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“And that was how you learned English?”

“Yes, but I had learned a little in that terrible convent.” She frowned. “But I tell you everything about myself. About you I know nothing except that you have a nice house and a wife, and that you are an engineer. You ask questions, but you tell me nothing. I still do not know why you are here. It is very bad of you.”

But he did not have to reply to this. Another passenger had entered the saloon, and was advancing towards them, clearly with the intention of making their acquaintance.

He was short, broad-shouldered and unkempt, with a heavy jowl and a fringe of scurfy grey hair round a bald pate. He had a smile, fixed like that of a ventriloquist’s dolclass="underline" a standing apology for the iniquity of his existence.

The boat had begun to roll slightly; but from the way he clutched for support at the backs of chairs as he crossed the room, it might have been riding out a full gale.

“There is lot of movement, eh?” he said in English, and subsided into a chair. “Ah! That is better, eh?” He looked at Josette with obvious interest, but turned to Graham before he spoke again. “I hear English spoken so I am interested at once,” he said. “You are English, sir?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Turkish. I also go to London. Trade is very good. I go to sell tobacco. My name is Mr. Kuvetli, sir.”

“My name is Graham. This is Señora Gallindo.”

“So good,” said Mr. Kuvetli. Without getting up from his chair, he bowed from the waist. “I don’t speak English very well,” he added, unnecessarily.

“It is a very difficult language,” said Josette, coldly. She was obviously displeased by the intrusion,

“My wife,” continued Mr. Kuvetli, “does not speak English any. So I do not bring her with me. She has not been to England.”

“But you have?”

“Yes, sir. Three times, and to sell tobacco. I do not sell much before, but now I sell lot. It is war. United States ships do not come to England any more. English ships bring guns and aeroplanes from U.S. and have no room for tobacco, so England now buys lot of tobacco from Turkey. It is good business for my boss. Firm of Pazar and Co.”

“It must be.”

“He would come to England himself, but cannot speak English any. Or he cannot write. He is very ignorant. I reply to all favours from England and elsewhere abroad. But he knows lot about tobacco. We produce best.” He plunged his hand into his pocket and produced a leather cigarette case. “Please try cigarette made from tobacco by Pazar and Co.” He extended the case to Josette.

She shook her head. “Tesekkür ederim.”

The Turkish phrase irritated Graham. It seemed to belittle the man’s polite efforts to speak a language foreign to him.

“Ah!” said Mr. Kuvetli, “you speak my language. That is very good. You have been long in Turkey?”

“Dört ay.” She turned to Graham. “I would like one of your cigarettes, please.”

It was a deliberate insult but Mr. Kuvetli only smiled a little more. Graham took one of the cigarettes.

“Thank you very much. It’s very good of you. Will you have a drink, Mr. Kuvetli?”

“Ah, no, thank you. I must go to arrange my cabin before it is dinner.”

“Then later, perhaps.”

“Yes, please.” With a broadened smile and a bow to each of them he got to his feet and made his way to the door.

Graham lit his cigarette. “Was it absolutely necessary to be so rude? Why drive the man away?”

She frowned. “Turks! I do not like them. They are”-she ransacked the automobile salesman’s vocabulary for an epithet-“they are goddamned dagoes. See how thick his skin is! He does not get angry. He only smiles.”

“Yes, he behaved very well.”

“I do not understand it,” she burst out angrily. “In the last war you fought with France against the Turks. In the convent they told me much about it. They are heathen animals, these Turks. There were the Armenian atrocities and the Syrian atrocities and the Smyrna atrocities. Turks killed babies with their bayonets. But now it is all different. You like the Turks. They are your allies and you buy tobacco from them. It is the English hypocrisy. I am a Serb. I have a longer memory.”

“Does your memory go back to nineteen twelve? I was thinking of the Serbian atrocities in Turkish villages. Most armies commit what are called atrocities at some time or other. They usually call them reprisals.”

“Including the British army, perhaps?”

“You would have to ask an Indian or an Afrikander about that. But every country has its madmen. Some countries have more than others. And when you give such men a license to kill they are not always particular about the way they kill. But I am afraid that the rest of their fellow countrymen remain human beings. Personally, I like the Turks.”

She was clearly angry with him. He suspected that her rudeness to Mr. Kuvetli had been calculated to earn his approval and that she was annoyed because he had not responded in the way she had expected. “It is stuffy in here,” she said, “and there is a smell of cooking. I should like to walk outside again. You may come with me if you wish.”

Graham seized the opportunity. He said, as they walked towards the door: “I think that I should unpack my suitcase. I shall hope to see you at dinner.”

Her expression changed quickly. She became an international beauty humouring, with a tolerant smile, the extravagances of a love-sick boy. “As you wish José will be with me later. I shall introduce you to him. He will want to play cards.”

“Yes, I remember you told me that he would. I shall have to try to remember a game that I can play well.”

She shrugged. “He will win in any case. But I have warned you.”

“I shall remember that when I lose.”

He returned to his cabin and stayed there until the steward came round beating a gong to announce dinner. When he went upstairs he was feeling better. He had changed his clothes. He had managed to complete the shave which he had begun in the morning. He had an appetite. He was prepared to take an interest in his fellow passengers.

Most of them were already in their places when he entered the saloon.

The ship’s officers evidently ate in their own quarters. Only two of the dining tables were laid. At one of them sat Mr. Kuvetli, a man and woman who looked as if they might be the French couple from the cabin next to his, Josette, and with her a very sleek José. Graham smiled courteously at the assembly and received in return a loud “good evening” from Mr. Kuvetli, a lift of the eyebrows from Josette, a cool nod from José, and a blank stare from the French couple. There was about them an air of tension which seemed to him to be more than the ordinary restraint of passengers on a boat sitting down together for the first time. The steward showed him to the other table.

One of the places was already filled by the elderly man whom he had passed on his walk round the deck. He was a thick, round-shouldered man with a pale heavy face, white hair and a long upper lip. As Graham sat down next to him he looked up. Graham met a pair of prominent pale blue eyes.

“Mr. Graham?”

“Yes. Good evening.”

“My name is Haller. Doctor Fritz Haller. I should explain that I am a German, a good German, and that I am on my way back to my country.” He spoke very good, deliberate English in a deep voice.

Graham realised that the occupants of the other table were staring at them in breathless silence. He understood now their air of tension.

He said calmly: “I am an Englishman. But I gather you knew that.”

“Yes, I knew it.” Haller turned to the food in front of him. “The Allies seem to be here in force and unhappily the steward is an imbecile. The two French people at the next table were placed here. They objected to eating with the enemy, insulted me and moved. If you wish to do the same I suggest that you do so now. Everyone is expecting the scene.”