Journey Into Fear

CHAPTER FOUR

For a moment they stared blankly at one another. Then she laughed. “Merciful God! It is the Englishman. Excuse me, but this is extraordinary.”

“Yes, isn’t it.”

“And what happened to your first-class compartment on the Orient Express?”

He smiled. “Kopeikin thought that a little sea air would do me good.”

“And you needed doing good?” The straw-coloured hair was covered with a woollen scarf tied under the chin, but she held her head back to look at him as if she were wearing a hat that shaded her eyes.

“Evidently.” On the whole, he decided, she looked a good deal less attractive than she had looked in her dressing-room. The fur coat was shapeless, and the scarf did not suit her. “Since we are talking about trains,” he added, “what happened to your second-class compartment?”

She frowned with a smile at the corners of her mouth. “This way is so much less expensive. Did I say that I was travelling by train?”

Graham flushed. “No, of course not.” He realised that he was being rather rude. “In any case, I am delighted to see you again so soon. I have been wondering what I should do if I found that the Hotel des Belges was closed.”

She looked at him archly. “Ah! You were really going to telephone me, then?”

“Of course. It was understood, wasn’t it?”

She discarded the arch look and replaced it with a pout. “I do not think that you are sincere after all. Tell me truthfully why you are on this boat.”

She began to walk along the deck. He could do nothing but fall in step beside her.

“You don’t believe me?”

She lifted her shoulders elaborately. “You need not tell me if you do not wish to. I am not inquisitive.”

He thought he saw her difficulty. From her point of view there could be only two explanations of his presence on the boat: either his claim to be travelling first class on the Orient Express had been a pretentious lie intended to impress her-in which case he would have very little money-or he had somehow discovered that she was travelling on the boat, and had abandoned the luxury of the Orient Express in order to pursue her-in which case he would probably have plenty of money. He had a sudden absurd desire to startle her with the truth.

“Very well,” he said. “I am travelling this way to avoid someone who is trying to shoot me.”

She stopped dead. “I think it is too cold out here,” she said calmly. “I shall go in.”

He was so surprised that he laughed.

She turned on him quickly. “You should not make such stupid jokes.”

There was no doubt about it; she was genuinely angry. He held up his bandaged hand. “A bullet grazed it.”

She frowned. “You are very bad. If you have hurt your hand I am sorry, but you should not make jokes about it. It is very dangerous.”

“Dangerous!”

“You will have bad luck, and so shall I. It is very bad luck to joke in that way.”

“Oh, I see.” He grinned. “I am not superstitious.”

“That is because you do not know. I would sooner see a raven flying than joke about killing. If you wish me to like you, you must not say such things.”

“I apologise,” said Graham, mildly. “Actually I cut my hand with a razor.”

“Ah, they are dangerous things! In Algiers José saw a man with his throat cut from ear to ear with a razor.”

“Suicide?”

“No, no! It was his petite amie who did it. There was a lot of blood. José will tell you about it if you ask him. It was very sad.”

“Yes, I can imagine. José is travelling with you, then?”

“Naturally.” And then, with a sidelong look: “He is my husband.”

Her husband! That explained why she “put up with” José. It also explained why Colonel Haki had omitted to tell him that the “dancing blonde” was travelling on the boat. Graham remembered the promptitude with which José had retired from the dressing-room. That, no doubt, had been a matter of business. Attractions at a place like Le Jockey Cabaret were not quite so attractive if they were known to have husbands in the vicinity. He said: “Kopeikin didn’t tell me that you were married.”

“Kopeikin is very nice, but he does not know everything. But I will tell you confidentially that with José and me it is an arrangement. We are partners, nothing more. He is jealous about me only when I neglect business for pleasure.”

She said it indifferently, as if she were discussing a clause in her contract.

“Are you going to dance in Paris now?”

“I do not know. I hope so; but so much is closed on account of the war.”

“What will you do if you can’t get an engagement?”

