Graham looked from the gun to the face of the man who was holding it: the long upper lip, the pale blue eyes, the loose yellowish skin.
“I don’t understand,” he said, and put out his hand to receive the gun. “How …?” he began and then stopped abruptly. The gun was pointing at him and Haller’s forefinger was on the trigger.
Haller shook his head. “No, Mr. Graham. I think I shall keep it. I came for a little talk with you. Supposing you sit down here on the bed and turn sideways so that we can face one another.”
Graham strove to conceal the deadly sickness that was stealing over him. He felt that he must be going mad. Amid the flood of questions pouring through his mind there was only one small patch of dry land: Colonel Haki had examined the credentials of all the passengers who had embarked at Istanbul and reported that none of them had booked for the journey less than three days prior to the sailing and that they were all harmless. He clung to it desperately.
“I don’t understand,” he repeated.
“Of course you don’t. If you will sit down I will explain.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Ah, yes. I see. Moral support derived from physical discomfort. Remain standing by all means if it pleases you to do so.” He spoke with crisp condescension. This was a new Haller, a slightly younger man. He examined the pistol as if he were seeing it for the first time. “You know, Mr. Graham,” he went on thoughtfully, “poor Mavrodopoulos was really very upset by his failure in Istanbul. He is not, as you have probably gathered, very intelligent and, like all stupid people, he blames others for his own mistakes. He complains that you moved.” He shrugged tolerantly. “Naturally you moved. He could hardly expect you to stand still while he corrected his aim. I told him so. But he was still angry with you, so when he came aboard I insisted on taking care of his pistol for him. He is young, and these Roumanians are so hotheaded. I did not want anything premature to happen.”
“I wonder,” said Graham, “if your name happens to be Moeller.”
“Dear me!” He raised his eyebrows. “I had no idea that you were so well informed. Colonel Haki must have been in a very talkative mood. Did he know that I was in Istanbul?”
Graham reddened. “I don’t think so.”
Moeller chuckled. “I thought not. Haki is a clever man. I have a great respect for him. But he is human and, therefore, fallible. Yes, after that fiasco in Gallipoli I thought it advisable to attend to things myself. And then, when everything had been arranged, you were inconsiderate enough to move and spoil Mavrodopolous’ shooting. But I bear you no ill will, Mr. Graham. I was irritated at the time, of course. Mavrodopoulos …”
“Banat is easier to say.”
“Thank you. As I was saying, Banat’s failure made more work for me. But now my irritation has passed. Indeed, I am quite enjoying the trip. I like myself as an archæologist. I was a little nervous at first, but as soon as I saw that I had succeeded in boring you I knew that all was well.” He held up the book he had been reading. “If you would like a record of my little speeches I can recommend this. It is entitled ‘The Sumerian Pantheon’ and is by Fritz Haller. His qualifications are given on the title page: ten years with the German Institute in Athens, the period at Oxford, the degrees: it is all here. He seems to be an ardent disciple of Spengler. He quotes the Master a great deal. There is a nostalgic little preface which was most helpful and you will find the piece about eternal truths on page three hundred and forty-one. Naturally I paraphrased a little here and there to suit my own mood. And I drew freely on some of the longer footnotes. You see, the effect I wanted to create was that of an erudite but loveable old bore. I think you will agree that I did well.”
“So there is a Haller?”
Moeller pursed his lips. “Ah, yes. I was sorry to inconvenience him and his wife, but there was no other way. When I found that you were to leave on this boat I decided that it would be helpful if I travelled with you. Obviously I could not have booked a passage at the last moment without attracting Colonel Haki’s attention; I therefore took over Haller’s tickets and passport. He and his wife were not pleased. But they are good Germans, and when it was made plain to them that their country’s interests must come before their own convenience, they gave no more trouble. In a few days their passport will be returned to them with their own photographs restored to it. My only embarrassment has been the Armenian lady who is doing duty for Frau Professor Haller. She speaks very little German and is virtually a half-wit. I have been forced to keep her out of the way. I had no time to make better arrangements, you see. As it was, the man who found her for me had quite a lot of trouble convincing her that she wasn’t being carried off to an Italian bordello. Female vanity is sometimes extraordinary.” He produced a cigarette-case. “I hope you don’t mind my telling you all these little things, Mr. Graham. It’s just that I want to be frank with you. I think that an atmosphere of frankness is essential to any business discussion.”
