The Venetian Affair by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online

the line again. He sounded soothing, like a family doctor who feels his first job is to get the patient calmed down. “Fenner, there’s someone here who may be able to advise you. He knows more about this kind of thing than I do. Half a second—”
    A stranger’s voice spoke from Dade’s office; a quiet Midwestern voice, possibly competent. “Mr. Fenner? You have a problem, I hear. I think, as far as you are concerned, it is mostly with the Lost and Found at Orly. And there isn’t much the Consulate could do about any American taking currency out of the US. There are no restrictions on that. How much did you say the amount was, again?” The voice was so innocent.
    Fenner half-smiled. He was beginning to feel really assured about the competence of the unemotional voice. “Too much to be carried in dollar bills. A bank transfer would have been simpler.”
    “It’s in an envelope?” the voice was slightly incredulous.
    “It’s in an envelope.”
    “Do you think you could drop over here for a few minutes? Bring everything. Ask for Dade’s office.”
    “Yes, I could do that. I’d feel better, though, if I could hire a Brink’s truck to get me across the street.”
    There was a short silence. “In that case, I’ll come over and see you in your room. Let’s say around noon?”
    “I’ll be here. Whom do I expect?”
    “Someone who is five feet eight, hair light, eyes blue; greysuit, brown tie and shoes. The name is Carlson. Okay?”
    “Fine.” Fenner grinned. “I’ll keep my door barred and bolted.” He heard Carlson laugh. “And could you have someone contact Orly? I really would like to get my own coat back.”
    “We’ll make a try,” Carlson said. “See you!”
    A cheerful type, Fenner thought with relief. And careful. He arrived exactly at twelve o’clock, too. His manner matched his voice, but Fenner had a feeling that he had been examined, classified, and catalogued all in the time that Carlson shook hands, walked briskly into the room, said “Let’s get rid of this” as he pushed the breakfast cart into the corridor, and locked the door. He didn’t waste a gesture or a word. He took a chair with its back turned to the windows, so that Fenner faced the light. He might be around forty, Fenner decided, and added a few notes of his own to Carlson’s description of himself. Medium height, but solidly constructed. Fair hair, thinning away from a high brow. Blue eyes, pale, certainly clever, but highly amused at this moment. Clothes not expensive, but quiet and neat; the brown shoes good, expertly polished, no high gloss, just the rich gleam of carefully honed leather.
    “Doubtful of me?” Carlson asked. He sat easily in his chair, one ankle over the other knee.
    “Just curious. You look more like an ex-Marine than State Department.”
    “I’m neither.” Carlson looked at him with disarming frankness. “I’m attached to NATO. Just spending a few weeks in Paris.” He hesitated briefly. “My job is Security.”
    “No official connection with the Embassy?” Fenner asked, worriedly. He wanted someone who could take responsibility, start things moving.
    “Oh, the Embassy has given me a temporary corner in someone else’s office. You could say that I am attached there. Meanwhile. On a special assignment from NATO.” Carlson grinned. “Not specific enough? All right. I go around making sure that everyone has burned the trash in his wastebasket. Just a general errand boy and go-between. Is that better?”
    I’ll settle for that, Fenner decided. A lot of going-between may be necessary before the problem of this coat is solved. So he pulled it out of the wardrobe, and handed it over. “I hope you are also a puzzle-solver. Frankly, the only reason I can see for carrying a lot of money in a raincoat would be to hand it over to someone else in a public place, easily and quietly.”
    Carlson let that pass. He studied the coat. “When did you first realise this coat wasn’t