The Two Faces of January by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online Page A

over the wire.
    â€œYou can go up. Room thirty-one, sir,” said the young man.
    There was an elevator, but Rydal took the black-and-white tile stairs. Room 31 was evidently on the second floor, as Rydal saw 28 on a door as soon as he reached the landing. The old floor carpet was vaguely green, the single light tiny and yellowish. It was shabbier than the Melchior Condylis. Rydal knocked on 31.
    After a few seconds the door was quickly but only partly opened by Chester.
    â€œGood evening,” Rydal said.
    Chester blinked. “You’re alone?”
    â€œYes.” Rydal saw the fear ebb from Chester’s face. Chester had thought he might arrive with the police, Rydal realized, or perhaps with a friend who would back him up with physical force, if necessary, in order to extort some money.
    â€œCome in,” Chester said.
    Rydal went in. “Good evening,” he said to Colette, who was sitting in an armchair, her arms relaxed on the chair’s arms, her legs crossed. A pose of deliberate calm, Rydal felt. “So, no trouble leaving the hotel?” Rydal said to Chester.
    â€œNo, no.” Chester rubbed his moustache with a forefinger, and looked at his wife.
    â€œI must say this is a picturesque hotel you sent us to,” Colette said, smiling.
    Rydal glanced around the room. It was dingy, the furniture cheap, and that was that. “I suppose it’s only for tonight. I came here to talk to you about passports. I can get two for you by tomorrow noon, I think. I’ve just spoken to a friend.” He meant to sound polite and businesslike, but Chester seemed taken aback at his blurting.
    â€œOh. Well—Wouldn’t you like to have a seat?” Chester asked, pulling up a straight chair. “Want me to take your coat?”
    Rydal started to remove it, then said, “No, that’s all right, thank you.” He unbuttoned his overcoat, and sat down in the chair.
    â€œConsidering the heat situation here,” Colette said, “we all ought to be sitting around in our coats. Darling, could you get me my mohair?”
    â€œCertainly, dear.” Chester went to the closet, which had shelves in it, and brought Colette a large black and white mohair stole.
    Rydal watched her drape it gracefully and quickly around her shoulders and tuck her hands under it, out of sight.
    â€œYou were talking about passports,” Chester said, sitting down in another straight chair. From somewhere he had picked up a half-finished highball. “How about a drink?”
    â€œNot just now, thank you,” Rydal said. He took one of his own cigarettes and lit it. “I can get two passports by tomorrow noon for five thousand dollars apiece. That’s not expensive. The man who is arranging it will expect—say, another thousand. The ten thousand goes to the man who’d obtain them and who can fix them.”
    Chester glanced at Colette, then looked back at Rydal. He seemed about to speak, but he took a slow draught of his glass instead.
    â€œI’m not trying to sell you these passports unless you want them,” Rydal said, beginning to feel uncomfortable under Chester’s obvious suspicion of him. “But by tomorrow morning, it seems to me, the police are going to be looking for Chester MacFarland. Even though your name wasn’t on the picture in the agent’s notebook, they’ll have copies of that picture. Someone may know the agent was specifically looking for you this afternoon. You were on the sixth floor of that hotel and so is the agent’s body. They’ll just ask the hotel employees which man on the sixth floor resembled any of the pictures in the agent’s notebook. Then the fact you checked out when you did—”
    â€œUm-m.” Chester leaned forward, took out a pocket handkerchief, and blew his nose.
    â€œIt does sound as if he’s right, Ches,” Colette said. “You were saying something about our getting out