“Business?”
“Just so. Now do please sit down and smoke. It will do you good.” He held out the cigarette-case. “Your nerves have been a little jumpy to-day, haven’t they?”
“Say what you want to say and get out!”
Moeller chuckled. “Yes, certainly a little jumpy!” He looked suddenly solemn. “It is my fault, I’m afraid. You see, Mr. Graham, I could have had this little talk with you before, but I wanted to make sure that you would be in a receptive frame of mind.”
Graham leaned against the door. “I think that the best way I can describe my state of mind at the moment is to tell you that I have been seriously considering kicking you in the teeth. I could have done so from here before you could have used your gun.”
Moeller raised his eyebrows. “And yet you didn’t do it? Was it the thought of my white hairs that stopped you, or was it your fear of the consequences?” He paused. “No answer? You won’t mind if I draw my own conclusions, will you?” He settled himself a little more comfortably. “The instinct for self-preservation is a wonderful thing. It is so easy for people to be heroic about laying down their lives for the sake of principles when they do not expect to be called upon to do so. When, however, the smell of danger is in their nostrils they are more practical. They see alternatives not in terms of honour or dishonour, but in terms of greater or lesser evils. I wonder if I could persuade you to see my point of view.”
Graham was silent. He was trying to fight down the panic which had seized him. He knew that if he opened his mouth he would shout abuse until his throat ached.
Moeller was fitting a cigarette into a short amber holder as if he had time to waste. Obviously he had not expected any answer to his question. He had the self-contained air of a man who is early for an important appointment. When he finished with the cigarette-holder he looked up. “I like you, Mr. Graham,” he said. “I was, I have admitted, irritated when Banat made such a fool of himself in Istanbul. But now that I know you I am glad that he did so. You behaved gracefully over that awkwardness at the dinner-table the night we sailed. You listened politely to my carefully memorised recitations. You are a clever engineer, and yet you are not aggressive. I should not like to think of your being killed-murdered-by any employee of mine.” He lit his cigarette. “And yet, the demands made upon us by our life’s needs are so uncompromising. I am compelled to be offensive. I must tell you that, as things stand at present, you will be dead within a few minutes of your landing at Genoa on Saturday morning.”
Graham had himself in hand now. He said: “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Moeller nodded approval. “I am glad to see you take it so calmly. If I were in your place I should be very frightened. But then, of course”-the pale blue eyes narrowed suddenly-“ I should know that there was no possible chance of my escaping. Banat, in spite of his lapse in Istanbul, is a formidable young man. And when I consider the fact that ready waiting for me in Genoa there would be reinforcements consisting of several other men quite as experienced as Banat, I should realise that there was not the remotest chance of my being able to reach any sort of sanctuary before the end came. I should be left with only one hope-that they did their work so efficiently that I should know very little about it.”
“What do you mean by ‘as things stand at present’?”
Moeller smiled triumphantly. “Ah! I am so glad. You have gone straight to the heart of the matter. I mean, Mr. Graham, that you need not necessarily die. There is an alternative.”
“I see. A lesser evil.” But his heart leaped in spite of himself.
“Scarcely an evil,” Moeller objected. “An alternative and by no means an unpleasant one.” He settled himself more comfortably. “I have already said that I liked you, Mr. Graham. Let me add that I dislike the prospect of violence quite as whole-heartedly as you do. I am lily-livered. I admit it freely. I will go out of my way to avoid seeing the results of an automobile accident. So, you see, if there is any way of settling this matter without bloodshed I should be prejudiced in favour of it. And if you are still uncertain of my personal goodwill towards you, let me put the question in another and harder light. The killing would have to be hurried, would consequently subject the killers to additional risks and would, therefore, be expensive. Don’t misunderstand me, please. I shall spare no expense if it is necessary. But, naturally enough, I hope it won’t be necessary. I can assure you that no one, with the possible exception of yourself, will be more delighted than I am if we can dispose of this whole thing in a friendly way as between business men. I hope you will at least believe that I am sincere in that.”
Graham began to get angry. “I don’t care a damn whether you’re sincere or not.”
