Journey Into Fear

CHAPTER TWO

The stevedores had finished loading and were battening down. One winch was still working but it was hoisting the steel bearers into place. The bulkhead against which Graham was leaning vibrated as they thudded into their sockets. Another passenger had come aboard and the steward had shown him to a cabin farther along the alleyway. The newcomer had a low, grumbling voice and had addressed the steward in hesitant Italian.

Graham stood up and with his unbandaged hand fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. He was beginning to find the cabin oppressive. He looked at his watch. The ship would not be sailing for another hour. He wished he had asked Kopeikin to come aboard with him. He tried to think of his wife in England, to picture her sitting with her friends having tea; but it was as if someone behind him were holding a stereoscope to his mind’s eyes; someone who was steadily sliding picture after picture between him and the rest of his life to cut him off from it; pictures of Kopeikin and Le Jockey Cabaret, of Maria and the man in the crumpled suit, of Josette and her partner, of stabbing flames in a sea of darkness and of pale, frightened faces in the hotel corridor. He had not known then what he knew now, what he learnt in the cold, beastly dawn that had followed. The whole thing had seemed different then: unpleasant, decidedly unpleasant, but reasonable, accountable. Now he felt as if a doctor had told him that he was suffering from some horrible and deadly disease; as if he had become part of a different world, a world of which he knew nothing but that it was detestable.

The hand holding the match to his cigarette was trembling. “What I need,” he thought, “is sleep.”

As the waves of nausea subsided and he stood there in the bathroom, shivering, sounds began once more to penetrate the blanket of cotton wool that seemed to have enveloped his brain. There was a sort of irregular thudding coming from a long distance. He realised that someone was still knocking at the bedroom door.

He wrapped a face towel round his hand, went back into the bedroom and switched on the light. As he did so, the knocking ceased and there was a clinking of metal. Someone had got a pass key. The door burst open.

It was the night porter who came in first, blinking round uncertainly. Behind him in the corridor were the people from the neighbouring rooms, drawing back now for fear of seeing what they hoped to see. A small, dark man in a red dressing gown over blue striped pyjamas pushed past the night porter. Graham recognised the man who had shown him to his room.

“There were shots,” he began in French. Then he saw Graham’s hand and went white. “I … You are wounded. You are …”

Graham sat down on the bed. “Not seriously. If you will send for a doctor to bandage my hand properly, I will tell you what has happened. But first: the man who fired the shots left through the window. You might try and catch him. What is below the window?”

“But …” began the man shrilly. He stopped, visibly pulling himself together. Then he turned to the night porter and said something in Turkish. The porter went out, shutting the door behind him. There was a burst of excited chatter from outside.

“The next thing,” said Graham, “is to send for the manager.”

“Pardon, Monsieur, he has been sent for. I am the Assistant Manager.” He wrung his hands. “What has happened? Your hand, Monsieur.… But the doctor will be here immediately.”

“Good. You’d better know what happened. I have been out this evening with a friend. I returned a few minutes ago. As I opened the door here, someone standing there just inside the window fired three shots at me. The second one hit my hand. The other two hit the wall. I heard him moving but I did not see his face. I imagine that he was a thief and that my unexpected return disturbed him.”

“It is an outrage!” said the Assistant Manager hotly. His face changed. “A thief! Has anything been stolen, Monsieur?”

“I haven’t looked. My suitcase is over there. It was locked.”

The Assistant Manager hurried across the room and went down on his knees beside the suitcase. “It is still locked,” he reported with a sigh of relief.

Graham fumbled in his pocket. “Here are the keys. You’d better open it.”

The man obeyed. Graham glanced at the contents of the case. “It has not been touched.”

“A blessing!” He hesitated. He was obviously thinking fast. “You say that your hand is not seriously hurt, Monsieur?”

“I don’t think it is.”

