Someone walked along the alleyway outside and Graham jerked his head up. The sound and the movement seemed to clear his brain. He began to think quickly and coolly.
The way the blood had congealed showed that Mr. Kuvetli must have been killed before the ship had stopped. Long before! Before he had made his request for permission to leave by the pilot boat. If he had made the request, a thorough search for him would have been made when the boat came alongside and he would have been found. He had not yet been found. He was not travelling with an ordinary passport but with a diplomatic laisser passer and so had not had to surrender his papers to the Purser. That meant that unless the Purser checked off the passenger list with the passport control officer at Genoa-and Graham knew from past experience that they did not always bother to do that at Italian ports-the fact that Mr. Kuvetli did not land would not be noticed. Moeller and Banat had probably counted on the fact. And if the dead man’s baggage had been packed, the steward would put it in the Customs shed with the rest and assume that its owner was lying low to avoid having to give a tip. It might be hours, days even, before the body were discovered if he, Graham, did not call anyone.
His lips tightened. He became conscious of a slow cold rage mounting in his brain, stifling his sense of self-preservation. If he did call someone he could accuse Moeller and Banat; but would he be able to bring the crime home to them? His accusation by itself would carry no weight. It might well be suggested that the accusation was a ruse to conceal his own guilt. The Purser, for one, would be glad to support that theory. The fact that the two accused were travelling with false passports could, no doubt, be proved, but that alone would take time. In any case, the Italian police would be amply justified in refusing him permission to leave for England. Mr. Kuvetli had died in trying to make it possible for him to reach England safely and in time to fulfil a contract. That Mr. Kuvetli’s dead body should become the very means of preventing the fulfilment of that contract was stupid and grotesque; but if he, Graham, wanted to be sure of saving his own skin, that was what must happen. It was strangely unthinkable. For him, standing there above the dead body of the man whom Moeller had described as a patriot, there seemed to be only one thing of importance in the world-that Mr. Kuvetli’s death should be neither stupid nor grotesque, that it should be useless only to the men who had murdered him.
But if he were not going to raise the alarm and wait for the police, what was he going to do?
Supposing Moeller had planned this. Supposing he or Banat had overheard Mr. Kuvetli’s instructions to him and, believing that he was sufficiently intimidated to do anything to save himself, had thought of this way of delaying his return. Or they might be preparing to “discover” him with the body and so incriminate him. But no: both those suppositions were absurd. If they had known of Mr. Kuvetli’s plan they would have let the Turk go ashore by the pilot boat. It would have been his, Graham’s, body that would have been found and the finder would have been Mr. Kuvetli. Obviously, then, Moeller could neither know of the plan nor suspect that the murder would be discovered. An hour from now he would be standing with Banat and the gunmen who were to meet him, waiting for the victim to walk unsuspectingly …
But the victim would not be unsuspecting. There was a very slender chance …
He turned and, grasping the handle of the door, began to turn it gently. He knew that if he thought twice about what he had decided to do he would change his mind. He must commit himself before he had time to think.
He opened the door a fraction of an inch. There was no one in the alleyway. A moment later, he was out of the cabin and the door of it was shut behind him. He hesitated barely a second. He knew that he must keep moving. Five steps brought him to cabin number three. He went in.
Mr. Kuvetli’s luggage consisted of one old-fashioned valise. It was standing strapped up in the middle of the floor, and perched on one of the straps was a twenty lire piece. Graham picked up the coin and held it to his nose. The smell of attar of roses was quite distinct. He looked in the wardrobe and behind the door for Mr. Kuvetli’s overcoat and hat, failed to find them, and concluded that they had been disposed of through the porthole. Banat had thought of everything.
He put the valise up on the berth and opened it. Most of the things on top had obviously been stuffed in anyhow by Banat, but lower down the packing had been done very neatly. The only thing of any interest to Graham, however, was a box of pistol ammunition. Of the pistol which fired them there was no sign.
Graham put the ammunition in his pocket and shut the valise again. He was undecided as to what he should do with it. Banat had obviously counted on its being taken to the Customs shed by the steward, who would pocket the twenty lire and forget about Mr. Kuvetli. That would be all right from Banat’s point of view. By the time the people in the Customs shed started asking questions about an unclaimed valise, Monsieur Mavrodopoulos would be non-existent. Graham, however, had every intention of remaining in existence if he could possibly do so. Moreover, he intended-with the same proviso-to use his passport to cross the Italian frontier into France. The moment Mr. Kuvetli’s body was found the rest of the passengers would be sought for questioning by the police. There was only one thing for it: Mr. Kuvetli’s valise would have to be hidden.
He opened the washing cabinet, put the twenty lire piece on the corner by the bowl, and went to the door. The coast was still clear. He opened the door, picked up the valise, and lugged it along the alleyway to cabin number four. Another second or two and he was inside with the door shut again.
He was sweating now. He wiped his hands and forehead on his handkerchief and then remembered that his fingerprints would be on the hard leather handle of the valise as well as on the door handle and washing cabinet. He went over these objects with his handkerchief and then turned his attention to the body.
Obviously the gun was not in the hip pocket. He went down on one knee beside the body. He felt himself beginning to retch again and took a deep breath. Then he leaned across, gripped the right shoulder with one hand and the right side of the trousers with the other and pulled. The body rolled on to its side. One foot slid over the other and kicked the floor. Graham stood up quickly. In a moment or two, however, he had himself in hand sufficiently to bend down and pull the jacket open. There was a leather holster under the left arm but the gun was not in it.
He was not unduly disappointed. The possession of the gun would have made him feel better but he had not been counting on finding it. A gun was valuable. Banat would naturally take it. Graham felt in the jacket pocket. It was empty. Banat had evidently taken Mr. Kuvetli’s money and laisser passer as well.
He got up. There was nothing more to be done there. He put on a glove, cautiously let himself out and walked along to cabin number six. He knocked. There was a quick movement from within and Madame Mathis opened the door.
The frown with which she had prepared to meet the steward faded when she saw Graham. She gave him a startled “good morning.”
“Good morning, Madame. May I speak to your husband for a moment?”
Mathis poked his head over her shoulder. “Hullo! Good morning! Are you ready so soon?”
“Can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course!” He came out in his shirt sleeves and grinning cheerfully. “I am important only to myself. I am easy to approach.”