“What do you think? I shall starve. I have done it before.” She smiled bravely. “It is good for the figure.” She pressed her hands on her hips and looked at him, inviting his considered opinion. “Do you not think it would be good for my figure to starve a little? One grows fat in Istanbul.” She posed. “You see?”

Graham nearly laughed. The picture being presented for his approval had all the simple allure of a full-page drawing in La Vie Parisienne. Here was the “business man’s” dream come true: the beautiful blonde dancer, married but unloved, in need of protection: something expensive going cheap.

“A dancer’s must be a very hard life,” he said dryly.

“Ah, yes! Many people think that it is so gay. If they knew!”

“Yes, of course. It is getting a little cold, isn’t it? Shall we go inside and have a drink?”

“That would be nice.” She added with a tremendous air of candour: “I am so glad we are travelling together. I was afraid that I was going to be bored. Now, I shall enjoy myself.”

He felt that his answering smile was probably rather sickly. He was beginning to have an uncomfortable suspicion that he was making a fool of himself. “We go this way, I think,” he said.

The salone was a narrow room about thirty feet long, with entrances from the shelter deck and from the landing at the head of the stairs to the cabins. There were grey upholstered banquettes round the walls and, at one end, three round dining tables bolted down. Evidently there was no separate dining-room. Some chairs, a card table, a shaky writing desk, a radio, a piano and a threadbare carpet completed the furnishings. Opening off the room at the far end was a cubby hole with half doors. The lower door had a strip of wood screwed to the top of it to make a counter. This was the bar. Inside it, the steward was opening cartons of cigarettes. Except for him, the place was deserted. They sat down.

“What would you like to drink, Mrs.…,” began Graham tentatively.

She laughed. “José’s name is Gallindo, but I detest it. You must call me Josette. I would like some English whisky and a cigarette, please.”

“Two whiskies,” said Graham.

The steward put his head out and frowned at them. “Viski? ? molto caro,” he said warningly; “très cher. Cinque lire. Five lire each. Vair dear.”

“Yes, it is, but we will have them just the same.”

The steward retired into the bar, and made a lot of noise with the bottles.

“He is very angry,” said Josette. “He is not used to people who order whisky.” She had obviously derived a good deal of satisfaction from the ordering of the whisky, and the discomfiture of the steward. In the light of the saloon her fur coat looked cheap and old; but she had unbuttoned it and arranged it round her shoulders as if it had been a thousand guinea mink. He began, against his better judgment, to feel sorry for her.

“How long have you been dancing?”

“Since I was ten. That is twenty years ago. You see,” she remarked, complacently, “I do not lie to you about my age. I was born in Serbia, but I say that I am Hungarian because it sounds better. My mother and father were very poor.”

“But honest, no doubt.”

She looked faintly puzzled. “Oh no, my father was not at all honest. He was a dancer, and he stole some money from someone in the troupe. They put him in prison. Then the war came, and my mother took me to Paris. A very rich man took care of us for a time, and we had a very nice apartment.” She gave a nostalgic sigh: an impoverished grande dame lamenting past glories. “But he lost his money, and so my mother had to dance again. My mother died when we were in Madrid, and I was sent back to Paris, to a convent. It was terrible there. I do not know what happened to my father. I think perhaps he was killed in the war.”

“And what about José?”

“I met him in Berlin when I was dancing there. He did not like his partner. She was,” she added simply, “a terrible bitch.”

“Was this long ago?”

“Oh, yes. Three years. We have been to a great many places.” She examined him with affectionate concern. “But you are tired. You look tired. You have cut your face, too.”

“I tried to shave with one hand.”

“Have you got a very nice house in England?”

“My wife likes it.”

“Oh là-là! And do you like your wife?”

“Very much.”

“I do not think,” she said reflectively, “that I would like to go to England. So much rain and fog. I like Paris. There is nothing better to live in than an apartment in Paris. It is not expensive.”

“No?”

“For twelve hundred francs a month one can have a very nice apartment. In Rome it is not so cheap. I had an apartment in Rome that was very nice, but it cost fifteen hundred lire. My fiancé was very rich. He sold automobiles.”