“It is a great relief. When the shots were heard, Monsieur, we feared an unbelievable horror. You may imagine.… But this is bad enough.” He went to the window and looked out. “The pig! He must have escaped through the gardens immediately. Useless to search for him.” He shrugged despairingly. “He is gone now, and there is nothing to be done. I need not tell you, Monsieur, how profoundly we regret that this thing should happen to you in the Adler-Palace. Never before has such a thing happened here.” He hesitated again and then went on quickly: “Naturally, Monsieur, we shall do everything in our power to alleviate the distress which has been caused to you. I have told the porter to bring some whisky for you when he has telephoned for the doctor. English whisky! We have a special supply. Happily, nothing has been stolen. We could not, of course, have foreseen that an accident of such a kind should happen; but we shall ourselves see that the best medical attention is given. And there will, of course, be no question of any charge for your stay here. But …”

“But you don’t want to call in the police and involve the hotel. Is that it?”

The Assistant Manager smiled nervously. “No good can be done, Monsieur. The police would merely ask questions and make inconveniences for all.” Inspiration came to him. “For all, Monsieur,” he repeated emphatically. “You are a business man. You wish to leave Istanbul this morning. But if the police are brought in, it might be difficult. There would be, inevitably, delays. And for what purpose?”

“They might catch the man who shot me.”

“But how, Monsieur? You did not see his face. You cannot identify him. There is nothing stolen by which he could be traced.”

Graham hesitated. “But what about this doctor you are getting? Supposing he reports to the police the fact that there is someone here with a bullet wound.”

“The doctor’s services, Monsieur, will be paid for liberally by the management.”

There was a knock at the door and the porter came in with whisky, soda-water, and glasses which he set down on the table. He said something to the Assistant Manager who nodded and then motioned him out.

“The doctor is on his way, Monsieur.”

“Very well. No, I don’t want any whisky. But drink some yourself. You look as though you need it. I should like to make a telephone call. Will you tell the porter to telephone the Crystal Apartments in the rue d’Italie? The number is forty-four, nine hundred and seven, I think. I want to speak to Monsieur Kopeikin.”

“Certainly, Monsieur. Anything you wish.” He went to the door and called after the porter. There was another incomprehensible exchange. The Assistant Manager came back and helped himself generously to the whisky.

“I think,” he said, returning to the charge, “that you are wise not to invoke the police, Monsieur. Nothing has been stolen. Your injury is not serious. There will be no trouble. It is thus and thus with the police here, you understand.”

“I haven’t yet decided what to do,” snapped Graham. His head was aching violently and his hand was beginning to throb. He was getting tired of the Assistant Manager.

The telephone bell rang. He moved along the bed and picked up the telephone.

“Is that you, Kopeikin?”

He heard a mystified grunt. “Graham? What is it? I have only just this moment come in. Where are you?”

“Sitting on my bed. Listen! Something stupid has happened. There was a burglar in my room when I got up here. He took pot shots at me with a gun before escaping via the window. One of them hit me in the hand.”

“Merciful God! Are you badly hurt?”

“No. It just took a slice of the back of my right hand. I don’t feel too good, though. It gave me a nasty shock.”

“My dear fellow! Please tell me exactly what has happened.”

Graham told him. “My suitcase was locked,” he went on, “and nothing is missing. I must have got back just a minute or so too soon. But there are complications. The noise seems to have roused half the hotel, including the Assistant Manager who is now standing about drinking whisky. They’ve sent for a doctor to bandage me up, but that’s all. They made no attempt to get out after the man. Not, I suppose, that it would have done any good if they had, but at least they might have seen him. I didn’t. They say he must have got away by the gardens. The point is that they won’t call in the police unless I turn nasty and insist. Naturally, they don’t want police tramping about the place, giving the hotel a bad name. They put it to me that the police would prevent my travelling on the eleven o’clock train if I lodged a complaint. I expect they would. But I don’t know the laws of this place; and I don’t want to put myself in a false position by failing to lodge a complaint. They propose, I gather, to square the doctor. But that’s their look-out. What do I do?”

There was a short silence. Then: “I think,” said Kopeikin, slowly, “that you should do nothing at the moment. Leave the matter to me. I will speak to a friend of mine about it. He is connected with the police, and has great influence. As soon as I have spoken to him, I will come to your hotel.”

