“But who are these people?”
“I only know of one. His name is Moeller and he lives in Sofia. The Turkish police told me that he is a German agent.”
“The salop! But he cannot touch you now.”
“Unfortunately he can. While I was ashore with Kuvetli this afternoon, another passenger came aboard.”
“The little man who smells? Mavrodopoulos? But.…”
“His real name is Banat and he is the professional killer who shot at me in Istanbul.”
“But how do you know?” she demanded breathlessly.
“He was at Le Jockey Cabaret watching me. He had followed me there to see that I was out of the way before he broke into my room at the hotel. It was dark in the room when he shot at me, but the police showed me his photograph later and I identified him.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly: “It is not very nice. That little man is a dirty type.”
“No, it is not very nice.”
“You must go to the Captain.”
“Thanks. I’ve tried to see the Captain once. I got as far as the Purser. He thinks I’m either crazy, drunk, or lying.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing for the moment. He doesn’t know that I know who he is. I think that he will wait until we get to Genoa before he tries again. When we get there I shall go to the British Consul and ask him to advise the police.”
“But I think he does know that you suspect him. When we were in the salone before dinner and the Frenchman was talking about trains, this man was watching you. Mr. Kuvetli was watching you also. You looked so curious, you see.”
His stomach turned over. “You mean, I suppose, that I looked frightened to death. I was frightened. I admit it. Why shouldn’t I? I am not used to people trying to kill me.” His voice had risen. He felt himself shaking with a sort of hysterical anger.
She gripped his arm again. “Ssh! You must not speak so loudly.” And then: “Does it matter so much that he knows?”
“If he knows, it means that he will have to act before we get to Genoa.”
“On this little ship? He would not dare.” She paused. “José has a revolver in his box. I will try to get it for you.”
“I’ve got a revolver.”
“Where?”
“It’s in my suitcase. It shows in my pocket. I did not want him to see that I knew I was in danger.”
“If you carry the revolver you will be in no danger. Let him see it. If a dog sees that you are nervous, he will bite you. With types like that you must show that you are dangerous and then they are afraid.” She took his other arm. “Ah, you do not need to worry. You will get to Genoa and you will go to the British Consul. You can ignore this dirty beast with the perfume. By the time you get to Paris you will have forgotten him.”
“If I get to Paris.”
“You are impossible. Why should you not get to Paris?”
“You think I’m a fool.”
“I think perhaps you are tired. Your wound …”
“It was only a graze.”
“Ah, but it is not the size of the wound. It is the shock.”
He wanted suddenly to laugh. It was true what she was saying. He hadn’t really got over that hellish night with Kopeikin and Haki. His nerves were on edge. He was worrying unnecessarily. He said: “When we get to Paris, Josette, I shall give you the best dinner it is possible to buy.”
She came close to him. “I don’t want you to give me anything, chéri. I want you to like me. You do like me?”
“Of course I like you. I told you so.”
“Yes, you told me so.”
His left hand touched the belt on her coat. Her body moved suddenly pressing against his. The next moment his arms were round her and he was kissing her.
When his arms grew tired, she leaned back, half against him, half against the rail.
“Do you feel better, chéri?”
“Yes, I feel better.”
“Then I will have a cigarette.”
He gave her the cigarette and she looked at him across the light of the match. “Are you thinking of this lady in England who is your wife?”
“No.”
“But you will think of her?”
“If you keep talking about her I shall have to think about her.”
“I see. For you I am part of the journey from Istanbul to London. Like Mr. Kuvetli.”
“Not quite like Mr. Kuvetli. I shan’t kiss Mr. Kuvetli if I can help it.”
“What do you think about me?”
“I think that you’re very attractive. I like your hair and your eyes and the scent you use.”
“That is very nice. Shall I tell you something, chéri?”
“What?”
She began to speak very softly. “This boat is very small; the cabins are very small; the walls are very thin; and there are people everywhere.”
“Yes?”
“Paris is very large and there are nice hotels there with big rooms and thick walls. One need not see anyone one does not wish to see. And do you know, chéri, that if one is making a journey from Istanbul to London and one arrives in Paris, it is sometimes necessary to wait a week before continuing the journey?”
“That’s a long time.”
“It is because of the war, you see. There are always difficulties. People have to wait days and days for permission to leave France. There is a special stamp that must be put in your passport, and they will not let you on the train to England until you have that stamp. You have to go to the Préfecture for it and there is a great deal of chi-chi. You have to stay in Paris until the old women in the Préfecture can find time to deal with your application.”
“Very annoying.”
She sighed. “We could pass that week or ten days very nicely. I do not mean at the Hotel des Belges. That is a dirty place. But there is the Ritz Hotel and the Lancaster Hotel and the Georges Cinque.…” She paused and he knew that he was expected to say something.
He said it. “And the Crillon and the Meurice.”
She squeezed his arm. “You are very nice. But you understand me? An apartment is cheaper, but for so little time that is impossible. One cannot enjoy oneself in a cheap hotel. All the same I do not like extravagance. There are nice hotels for less than it costs at the Ritz or the Georges Cinque and one has more money to spend on eating and dancing at nice places. Even in war time there are nice places.” The burning end of her cigarette made an impatient gesture. “But I must not talk about money. You will make the old women at the Préfecture give you your permit too soon and then I shall be disappointed.”
He said: “You know, Josette, I shall begin in a minute to think that you are really serious.”
“And you think that I am not?” She was indignant.
“I’m quite sure of it.”
She burst out laughing. “You can be rude very politely. I shall tell José that. It will amuse him.”
“I don’t think I want to amuse José. Shall we go down?”
“Ah, you are angry! You think that I have been making a fool of you.”
“Not a bit.”
“Then kiss me.”
Some moments later she said softly: “I like you very much. I would not mind very much a room for fifty francs a day. But the Hotel des Belges is terrible. I do not want to go back there. You are not angry with me?”
“No, I am not angry with you.” Her body was soft and warm and infinitely yielding. She had made him feel as if Banat and the rest of the journey really did not matter. He felt both grateful to and sorry for her. He made up his mind that, when he got to Paris, he would buy her a handbag and slip a thousand franc note in it before he gave it to her. He said: “It’s all right. You needn’t go back to the Hotel des Belges.”
When at last they went down to the saloon it was after ten. José and Mr. Kuvetli were there playing cards.
José was playing with thin-lipped concentration and took no notice of them; but Mr. Kuvetli looked up. His smile was sickly.