“That was before you married José?”

“Of course. We were going to be married but there was some trouble about his divorce from his wife in America. He always said that he would fix it, but in the end it was impossible. I was very sorry. I had that apartment for a year.”

“And that was how you learned English?”

“Yes, but I had learned a little in that terrible convent.” She frowned. “But I tell you everything about myself. About you I know nothing except that you have a nice house and a wife, and that you are an engineer. You ask questions, but you tell me nothing. I still do not know why you are here. It is very bad of you.”

But he did not have to reply to this. Another passenger had entered the saloon, and was advancing towards them, clearly with the intention of making their acquaintance.

He was short, broad-shouldered and unkempt, with a heavy jowl and a fringe of scurfy grey hair round a bald pate. He had a smile, fixed like that of a ventriloquist’s doll: a standing apology for the iniquity of his existence.

The boat had begun to roll slightly; but from the way he clutched for support at the backs of chairs as he crossed the room, it might have been riding out a full gale.

“There is lot of movement, eh?” he said in English, and subsided into a chair. “Ah! That is better, eh?” He looked at Josette with obvious interest, but turned to Graham before he spoke again. “I hear English spoken so I am interested at once,” he said. “You are English, sir?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Turkish. I also go to London. Trade is very good. I go to sell tobacco. My name is Mr. Kuvetli, sir.”

“My name is Graham. This is Señora Gallindo.”

“So good,” said Mr. Kuvetli. Without getting up from his chair, he bowed from the waist. “I don’t speak English very well,” he added, unnecessarily.

“It is a very difficult language,” said Josette, coldly. She was obviously displeased by the intrusion,

“My wife,” continued Mr. Kuvetli, “does not speak English any. So I do not bring her with me. She has not been to England.”

“But you have?”

“Yes, sir. Three times, and to sell tobacco. I do not sell much before, but now I sell lot. It is war. United States ships do not come to England any more. English ships bring guns and aeroplanes from U.S. and have no room for tobacco, so England now buys lot of tobacco from Turkey. It is good business for my boss. Firm of Pazar and Co.”

“It must be.”

“He would come to England himself, but cannot speak English any. Or he cannot write. He is very ignorant. I reply to all favours from England and elsewhere abroad. But he knows lot about tobacco. We produce best.” He plunged his hand into his pocket and produced a leather cigarette case. “Please try cigarette made from tobacco by Pazar and Co.” He extended the case to Josette.

She shook her head. “Tesekkür ederim.”

The Turkish phrase irritated Graham. It seemed to belittle the man’s polite efforts to speak a language foreign to him.

“Ah!” said Mr. Kuvetli, “you speak my language. That is very good. You have been long in Turkey?”

“Dört ay.” She turned to Graham. “I would like one of your cigarettes, please.”

It was a deliberate insult but Mr. Kuvetli only smiled a little more. Graham took one of the cigarettes.

“Thank you very much. It’s very good of you. Will you have a drink, Mr. Kuvetli?”

“Ah, no, thank you. I must go to arrange my cabin before it is dinner.”

“Then later, perhaps.”

“Yes, please.” With a broadened smile and a bow to each of them he got to his feet and made his way to the door.

Graham lit his cigarette. “Was it absolutely necessary to be so rude? Why drive the man away?”

She frowned. “Turks! I do not like them. They are”-she ransacked the automobile salesman’s vocabulary for an epithet-“they are goddamned dagoes. See how thick his skin is! He does not get angry. He only smiles.”

“Yes, he behaved very well.”

“I do not understand it,” she burst out angrily. “In the last war you fought with France against the Turks. In the convent they told me much about it. They are heathen animals, these Turks. There were the Armenian atrocities and the Syrian atrocities and the Smyrna atrocities. Turks killed babies with their bayonets. But now it is all different. You like the Turks. They are your allies and you buy tobacco from them. It is the English hypocrisy. I am a Serb. I have a longer memory.”