“But there’s no need for you to do that, Kopeikin. I …”

“Excuse me, my dear fellow, there is every need. Let the doctor attend to your wound and then stay in your room until I arrive.”

“I wasn’t going out,” said Graham, acidly; but Kopeikin had rung off.

As he hung up the telephone, the doctor arrived. He was thin and quiet, with a sallow face, and wore an overcoat with a black lamb’s wool collar over his pyjamas. Behind him came the Manager, a heavy, disagreeable-looking man who obviously suspected that the whole thing was a hoax concocted expressly to annoy him.

He gave Graham a hostile stare, but before he could open his mouth his assistant was pouring out an account of what had occurred. There was a lot of gesturing and rolling of eyes. The Manager exclaimed as he listened, and looked at Graham with less hostility and more apprehension. At last the assistant paused, and then broke meaningly into French.

“Monsieur leaves Istanbul by the eleven o’clock train, and so does not wish to have the trouble and inconvenience of taking this matter to the police. I think you will agree, Monsieur le Directeur, that his attitude is wise.”

“Very wise,” agreed the Manager pontifically, “and most discreet.” He squared his shoulders. “Monsieur, we infinitely regret that you should have been put to such pain, discomfort and indignity. But not even the most luxurious hotel can fortify itself against thieves who climb through windows. Nevertheless,” he went on, “the Hotel Adler-Palace recognises its responsibilities towards its guests. We shall do everything humanly possible to arrange the affair.”

“If it would be humanly possible to instruct the doctor then to attend to my hand, I should be grateful.”

“Ah yes. The doctor. A thousand pardons.”

The doctor, who had been standing gloomily in the background, now came forward and began snapping out instructions in Turkish. The windows were promptly shut, the heating turned up, and the Assistant Manager dispatched on an errand. He returned, almost immediately, with an enamel bowl which was then filled with hot water from the bathroom. The doctor removed the towel from Graham’s hand, sponged the blood away, and inspected the wound. Then he looked up and said something to the Manager.

“He says, Monsieur,” reported the Manager, complacently, “that it is not serious-no more than a little scratch.”

“I already knew that. If you wish to go back to bed, please do so. But I should like some hot coffee. I am cold.”

“Immediately, Monsieur.” He snapped his fingers to the Assistant Manager, who scuttled out. “And if there is anything else, Monsieur?”

“No, thank you. Nothing. Good night.”

“At your service, Monsieur. It is all most regrettable. Good night.”

He went. The doctor cleaned the wound carefully, and began to dress it. Graham wished that he had not telephoned Kopeikin. The fuss was over. It was now nearly four o’clock. But for the fact that Kopeikin had promised to call in to see him, he might have had a few hours’ sleep. He was yawning repeatedly. The doctor finished the dressing, patted it reassuringly, and looked up. His lips worked.

“Maintenant,” he said laboriously, “il faut dormir.”

Graham nodded. The doctor got to his feet and repacked his bag with the air of a man who has done everything possible for a difficult patient. Then he looked at his watch and sighed. “Trèstard,” he said. “Giteceg-im. Adiyo, efendi.”

Graham mustered his Turkish. “Adiyo, hekim efendi. Cok tesekkür ederim.”

“Birsey degil. Adiyo.” He bowed and went.

A moment later, the Assistant Manager bustled in with the coffee, set it down with a businesslike flourish clearly intended to indicate that he, too, was about to return to his bed, and collected the bottle of whisky.

“You may leave that,” said Graham; “a friend is on his way to see me. You might tell the porter …”

But as he spoke, the telephone rang, and the night porter announced that Kopeikin had arrived. The Assistant Manager retired.

Kopeikin came into the room looking preternaturally grave.

“My dear fellow!” was his greeting. He looked round. “Where is the doctor?”

“He’s just left. Just a graze. Nothing serious. I feel a bit jumpy but, apart from that, I’m all right. It’s really very good of you to turn out like this. The grateful management has presented me with a bottle of whisky. Sit down and help yourself. I’m having coffee.”

Kopeikin sank into the arm-chair. “Tell me exactly how it happened.”

