    I felt a grin twist at my mouth, found a phone booth and dialed Charlie Corbinet’s number. When he answered I said, “Tiger, Colonel. A quick favor.”
    “Shoot it.”
    “Get me an address from a phone number. EN 2-7254. How long will it take?”
    “Five minutes.” He didn’t quibble about it.
    A little less than five he called back. “It’s a pay station in a bar and grill on Second Avenue called Lyon’s. Anything else?”
    “That’s fine.”
    “Need help?”
    “Did I ever?”
    “Once that I remember.”
    “Those days are done with. Thanks.” I hung up.
    She was there, all right. She sat at a table in the back with Burton Selwick, engrossed in whatever he was saying, nodding and laughing like any interested woman would.