The Final Circle of Paradise

The auto-streetcleaners were coming out of their underground garages to do their job. All they knew was work; they had no potentialities to be developed, but they also had no primitive reflexes. Near the Olympic, I had to stop for a long chain of red and green men followed by a string of people enclosed in some sort of scales, who dragged their shuffling feet from one street into the next, leaving behind a stench of sweat and paint. I stood and waited for them to pass, while the sun had already lit up the huge mass of the hotel and shone gaily in the metallic face of Yurkovsky, who, as he had while alive, looked out over the heads of all men. After they passed, I went into the hotel. The clerk was dozing behind his counter.

Awaking, he smiled professionally and asked in a cheery voice, "Would you like a room?"

"No," I replied, "I am visiting Rimeyer."

"Rimeyer? Excuse me – room 902?"

I stopped.

"I believe so. What's the matter?"

"I beg your pardon, but he is not in."

"What do you mean, not in?"

"He checked out."

"Can't be, he has been ill. You are not mistaken? Room 902?"

"Exactly right, 902, Rimeyer. Our perpetual client. It's an hour and a half since he left. More accurately, flew away. His friends helped him down and aboard a copter."

"What friends?" I asked hopelessly.

"Friends, as I said, but, excuse me, they were acquaintances. There were three of them, two of whom I really don't know. Just young athletic-looking men. But I do know Mr. Pebblebridge, he was our permanent guest. But he signed out today."

"Pebblebridge?"

"Exactly. Lately he has been meeting Rimeyer quite often, so I concluded that they were quite well acquainted. He stayed in room 817. A fairly imposing gentleman, middle-aged, red-headed…"

"Oscar!"

"Exactly, Oscar Pebblebridge.

"That makes sense," I said, trying to keep a hold on myself. "You say they helped him?"

"That's right. He has been very sick and they even sent a doctor up: to him yesterday. He was still very weak and the young men held him up by his elbows, and almost carried him."

"And the nurse? He had an attendant nurse with him?"

"Yes, there was one. But she left right after them – they let her go."

"And what is your name?"

"Val, at your service."

"Listen, Val," I said. "You are sure it didn't look like they were taking him away forcibly?"

I looked hard at him. He blinked in confusion.

"No," he said. "Although, now that you have mentioned it…"

"All right," I said. "Give me the key to his room and come with me."

Clerks are, as a rule, quite savvy types. Their sense of smell, at least for certain things, is quite impressive. It was perfectly obvious that he had guessed who I was. And maybe even where I came from. He called a porter, whispered something to him, and we went up to the ninth floor.

"What currency did he pay in?" I asked.

"Who? Pebblebridge?"

"Yes."

"I think… ah yes, marks, German marks."

"And when did he arrive here?"

"One minute… it will come to me… sixteen marks… precisely four days ago."

"Did he know that Rimeyer stayed with you?"

"Excuse me, but I can't say. But the day before yesterday, they had dinner together. And yesterday, they had a long talk in the foyer. Early in the morning while everybody was still up."

It was unusually clean and tidy in Rimeyer's room. I walked about looking over the place. Suitcases stood in the closet. The bed was rumpled, but I could see no signs of struggle. The bathroom also was clean and tidy. Boxes of Devon were stacked on the shelf.

"What do you think – should I call the police?" asked the clerk.

"I don't know," I replied. "Check with your administration."

"You understand that I am in doubt again. True, he didn't say goodbye. But it all looked completely innocent. He could have given me a sign, and I would have understood him – we have known each other a long time. He was pleading Mr.

Pebblebridge: 'The radio, please don't forget the radio.'"

The radio lay under the mirror, hidden by a negligently thrown towel.

"Yes?" I said. "And what did Mr. Pebblebridge say to that?"

Mr. Pebblebridge was soothing him, saying, "Of course, of course, don't worry…"

I took the radio, and leaving the bathroom, sat down at the desk. The clerk looked back and forth from the radio to me.

So, I thought, now he knows why I came here. I turned it an. It moaned and howled. They all know about slug. No need for Eli, nor Rimeyer; you can take anyone at random. This clerk, for instance. Right now, for instance. I turned it off and said, "Please be good enough to turn on the combo."

He ran over to it with mincing steps, turned it on, and eyed me questioningly.

"Leave it on that station. A little softer. Thank you."

"So you don't advise me to call the police?"

"As you wish."

"It seemed you had something quite definite in mind when you questioned me."

"It only seemed so," I said coldly. "It's just that I dislike Mr. Pebblebridge. But that does not concern you."

The clerk bowed.