Moeller looked crestfallen. “No, I suppose you don’t. I was forgetting that you have been under some nervous strain. You are naturally interested only in getting home safely to England. That may be possible. It just depends on how calmly and logically you can approach the situation. It is necessary, as you must have gathered, that the completion of the work you are doing should be delayed. Now, if you die before you get back to England, somebody else will be sent to Turkey to do your work over again. I understand that the work as a whole would thus be delayed for six weeks. I also understand that that delay would be sufficient for the purposes of those interested. You might, might you not, conclude from that that the simplest way of dealing with the matter would be to kidnap you in Genoa and keep you under lock and key for the requisite six weeks and then release you, eh?”
“You might.”
Moeller shook his head. “But you would be wrong. You would disappear. Your employers and, no doubt, the Turkish Government would make inquiries about you. The Italian police would be informed. The British Foreign Office would address bombastic demands for information to the Italian Government. The Italian Government, conscious that its neutrality was being compromised, would bestir itself. I might find myself in serious difficulties, especially when you were released and could tell your story. It would be most inconvenient for me to be wanted by the Italian police. You see what I mean?”
“Yes, I see.”
“The straightforward course is to kill you. There is, however, a third possibility.” He paused and then said: “You are a very fortunate man, Mr. Graham.”
“What does that mean?”
“In times of peace only the fanatical nationalist demands that a man should surrender himself body and soul to the government of the country in which he was born. Yet, in war time, when men are being killed and there is emotion in the air, even an intelligent man may be so far carried away as to talk of his ‘duty to his country.’ You are fortunate because you happen to be in a business which sees these heroics for what they are: the emotional excesses of the stupid and brutish. ‘Love of country!’ There’s a curious phrase. Love of a particular patch of earth? Scarcely. Put a German down in a field in Northern France, tell him that it is Hanover, and he cannot contradict you. Love of fellow-countrymen? Surely not. A man will like some of them and dislike others. Love of the country’s culture? The men who know most of their countries’ cultures are usually the most intelligent and the least patriotic. Love of the country’s government? But governments are usually disliked by the people they govern. Love of country, we see, is merely a sloppy mysticism based on ignorance and fear. It has its uses, of course. When a ruling class wishes a people to do something which that people does not want to do, it appeals to patriotism. And, of course, one of the things that people most dislike is allowing themselves to be killed. But I must apologise. These are old arguments and I am sure you are familiar with them.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with them.”
“I am so relieved. I should not like to think that I had been wrong in judging you to be a man of intelligence. And it makes what I have to say so much easier.”
“Well, what have you got to say?”
Moeller stubbed his cigarette out. “The third possibility, Mr. Graham, is that you might be induced to retire from business for six weeks of your own free will-that you should take a holiday.”
“Are you mad?”
Moeller smiled. “I see your difficulty, believe me. If you simply go into hiding for six weeks, it may be rather awkward to explain matters when you return home. I understand. Hysterical fools might say that in choosing to remain alive instead of choosing to be killed by our friend Banat you did something shameful. The facts that the work would have been delayed in any case and that you were of more use to your country and its allies alive than dead would be ignored. Patriots, in common with other mystics, dislike logical argument. It would be necessary to practise a small deception. Let me tell you how it could be arranged.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
Moeller took no notice. “There are some things, Mr. Graham, which not even patriots can control. One of those things is illness. You have come from Turkey where, thanks to earthquakes and floods, there have been several outbreaks of typhus. What could be more likely than that the moment you get ashore at Genoa a mild attack of typhus should develop? And what then? Well, of course, you will be taken immediately to a private clinic and the doctor there will, at your request, write to your wife and employers in England. Of course, there will be the inevitable delays of war. By the time anyone can get to see you, the crisis will have passed and you will be convalescent: convalescent but much too weak to work or travel. But in six weeks’ time you will have recovered sufficiently to do both. All will be well again. How does that appeal to you, Mr. Graham? To me it seems the only solution satisfactory to both of us.”
“I see. You don’t have the bother of shooting me. I’m out of the way for the requisite six weeks and can’t tell tales afterwards without showing myself up. Is that it?”
“That’s a very crude way of putting it; but you are quite right. That is it. How do you like the idea? Personally I should find the prospect of six weeks’ absolute peace and quiet in the place I have in mind very attractive. It is quite near Santa Margherita, overlooking the sea and surrounded by pines. But then, I am old. You might fret.”