Graham told him. Kopeikin heaved himself out of the arm-chair and walked over to the window. Suddenly he stooped and picked something up. He held it up: a small brass cartridge case.

“A nine millimetre calibre self-loading pistol,” he remarked. “An unpleasant thing!” He dropped it on the floor again, opened the window and looked out.

Graham sighed. “I really don’t think it’s any good playing detectives, Kopeikin. The man was in the room; I disturbed him, and he shot at me. Come in, shut that window, and drink some whisky.”

“Gladly, my dear fellow, gladly. You must excuse my curiosity.”

Graham realised that he was being a little ungracious. “It’s extremely kind of you, Kopeikin, to take so much trouble. I seem to have made a lot of fuss about nothing.”

“It is good that you have.” He frowned. “Unfortunately a lot more fuss must be made.”

“You think we ought to call in the police? I don’t see that it can do any good. Besides, my train goes at eleven. I don’t want to miss it.”

Kopeikin drank some whisky and put his glass down with a bang. “I am afraid, my dear fellow, that you cannot under any circumstances leave on the eleven o’clock train.”

“What on earth do you mean? Of course I can. I’m perfectly all right.”

Kopeikin looked at him curiously. “Fortunately you are. But that does not alter facts.”

“Facts?”

“Did you notice that both your windows and the shutters outside have been forced open?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t look. But what of it?”

“If you will look out of the window you will see that there is a terrace below which gives on the garden. Above the terrace there is a steel framework which reaches almost to the second floor balconies. In the summer it is covered with straw matting so that people can eat and drink on the terrace, out of the sun. This man obviously climbed up by the framework. It would be easy. I could almost do it myself. He could reach the balconies of all the rooms on this floor of the hotel that way. But can you tell me why he chooses to break into one of the few rooms with both shutters and windows locked?”

“Of course I can’t. I’ve always heard that criminals were fools.”

“You say nothing was stolen. Your suitcase was not even opened. A coincidence that you should return just in time to prevent him.”

“A lucky coincidence. For goodness’ sake, Kopeikin, let’s talk about something else. The man’s escaped. That’s the end of it.”

Kopeikin shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my dear fellow. Does he not seem to you to have been a very curious thief? He behaves like no other hotel thief ever behaved. He breaks in, and through a locked window as well. If you had been in bed, he would certainly have awakened you. He must, therefore, have known beforehand that you were not there. He must also have discovered your room number. Have you anything so obviously valuable that a thief finds it worth his while to make such preparations? No. A curious thief! He carries, too, a pistol weighing at least a kilogramme with which he fires three shots at you.”

“Well?”

Kopeikin bounced angrily out of his chair. “My dear fellow, does it not occur to you that this man was shooting to kill you, and that he came here for no other purpose?”

Graham laughed. “Then all I can say is that he was a pretty bad shot. Now you listen to me carefully, Kopeikin. Have you ever heard the legend about Americans and Englishmen? It persists in every country in the world where English isn’t spoken. The story is that all Americans and Englishmen are millionaires, and that they always leave vast amounts of loose cash about the place. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try to snatch a few hours’ sleep. It was very good of you to come round, Kopeikin, and I’m very grateful, but now …”

“Have you ever,” demanded Kopeikin, “tried firing a heavy pistol in a dark room at a man who’s just come through the door? There’s no direct light from the corridor outside. Merely a glow of light. Have you ever tried? No. You might be able to see the man, but it’s quite another thing to hit him. Under these circumstances even a good shot might miss first time as this man missed. That miss would unnerve him. He does not perhaps know that Englishmen do not usually carry firearms. You may fire back. He fires again, quickly, and clips your hand. You probably cry out with the pain. He probably thinks that he has wounded you seriously. He fires another shot for luck, and goes.”

“Nonsense, Kopeikin! You must be out of your senses. What conceivable reason could anyone have for wanting to kill me? I’m the most harmless man alive.”

Kopeikin glared at him stonily. “Are you?”

“Now what does that mean?”

