“I … I can tell you where Mr. Phule is being held.”
“You can?”
“Yes. I can say definitely that he’s currently in Maxine Pruet’s suite-room 4200. At least, he was fifteen minutes ago.”
Rembrandt frowned. “Hey, Sushi! I thought you said the suite was empty!”
“No one answered the phone when I called,” the Oriental said. “I didn’t actually check it out, though.”
“I see … Okay. Brandy? I want you to use your passkey and see if-“
“Excuse me … Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Beeker interrupted, his voice taking a slight edge. “I said that my employer is definitely being held in that suite. There should be no need for confirmation. In fact, any effort to intrude might endanger the lives of both Mr. Phule and whoever was sent to check.”
The lieutenant pursed her lips, then shot a glance at Armstrong, who gave a small shrug.
“All right, Beeker,” she said at last. “Not to say I don’t believe you, but would you mind telling me just how it is you’re so certain that’s where he is?”
The butler’s haughtiness slipped away, and he glanced around at the gathered Legionnaires uneasily.
“It’s … well, it’s a secret technique I’ve developed to ease my duties in keeping track of my employer’s comings and goings. I’d ask that you all keep this in strictest confidence, just as I have respected the secretive nature of the things some of you have shared with me.”
He looked around the room again and was answered by an assortment of nods. “Very well. I’ve taken the liberty of sewing small homing devices into each item in my employer’s wardrobe, both civilian and military. This gives me forewarning of his approach so that I might be prepared to welcome him, and allows me to pinpoint his location at any given moment.”