“Does your memory go back to nineteen twelve? I was thinking of the Serbian atrocities in Turkish villages. Most armies commit what are called atrocities at some time or other. They usually call them reprisals.”

“Including the British army, perhaps?”

“You would have to ask an Indian or an Afrikander about that. But every country has its madmen. Some countries have more than others. And when you give such men a license to kill they are not always particular about the way they kill. But I am afraid that the rest of their fellow countrymen remain human beings. Personally, I like the Turks.”

She was clearly angry with him. He suspected that her rudeness to Mr. Kuvetli had been calculated to earn his approval and that she was annoyed because he had not responded in the way she had expected. “It is stuffy in here,” she said, “and there is a smell of cooking. I should like to walk outside again. You may come with me if you wish.”

Graham seized the opportunity. He said, as they walked towards the door: “I think that I should unpack my suitcase. I shall hope to see you at dinner.”

Her expression changed quickly. She became an international beauty humouring, with a tolerant smile, the extravagances of a love-sick boy. “As you wish José will be with me later. I shall introduce you to him. He will want to play cards.”

“Yes, I remember you told me that he would. I shall have to try to remember a game that I can play well.”

She shrugged. “He will win in any case. But I have warned you.”

“I shall remember that when I lose.”

He returned to his cabin and stayed there until the steward came round beating a gong to announce dinner. When he went upstairs he was feeling better. He had changed his clothes. He had managed to complete the shave which he had begun in the morning. He had an appetite. He was prepared to take an interest in his fellow passengers.

Most of them were already in their places when he entered the saloon.

The ship’s officers evidently ate in their own quarters. Only two of the dining tables were laid. At one of them sat Mr. Kuvetli, a man and woman who looked as if they might be the French couple from the cabin next to his, Josette, and with her a very sleek José. Graham smiled courteously at the assembly and received in return a loud “good evening” from Mr. Kuvetli, a lift of the eyebrows from Josette, a cool nod from José, and a blank stare from the French couple. There was about them an air of tension which seemed to him to be more than the ordinary restraint of passengers on a boat sitting down together for the first time. The steward showed him to the other table.

One of the places was already filled by the elderly man whom he had passed on his walk round the deck. He was a thick, round-shouldered man with a pale heavy face, white hair and a long upper lip. As Graham sat down next to him he looked up. Graham met a pair of prominent pale blue eyes.

“Mr. Graham?”

“Yes. Good evening.”

“My name is Haller. Doctor Fritz Haller. I should explain that I am a German, a good German, and that I am on my way back to my country.” He spoke very good, deliberate English in a deep voice.

Graham realised that the occupants of the other table were staring at them in breathless silence. He understood now their air of tension.

He said calmly: “I am an Englishman. But I gather you knew that.”

“Yes, I knew it.” Haller turned to the food in front of him. “The Allies seem to be here in force and unhappily the steward is an imbecile. The two French people at the next table were placed here. They objected to eating with the enemy, insulted me and moved. If you wish to do the same I suggest that you do so now. Everyone is expecting the scene.”

“So I see.” Graham cursed the steward silently.

“On the other hand,” Haller continued, breaking his bread, “you may find the situation humorous. I do myself. Perhaps I am not as patriotic as I should be. No doubt I should insult you before you insult me; but, quite apart from the unfair differences in our ages, I can think of no effective way of insulting you. One must understand a person thoroughly before one can insult him effectively. The French lady, for example, called me a filthy Bosche. I am unmoved. I bathed this morning and I have no unpleasant habits.”

“I see your point. But …”

“But there is a matter of etiquette involved. Quite so. Fortunately, I must leave that to you. Move or not, as you choose. Your presence here would not embarrass me. If it were understood that we were to exclude international politics from our conversation we might even pass the next half-hour in a civilised manner. However, as the newcomer on the scene, it is for you to decide.”

Graham picked up the menu. “I believe it is the custom for belligerents on neutral ground to ignore each other if possible and in any case to avoid embarrassing the neutrals in question. Thanks to the steward, we cannot ignore each other. There seems to be no reason why we should make a difficult situation unpleasant. No doubt we can rearrange the seating before the next meal.”