But Kopeikin ignored the question. He finished his whisky. “I told you that I was going to telephone a friend of mine. I did so.” He buttoned up his coat deliberately. “I am sorry to tell you, my dear fellow, that you must come with me to see him immediately. I have been trying to break the news to you gently, but now I must be frank. A man tried to murder you to-night. Something must be done about it at once.”

Graham got to his feet. “Are you mad?”

“No, my dear fellow, I am not. You ask me why anyone should want to murder you. There is an excellent reason. Unfortunately, I cannot be more explicit. I have my official instructions.”

Graham sat down. “Kopeikin, I shall go crazy in a minute. Will you kindly tell me what you are babbling about? Friend? Murder? Official instructions? What is all this nonsense?”

Kopeikin was looking acutely embarrassed. “I am sorry, my dear fellow. I can understand your feelings. Let me tell you this much. This friend of mine is not, strictly speaking, a friend at all. In fact, I dislike him. But his name is Colonel Haki, and he is the head of the Turkish secret police. His office is in Galata, and he is expecting us to meet him there now to discuss this affair. I may also tell you that I anticipated that you might not wish to go, and told him so. He said, forgive me, that if you did not go you would be fetched. My dear fellow, it is no use your being angry. The circumstances are exceptional. If I had not known that it was necessary both in your interests and in mine to telephone him, I would not have done so. Now then, my dear fellow, I have a taxi outside. We ought to be going.”

Graham got slowly to his feet again. “Very well. I must say, Kopeikin, that you have surprised me. Friendly concern, I could understand and appreciate. But this … Hysteria is the last thing I should have expected from you. To get the head of the secret police out of bed at this hour seems to me a fantastic thing to do. I can only hope that he doesn’t object to being made a fool of.”

Kopeikin flushed. “I am neither hysterical nor fantastic, my friend. I have something unpleasant to do, and I am doing it. If you will forgive my saying so, I think …”

“I can forgive almost anything except stupidity,” snapped Graham. “However, this is your affair. Do you mind helping me on with my overcoat?”

They drove to Galata in grim silence. Kopeikin was sulking. Graham sat hunched up in his corner staring out miserably at the cold, dark streets, and wishing that he had not telephoned Kopeikin. It was, he kept telling himself, absurd enough to be shot at by a hotel sneak thief: to be bundled out in the early hours of the morning to tell the head of the secret police about it was worse than absurd; it was ludicrous. He felt, too, concerned on Kopeikin’s account. The man might be behaving like an idiot; but it was not very pleasant to think of him making an ass of himself before a man who might well be able to do him harm in his business. Besides, he, Graham, had been rude.

He turned his head. “What’s this Colonel Haki like?”

Kopeikin grunted. “Very chic and polished-a ladies’ man. There is also a legend that he can drink two bottles of whisky without getting drunk. It may be true. He was one of Ataturk’s men, a deputy in the provisional government of nineteen-nineteen. There is also another legend-that he killed prisoners by tying them together in pairs and throwing them into the river to save both food and ammunition. I do not believe everything I hear, nor am I a prig, but, as I told you, I do not like him. He is, however, very clever. But you will be able to judge for yourself. You can speak French to him.”

“I still don’t see …”

“You will.”

They pulled up soon afterwards behind a big American car which almost blocked the narrow street into which they had turned. They got out. Graham found himself standing in front of a pair of double doors which might have been the entrance to a cheap hotel. Kopeikin pressed a bell push.

One of the doors was opened almost immediately by a sleepy-looking caretaker who had obviously only just been roused from his bed.

“Haki efendi evde midir,” said Kopeikin.

“Efendi var-dir. Yokari.” The man pointed to the stairs.

They went up.

Colonel Haki’s office was a large room at the end of a corridor on the top floor of the building. The Colonel himself walked down the corridor to meet them.

He was a tall man with lean, muscular cheeks, a small mouth and grey hair cropped Prussian fashion. A narrow frontal bone, a long beak of a nose and a slight stoop gave him a somewhat vultural air. He wore a very well-cut officer’s tunic with full riding breeches and very tight, shiny cavalry boots; he walked with the slight swagger of a man who is used to riding. But for the intense pallor of his face and the fact that it was unshaven, there was nothing about him to show that he had recently been asleep. His eyes were grey and very wide-awake. They surveyed Graham with interest.