He hesitated. “Of course,” he went on slowly, “if you liked the idea, it might be possible to arrange for Señora Gallindo to share your six weeks’ holiday.”
Graham reddened. “What on earth do you mean?”
Moeller shrugged. “Come now, Mr. Graham! I am not short-sighted. If the suggestion really offends you, I apologise humbly. If not … I need hardly say that you would be the only patients there. The medical staff, which would consist of myself, Banat, and another man, apart from the servants, would be unobtrusive unless you were receiving visitors from England. However, that could be discussed later. Now what do you think?”
Graham steeled himself to make an effort. He said with deliberate ease: “I think you’re bluffing. Hasn’t it occurred to you that I may not be such a fool as you think? I shall, of course, repeat this conversation to the Captain. There will be police inquiries when we reach Genoa. My papers are perfectly genuine. Yours are not. Nor are Banat’s. I have nothing to hide. You have plenty to hide. So has Banat. You’re relying on my fear of being killed forcing me to agree to this scheme of yours. It won’t. It won’t keep my mouth shut either. I admit that I have been badly scared. I have had a very unpleasant twenty-four hours. I suppose that’s your way of inducing a receptive frame of mind. Well, it doesn’t work with me. I’m worried all right; I should be a fool if I weren’t; but I’m not worried out of my senses. You’re bluffing, Moeller. That’s what I think. Now you can get out.”
Moeller did not move. He said, as if he were a surgeon musing over some not entirely unforeseen complication: “Yes, I was afraid you might misunderstand me. A pity.” He looked up. “And to whom are you going to take your story in the first place, Mr. Graham? The Purser? The third officer was telling me about your curious behaviour over poor Monsieur Mavrodopoulos. Apparently you have been making wild allegations to the effect that he is a criminal named Banat who wants to kill you. The ship’s officers, including the Captain, seem to have enjoyed the joke very much. But even the best of jokes becomes tiresome if it is told too often. There would be a certain unreality about the story that I, too, was a criminal who wanted to kill you. Isn’t there a medical name for that sort of delusion? Come now, Mr. Graham! You tell me that you are not a fool. Please do not behave like one. Do you think that I should have approached you in this way if I had thought that you might be able to embarrass me in the way you suggest? I hope not. You are no less foolish when you interpret my reluctance to have you killed as weakness. You may prefer lying dead in a gutter with a bullet in your back to spending six weeks in a villa on the Ligurian Riviera: that is your affair. But please do not deceive yourself: those are the inevitable alternatives.”
Graham smiled grimly. “And the little homily on patriotism is to still any qualms I might have about accepting the inevitable. I see. Well, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work. I still think you’re bluffing. You’ve bluffed very well. I admit that. You had me worried. I really thought for a moment that I had to choose between possible death and sinking my pride-just like the hero in a melodrama. My real choice was, of course, between using my common sense and letting my stomach do my thinking for me. Well, Mr. Moeller, if that’s all you have to say …”
Moeller got slowly to his feet. “Yes, Mr. Graham,” he said calmly, “that is all I have to say.” He seemed to hesitate. Then, very deliberately, he sat down again. “No, Mr. Graham, I have changed my mind. There is something else that I should say. It is just possible that on thinking this thing over calmly you may decide that you have been silly and that I may not be as clumsy as you now seem to think. Frankly, I don’t expect you to do so. You are pathetically sure of yourself. But in case your stomach should after all take control, I think I should issue a warning.”
“Against what?”
Moeller smiled. “One of the many things you don’t seem to know is that Colonel Haki considered it advisable to install one of his agents on board to watch over you. I tried hard to interest you in him yesterday, but was unsuccessful. Ihsan Kuvetli is unprepossessing, I agree; but he has the reputation of being a clever little man. If he had not been a patriot, he would have been rich.”
“Are you trying to tell me that Kuvetli is a Turkish agent?”