Haller nodded approval. “Very sensible. I must admit that I am glad of your company to-night. My wife suffers from the sea and will stay in her cabin this evening. I think that Italian cooking is very monotonous without conversation.”

“I am inclined to agree with you.” Graham smiled intentionally and heard a rustle from the next table. He also heard an exclamation of disgust from the Frenchwoman. He was annoyed to find that the sound made him feel guilty.

“You seem,” said Haller, “to have earned some disapproval. It is partly my fault. I am sorry. Perhaps it is that I am old, but I find it extremely difficult to identify men with their ideas. I can dislike, even hate an idea, but the man who has it seems to be still a man.”

“Have you been long in Turkey?”

“A few weeks. I came there from Persia.”

“Oil?”

“No, Mr. Graham, archeology. I was investigating the early pre-Islamic cultures. The little I have been able to discover seems to suggest that some of the tribes who moved westward to the plains of Iran about four thousand years ago assimilated the Sumerian culture and preserved it almost intact until long after the fall of Babylon. The form of perpetuation of the Adonis myth alone was instructive. The weeping for Tammuz was always a focal point of the pre-historic religions-the cult of the dying and risen god. Tammuz, Osiris and Adonis are the same Sumerian deity personified by three different races. But the Sumerians called this god Dumuzida. So did some of the pre-Islamic tribes of Iran! And they had a most interesting variation of the Sumerian epic of Gilgamish and Enkidu which I had not heard about before. But forgive me, I am boring you already.”

“Not at all,” said Graham politely. “Were you in Persia for long?”

“Two years only. I would have stayed another year but for the war.”

“Did it make so much difference?”

Haller pursed his lips. “There was a financial question. But even without that I think that I might not have stayed. We can learn only in the expectation of life. Europe is too preoccupied with its destruction to concern itself with such things: a condemned man is interested only in himself, the passage of hours and such intimations of immortality as he can conjure from the recesses of his mind.”

“I should have thought that a preoccupation with the past.…”

“Ah yes, I know. The scholar in his study can ignore the noise in the market place. Perhaps-if he is a theologian or a biologist or an antiquarian. I am none of those things. I helped in the search for a logic of history. We should have made of the past a mirror with which to see round the corner that separates us from the future. Unfortunately, it no longer matters what we could have seen. We are returning the way we came. Human understanding is re-entering the monastery.”

“Forgive me but I thought you said that you were a good German.”

He chuckled. “I am old. I can afford the luxury of despair.”

“Still, in your place, I think that I should have stayed in Persia and luxuriated at a distance.”

“The climate, unfortunately, is not suitable for any sort of luxuriating. It is either very hot or very cold. My wife found it particularly trying. Are you a soldier, Mr. Graham?”

“No, an engineer.”

“That is much the same thing. I have a son in the army. He has always been a soldier. I have never understood why he should be my son. As a lad of fourteen he disapproved of me because I had no duelling scars. He disapproved of the English, too, I am afraid. We lived for some time in Oxford while I was doing some work there. A beautiful city! Do you live in London?”

“No, in the North.”

“I have visited Manchester and Leeds. I preferred Oxford. I live in Berlin myself. I don’t think it is any uglier than London.” He glanced at Graham’s hand. “You seem to have had an accident.”

“Yes. Fortunately it’s just as easy to eat ravioli with the left hand.”

“There is that to be said for it, I suppose. Will you have some of this wine?”

“I don’t think so, thank you.”

“Yes, you’re wise. The best Italian wines never leave Italy.” He dropped his voice. “Ah! Here are the other two passengers.”

They looked like mother and son. The woman was about fifty and unmistakably Italian. Her face was very hollow and pale and she carried herself as if she had been seriously ill. Her son, a handsome lad of eighteen or so, was very attentive to her and glared defensively at Graham, who had risen to draw back her chair for her. They both wore black.

