Midnight Harvest (39 page)

“It sounds ideal,” said Saint-Germain when Rogerio stopped speaking. “I take it this is the best of the houses you inspected?”

“Oh, yes,” said Rogerio. “I told the agent that we would provide full payment in the form of a cashier’s check as soon as the owners accept the offer.” He very nearly smiled. “The poor man looked almost dizzy.”

“It is a hard time for men in his profession, for all sales are not readily come by,” said Saint-Germain. “And it carries over into many other professions and trades.” He rose from the table, looking at the paper Rogerio had held out to him. “How long do you think we will need to furnish the house and make it liveable?”

“From the time we gain occupancy?” Rogerio thought the matter over. “Two weeks, assuming what we purchase can be delivered quickly, and we can get draperies ready-made, and carpets that fit the rooms.”

“I’ll go to Gump’s tomorrow or the day after and have a look at their furniture,” said Saint-Germain. “I’ll arrange for as many household items as possible from there—lamps, draperies, china, ornaments. If I don’t find what will suit me at that store, I will get a recommendation for an antiques dealer to consult, and a mercer for fabrics. “I’ll need the dimensions of the windows as soon as possible. You can take care of the other necessities. I’ll authorize as much as you need to pay for what you may need to purchase.” He touched his fingertips together. “I should arrange for another transfer of funds from London.”

“The bank can help with that,” said Rogerio.

“Yes. When I go to get the cashier’s check, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.” He walked into the sitting room. “It will be good to have my native earth under my feet again.”

“Miss Saxon has crates of it, doesn’t she?” Rogerio inquired.

“Yes. Though when I sent them to her, I didn’t actually anticipate needing them so soon.” He looked at the stack of four newspapers, all with that day’s date. “I’ve finished reading these, if you’d like to review them.”

Rogerio shrugged. “I gather Mayor Rossi is pushing his Treasure Island project again. He keeps saying he’s creating jobs as well as a setting for the World’s Fair, and the San Francisco Airport. That seaport is expected to expand, and soon. He intends the China Clippers to take off from there.”

Saint-Germain shook his head. “If air travel grows as much as some think it will, having an airport at the edge of the shipping lanes could interfere with maritime trade, and having airplanes so near the Bay Bridge could be hazardous in bad weather.”

“Then you don’t think it’s going to turn out the way the Mayor wants,” said Rogerio.

“No, I don’t; and by the end of the World’s Fair, I should think that the Mayor will see the disadvantages, too. Mills Field is a more reasonable place for an airport, I would have thought, though it has no facilities for water-landings. That may be the single most telling factor: not all planes will be amphibious. The Mayor’s assuming development will go in one way only, and development is rarely so biddable.” Saint-Germain looked out the nearest window, down toward the bay where the towers of the Bay Bridge rose beyond the buildings of the city. “The bridge will be open in another month, and that will mean Oakland will be as accessible as South San Francisco.”

“And the Golden Gate will open next spring, if it remains on schedule,” said Rogerio. “What a change it will make to the region.”

“I wonder if anyone here has any idea how much those bridges will change the city?” Saint-Germain mused.

“Probably not,” said Rogerio.

Saint-Germain turned away from the window. “I assume you have the key to the house—when do you propose we go look at it?”

“Around sunset, or a little after. I would recommend going over to the house while most of the neighbors are eating dinner. We’ll be less apt to attract attention.”

“You have an excellent point, old friend,” said Saint-Germain. “And I’ll inform the front desk that I’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

“Best wait until the offer is accepted.” He reached into his jacket-pocket and drew out the terms of sale, which he handed to Saint-Germain. “If the agent says the price is acceptable, then you can deal with this at the bank tomorrow.”

Saint-Germain took the papers and began to peruse them. “What is this clause about only selling the house to Caucasians?”

“The agent said it was one of the owners’ stipulations. The courts have upheld such terms in the past.”

“Astonishing. I would expect that in Europe, but here?” He continued reading.

“The Yellow Menace,” Rogerio suggested.

“Perhaps; it may be a measure against all outsiders,” said Saint-Germain, a world-weary note in his voice. When he had finished reading, he put the papers down, and said, “I don’t see anything too unreasonable, aside from that one proviso.”