“I am indeed, Mr. Graham!” The pale blue eyes narrowed. “The reason why I approached you this evening instead of to-morrow evening is because I wanted to see you before he made himself known to you. He did not, I think, find out who I was until to-day. He searched my cabin this evening. I think that he must have heard me talking to Banat; the partitions between the cabins are absurdly thin. In any case, I thought it likely that, realizing the danger you were in, he would decide that the time had come to approach you. You see, Mr. Graham, with his experience, he is not likely to make the mistake that you are making. However, he has his duty to do and I have no doubt that he will have evolved some laborious plan for getting you to France in safety. What I want to warn you against is telling him of this suggestion I have made to you. You see, if you should after all come round to my way of thinking, it would be embarrassing for both of us if an agent of the Turkish Government knew of our little deception. We could scarcely expect him to keep silent. You see what I mean, Mr. Graham? If you let Kuvetli into the secret you will destroy the only chance of returning to England alive that remains to you.” He smiled faintly. “It’s a solemn thought, isn’t it?” He got up again and went to the door. “That was all I wanted to say. Good night, Mr. Graham.”
Graham watched the door close and then sat down on the bunk. The blood was beating through his head as if he had been running. The time for bluffing was over. He should be deciding what he was going to do. He had to think calmly and clearly.
But he could not think calmly and clearly. He was confused. He became conscious of the vibration and movement of the ship and wondered if he had imagined what had just happened. But there was the depression in the bunk where Moeller had been sitting and the cabin was filled with the smoke from his cigarette. It was Haller who was the creature of imagination.
He was conscious now more of humiliation than of fear. He had become almost used to the tight sensation in his chest, the quick hammering of his heart, the dragging at his stomach, the crawling of his spine which were his body’s responses to his predicament. In a queer, horrible way it had been stimulating. He had felt that he was pitting his wits against those of an enemy-a dangerous enemy but an intellectual inferior-with a chance of winning. Now he knew that he had been doing nothing of the kind. The enemy had been laughing up their sleeves at him. It had never even occurred to him to suspect “Haller.” He had just sat there politely listening to extracts from a book. Heavens, what a fool the man must think him! He and Banat between them had seen through him as if he were made of glass. Not even his wretched little passages with Josette had escaped their notice. Probably they had seen him kissing her. And as a final measure of their contempt for him, it had been Moeller who had informed him that Mr. Kuvetli was a Turkish agent charged with his protection. Kuvetli! It was funny. Josette would be amused.
He remembered suddenly that he had promised to return to the saloon. She would be getting anxious. And the cabin was stifling. He could think better if he had some air. He got up and put on his overcoat.
José and Banat were still playing cards; José with a peculiar intentness as if he suspected Banat of cheating; Banat coolly and deliberately. Josette was leaning back in her chair smoking. Graham realised with a shock that he had left the room less than half an hour previously. It was amazing what could happen to your mind in so short a time; how the whole atmosphere of a place could change. He found himself noticing things about the saloon which he had not noticed before: a brass plate with the name of the builders of the ship engraved on it, a stain on the carpet, some old magazines stacked in a corner.
He stood there for a moment staring at the brass plate. The Mathis and the Italians were sitting there reading and did not look up. He looked past them and saw Josette turning her head back to watch the game. She had seen him. He went across to the farther door and out on to the shelter deck.
She would follow him soon to find out if he had been successful. He walked slowly along the deck wondering what he would say to her, whether or not to tell her about Moeller and his “alternative.” Yes, he would tell her. She would tell him that he was all right, that Moeller was bluffing. But supposing Moeller weren’t bluffing! “They will do anything to see that it is so. Anything, Mr. Graham! Do you understand?” Haki had not talked about bluffing. The wound under the grimy bandage on his hand did not feel like bluffing. And if Moeller wasn’t bluffing, what was he, Graham, going to do?
He stopped and stared out at the lights on the coast. They were nearer now; near enough for him to see the movement of the boat in relation to them. It was incredible that this should be happening to him. Impossible! Perhaps, after all, he had been badly wounded in Istanbul and it was all a fantasy born of anæthesia. Perhaps he would become conscious again soon to find himself in a hospital bed. But the teak rail, wet with dew, on which his hand rested was real enough. He gripped it in sudden anger at his own stupidity. He should be thinking, cudgelling his brains, making plans, deciding; doing something instead of standing there mooning. Moeller had left him over five minutes ago and here he was still trying to escape from his senses into a fairyland of hospitals and anæsthetics. What was he going to do about Kuvetli? Should he approach him or wait to be approached? What …?