Haller greeted them in Italian to which the boy replied briefly. The woman inclined her head to them but did not speak. It was obvious that they wished to be left to themselves. They conferred in whispers over the menu. Graham could hear José talking at the next table.

“War!” he was saying in thick, glutinous French; “it makes it very difficult for all to earn money. Let Germany have all the territory she desires. Let her choke herself with territory. Then let us go to Berlin and enjoy ourselves. It is ridiculous to fight. It is not businesslike.”

“Ha!” said the Frenchman. “You, a Spaniard, say that! Ha! That is very good. Magnificent!”

“In the civil war,” said José, “I took no sides. I had my work to do, my living to earn. It was madness. I did not go to Spain.”

“War is terrible,” said Mr. Kuvetli.

“But if the Reds had won …” began the Frenchman.

“Ah yes!” exclaimed his wife. “If the Reds had won.… They were anti-Christ. They burnt churches and broke sacred images and relics. They violated nuns and murdered priests.”

“It was all very bad for business,” repeated José obstinately. “I know a man in Bilbao who had a big business. It was all finished by the war. War is very stupid.”

“The voice of the fool,” murmured Haller, “with the tongue of the wise. I think that I will go and see how my wife is. Will you excuse me, please?”

Graham finished his meal virtually alone. Haller did not return. The mother and son opposite to him ate with their heads bent over their plates. They seemed to be in communion over some private sorrow. He felt as if he were intruding. As soon as he had finished he left the saloon, put on his overcoat and went out on deck to get some air before going to bed.

The lights on the land were distant now, and the ship was rustling through the sea before the wind. He found the companionway up to the boat deck and stood for a time in the lee of a ventilator idly watching a man with a lamp on the well deck below tapping the wedges which secured the hatch tarpaulins. Soon the man finished his task, and Graham was left to wonder how he was going to pass the time on the boat. He made up his mind to get some books in Athens the following day. According to Kopeikin, they would dock at the Piræus at about two o’clock in the afternoon, and sail again at five. He would have plenty of time to take the tram into Athens, buy some English cigarettes and books, send a telegram to Stephanie and get back to the dock.

He lit a cigarette, telling himself that he would smoke it and then go to bed; but, even as he threw the match away, he saw that Josette and José had come on to the deck, and that the girl had seen him. It was too late to retreat. They were coming over to him.

“So you are here,” she said accusingly. “This is José.”

José, who was wearing a very tight black overcoat and a grey soft hat with a curly brim, nodded reluctantly, and said: “Enchanté, Monsieur,” with the air of a busy man whose time is being wasted.

“José does not speak English,” she explained.

“There is no reason why he should. It is a pleasure to meet you, Señor Gallindo,” he went on in Spanish. “I very much enjoyed the dancing of you and your wife.”

José laughed rudely. “It is nothing. The place was impossible.”

“José was angry all the time because Coco-the negress with the snake, you remember? — had more money from Serge than we did, although we were the principal attraction.”

José said something unprintable, in Spanish.

“She was,” said Josette, “Serge’s lover. You smile, but it is true. Is it not true, José?”

José made a loud noise with his lips.

“José is very vulgar,” commented Josette. “But it is true about Serge and Coco. It is a very drôle story. There was a great joke about Fifi, the snake. Coco was very fond of Fifi, and always used to take it to bed with her. But Serge did not know that until he became her lover. Coco says that when he found Fifi in the bed, he fainted. She made him increase her wages to double before she would consent to Fifi’s sleeping alone in its basket. Serge is no fool: even José says that Serge is no fool; but Coco treats him like dirt. It is because she has a very great temper that she is able to do it.”

“He needs to hit her with his fist,” said José.

“Ah! Salop!” She turned to Graham. “And you! Do you agree with José?”

“I have no experience of snake dancers.”

“Ah! You do not answer. You are brutes, you men!”

She was obviously amusing herself at his expense. He said to José: “Have you made this trip before?”

José stared suspiciously. “No. Why? Have you?”

“Oh no.”

