'That won't be necessary, Mr. Maxton. After only one day as a guest here I knew how well the hotel is run. My problem is that I own the Richmond Group.'

David Maxton's face registered surprise. 'I had no idea,' he said. 'I assumed old Davis Leroy's daughter would now be the owner.'

'It's a long story,' said Abel, and he explained to Maxton how he had come into the ownership of the group's stock.

'Ile problem is a simple one, Mr. Maxton. What I really want to do is find the two million dollars myself and build that group up into something worthwhile. Something that would even give you a good run for your money!

'I see,' said Maxton, looking quizzically at his empty plate. A waiter removed it.

'Would you like some coffee?' The same waitress. The same familiar look. It was beginning to worry Abel.

'And you say Curtis Fenton of Continental Trust is looking for a buyer on your behalf ?'

'Yes, he has been for nearly a month,' said Abel. 'In fact, I shall know later this afternoon if they've had any success, but I'm not optin - Aistic.'

'Well, that's most interesting. I had no idea the Richmond Group was looking for a buyer. Will you please keep me informed either way?'

'Certainly,' said Abel.

'How much more time is the Boston bank giving you to find the two million?'

'Only a few more days, so it won't be long before I can let you know my decision.'

'Thank you,' said Maxton. 'It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rosnovski.

I feel sure I'd enjoy working with you.' He shook Abel warmly by the hand.

'Thank you, sir,'said Abel.

The waitress smiled at him again as he passed her on his way out of the dining room. When Abel reached the head waiter, he stopped and enquired what her name was.

'I'm sorry, sir, we're not allowed to give the names of any of our staff to the customers; it's stridtly against company policy. If you have a complaint, perhaps you'd be kind enough to make it to me, sir.'

'No complaint,' said Abel. 'On the contrary, an excellent lunch.'

With a job offer under his belt, Abel felt more confident about facing Curtis Fenton. He was certain the banker would not have found a buyer, but none the less, he strolled over to the Continental Trust with a spring in his heels. He liked the idea of being the manager of the best hotel in Chicago: Perhaps he could make it the best hotel in America. As soon as he arrived at the bank, he was ushered directly into Curtis Fenton's office. Ile tall, thin banker - did he wear the same suit every day or did he have three identical ones? - offered Abel a seat, and a large smile appeared across his usually solemn face.

'Mr. Rosnovski, how good to see you again. If you had come this morning, I would have had no news to give you, but only a few moments ago I received a call from an interested party." Abel's heart leaped with surprise and pleasure. He was silent for a few moments and then he said, 'Can you tell me who it is?'

'I'm afraid not. The party concerned has given me strict instructions that he must remain anonymous, as the transaction would be a private investment in some potential conflict with his own business.'

'David Maxton,' Abel murmured under his breath. 'God bless him.'

Curtis Fenton did not respond and continued. 'Well, as I said, Mr.

Rosnovski, I'm not in a position. . .'

'Quite, quite,' said Abel. 'How long do you think it will be before you are in a position to let me know the gentleman's decision one way or the other?'

'I can't be sure at the moment, but I may have more news for you by Monday, so if you happen to be passing by. . .'

'Happen to be passing by?' said Abel. 'You're discussing my whole life.'

'Then perhaps we should make a firm appointment for Monday morning.'

As Abel walked down Michigan Avenue on his way back to the Stevens it started to drizzzle. He found himself humming 'Singing in the Rain'. He took the lift up to his room and called William Kane to ask for an extension until the following Monday, telling him he hoped to have found a buyer. Kane seemed reluctant but eventually agreed.

'Bastard,' Abel repeated several times as he put the phone back on the hook. 'Just give me a little time, Kane. Yotell live to regret killing Davis Leroy.'

Abel sat on the end of his bed, his fingers tapping on the rail, wondering how he could pass the time waiting for Monday. He wandered down into the hotel lobby. There she was again, the waitress who bad served him at lunch, now on tea duty in the Tropical Garden. Abel's curiosity got the better of him, and he went over and took a seat at the far side of the room. She came up.