There were quick footsteps on the deck behind him. It was Josette, her fur coat thrown over her shoulders, her face pale and anxious in the dingy glare of the deck light. She seized his arm. “What has happened? Why were you so long?”
“There was no gun there.”
“But there must be. Something has happened. When you walked into the salone just now you looked as if you had seen a ghost or were going to be sick. What is it, chéri?”
“There was no gun there,” he repeated. “I searched carefully.”
“You were not seen?”
“No, I wasn’t seen.”
She sighed with relief. “I was afraid when I saw your face …” She broke off. “But don’t you see? It is all right. He does not carry a gun. There is no gun in his cabin. He has not got a gun.” She laughed. “Perhaps he has pawned it. Ah, do not look so serious, chéri. He may get a gun in Genoa, but then it will be too late. Nothing can happen to you. You will be all right.” She put on a woebegone expression. “I am the one who is in trouble now.”
“You?”
“Your smelly little friend plays cards very well. He is winning money from José. José does not like that. He will have to cheat and cheating puts him in a bad temper. He says that it is bad for his nerves. Really it is that he likes to win because he is a better player.” She paused and added suddenly: “Please wait!”
They had reached the end of the deck. She stopped and faced him. “What is the matter, chéri? You are not listening to what I am saying. You are thinking of something else.” She pouted. “Ah, I know. It is your wife. Now that there is no danger you think of her again.”
“No.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes, I am sure.” He knew now that he did not want to tell her about Moeller. He wanted her to talk to him believing that there was no longer any danger, that nothing could happen to him, that he could walk down the gangway at Genoa without fear. Afraid to create his own illusion, he could live in one of her making. He managed to smile. “You mustn’t take any notice of me, Josette. I’m tired. You know, it’s a very tiring business searching other people’s cabins.”
Immediately she was all sympathy. “Mon pauvre chéri. It is my fault, not yours. I forget how unpleasant things have been for you. Would you like us to go back to the salone and have a little drink?”
He would have done almost anything for a drink but go back to the saloon where he could see Banat. “No. Tell me what we shall do first when we arrive in Paris.”
She looked at him quickly, smiling. “If we do not walk we shall get cold.” She wriggled into her coat and linked her arm in his. “So we are going to Paris together?”
“Of course! I thought it was all arranged.”
“Oh yes, but”-she pressed his arm against her side-“I did not think that you were serious. You see,” she went on carefully, “so many men like to talk about what will happen, but they do not always like to remember what they have said. It is not that they do not mean what they say but that they do not always feel the same. You understand me, chéri?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I want you to understand,” she went on, “because it is very important to me. I am a dancer and must think of my career also.” She turned to him impulsively. “But you will think that I am selfish and I would not like you to think that. It is just that I like you very much and do not wish you to do anything simply because you have made a promise. As long as you understand that, it is all right. We will not talk about it.” She snapped her fingers. “Look! When we get to Paris we will go straight to a hotel which I know of near the St. Philippe du Roule Metro. It is very modern and respectable and if you wish we can have a bathroom. It is not expensive. Then we will have champagne cocktails at the Ritz bar. They are only nine francs. While we have those drinks we can decide where to eat. I am very tired of Turkish foods and the sight of ravioli makes me ill. We must have good French food.” She paused and added hesitantly, “I have never been to the Tour d’Argent.”
“You shall.”
“You mean it? I shall eat until I am as fat as a pig. After that we will begin.”
“Begin?”
“There are some little places that are still open late in spite of the police. I will introduce you to a great friend of mine. She was the sous-maquecée of the Moulin Galant when Le Boulanger had it and before the gangsters came. You understand sous-maquecée?”
“No.”
She laughed. “It is very bad of me. I will explain to you another time. But you will like Suzie. She saved a lot of money and now she is very respectable. She had a place in the rue de Liège which was better than Le Jockey Cabaret in Istanbul. She had to close it when the war came but she has opened another place in an impasse off the rue Pigalle and those who are her friends can go there. She has a great many friends and so she is making money again. She is quite old and the police do not trouble her. She shrugs her shoulders at them. Just because there is this filthy war there is no reason why we should all be miserable. I have other friends in Paris, too. You will like them when I introduce you. When they know that you are my friend they will be polite. They are very polite and nice when you are introduced by someone who is known in the quarter.”