José lit a cigarette. “I am already very tired of this ship,” he announced. “It is dull and dirty, and it vibrates excessively. Also the cabins are too near the lavabos. Do you play poker?”

“I have played. But I don’t play very well.”

“I told you!” cried Josette.

“She thinks,” said José sourly, “that because I win I cheat. I do not care a damn what she thinks. People are not compelled by law to play cards with me. Why should they squeal like stuck pigs when they lose?”

“It is,” Graham admitted, tactfully, “illogical.”

“We will play now if you like,” said José, as if someone had accused him of refusing a challenge.

“If you don’t mind, I’d sooner leave it until to-morrow. I’m rather tired to-night. In fact, I think that if you will excuse me I shall get to bed now.”

“So soon!” Josette pouted, and broke into English. “There is only one interesting person on the boat, and he goes to bed. It is too bad. Ah yes, you are being very bad. Why did you sit next to that German at dinner?”

“He did not object to my sitting beside him. Why should I object? He is a very pleasant and intelligent old fellow.”

“He is a German. For you no German should be pleasant or intelligent. It is as the French people were saying. The English are not serious about these things.”

José turned suddenly on his heel. “It is very boring to listen to English,” he said, “and I am cold. I shall go and drink some brandy.”

Graham was beginning to apologise when the girl cut him short. “He is very unpleasant to-day. It is because he is disappointed. He thought there were going to be some pretty little girls for him to roll his eyes at. He always has a great success with pretty little girls-and old women.”

She had spoken loudly, and in French. José, who had reached the top of the companionway, turned and belched deliberately before descending.

“He is gone,” said Josette. “I am glad. He has very bad manners.” She drew in her breath, and looked up at the clouds. “It is a lovely night. I do not see why you wish to go to bed. It is early.”

“I’m very tired.”

“You cannot be too tired to walk across the deck with me.”

“Of course not.”

There was a corner of the deck below the bridge where it was very dark. She stopped there, turned abruptly and leaned with her back to the rail so that he was facing her.

“I think you are angry with me?”

“Good gracious, no! Why should I be?”

“Because I was rude to your little Turk.”

“He’s not my little Turk.”

“But you are angry?”

“Of course not.”

She sighed. “You are very mysterious. You have still not told me why you are travelling on this boat. I am very interested to know. It cannot be because it is cheap. Your clothes are expensive!”

He could not see her face, only a vague outline of her; but he could smell the scent she was using, and the mustiness of the fur coat. He said: “I can’t think why you should be interested.”

“But you know perfectly well that I am.”

She had come an inch or two nearer to him. He knew that, if he wanted to do so, he could kiss her and that she would return the kiss. He knew also that it would be no idle peck, but a declaration that their relationship was to be the subject of discussion. He was surprised to find that he did not reject the idea instantaneously, that the immediate prospect of feeling her full smooth lips against his was more than attractive. He was cold and tired: she was near, and he could sense the warmth of her body. It could do no one any harm if … He said: “Are you travelling to Paris via Modane?”

“Yes. But why ask? It is the way to Paris.”

“When we get to Modane I will tell you exactly why I travelled this way, if you are still interested.”

She turned and they walked on. “Perhaps it is not so important,” she said. “You must not think I am inquisitive.” They reached the companionway. Her attitude towards him had changed perceptibly. She looked at him with friendly concern. “Yes, my dear sir, you are tired. I should not have asked you to stay up here. I shall finish my walk alone. Good night.”

“Good night, Señora.”

She smiled. “Señora! You must not be so unkind. Good night.”

He went below amused and irritated by his thoughts. Outside the door of the saloon he came face to face with Mr. Kuvetli.

Mr. Kuvetli broadened his smile. “First officer says we shall have good weather, sir.”

“Splendid.” He remembered with a sinking heart that he had invited the man to have a drink. “Will you join me in a drink?”

“Oh no, thank you. Not now.” Mr. Kuvetli placed one hand on his chest. “Matter of fact, I have pain because of wine at table. Very strong acid stuff!”

