“No,” Andy said.

Dortmunder said, “Andy, don’t give me trouble on—”

“Just a minute here,” Andy said. “Let me think.”

“Sure. Think.”

“We already opened these two envelopes, you know.”

“There’s more envelopes, and right there’s the red pen they use. We can put it all back together same as it was.”

“That would be a shame and a pity and a total waste,” Andy protested. “Go away, John, amuse yourself while I think.”

“I don’t want to screw up getting the ring.”

“I know, John, I never seen such a one-track mind in my life. Lemme think, willya?”

“I’m just saying,” Dortmunder said, and at last walked away to the other end of the living room, by the slightly open door to the balcony. He stood there and looked out at the cleaning rag draped on a tooth, and beyond it at the early morning view. In the view at the moment were a number of people running, in the green landscape just this side of the river. These were running people who weren’t in any hurry to get anywhere and who in fact weren’t going anywhere in particular, and the kind of running they were doing was called jogging. So far as Dortmunder was concerned, that was the biggest misuse of time and energy anybody ever thought of. Think of all the better ways you could spend your time; sitting, to begin with.

“Okay, John.”

Dortmunder looked over at Andy, who was now seated at the desk with something else on the desktop in front of him. “Okay?” he said. “What’s okay?”

“Come take a look.”

So Dortmunder went over, and Andy had taken a sheet of TUI letterhead stationery out of the desk, and using the same red pen he’d written,

Dortmunder said, “Take this note with you?”

“Well, he can’t leave it here.”

“Isn’t he gonna wonder why he’s supposed to take it with him?”

“Wonder?” Andy seemed bewildered by the idea. He said, “Why would a guy like Saunders wonder? He’s a young white-collar employee, he’s not paid to wonder, he’s paid to fetch. Now, if I told him, burn this note, that’s going too far. But I say, ‘Take this note with you,’ that just means, carry a piece of paper. John, that’s what Saunders does.”

Dortmunder studied the note. He frowned at the big manila envelope, now again containing its ten fat smaller envelopes. He said, “It might work.”

“Of course it’ll work, John,” Andy said. “What’s the worst that can happen? We hang around outside until after the cops come and go. Besides, we gotta take the chance, you know that. We cannot leave this money here.”

Dortmunder thought about it, and at last he shrugged and said, “You’re right. Every once in a while, you gotta take a chance.”

“Now you’re talking,” Andy said, and when he stood up the manila envelope was under his arm.

The women were both in May’s room, so that’s where Dortmunder and Andy went. When they walked in, May and Anne Marie were up and dressed, watching the Today show on television. The faces they turned toward Dortmunder and Andy were both expectant and relieved. But then May looked at Dortmunder’s hand and said, “You didn’t get it.”

“He never showed up,” Dortmunder said.

Andy said, “But we got a plan.” Dropping the manila envelope on the bed, he said, “We also made out a little. There’s fifty big in there.”

Anne Marie said, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It was Pac money,” Andy told her.

Anne Marie apparently knew what that meant, because she went off into peals of laughter. “At last,” she said, when she could say anything again, “the trickle-down theory begins to work.”

May said, “John? Tell us everything.”

So Dortmunder did, with interpolations from Andy and questions from Anne Marie, and when he was finished he said, “So we stay over one more night, and tonight I finally meet up with Max Fairbanks and get my ring back. But just to be on the safe side, I think I ought to call Wally.”

Andy said, “Who, Wally Knurr?” To Anne Marie he explained. “He’s our computer guy, with the access to everything.” To Dortmunder, he said, “How come?”

“Fairbanks was supposed to be in that apartment last night and he wasn’t,” Dortmunder said. “I guess he’ll do his talking to Congress this morning, but what else is he doing I’m not sure any more I know. And he did that news blackout over the weekend. So what’s he up to? What’s going on? I feel like I could use an update from Wally.” He looked over at the bedside clock and said, “Is seven minutes after eight too early to call him?”

“They’re early risers up there in Dudson Center,” Andy assured him.

So Dortmunder made the call, and first he had to have a pleasant civilian conversation with Myrtle Street, Wally’s lady friend, which he did reasonably well, and then Wally came on and said, “John! I’ve been trying to call you!” He sounded out of breath, or even more out of breath than usual.

“Hell,” Dortmunder decided. “I knew it. What’s gone wrong, Wally?”

“I don’t know,” Wally said, “but something sure has. Fairbanks has sent the word out that there will be no information given out as to his whereabouts from now on. If people want to reach him, they should make contact through his corporate headquarters in Wilmington, Delaware, a place he’s never been to, not even when they laid the cornerstone for the new building.”

“Well, goddamit,” Dortmunder said. “Why’s he doing all that?”

“I don’t know, John,” Wally said. “I’m sorry. I do know he still plans to have his two business meetings in Chicago, but I can’t find out where he’ll be staying or when he’ll get there or when he’ll leave. Then he’ll definitely be somewhere in Australia on the days he’s supposed to be there—”

“Which doesn’t help a lot.”

“Oh, I know, John. And the next time he’s willing to have his whereabouts known is next Monday, a week from now, when he gets to Las Vegas.”

“Vegas doesn’t change?”

“I guess because everything was all set there already, so it’s too late to keep it secret. But after Las Vegas, there isn’t a word on what he’s gonna do or where he’s gonna be. Not a word.”

“But Vegas is still what it was.”

“So far, anyway,” Wally said. “He’ll be at the Gaiety Hotel, Battle-Lake and Casino two nights next week, Monday and Tuesday, after he gets back from Australia.”

“Unless he changes his mind again.”

“I’m sorry, John,” Wally said. “I know I said I could track him for you. But this is very unusual for Max Fairbanks. Maybe the IRS is after him or something.”

“Somebody’s after him, don’t worry about that,” Dortmunder said. “Thanks, Wally. If there’s any change—”

“Oh, I’ll let you know, you or Andy, right away. Or probably Andy, he’s got an answering machine.”

“Right.”

“Tell him, there’s about four messages from me on his machine.”

“About this conversation we’re just having right here.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I’ll tell him,” Dortmunder said, and immediately forgot. “So long, Wally.”

When he hung up, everybody wanted to know what the other, more interesting, half of the conversation had been, so Dortmunder repeated Wally’s bad news, and Andy said, “So we don’t get the ring. I’m sorry, John. Not this trip.”

“Damn it to hell,” Dortmunder said. He was really angry. “We come all this way, and what do we get? A lousy fifty thousand dollars!”