“Yes, it is understood.”
It was after nine o’clock and, for the past half hour, Graham had been sitting near the door of the saloon pretending to read a book.
For the hundredth time his eyes wandered to the opposite corner of the room where Banat was talking to Josette and José. His heart began suddenly to beat faster. José had a deck of cards in his hand. He was grinning at something Banat had said. Then they sat down at the card-table. Josette looked across the room.
Graham waited a moment. Then, when he saw them cutting for the deal, he got slowly to his feet and walked out.
He stood on the landing for a moment, bracing himself for what he had to do. Now that the moment had come he felt better. Two minutes-three at the most-and it would be over. He would have the gun and he would be safe. He had only to keep his head.
He went down the stairs. Cabin number nine was beyond his and in the middle section of the alleyway. There was no one about when he reached the palms. He walked on.
He had decided that any sort of stealth was out of the question. He must walk straight to the cabin, open the door and go in without hesitation. If the worst came to the worst and he was seen as he went in by the steward or anyone else, he could protest that he had thought that number nine was an empty cabin and that he was merely satisfying a curiosity to see what the other cabins were like.
But nobody appeared. He reached the door of number nine, paused for barely a second and then, opening the door softly, went in. A moment later he had shut the door behind him and put up the catch. If, for any reason, the steward should try to get in, he would assume that Banat was there when he found the door fastened.
He looked round. The porthole was closed and the air reeked of attar of roses. It was a two-berth cabin and looked strangely bare. Apart from the scent, there were only two indications that the cabin was occupied: the grey raincoat hanging with the soft hat behind the door and a battered composition suitcase under the lower berth.
He ran his hands over the raincoat. There was nothing in the pockets and he turned his attention to the suitcase.
It was unlocked. He pulled it out and threw back the lid.
The thing was crammed with filthy shirts and underwear. There were, besides, some brightly-coloured silk handkerchiefs, a pair of black shoes without laces, a scent spray and a small jar of ointment. The gun was not there.
He shut the case, pushed it back and opened the washing cabinet-cum-wardrobe. The wardrobe part contained nothing but a pair of dirty socks. On the shelf by the tooth-glass was a grey washcloth, a safety razor, a cake of soap and a bottle of scent with a ground glass stopper.
He was getting worried. He had been so sure that the gun would be there. If what Josette had said were true it must be there somewhere.
He looked round for other hiding places. There were the mattresses. He ran his hands along the springs beneath them. Nothing. There was the waste compartment below the washing cabinet. Again nothing. He glanced at his watch. He had been there four minutes. He looked round again desperately. It must be in there. But he had looked everywhere. He returned feverishly to the suitcase.
Two minutes later he slowly straightened his back. He knew now that the gun was not in the cabin, that the simple plan had been too simple, that nothing was changed. For a second or two he stood there helplessly, putting off the moment when he must finally admit his failure by leaving the cabin. Then the sound of footsteps in the alleyway nearby jarred him into activity.
The footsteps paused. There was the clank of a bucket being put down. Then the footsteps receded. He eased back the door catch and opened the door. The alleyway was empty. A second later he was walking back the way he had come.
He had reached the foot of the stairs before he allowed himself to think. Then he hesitated. He had told Josette that he would go back to the saloon. But that meant seeing Banat. He must have time to steady his nerves. He turned and walked back to his cabin.
He opened the door, took one step forward, and then stopped dead.
Sitting on the bunk with his legs crossed and a book resting on his knee was Haller.
He was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses. He removed them very deliberately and looked up. “I’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Graham,” he said cheerfully.
Graham found his tongue. “I don’t …” he began.
Haller’s other hand came from under the book. In it was a large self-loading pistol.
He held it up. “I think,” he said, “that this is what you have been looking for, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
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.”