'Come quickly, Mr. Abel, come quickly,' he said as he ran down the hall.

Abel threw on a dressing gown and slippers and staggered down the corridor to join the bellboy, who was holding bark the lift door for him - 'Quickly, Mr. Abel,'he repeated.

'What's the hurry?' demanded Abel, his head still going around as the lift moved slowly down. Then he recalled the evening's talk. Maybe the bank had come to take possession.

'Someone has jumped out the window.'

Abel sobered up immediately. 'A guest?'

'Yes, I think so,' said the bellboy, 'but I'm not sure.'

The 11ft came to a stop at the ground floor. Abel thrust back.the iron gates and ran out into die street. The police were already there. He wouldn't have recognised the body if it had not been for the checked jacket. A policeman was taking down details. A man in plainclothes came over to Abel.

'You the manager?'

Tes, I am.'

,'Do you have any idea who this man might be?'

'Yes,' said Abel, slurring the word. 'His name is Davis Leroy.'

'Do you know where he's from or how we contact his next of kin?'

Abel averted his eyes away from the broken body and answered automatically.

'He's from Dallas and a Miss Melanie Leroy, his daughter, is his next of kin. She's a student living out on the Chicago University campus.'

'Right, we'll get someone right over to her.'

'No, don't do that. I'll go and see her myself,' said Abel.

'Thank you. It's always better if they don't hear the news from a stranger!

'What a terrible, unnecessary thing to do,' said Abel, his eyes drawn back to the body of his friend.

'It's the seventh in Chicago today,' said the officer flatly as he closed his little black notebook and strolled over towards the ambulance.

Abel watched the stretcher bearers remove Davis Leroy's body from the pavement. He felt cold, sank to his knees and was violently sick in the gutter. Once again he bad lost his closest friend. Maybe if he had drunk less and thought more, he might have saved him. He picked himself up and returned to his room, took a long, cold shower and somehow managed to get himself dressed. He ordered some black coffee and then, reluctantly, went up to the Presidential Suite and unlocked the door. Other than a couple of empty bourbon bottles, there seemed to be no sign of the drama that had been enacted a few minutes earli(~r. Then he saw the letters on the side table by a bed which had not been slept in. The first was addressed to Melanie, the second to a lawyer in Dallas and the third to Abel. He tore his open but could barely read Davis Leroy's last words.

Dear Abel, I'm taking the only way out after the bank's decision. There is nothing left for me to live for; I am far too old to start over. I want you to know I believe you're the one person who might make something good come out of this terrible mess.

I have made a new will in which I have lef t you the other seventy - five per cent of the shares in the Richmond Group. I realise they are worthless, but the stock will secure your position as the legal owner of the group. As you had the guts to buy twenty - five per cent with your own money, you deserve the right to see if you can make some deal with the bank. I've left everything else I own, including the house, to Melanie.

Please be the one who tells her. Don't let it be the police. I would have been proud to have you as a son - in - law, partner.

Your friend, Davis Abel read the letter again and again and then folded it neatly and put it into his wallet.

He went over to the university campus later that morning and broke the news as gently as he could to Melanie. He sat nervously on the couch, unsure what he could add to the bland statement of death. She took it surprisingly well, almost as if she had known what was going to happen. No tears in front of Abel - perhaps later when he wasn't there. He felt sorry for her for the first.time in his life.

Abel returned to the hotel and decided not to have any lunch and asked a waiter to bring him a tomato juice while he went over his mail. There was a letter from Curtis Fenton at the Continental Trust Bank. It was obviously going to be a day for letters. Fenton had received the advice that a Boston bank called Kane and Cabot had taken over the financial responsi&ility of the Richmond Group. For the time being, business was to continue as usual, until meetings had been arranged with Mr. Davis Leroy to discuss the disposal of all the hotels in the group. Abel sat staring at the words, and after a second tomato juice, he drafted a letter to the chairman of Kane and Cabot, a Mr. Alan Lloyd. He received a reply some five days later asking Abel to attend a meeting in Boston on 4 January to discuss the liquidation of the group with the director in charge of bankruptcies. Ile interval would give the bank enough time to sort out the implication's of Mr. Leroy's sudden and tragic death.