She went on talking about them. Most of them were women (Lucette, Dolly, Sonia, Claudette, Berthe) but there were one or two men (Jojo, Ventura) who were foreigners and had not been mobilised. She spoke of them vaguely but with an enthusiasm half defensive, half real. They might not be rich as Americans understood being rich, but they were people of the world. Each was remarkable in some particular. One was “very intelligent,” another had a friend in the Ministry of the Interior, another was going to buy a villa at San Tropez and invite all his friends there for the summer. All were “amusing” and very useful if one wanted “anything special.” She did not say what she meant by “anything special” and Graham did not ask her. He did not object to the picture she was painting. The prospect of sitting in the Café Graf buying drinks for bizness men and women from the places up the hill seemed to him at that moment infinitely attractive. He would be safe and free; himself again; able to think his own thoughts, to smile without stretching his nerves to breaking point when he did so. It must happen. It was absurd that he should be killed. Moeller was right about one thing at least. He would be more use to his country alive than dead.
Considerably more! Even if the Turkish contract were delayed for six weeks it would still have to be fulfilled. If he were alive at the end of the six weeks he would be able to go on with it; perhaps he might even make up for some of the lost time. He was, after all, the company’s chief designer and it would be difficult to replace him in war time. He had been truthful enough when he had told Haki that there were dozens of other men with his qualifications; but he had not thought it necessary to bolster up Haki’s argument by explaining that those dozens were made up of Americans, Frenchmen, Germans, Japanese and Czechs as well as Englishmen. Surely the sensible course would be the safe one. He was an engineer, not a professional secret agent. Presumably, a secret agent would have been equal to dealing with men like Moeller and Banat. He, Graham, was not. It was not for him to decide whether or not Moeller was bluffing. His business was to stay alive. Six weeks on the Ligurian Riviera could not do him any harm. It meant lying, of course: lying to Stephanie and to their friends, to his managing director and to the representatives of the Turkish Government. He couldn’t tell them the truth. They would think that he ought to have risked his life. It was the sort of thing people did think when they were safe and snug in their arm-chairs. But if he lied, would they believe him? The people at home would; but what about Haki? Haki would smell a rat and ask questions. And Kuvetli? Moeller would have to do something about putting him off. It would be a tricky business; but Moeller would arrange things. Moeller was used to that sort of thing. Moeller.…
He stopped with a jerk. For God’s sake, what was he thinking? He must be out of his senses! Moeller was an enemy agent. What he, Graham, had been turning over in his mind was nothing less than treason. And yet.… And yet what? He knew suddenly that something had snapped in his mind. The idea of doing a deal with an enemy agent was no longer unthinkable. He could consider Moeller’s suggestion on its merits, coolly and calmly. He was becoming demoralised. He could no longer trust himself.
Josette was shaking his arm. “What is it, chéri? What is the matter?”
“I’ve just remembered something,” he muttered.
“Ah!” she said angrily, “that is not at all polite. I ask you if you wish to go on walking. You take no notice. I ask you again and you stop as if you were ill. You have not been listening to what I was saying.”
He pulled himself together. “Oh yes, I’ve been listening, but something you said reminded me that if I am to stop in Paris I shall have to write several important business letters so that I can post them immediately I get there.” He added with a fair assumption of jauntiness: “I don’t want to work while I am in Paris.”
“If it is not these salauds who tried to kill you, it is business,” she grumbled. But she was apparently mollified.
“I apologise, Josette. It shan’t happen again. Are you sure you are warm? You wouldn’t like a drink?” He wanted to get away now. He knew what he must do and was impatient to do it before he could begin to think.
But she took his arm again. “No, it is all right. I am not angry and I am not cold. If we go up on the top deck you can kiss me to show that we are friends again. Soon I must go back to José. I said that I would only be a few minutes.”
Half an hour later he went down to his cabin, took off his coat and went to look for the steward. He found him busy with a mop and bucket in the lavatories.
“Signore?”
“I promised to lend Signor Kuvetli a book. What is the number of his cabin?”
“Three, signore.”
Graham walked back to cabin number three and stood for a moment hesitating. Perhaps he should think again before he did anything decisive, anything for which he might be sorry later. Perhaps it would be better if he left it until the morning. Perhaps …
He set his teeth, raised his hand and knocked on the door.