His eyes kept straying back to that “$225,000.”

He watched the crowd for a while. Not much of a throng as the UN wasn’t in session. One of the tuxedoed security guards drifted over beside his chair and said, out of the corner of his mouth, “Watch out for that deputy delegate from Maysabongo. He just came in, there. The one with the opera cloak and top hat. He carries a kris up his sleeve. Must be two feet long. Runs amok now and then.” The guard drifted away.

Heller yawned, a sure sign of tension. He opened a newspaper, the Wall Street Journal. He wandered through it. He paused on a page of box ads featuring real estate offerings. He examined the “ex-urban” ones — those way past the suburbs and out of town entirely. They had them for Bucks County, Pennsylvania, for Vermont and for various counties in Connecticut. All ideal for the executive weekend. He began to stare at one. It said:

His eye was stuck on the $300,000.

He opened the paper to other sections. He looked over “Commodity Markets” with all their vast rows of figures for the various futures for the day. He inspected the stock market with all its tangles of incomprehensible abbreviations.

A movement over at the “Host” door. A huge, dark-complected man in a turban came out with Vantagio. They stood on the lobby side of the door, completing their discussion. I hastily turned up my gain.

It was in English. The turbaned one was thanking Vantagio for straightening out the bill. Then, he looked around and saw Heller.

“New face,” said the turbaned giant.

“Oh, that youngster,” said Vantagio. “It’s in confidence. His father is a very important man, a Moslem. Married an American movie actress. That’s the son. He’s going to go to college and his father insisted he live here. We couldn’t say no. Would have caused endless diplomatic repercussions had we refused.”

“Ah,” said the turbaned one. “I can clear up that puzzle for you. You have to understand the Mohammedan religion. You see,” he continued learnedly, “in the Middle East, it is tradition that the children, including boys, are raised in, and have to live in, the harem. And this whorehouse is probably as close as his father could come to a harem in the United States. Quite natural, really.”

“Well, thank you for clearing up my confusion,” said Vantagio, the master of political science.

“I’ll just go over and greet him in his native tongue,” said the turbaned giant. “Make him feel at home.”

Here he came! He stopped in front of Heller. He went through the elaborate hand ritual of the Arab greeting. He said something that sounded like “Aliekoom sala’am.” And then a long rigmarole. Arabic!

Yikes! Heller didn’t speak Arabic!

Heller rose. With elaborate politeness, he copied the hand motions and bow exactly. Then he said, “I am dreadfully sorry but I am forbidden to speak my native tongue while I am in the United States. But I am doing fine and I truly hope you have a nice evening.”

They both bowed.

The turbaned giant went back to Vantagio. “A well-brought-up youth, obviously raised in a harem like I said. I can tell by his accent. But I will keep your secret, Vantagio, especially since he is the son of the Aga Khan.”

Leaving Vantagio, the huge turbaned man went promptly over to a little group by the door and whispered to them. Their eyes flicked covertly toward Heller. The secret was being well kept. By everybody.

A half an hour passed and Heller’s perusal of the papers had exhausted them. He was sitting there quietly when the deputy delegate from Maysabongo came out of the elevator and rushed over to the desk. He slammed his top hat down on the counter.

“Where is that pig Stuffumo?” he demanded of the clerk.

The clerk looked anxiously around. There were no security guards in the lobby at the moment.

“I demand it! I demand you tell me!” The deputy delegate was gripping the clerk’s coat.

Heller stood up. The fool. He had been told the man had a kris in his sleeve! A kris is the wickedest short sword there is! And I didn’t have that platen!

“Harlotta was not there!” snarled the deputy delegate. “She is with Stuffumo! I know it!”

The elevator door opened and a very fat brown man in a business suit walked out.

“Stuffumo!” screamed the deputy delegate. “Enemy of the people! Capitalistic warmonger! Death to aggressors!”

He raced across the room. The clerk was madly pushing buzzers. Stuffumo flinched, tried to get back into the elevator.

The deputy delegate whipped the kris out of his sleeve, two feet of wavy steel!

He made a slash through the air. The blade whistled!

The top of Stuffumo’s waistcoat gapped!

The deputy delegate drew back the blade to strike again.

Suddenly, Heller was in front of him!

The blade swished as it began the second slash.

Heller caught the man’s wrist!

He pushed his thumb into the back of the man’s hand. The blade fell.

Heller caught it by the handle before it hit the floor.

Two security guards were there. Heller waved them back. Heller gently pushed the deputy delegate and Stuffumo into a corner of the elevator.

“What room is Harlotta in?” said Heller, hand poised over the elevator buttons.

Both Stuffumo and the deputy delegate stared at him. Heller was hefting the kris. “Come, come,” he said. “At least tell me what floor. We can find her.”

“What do you mean to do?” said the deputy delegate.

“Why,” said Heller, “she has caused two important men embarrassment. She’ll have to be killed, of course.” And he hefted the kris.

“No!” cried Stuffumo. “Not Harlotta!”

“NO!” cried the deputy delegate. “Not my darling Harlotta!”

“But I am sure it is house rules,” said Heller. “She could have caused you both to kill each other. It isn’t permitted!”

“Please,” said Stuffumo.

“Please don’t,” said the deputy delegate.

“I’m afraid there’s no other way,” said Heller.

“Oh, yes, there is!” cried the deputy delegate, triumphantly. “We can have a conference about it!”

“Correct!” said Stuffumo. “The proper solution to all international disputes!”

The two promptly sat down in the corner of the elevator, facing each other.

“First, the agenda!” said the deputy delegate firmly.

Heller pushed the out-of-operation button and walked out, leaving them in the elevator.

One of the Italian security guards said, “Thank you, kid. That was good knife work. But you should pay attention when I tip you off. They have diplomatic immunity, you know, and can’t be arrested for anything, no matter what they do. But law-abiding Americans like you and me can be. We usually don’t stick around when that one arrives. Maybe he’ll be good now.”

Vantagio came out. Heller handed him the kris.

The two ex-combatants walked out of the elevator. “We have come to an accord,” said Stuffumo. “Bilateral occupation of territory.”

“I will have Harlotta Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. He will have her Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays,” said the deputy delegate.

“We have to spend Sunday with our wives,” added Stuffumo.

“Vantagio,” said the deputy delegate, “may we borrow your office for the formal ratification and signing of the treaty?”

Heller watched them until they vanished into Vantagio’s office. He yawned. He gathered up his papers, entered the elevator and exited at the top floor.

As he passed down the hall to his room, a nearby door opened and a girl rushed out. She had on a silk robe but it wasn’t tied and her forward motion blew it back and exposed everything she had. She was a beautiful brunette!