The Third Hour by Geoffrey Household

Author:Geoffrey Household [Household, Geoffrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller & Suspense
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2015-02-02T16:44:40+00:00

VIII

THE HOUSE OF MANUEL VARGAS

Rosario came down the stairs, stopping for a moment on the last step to look over the cabaret and to receive whatever admiring glances might be directed at her. There were in fact none, but habit compelled her to stand ready to accept them. She waddled majestically across the floor and sat down with Toby and Manuel. Seeing her greeted with courtesy, the Marquis of Almádena made a gesture of distaste and said something to Elena which made her laugh.

“There are some odd types about,” remarked Rosario calmly.

“That one reminds me of someone,” Manuel answered, “but I cannot think whom”—he hesitated, staring at Almádena—“Dead, something—I have it! An Easter Island statue.”

“Have you ever been to Easter Island?” Toby asked.

“Yes—as steward and chief eunuch on the yacht of a Hollywood magnate. They had a lordly sneer, those statues. My employer tried to imitate it. But he couldn’t. He was too fat.”

“He’s getting restive,” said Toby. “We had better stop looking at him.”

The Marquis, since he himself had been deliberately offensive, assumed that he was being answered in kind and that the glances directed at him by Toby and Manuel were intended to insult. He rose to his feet, scowled at the mestiza as if daring her to move, and presented himself in their box.

“Do you want something of me?” he asked Toby, ignoring the waiter.

It was difficult to quarrel with Toby when he was warm with alcohol, since he imagined in others the same uproarious humanity that he felt in himself. He saw the mestiza tap her right buttock meaningly, and shake her head in warning; the suggestion appeared to be that Almádena carried small arms in his hip pocket. It was, Toby thought, a harmless eccentricity in rather poor taste. The Marquis was to him a nuisance who might possibly create an awkward situation, but not a matter for the primitive reactions of cowardice or courage. He could not imagine any incident in a place of public amusement being worth violence.

“Nothing,” said Toby. “I like your tie. Where did you buy it?”

Almádena considered that more insolence was intended, but was puzzled by the lack of any aggressiveness in the Englishman’s bearing and the genial tone of his voice.

“My tie?” he asked.

“Your tie. Sit down and have a drink and tell me where you bought it.”

“Here in Valparaiso.”

“Have a drink, man!” repeated Toby, pouring him one. “Don’t worry about the girl. She can be alone for a minute. I tell you, I like your tie!”

It was a yellow tie with a discreet pattern of blue dots. The Marquis was well dressed by Toby’s or any other standard.

“It is yours,” he answered, undoing it.

“No! No! I couldn’t think of it.”

“Take it,” Almádena ordered, holding it out.

Toby waved it away.

“You must,” the Spaniard repeated. “You admire it. It is yours.”

He placed it on the table, bowed and returned to Elena’s side.

“A man of action!” said Toby. “I never knew anyone be so courteous in so few words.”

“He cannot speak, because he is very angry,” Rosario explained.

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