As Time Goes By Read Online Free Page B

lust for her body. A fair exchange, Renault had always thought, and he'd made the pursuit of it his life.
    On the outskirts of Rabat, Sam swung around the city. It would not do for them to be stopped by an offi cious cop. Not in an American car with a Russian in the front seat, a Vichy police official in the back, alongside the soon-to-be persona non grata Rick Blaine. But the capital city of wartime French Morocco was shrouded in darkness, and if anyone noticed their passing, he wisely kept it to himself.
    From Rabat to Port Lyautey was only about fifty miles, and they made it in just over an hour.
    They found Jean-Claude Chausson waiting for them at daybreak at the tiny airfield a few miles outside the city. He was standing beside a Fokker 500, which could carry several passengers, one pilot, and any sort of con traband a smuggler's heart could wish for—and had, many times.
    "Allo, Monsieur Rick," said Chausson.
    "How are you, Jean-Claude?" said Rick, shaking the pilot's hand.
    "Bored," came the reply.
    "Let's see if we can do something about that," said Rick.
    Chausson was a Free Frenchman of decidedly anti- Nazi sympathies. Rick had first met him in Spain, when Jean-Claude was running arms to the Loyalists. Since that defeat he had made a far more lucrative living run ning unstamped liquor into French Morocco, much of it destined for Rick's cafe, and guns wherever they were most profitably needed. In Africa that was nearly everywhere.
    "Give Sacha the keys to the car, Sam," ordered Rick as they boarded the plane. "Take good care of her, Sacha."
    "You mean the Buick or Yvonne, boss?" asked Sacha with a leer.
    "Take your pick," said Rick, as the plane's door closed. "They're both expensive."
    The flight to Lisbon was uneventful. Portugal had learned early in the conflict that not being interested in the comings and goings of the people passing through was far more remunerative than worrying about either their pasts or their futures. Some place had to be a port of exit from Europe, and Lisbon was only too happy to oblige. With Franco's neutral Spain as its buffer zone, business was very good.
    They headed straight for the Aviz, where Rick in quired first about Mr. and Mrs. Victor Laszlo. Away from the Nazis, he thought, they might finally be travel ing together as husband and wife.
    He was wrong. The head clerk, who bore a nametag that proclaimed his surname to be Medeiros, shook his head sadly. "I am sorry to say we have no record of them," he told Rick.
    "Are you sure?" Rick asked as politely as he could.
    "Very sure," replied Medeiros. He was not about to betray a lady's confidence so easily. "It is my job, after all, to know who comes and who goes here."
    Well, there was a Ferrari in every crowd, thought Rick. "Try under a different name, Miss Ilsa Lund. Try to remember the most beautiful woman you have—"
    Madeiros didn't let Rick get any further. "Oh yes, Miss Lund," he exclaimed with delight, and Rick could see the memory of Ilsa in his eyes. A man didn't forget a face or a figure like hers. "You are Mr. Richard Blaine?" asked the clerk.
    "The only one who'll admit to it," replied Rick.
    "Then this is for you." Medeiros proudly handed him Ilsa's note. "She left it for you not two hours ago."
    Rick scanned it rapidly, then stuffed it in his pocket. Following her trail, he was beginning to feel like one of the children in "Hansel and Gretel." He just hoped the Wicked Witch wouldn't be waiting for them both, somewhere in the dark German woods.

 
     
    C HAPTER F OUR

     
     
     
     
    Victor Laszlo arrived in London to a hero's wel come, albeit a secret one. He and Ilsa were met on the tarmac at Luton airfield on December 8,1941, not by a committee, but by a single man, military in mien and brusque of manner, who introduced himself as Major Sir Harold Miles and shook hands in a brisk, business like fashion. After a brief conversation with Laszlo, the major bundled them into a waiting Lancia and sped them into town. An