“Ah! Nasil-siniz. Fransizca konus-abilir misin. Yes? Delighted, Mr. Graham. Your wound, of course.” Graham found his unbandaged hand being gripped with considerable force by long rubbery fingers. “I hope that it is not too painful. Something must be done about this rascal who tries to kill you.”

“I’m afraid,” said Graham, “that we have disturbed your rest unnecessarily, Colonel. The man stole nothing.”

Colonel Haki looked quickly at Kopeikin.

“I have told him nothing,” said Kopeikin placidly. “At your suggestion, Colonel, you may remember. I regret to say that he thinks that I am either mad or hysterical.”

Colonel Haki chuckled. “It is the lot of you Russians to be misunderstood. Let us go into my office where we can talk.”

They followed him: Graham with the growing conviction that he was involved in a nightmare and that he would presently wake up to find himself at his dentist’s. The corridor was, indeed, as bare and featureless as the corridors of a dream. It smelt strongly, however, of stale cigarette smoke.

The Colonel’s office was large and chilly. They sat down facing him across his desk. He pushed a box of cigarettes towards them, lounged back in his chair and crossed his legs.

“You must realise, Mr. Graham,” he said suddenly, “that an attempt was made to kill you to-night.”

“Why?” demanded Graham irritably. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it. I returned to my room to find that a man had got in through the window. Obviously he was some sort of thief. I disturbed him. He fired at me and then escaped. That is all.”

“You have not, I understand, reported the matter to the police.”

“I did not consider that reporting it could do any good. I did not see the man’s face. Besides, I am leaving for England this morning on the eleven o’clock train. I did not wish to delay myself. If I have broken the law in any way I am sorry.”

“Zarar yok! It does not matter.” The Colonel lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling. “I have a duty to do, Mr. Graham,” he said. “That duty is to protect you. I am afraid that you cannot leave on the eleven o’clock train.”

“But protect me from what?”

“I will ask you questions, Mr. Graham. It will be simpler. You are in the employ of Messrs. Cator and Bliss, Ltd., the English armament manufacturers?”

“Yes. Kopeikin here is the company’s Turkish agent.”

“Quite so. You are, I believe, Mr. Graham, a naval ordnance expert.”

Graham hesitated. He had the engineer’s dislike of the word “expert.” His managing director sometimes applied it to him when writing to foreign naval authorities; but he could, on those occasions, console himself with the reflection that his managing director would describe him as a full-blooded Zulu to impress a customer. At other times he found the word unreasonably irritating.

“Well, Mr. Graham?”

“I’m an engineer. Naval ordnance happens to be my subject.”

“As you please. The point is that Messrs. Cator and Bliss, Ltd., have contracted to do some work for my Government. Good. Now, Mr. Graham, I do not know exactly what that work is”-he waved his cigarette airily-“that is the affair of the Ministry of Marine. But I have been told some things. I know that certain of our naval vessels are to be rearmed with new guns and torpedo tubes and that you were sent to discuss the matter with our dockyard experts. I also know that our authorities stipulated that the new equipment should be delivered by the spring. Your company agreed to that stipulation. Are you aware of it?”

“I have been aware of nothing else for the past two months.”

“Iyi dir! Now I may tell you, Mr. Graham, that the reason for that stipulation as to time was not mere caprice on the part of our Ministry of Marine. The international situation demands that we have that new equipment in our dockyards by the time in question.”

“I know that, too.”

“Excellent. Then you will understand what I am about to say. The naval authorities of Germany and Italy and Russia are perfectly well aware of the fact that these vessels are being rearmed and I have no doubt that the moment the work is done, or even before, their agents will discover the details known at the moment only to a few men, yourself among them. That is unimportant. No navy can keep that sort of secret: no navy expects to do so. We might even consider it advisable, for various reasons, to publish the details ourselves. But”-he raised a long, well-manicured finger-“at the moment you are in a curious position, Mr. Graham.”

