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Boltitz was surprised when Dorotea Frade got behind the wheel. Her husband got in beside her and turned on the seat as von Wachtstein, Boltitz, and Enrico got in. He looked at Boltitz.

“Captain, I don’t like to kill people unless I have to,” he said, almost conversationally. “Don’t push your luck by doing something stupid.”

“I fully understood that I would be putting my life in your hands when I came here, Major Frade,” Boltitz said.

"’Major’ ?” Frade parroted, disgustedly. “Jesus Christ, Peter, you really had diarrhea of the mouth, didn’t you?”

He turned away from the backseat as the Horch began to move slowly, first making a wide turn on the tarmac, then turning onto a road lined with eucalyptus trees. There was grass between the trees. It was being patiently mowed by workmen swinging scythes. As the car passed them, they stopped and took off their hats in deference to Don Cletus, his lady, and their guests.

Frade replied with a casual wave of his hand and sometimes by calling out a workman’s name, as if greeting a friend.

The tree-lined road was almost a kilometer long. Then it opened onto the manicured garden surrounding the house Boltitz had seen from the air. From the ground, the house was larger than it appeared from above.

As Señora Frade pulled the Horch up before the door of the house— beside a Buick convertible—the door opened and a middle-aged man in a crisp white jacket came out. He walked quickly—but too late—to open Señora Frade’s door.

“Antonio,” Frade ordered. “Have coffee brought to the study, then see that we’re not disturbed.”

"Sí, señor.”

Frade added: “And when the mechanic comes here, keep him waiting on the porch.”

He waved his wife ahead of him into the house, and started to follow her, gesturing for Boltitz and von Wachtstein to follow them.

[TWO]

There was first a large reception foyer with a fountain in the center. Corridors radiated from the foyer. The Frades led the way down one of them, to a set of double doors Boltitz decided must be just about in the center of the house. He was surprised to see the doors were locked; Frade took a key from his pocket and unlocked them.

A real key, Boltitz thought, one for a pins-and-tumbler lock, not the large key one would expect.

He doesn’t want anyone—servants included—in that room.

Frade waved his wife ahead of him again, and again signaled for Boltitz and von Wachtstein to follow them inside. Señora Frade sat down in a dark red leather armchair.

Boltitz glanced around the room. It is in fact a study. Or maybe a library.

There were no windows. Two of the walls were lined with bookcases. There was a large rather ornate desk, with a high-backed leather chair to one side. An Underwood typewriter sat on an extension shelf.

Two maids scurried into the room with a coffee service as Frade sat down at the desk.

God, that was quick! What do they do, keep coffee ready at all times in case the-master-of-all-he-surveys has a sudden urge for a cup?

Frade pointed somewhat imperiously to two chairs facing a low table, and Boltitz and von Wachtstein sat down. The maids put the service on the low table and Señora Frade began to serve the coffee.

Well, that makes it pretty clear that she’s staying. Which means she does know everything, except what we’re about to tell them.

Boltitz surveyed the room. The walls not covered with books were mostly covered with photographs and framed newspaper clippings, all of them of Cletus Frade. One was most of the front page of a newspaper, The Midland Advertiser . There was a picture of Frade, in a flight suit, being decorated. The headline read:

MIDLAND MARINE CLETUS FRADE

BECOMES ACE ON GUADALCANAL.

GETS DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS.

I shall have to keep in mind that Señor Frade has a very large ego

.

Then Boltitz took a closer look at a large oil portrait. It showed a blond woman holding an infant in her arms.