“And then?”
“Go home, silly. What else?”
“Alone?”
“Oh, cut it out, can’t you?”
She looked aggrieved and Donner chuckled with delight at having taken a rise out of her. Actually Coral was a faithful little creature and had given him very little cause for heart-burnings. He would miss her in Syria. He ordered champagne-cup repeatedly and allowed his natural fund of Irish sentimentality full rein. They danced a little — Donner with the capacious, disorganized enthusiasm of a seal or a very large suitcase gone mad. He swayed about and rolled his buttocks heavily. But he did not tread on her feet.
By midnight they were lying in Coral’s cheap bed in the southern end of the town, talking in maudlin fashion about partings and forgetfulness and love; Donner, who was pretty drunk now, promised to spend all his leaves with her. Coral appeared both grateful and befittingly tearful. She stroked his paps with her little hand and told him that he would be always in her heart. And it was now that Donner could not resist a little boasting about his virtues as a policeman. The apropos was that Coral herself was not going to be the only person to feel the weight of his absence. No. The Police would never get over it either. What would they do without him? Nobody else was capable of swift thought and action. He would give her a typical example. This morning, the Secret Service asked him to trace a woman called Judith Roth. Within a few hours he knew where she was! Coral dipped into the bedside contrivance which housed the tin pisspot, detached from it a typist’s pad covered in doodles and graffiti and noted down the name. She did this with such charming naturalness that Donner noticed nothing. The pad contained fragments of several conversations both with him and with other men, policemen, pimps and patriots, which it was Coral’s duty to jot down. Twice a week she visited the Old Quarter of Jerusalem, where a smooth young man, dark and slim with melting black eyes and an Oxford accent, gratefully took jottings. Yes, she sat with her scribbles on her knee and recounted all she had heard, reconstructing partly from notes and partly from memory. This was the only way, as Coral had no means of evaluating her findings, or discriminating between worthless rubbish and real intelligence data. The young man smoked Abdullas and was called Ali. He reminded Coral of the “sheik” of romance and, indeed, he was one and never too proud to stoop and enjoy her on the sofa in the other room. But business first. The note about Judith Roth interested him very much, though he said nothing. Later, as he kissed Coral he told her that she was a clever little puss and she replied, “Oh Ali, you know I’d do anything for the Arabs!”
So it was that Donner found himself bidden to cocktails at the Long Bar of the Hadrian Hotel and to a meeting with Ali which threw a little more light on the question of Judith Roth and sharpened his cupidity quite considerably. Ali was very suave and soft-voiced; he spoke perfect English of great refinement, which suggested an English upbringing. But he had the long yellowish face of a shark with small unwinking black eyes set deeply in it — eyes which regarded Donner steadily and a trifle contemptuously. His cigarette smouldered in a long bone holder. Nor did he beat about the bush. “I know that you are a frank man and I want to be frank with you,” he said with an air of pious sincerity. “I know that you do a number of unorthodox things for a policeman, Mr. Donner.” Donner jumped, as if he had been pricked with a pin. He looked uncomfortably at his interlocutor. “I don’t know what you are getting at,” he said hoarsely. “I do my duty.”
“Of course you do. We all do. But sometimes you do more than your duty.”
Donner got angry. “Look here,” he said, “I don’t know who you are and what you are getting at. But if you think…
“I don’t think anything — I know,” said Ali, unperturbed. “And I want to make you a perfectly firm business offer — that is all. As a sensible man I feel sure you will accept it. After all, who today could afford to turn down a sum like… He smiled and named a large sum of money. “Just for a few bits of information?”
“Go on,” said Donner with an expressionless face.
“There is a girl,” said Ali with a sigh, and proceeded to tell Donner all that was at present known about Judith Roth. Donner listened, with his head on one side like a fox-terrier. Had he seen the Secret Service file? It was possible. Donner’s mind worked furiously. Was it a trap, perhaps? He sucked his teeth and said: “What is it all about?”
“We would like to know where she is, and if she is in possession of some papers; if she is, we would like to offer a large sum of money for a look at them.”
“War secrets,” said Donner, staring into his glass. He sat as still as a stone. “More bloody war secrets.”
“No,” said Ali. “These are oil secrets. Nothing to do with the war. I would not mention them if they were. I would not ask you to sell your country, Donner.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Donner piously.
“Certainly not,” repeated Ali, spreading his hands. “I represent some very large oil interests, that is all. Set your mind at rest.”
“Well, what is it then?” said Donner with a touch of impatience. “I must say you’ve come to me rather late in the day.”
“I know. You are being posted to Syria.”
“You seem to know everything.”
“Not everything. That is why I am here. I want some general information about where the girl is; and then, if you can find a way of supplementing it and finding out if she has any such papers… After all, as a policeman you could raid the place and impound what you found; all we would ask is a photographic copy. You see my line of reasoning.”
Donner laughed morosely. “I’ve raided Ras Shamir more than once,” he said. “If you want the papers to disappear there is no better way. They’re cunning. We never find anything. No, that’s no way to start.”
“So she is at Ras Shamir?”
“So I believe.”
“Is there any way you could go up there and… find out with a little more certainty?”
“I could try, but there’s precious little time left.”
“But the money is good, Donner.”
“Yes, the money is good,” said Donner soberly and sucked his teeth. He stood up and thought deeply for a moment.
7. The Professor
One day Professor Liebling materialized before Judith’s eyes at the lunch table. He looked like a benign little silver gnome in his shabby dark clothes covered with cigar ash. He carried a mackintosh over his arm and a long leather briefcase. His curly hair was quite white; he looked more like a musician than a physicist. He sat himself down with a self-deprecating smile and said: “As an old professional friend and colleague of your father’s, I am going to call you Judith.”
Judith smiled into the gentle world-weary eyes and said, “I believe I must have seen you, but I don’t remember.”
“Time is very wicked,” said the Professor. “You must have seen an earnest middle-aged man with a beard. And I must have caught a glimpse of you. But… I must be truthful and not gallant. I do not remember.”