“That, at least, I can believe.”

The Colonel’s small grey eyes rested on him coldly. “I am not here to make jokes, Mr. Graham.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Not at all. Please take another cigarette. I was saying that at the moment your position is curious. Tell me! Have you ever regarded yourself as indispensable in your business, Mr. Graham?”

Graham laughed. “Certainly not. I could tell you the names of dozens of other men with my particular qualifications.”

“Then,” said Colonel Haki, “allow me to inform you, Mr. Graham, that for once in your life you are indispensable. Let us suppose for the moment that your thief’s shooting had been a little more accurate and that at this moment you were, instead of sitting talking with me, lying in hospital on an operating table with a bullet in your lungs. What would be the effect on this business you are engaged in now?”

“Naturally, the company would send another man out immediately.”

Colonel Haki affected a look of theatrical astonishment.

“So? That would be splendid. So typically British! Sporting! One man falls-immediately another, undaunted, takes his place. But wait!” The Colonel held up a forbidding arm. “Is it necessary? Surely, Mr. Kopeikin here could arrange to have your papers taken to England. No doubt your colleagues there could find out from your notes, your sketches, your drawings, exactly what they wanted to know even though your company did not build the ships in question, eh?”

Graham flushed. “I gather from your tone that you know perfectly well that the matter could not be dealt with so simply. I was forbidden, in any case, to put certain things on paper.”

Colonel Haki tilted his chair. “Yes, Mr. Graham,”-he smiled cheerfully-“I do know that. Another expert would have to be sent out to do some of your work over again.” His chair came forward with a crash. “And meanwhile,” he said through his teeth, “the spring would be here and those ships would still be lying in the dockyards of Izmir and Gallipoli, waiting for their new guns and torpedo tubes. Listen to me, Mr. Graham! Turkey and Great Britain are allies. It is in the interests of your country’s enemies that, when the snow melts and the rain ceases, Turkish naval strength should be exactly what it is now. Exactly what it is now! They will do anything to see that it is so. Anything, Mr. Graham! Do you understand?”

Graham felt something tightening in his chest. He had to force himself to smile. “A little melodramatic, aren’t you? We have no proof that what you say is true. And, after all, this is real life, not …” He hesitated.

“Not what, Mr. Graham?” The Colonel was watching him like a cat about to streak after a mouse.

“… the cinema, I was going to say, only it sounded a little impolite.”

Colonel Haki stood up quickly. “Melodrama! Proof! Real life! The cinema! Impolite!” His lips curled round the words as if they were obscene. “Do you think I care what you say, Mr. Graham? It’s your carcass I am inter ested in. Alive, it’s worth something to the Turkish Republic. I’m going to see that it stays alive as long as I’ve any control over it. There is a war on in Europe. Do you understand that?”

Graham said nothing.

The Colonel stared at him for a moment and then went on quietly. “A little more than a week ago, while you were still in Gallipoli, we discovered-that is, my agents discovered-a plot to murder you there. The whole thing was very clumsy and amateurish. You were to be kidnapped and knifed. Fortunately, we are not fools. We do not dismiss as melodramatic anything that does not please us. We were able to persuade the arrested men to tell us that they had been paid by a German agent in Sofia-a man named Moeller about whom we have known for some time. He used to call himself an American until the American Legation objected. His name was Fielding then. I imagine that he claims any name and nationality that happens to suit him. However, I called Mr. Kopeikin in to see me and told him about it but suggested that nothing should be said about it to you. The less these things are talked about the better and, besides, there was nothing to be gained by upsetting you while you were so hard at work. I think I made a mistake. I had reason to believe that this Moeller’s further efforts would be directed elsewhere. When Mr. Kopeikin, very wisely, telephoned me immediately he knew of this fresh attempt, I realised that I had underestimated the determination of this gentleman in Sofia. He tried again. I have no doubt that he will try a third time if we give him a chance.” He leaned back in his chair. “Do you understand now, Mr. Graham? Has your excellent brain grasped what I have been trying to say? It is perfectly simple! Someone is trying to kill you.”