“Right,” said Dixie . And while I gaped, he began to dance. His face was blank with concentration as he warmed up from a delicate soft-shoe to a more complicated pattern of double-time steps. He took no more notice of me than he did of the rest of the room’s furniture.
I looked back at Pudd’n. He played easily and accurately, not looking at his hands. He even seemed bored, and the second time through he added a whole series of grace notes to the right-hand melody, an acciaccatura to every second beat. At the end he closed with a strange anharmonic cadence that I liked rather better than the Joplin original.
“One more time,” said Dixie . He was panting a little. “Take it faster.”
“You start, an’ I’ll pick it up,” said Pudd’n. He had become aware that I was watching him closely as he played. This time he showed off for my benefit, taking passages in octaves, sixths, and thirds, and adding to the chords in the bass. Like most amateurs, his right hand was better than his left, but he was pretty good. Even in my situation, I couldn’t help listening critically. There were no wrong notes or fluffed chords, and the scales were nicely balanced. I didn’t like his pedal timing, but he wasn’t using it to cover anything, and he played with a sense of leisure, with speed to spare.
He had been gradually increasing the tempo. When he finished, with a rapid octave run upwards, Dixie went over to one of the high-backed chairs and sat down on the edge of it. His lined face was beaded with sweat.
“That’ll do,” he said. “Gawd, I’m done in — you pushed it at the end there. Let’s have a fag.”
Pudd’n unexpectedly winked at me. “Nah, yer slowin’ down, Dixie . Getting old. Ain’t that right, Mister Foss?”
“You’re bloody fools, both of you,” I said. “Get it into your heads. I’m not Leo Foss.”
“You’ll have to argue that one out with the boss. Want a cigarette?”
He didn’t seem nearly as unfriendly as Dixie . I shook my head, and he lit a cigarette for himself and turned back to the piano. “Like music, do you?”
“Well enough.” I realized he had no idea who I was. “So do you, and you’re good. You’ve had good training.”
He nodded, sucking in deep lungsful of smoke. “Too bleedin’ true. Twelve bleedin’ years of ’em, before I could get out an’ do my own thing.”
“You ran away from home?”
He shook his head. “Orphanage. Lessons every bleedin’ day except Christmas, then I had to play carols for everybody else.” His voice changed to falsetto. ” ‘Now, Thomas, the Good Lord God has given you a talent. It would be shameful and wrong for you to neglect it.’ They stuffed that into me with me breakfast every bleedin’ day since I was four, ’til I was sixteen an’ I could bugger off out of there.”
A sound of a car door slamming came from outside the window. Dixie grunted and stood up. “They’re here, Pudd’n. So stow it — I don’t know why you waste your time talking to him anyway.”
“Calm down, Dixie .” Pudd’n turned back to me. “Look, Foss, I’m goin’ to give you some good advice. You don’t know the boss, an’ I do. Answer his questions straight, an’ first time, an’ you’ll be glad of it in the long run. Ain’t that right, Dixie ?”
“Let him do what he likes,” said Dixie sullenly. “I don’t give a shit if he gets his head blown off.” I could hear footsteps approaching in the other room. No matter what Sir Westcott wanted, I could feel my pulse beating faster and I wouldn’t like to have taken any bet on my blood pressure. Pudd’n and Dixie both rose to their feet and stood waiting.
The man who entered was short, even shorter than Dixie . He was dark complexioned and swarthy, with black, straight hair and a prominent nose and chin. I placed him as Lebanese, or perhaps Egyptian. The woman who followed him was an inch or two taller, also dark haired and dark skinned, with a clear, olive complexion and fine eyes. She looked to be in her late twenties. Her nose was a classic Greek profile, well balanced by good cheekbones and a fine chin.
As she came into the room she stared at me in a strangely intense way. She did not take her eyes off me, even to look at the others when they spoke to her. In other circumstances I would have found her strongly attractive. But now…
The man came over and looked at me curiously. “Gave us a lot of trouble, you did. Messed up two of the boys real bad — we might have to pay yer back for that.”
His voice was a surprise. It had a strong Liverpool accent — and I recognized it! He had been one of the two men in the helicopter; Scouse, the other one had called him. I took a quick look at their shoes, but — not too surprisingly — none of them wore the black leather, black-buckled footware that I could still see if I closed my eyes and thought about the crash.
I stared up at Scouse. “You’ve got something all wrong. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m sure you’re making a mistake.”
“D’yer think so?” He laughed, a deep chuckle of satisfaction. “No, you’re the one making the mistake, Foss.” He turned his head. “Did yer search him, Dixie ?”
“Sure I did.” Dixie scowled at me, then held forward the pillbox to Scouse. “It’s not the thing we were looking for, but it proves he’s Foss all right. Take a look inside — nobody would be carryin’ Nymphs if he was just some ordinary person.”
Scouse shot me a swift, intelligent look. “Naw — an’ nor would Foss, if he had to go through Customs to bring ’em into the country. It’d be too dangerous. Use yer head, Dixie , he’d be mad to be carryin’ Nymphs.” He took the lid off the box and rolled a capsule into his palm. “I dunno. They sure as hell look like ’em, I’ll give you that. But I’m not sure.”
“They’re medicine,” I said. “I’m not Leo Foss, I’m Lionel Salkind, and I’ve just come out of hospital.”
“We’ve heard all that,” said Scouse absently. He opened the capsule with his thumb nail and poured grey-green powder into his open palm. He sniffed at it cautiously. “Here, Zan, what do you think?”
The woman took her eyes from me for a moment to take the capsule. She dipped her head and touched the tip of her tongue to the powder.
“No,” she said after a few moments. Her voice was deep and musical, a fine contralto. “I do not know what this is, but I feel sure we are not dealing with Nymphs.” Her words were heavily accented, and seemed to confirm her Greek appearance. “Maybe they are really medicine?”
“You’d be too old for them, anyway, Zan, if they were Nymphs,” said Dixie nastily. Then he saw her angry look and was silent.
“Mebbe it is,” said Scouse thoughtfully. I noticed that when he spoke the rest became respectfully attentive. “Mebbe it’s medicine. But there’s no sign of what we really want, an’ that’s the important thing.” He leaned forward and slipped the pillbox into my shirt pocket. His eyes stared into mine, dark and unblinking. “You see the problem you’ve given me, do you? You might want to help me solve it. I’m sure you’ll try.”
“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” Those bright eyes made me more nervous than anything that had happened since I recovered consciousness.
“Ah, but that’s just what you’d say anyway — that’s the whole trouble, isn’t it? You say you’re not Leo Foss, I know that. You’re the twin brother, Lionel, an’ it was Leo died in the crash. I know, we’ve heard all that.”
He shot Dixie a quick look. “An’ the crash was bungled bad, so we didn’t have as much time as we needed there. Well, no matter, we took care of the lad who bungled that one, didn’t we, Dixie ? But we can’t afford another mess-up. Suppose you are Leo, now. Then you know where the Belur Package is. An’ I want to know that. An’ you have to tell me. Would yer like to do it right now, an’ save things getting messy?”