I hid the carnet under some shelf lining paper on top of the wardrobe and went out. It took me about ten minutes to walk to the Hilton.
I approached the car park briskly, swinging my keys in my hand as if I were going to pick up a car already there. I guessed that either the man who had telephoned or someone acting on his instructions would be waiting for the Lincoln to arrive, all ready to drive it away the instant I had gone. In Istanbul, it is unwise to leave even the poorest car unlocked and unattended for very long.
I spotted him almost immediately. He was standing at the outer end of the Hilton driveway smoking a cigarette and staring into the middle distance, as if he were trying to decide whether to go straight home to his wife or visit his girl friend first. Remembering that I would have to give Tufan his description, I took very careful note of him. He was about forty-five and thickset, with a barrel chest and a mop of crinkly gray hair above a brown puffy face. The eyes were brown, too. He was wearing a thin light-gray suit, yellow socks, and plaited leather sandals. Height about five ten, I thought.
I walked through the car park to make sure that there were no other possibilities there, then came out the other side and walked back along the street for another glimpse of him.
He was looking at his watch. The car should have been there by then if I were following instructions.
I walked straight back to the Park Hotel. As I unlocked the door to my room I could hear the telephone inside ringing.
It was the same voice again, but peremptory now.
“Simpson? I understand that the car is not yet delivered. What are you doing?”
“Who is that speaking?”
“The friend of Miss Lipp. Answer my question, please. Where is the car?”
“The car is quite safe and will remain so.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The carnet is in the hotel strong-room and the car is garaged. It will remain that way until I hand it over to Mr. Harper or someone holding credentials from Mr. Harper.”
“The car is the property of Miss Lipp.”
“The carnet is the name of Miss Lipp,” I answered; “but the car was placed in my care by Mr. Harper. I am responsible for it. I don’t know Miss Lipp except by name. I don’t know you even by name. You see the difficulty?”
“Wait.”
I heard him start to say something to someone with him: “Il dit que…” And then he clamped a hand over the telephone.
I waited. After a few moments he spoke again. “I will come to your hotel. Remain there.” Without waiting for my agreement, he hung up.
I went upstairs to the foyer and told the desk clerk that I would be out on the terrace if I were wanted. The terrace was crowded, but I eventually managed to find a table and order a drink. I was quite prepared to make the contact; but I had not liked the sound of the man on the telephone, and preferred to encounter him in a public place rather than in the privacy of my room.
I had left my name with the head waiter, and after about twenty minutes I saw him pointing me out to a tall, cadaverous man with a narrow, bald head and large projecting ears. The man came over. He was wearing a cream-and-brown-striped sports shirt and tan linen slacks. He had a long, petulant upper lip and a mouth that drooped at the corners.
“Simpson?”
“Yes.”
He sat down facing me. Brown eyes, one gold tooth left side lower jaw, gold-and-onyx signet ring on little finger of left hand; I made mental notes.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Fischer.”
“Will you have a drink, Mr. Fischer?”
“No. I wish to clear this misunderstanding relative to Miss Lipp’s car.”
“There is no misunderstanding in my mind, Mr. Fischer,” I answered. “My orders from Mr. Harper were quite explicit.”
“Your orders were to await orders at the hotel,” he snapped. “You have not complied with them.”
I looked respectfully apologetic. “I am not doubting that you have a perfect right to give those orders, Mr. Fischer, but I assumed, naturally, that Mr. Harper would be here, or if not here in person, that he would have given a written authorization. That is a very valuable car and I…”
“Yes, yes.” He broke in impatiently. “I understand. The point is that Mr. Harper has been delayed until tomorrow afternoon and Miss Lipp wishes her car at once.”
“I’m sorry.”
He leaned across the table towards me and I caught a whiff of after-shave lotion. “Mr. Harper would not be pleased that you put Miss Lipp to the trouble of coming to Istanbul herself to claim her car,” he said menacingly.
“I thought Miss Lipp was in Istanbul.”
“She is at the villa,” he said shortly. “Now we will have no more of this nonsense, please. You and I will go and get the car immediately.”
“If you have Mr. Harper’s written authority, of course.”
“I have Mr. Harper’s authority.”
“May I see it, sir?”
“That is not necessary.”
“I’m afraid that is for me to decide.”
He sat back breathing deeply. “I will give you one more chance,” he said after a pause. “Either you hand over the car immediately or steps will be taken to compel you to do so.”
As he said the word “compel,” his right hand came out and deliberately flicked the drink in front of me into my lap.
At that moment something happened to me. I had been through an awful twenty-four hours, of course; but I don’t think it was only that. I suddenly felt as if my whole life had been spent trying to defend myself against people compelling me to do this or that, and always succeeding because they had all the power on their side; and then, just as suddenly, I realized that for once the power was mine; for once I wasn’t on my own.
I picked up the glass, set it back on the table, and dabbed at my trousers with my handkerchief. He watched me intently, like a boxer waiting for the other man to get to his feet after a knockdown, ready to move in for the kill.
I called the waiter over. “If this gentleman wished to make a report about a missing car to the police, where should he go?”
“There is a police post in Taxim Square, sir.”
“Thank you. I spilled my drink. Wipe the table and bring me another, please.”
As the waiter got busy with his cloth, I looked across at Fischer. “We could go there together,” I said. “Or, if you would prefer it, I could go alone and explain the situation. Of course, I expect the police would want to get in touch with you. Where should I tell them to find you?”
The waiter had finished wiping the table and was moving away. Fischer was staring at me uncertainly.
“What are you talking about?” he said. “Who said anything about the police?”
“You were talking of compelling me to hand over the car to you. Only the police could make me do that.” I paused. “Unless, that is, you had some other sort of compulsion in mind. In that case, perhaps I should go to the police anyway.”
He did not know what to say to that. He just stared. It was all I could do not to smile. It was quite obvious that he knew perfectly well what was hidden in the car, and that the very last thing he wanted was the police taking an interest in it. Now he had to make sure that I didn’t go to them.
“There is no need for that,” he said finally.
“I’m not so sure.” The waiter brought me the drink and I motioned to Fischer. “This gentleman will pay.”
Fischer hesitated, then threw some money on the table and stood up. He was doing his best to regain control of the situation by trying to look insulted.
“Very well,” he said stiffly, “we shall have to wait for Mr. Harper’s arrival. It is very inconvenient and I shall report your insubordinate behavior to him. He will not employ you again.”
And then, of course, I had to go too far. “When he knows how careless you can be, maybe he won’t have much use for you either.”
It was a silly thing to say, because it implied that I knew that the situation was not what it appeared on the surface, and I wasn’t supposed to know.