“I suspect you’ll find it or something similar in most conditions of sale; the contracts for Sea Cliff had the same clause in them,” said Rogerio. “The agent left me with the impression I should expect it in most of the city. It’s supposed to preserve the character of neighborhoods.”

“Ah,” said Saint-Germain, an ironic smile on his lips. “Well, let us plan to leave here at six-forty. That should put us at the house around seven.”

“Very good,” said Rogerio. “I’m going out to the butcher; I have two ducks on order. I’ve been feeling hungry today.”

Saint-Germain gestured his dismissal and went back to the dining table to resume work on his letters. By the time Rogerio returned, he had finished all but one, and while Rogerio went about preparing a meal, Saint-Germain carried his letters down to the front desk, sending four of the letters by airmail—two to England, one to Canada, and one to Peru—and two by regular post—to Chicago and Truckee—then he returned to his suite and took down his black camel-hair overcoat and gave it a good brushing.

At six-thirty, Rogerio came out of the kitchenette and said, “Which car shall we use? Yours or mine?”

“Yours, I think. An Auburn is less remarkable than a Packard Twelve.” He sighed once. “I suppose I would be well-advised to purchase something less conspicuous; it attracts far too much attention.”

“I’m sure a dealer would give you a good price on it,” said Rogerio as he held the overcoat for Saint-Germain.

“Let me think about it, at least for a day or two.” He went to the door and took his key from the occasional table just inside it “Perhaps Rowena has recommendations she’d like to make.”

“Ask her,” Rogerio suggested as he stepped out of the suite behind Saint-Germain, and after the door was locked, he followed his employer to the elevator and rode down to the black-and-gold columned lobby. “The car is at the garage on Mason,” he said, stepping out into the gathering dusk and the busy activity around Union Square.

They drove out Geary to Masonic, went left on Masonic to Haight, retracing the route that Rogerio had traveled earlier that day. As they climbed the hill to Clarendon Court, Rogerio pointed out the various features in the area. As he parked in front of the house, he noticed that the front curtains in the main window of the house across the street moved. “Someone’s watching,” he said to Saint-Germain.

“Probably more than one someone,” said Saint-Germain as he got out of the car. “I like the look of the place.”

“I thought you might, it’s elegant without being conspicuous; I saw some of that sort over near the Presidio,” said Rogerio as he went up the three shallow steps to the front door and opened the lock. “They have the new push-button switches rather than the twists.” He demonstrated this by punching on the light in the entry-hall; a low-wattage bulb came on overhead. “All the switches are like this. Half the sockets have provisions for two plugs.”

“We might want to ascertain how much power these sockets will support,” Saint-Germain said as he went into the living room. “Very nice.”

“The dining room is on the left,” Rogerio said. “With the kitchen through the swinging door. One of the bathrooms is on the other side of the inner dining-room wall. You reach it from the study or the kitchen.” He nodded toward the stairs that rose in the juncture between living room and dining room. “The bedrooms are upstairs, and the attic is above them all.”

“Conventional but sound,” Saint-Germain approved as he went through into the kitchen. He saw the stove, noting it was more than ten years old, and the refrigerator, also an older model. “We’ll need new appliances, I think.”

“As you say,” Rogerio remarked.

“And I see there is a floor-heater. I suppose the unit is in the basement?”

“Yes. And there are three registers. One in the living room, one in the breakfast nook, and one just outside the bathroom. Each is operated by a key, and a match,” said Rogerio, who had followed him into the kitchen. “With all three registers on, the whole house can be heated efficiently, including the upstairs.”

“Very good,” said Saint-Germain, and looked about for the way to the basement.

“You go to the left. There’s a door that opens on to the stairs down. The other door leads to the pantry and porch; and the stairs down to the garden,” Rogerio explained.

Saint-Germain opened the door and prepared to descend. “You say it is finished?”

“Yes. The floor is in sections and the sections can be lifted. The intention was for easy repair in case of earthquake, but it serves your purposes quite well.” He punched on the light at the top of the stairs. “I think you’ll see it can be—”

“Yes. I see. There’s a door to the outside?”

“On the right, at the back. The enclosed porch steps are immediately beside it,” Rogerio told him.

