That explains it, Grangier thought triumphantly. That is why the bills look so good. His excitement grew. "How much money can that press turn out in a day?"
"Only one bill an hour. Each side of the paper has to be processed and - "
He interrupted. "Isn't there a larger press?"
"Yes, he has one that will turn out fifty bills every eight hours - five thousand dollars a day - but he wants half a million dollars for it."
"Buy it," Grangier said.
"I don't have five hundred thousand dollars."
"I do. How soon can you get hold of the press?"
She said reluctantly, "Now, I suppose, but I don't - "
Grangier picked up the telephone and spoke into it. "Louis, I want five hundred thousand dollars' worth of French francs. Take what we have from the safe and get the rest from the banks. Bring it to my office. Vite!"
Tracy stood up nervously. "I'd better go and - "
"You're not going anywhere."
"I really should - "
"Just sit there and keep quiet. I'm thinking."
He had business associates who would expect to be cut in on this deal, but what they don't know won't hurt them, Grangier decided. He would buy the large press for himself and replace what he borrowed from the casino's bank account with money he would print. After that, he would tell Bruno Vicente to handle the woman. She did not like partners.
Well, neither did Armand Grangier.
Two hours later the money arrived in a large sack. Grangier said to Tracy, "You're checking out of the Palais. I have a house up in the hills that's very private. You will stay there until we set up the operation." He pushed the phone toward her. "Now, call your friend in Switzerland and tell him you're buying the big press."
"I have his phone number at the hotel. I'll call from there. Give me the address of your house, and I'll tell him to ship the press there and - "
"Non!" Grangier snapped. "I don't want to leave a trail. I'll have it picked up at the airport. We will talk about it at dinner tonight. I'll see you at eight o'clock."
It was a dismissal. Tracy rose to her feet.
Grangier nodded toward the sack. "Be careful with the money. I wouldn't want anything to happen to it - or to you."
"Nothing will," Tracy assured him.
He smiled lazily. "I know. Professor Zuckerman is going to escort you to your hotel."
The two of them rode in the limousine in silence, the money bag between them, each busy with his own thoughts. Zuckerman was not exactly sure what was happening, but he sensed it was going to be very good for him. The woman was the key. Grangier had ordered him to keep an eye on her, and Zuckerman intended to do that.
Armand Grangier was in a euphoric mood that evening. By now, the large printing press would have been arranged for. The Whitney woman had said it would print $5,000 a day, but Grangier had a better plan. He intended to work the press on twenty-four hour shifts. That would bring it to $15,000 a day, more than $100,000 a week, $1 million every ten weeks. And that was just the beginning. Tonight he would learn who the engraver was and make a deal with him for more machines. There was no limit to the fortune it would make him.
At precisely 8:00, Grangier's limousine pulled into the sweeping curve of the driveway of the Hфtel du Palais, and Grangier stepped out of the car. As he walked into the lobby, he noticed with satisfaction that Zuckerman was seated near the entrance, keeping a watchful eye on the doors.
Grangier walked over to the desk. "Jules, tell the Baroness de Chantilly I am here. Have her come down to the lobby."
The concierge looked up and said, "But the baroness has checked out, Monsieur Grangier."
"You're mistaken. Call her."
Jules Bergerac was distressed. It was unhealthy to contradict Armand Grangier. "I checked her out myself."
Impossible. "When?"
"Shortly after she returned to the hotel. She asked me to bring her bill to her suite so she could settle it in cash--"
Armand Grangier's mind was racing. "In cash? French francs?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, monsieur."
Grangier asked frantically, "Did she take anything out of her suite? Any baggage or boxes?"
"No. She said she would send for her luggage later."
So she had taken his money and gone to Switzerland to make her own deal for the large printing press.
"Take me to her suite. Quickly!"
"Oui, Monsieur Grangier."
Jules Bergerac grabbed a key from a rack and raced with Armand Grangier toward the elevator.
As Grangier passed Zuckerman, he hissed, "Why are you sitting there, you idiot? She's gone."
Zuckerman looked up at him uncomprehendingly. "She can't be gone. She hasn't come down to the lobby. I've been watching for her."
"Watching for her," Grangier mimicked. "Have you been watching for a nurse - a gray-haired old lady - a maid going out service door?"
Zuckerman was bewildered. "Why would I do that?"
"Get back to the casino," Grangier snapped. "I'll deal with later."
The suite looked exactly the same as when Grangier had seen it last. The connecting door to the adjoining room was open. Grangier stepped in and hurried over to the closet and yanked open the door. The printing press was still there, thank God! The Whitney woman had left in too big a hurry to take it with her. That was her mistake. And it is not her only mistake, Grangier thought. She had cheated him out of $500,000, and he was going to pay her back with a vengeance. He would let the police help him find her and put her in jail, where his men could get at her. They would make her tell who the engraver was and then shut her up for good.