in through the long stretch of woods. There were two roads out of the place, one road going downhill to join the main highway, the other going uphill to join the same highway farther away. Then there was one more way of getting out: across the lake, two miles through the woods, and then a different highway that never actually got near the resort. Catell liked the layout.

Inside the main building of the resort there were three major safes, it seemed. There was one for guest deposits, behind the registration desk. Another one, for the hotel intake, was in the manager’s office, right off the main lobby. The third safe was a movable, compact job, probably a new model, and it stood in the basement of the lodge. That was the building where the big dance was held on Saturdays, and where the gaming tables operated. The lodge stood close by the lake, and the basement of the lodge was right next to the boathouse.

Catell had the plans in his pocket.

He had stayed at the resort long enough to cover two weekends. He had gambled freely, always dropping a game after a short time, going from one table to another. He had a fair idea what the house took in. On Monday mornings, he figured, there was close to a hundred thousand in that safe in the basement.

Catell had the figures in his pocket.

There was a routine about the way each employee worked. Some were important to Catell, others weren’t. He had clocked the ones that were important for over a week.

Catell had the schedules in his pocket.

Nine o’clock. The highway was dipping steadily, twisting through the last hills before the valley of the big city. Catell stopped for gas once and then pushed on. The traffic got thicker, and dusty olive trees lined the long highway that cut through flat vineyards and hot stucco towns.

Ten o’clock. Catell entered Pasadena and found his cutoff. He wound through still little streets that looked alternately like futuristic movie sets and old Spanish settlements. Catell was glad to be almost there. The job he had set up looked good, but best of all, this thing would be over soon. First the cash for his job, then the cash for the gold—waiting in the dust near a desert town—and then he and Lily. They were going away. Mexico? Uruguay? He had a friend in Uruguay. A friend with a business that was legit, as far as anyone could tell.

Catell found the address. He stopped the car under a long port and walked to the front of the house. There were no other cars in sight.

A houseboy opened the door and let him in. It was cool inside. The modern sweep of the building had been deceptive, because there didn’t seem to be more than five or six rooms. Catell was led to the rear terrace, where he saw that the house was all glass on one side.

“Mr. Smith will be with you shortly,” the servant said.

Catell sat and waited.

When he heard footsteps again, it was a woman. She was a stately figure, gray-haired, and with the graciousness of those who can afford to concentrate on nothing but the pursuit of a well-mannered life.

“I am Mrs. Smith,” she said, smiling. “My husband told me he was expecting one of his associates. Please sit down.”

“Catell is my name.” He sat down again, awkwardly.

“I think I’ll ask Kimoto to bring us something cool. Gin and tonic?”

“Fine, that would be fine.”

When the drinks were brought, Catell waited for Mrs. Smith to take her glass before picking up his own. The stuff was good. The whole setup was good, he thought. A respectable address, the best little house a man could want, a real lady for a wife. Everything neat, comfortable, and right. The life. How would Lily look when she was older? She wasn’t so tall, like Mrs. Smith. Lily was different, too, in the way she acted. Not so polite. But Lily was friendlier; she was quiet most of the time, but really friendly.

“Have you been with my husband long, Mr. Catell?”

“Ah, no, not very long. Just a little while.”

“I don’t suppose that’s unusual, though. In my husband’s business, old employees of long standing, so to speak, aren’t so essential as they are in some types of enterprise.”

What in hell was she talking about?

“But then, of course, my husband has so many business interests. Which one are you associated with, Mr. Catell?”

“Uh, that’s hard to say. What