“I think it is suitable. Let me see the attic,” Saint-Germain said, climbing the basement stairs and turning out the light as he reached the top. “This door locks, I see.”

“So does the pantry door,” said Rogerio as he held open the swinging door.

The second floor was nicely laid out around the lightwell that went down through the center of the house. “Not lavish, but far from inadequate,” Saint-Germain said, and looked toward the attic stairs. “You said there are sockets in the attic, I recall—three of them.”

“Yes; three, and an overhead light,” said Rogerio. “Climb up and see.”

The attic occupied one side of the lightwell, and stood over three of the bedrooms on the floor below; the fourth bedroom and a small sunporch had been added after the house was built, but the style was the same as the rest of the building and created an expanse of roof next to the attic, which had two fan-shaped windows, one at each end of the room, and a door that gave access to the roof.

“Oh, very good. Yes. I can see why you preferred this house,” said Saint-Germain. “This will make an admirable laboratory for me. I thank you for finding it.” He tested the roof door to make sure it was locked, then turned out the lights and shut the door before going down to join Rogerio on the second floor. “We’ve certainly lived in less convenient places.”

“And given the reasonable price, it can be made to accommodate your needs without dramatic alteration,” Rogerio observed. “Or without attracting undue attention.”

“A very good point,” Saint-Germain concurred. “I am beginning to share your enthusiasm for this place.”

“There was that very nice house on Divisadero near Broadway, but it was a trifle … grand,” said Rogerio. “And the one in Sea Cliff was much too near the water.”

“At another time, they might be preferable to this, but in this country at this time, it is better to choose a less arresting place,” Saint-Germain said.

“Then the offer goes forward,” said Rogerio. “I’ll call the agent this evening. And tomorrow we can take care of matters at the bank. Once we have title, it should be an easy matter to occupy the premises.”

“Yes. It is more than time to be gone from the hotel; we’re much too noticeable there. I am thankful to Rowena for allowing me to store some of my chests of earth and other possessions at her house, where they attract no unwanted attention, but I would prefer not to abuse the privilege.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t mind,” said Rogerio.

“Possibly; but I do. I think removing my native earth from her house would be prudent.” He went down the stairs and out into the living room. “Yes. This will do very well.”

Rogerio waited. “Is there anything more?”

“Not that occurs to me just now.” He went to turn out the light in the dining room, then did the same in the living room. “I suppose the street is not busy.”

“Hardly,” said Rogerio. “The whole neighborhood is quiet” He opened the front door. “You should find a good deal of privacy without too much effort.”

“Which was less likely in the other houses you saw,” Saint-Germain suggested lightly.

“Yes. I’d have to say privacy was the deciding factor. Sutro Forest is a real asset. If you need to leave the house without being noticed, the forest will provide superior cover.” He took care to lock the door and went back to his Auburn, letting Saint-Germain into the passenger seat once he was ready to drive.

“Wise, as always,” said Saint-Germain. “I hope the promise of cash will speed up the acquisition of the house.”

“You seem uneasy about it,” said Rogerio as he started to drive away from Clarendon Court.

“I am,” said Saint-Germain. “I can’t get the notion out of my mind that I am under scrutiny, and that troubles me.”

“But who would be watching you?” Rogerio wondered as he turned onto Stanyan Street.

“I have no idea; that is the most perplexing aspect of it all.” He had not worn a hat, and now he ran his hand through the close-cut waves of his dark hair.

Rogerio had enough experience of Saint-Germain’s sensitivities not to dismiss this example as unfounded. “If not the hotel staff, who, and why?”

“That is what I can’t determine,” said Saint-Germain, trying to make himself comfortable in Rogerio’s car. “I would like to be convinced I am being foolish, but—” He stopped speaking suddenly.

“But?” Rogerio prompted as he turned onto Haight Street, the Auburn’s headlights picking out three ragged men holding up a sign offering to work for a meal.

“I don’t know. It may be nothing more than the general air of concern in the area regarding the new bridges, for there are rumors that they won’t be safe, or that they will be the objects of demonstrations. The Mayor certainly doesn’t want another Bloody Thursday on his hands, nor does Governor Merriam. That may be what bothers me, remembering Saint Petersburg and Munich, but it may be something more specific and current.” His voice dropped, as if weighted down by his memories.