"Don't talk, Chas. Go out and see where the girl goes. Make sure she goes somewhere. Then come up. I want you up here."

The connection clicked off.

Malach replaced the receiver.

Ruth had followed him. She gazed a moment at the legs of Chas sticking out from under the table. But Malach was already gone. He was holding the fire extinguisher. He crossed the lobby and stepped out onto the cement, where the big silver car sat against the backdrop of ruin and river.

The car had not been locked. It was unnecessary.

Malach opened the door and got in. He dropped the extinguisher on the seat.

He started the engine, which roused with a swift soft growl. The Mercedes turned on the spot, then came in smoothly backward, through the lobby, up to the doors of the lift.

Malach got out again. "Fetch a newspaper from the room."

Ruth returned into the cubby obediently. She- took a paper from the table, from the pile by the uncapped bottle of lemonade. The gold lighter lay on its side, and in the tin which had served as an ashtray, the last cigar had gone out forever.

When she brought him the paper, Malach was in the back of the Merc with the drinks cabinet opened out before him.

He had undone the decanters of vodka and brandy, the bottles of Cointreau, creme de menthe and Tia Maria. He lined them up and stuck into their tops long twists of newspaper.

Colored pins fell out of the breasts of women.

"Get the lift," said Malach. Ruth pressed the button. "When it comes, you hold down the button to keep the doors open."

"Yes, Malach."

The lift came, grudging, as if it did not like to.

When the doors were wide, Malach drove the Mercedes in backward, until the car filled up the elevator.

Malach leaned into the back of the Merc and lit the spills of paper with Arthur Simpkins's box of Swan Vestas. "Close the doors, now, Ruth."

The papers burned bright, five torches finding emeralds and tiger's-eye in the bottles. The doors were beginning to close.

Malach was out of the car. Now he leaned into the front. He shifted the Merc into drive, and brought down the fire extinguisher hard on the accelerator, jamming it. Then he was gone.

As the lift doors came together, Ruth saw Malach slip between them impossibly, the car roaring at his back.

The doors shut and the car rammed into them from inside, and the lobby shook.

Over the row Lorlo was making, running about the white carpet like a crazy beetle, rummaging in the cabinets and files, shouting at them, only Frankie heard the engine of the car wake on the forecourt.

He went to one of the big uncurtained windows to look out. And the Mercedes had gone.

"Mr. Mulley—"

"Not now, Frankie. Jesus, Frankie, help me lift this file."