“So I should imagine. Until to-morrow, then.”

“Yes, Mr. Graham. You will be glad to arrive back at your home, eh?” He seemed to want to talk.

“Oh yes, very glad.”

“You go to Athens when we stop to-morrow?”

“I was thinking of doing so.”

“Do you know Athens well, I suppose?”

“I’ve been there before.”

Mr. Kuvetli hesitated. His smile became oily. “You are in a position to do me service, Mr. Graham.”

“Oh yes?”

“I do not know Athens. I have never been. Would you allow me to go with you?”

“Yes, of course. I should be glad of company. But I was only going to buy some English books and cigarettes.”

“I am most grateful.”

“Not at all. We get in just after lunch, don’t we?”

“Yes, yes. That is quite right. But I will find out exact time. You leave that to me.”

“Then that’s settled. I think I shall go to bed now. Good night, Mr. Kuvetli.”

“Good night, sir. And I thank you for your favour.”

“Not at all. Good night.”

He went to his cabin, rang for the steward and said that he wanted his breakfast coffee in his cabin at nine-thirty. Then he undressed and got into his bunk.

For a few minutes he lay on his back enjoying the gradual relaxing of his muscles. Now, at last, he could forget Haki, Kopeikin, Banat, and the rest of it. He was back in his own life, and could sleep. The phrase “asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow” passed through his mind. That was how it would be with him. God knew he was tired enough. He turned on his side. But sleep did not come so easily. His brain would not stop working. It was as if the needle were trapped in one groove on the record. He’d made a fool of himself with that wretched woman Josette. He’d made a fool … He jerked his thoughts forward. Ah yes! He was committed to three unalloyed hours of Mr. Kuvetli’s company. But that was to-morrow. And now, sleep. But his hand was throbbing again, and there seemed to be a lot of noise going on. That boor José was right. The vibration was excessive. The cabins were too near the lavatories. There were footsteps overhead, too: people walking round the shelter deck. Round and round. Why, for Heaven’s sake, must people always be walking?

He had been lying awake for half an hour when the French couple entered their cabin.

They were quiet for a minute or two, and he could only hear the sounds they made as they moved about the cabin, and an occasional grunted comment. Then the woman began.

“Well, that is the first evening over! Three more! It is too much to think of.”

“It will pass.” A yawn. “What is the matter with the Italian woman and her son?”

“You did not hear? Her husband was killed in the earthquake at Erzurum. The first officer told me. He is very nice, but I had hoped that there would be at least one French person to talk to.”

“There are people who speak French. The little Turk speaks it very well. And there are the others.”

“They are not French. That girl and that man-the Spaniard. They say that they are dancers, but I ask you.”

“She is pretty.”

“Certainly. I do not dispute it. But you need not think little thoughts. She is interested in the Englishman. I do not like him. He does not look like an Englishman.”

“You think the English are all milords with sporting clothes and monocles. Ha! I saw the Tommies in nineteen fifteen. They are all small and ugly with very loud voices. They talk very quickly. This type is more like the officers who are thin and slow, and look as if things do not smell very nice.”

“This type is not an English officer. He likes the Germans.”

“You exaggerate. An old man like that! I would have sat with him myself.”

“Ah! So you say. I will not believe it.”

“No? When you are a soldier you do not call the Bosche ‘the filthy Bosche.’ That is for the women, the civilians.”

“You are mad. They are filthy. They are beasts like those in Spain who violated nuns and murdered priests.”

“But, my little one, you forget that there were many of Hitler’s Bosches who fought against the Reds in Spain. You forget. You are not logical.”

“They are not the same as those who attack France. They were Catholic Germans.”

“You are ridiculous! Was I not hit in the guts by a bullet fired by a Bavarian Catholic in ‘seventeen? You make me tired. You are ridiculous. Be silent.”

“No, it is you who …”

They went on. Graham heard little more. Before he could make up his mind to cough loudly, he was asleep.

He awoke only once in the night. The vibration had ceased. He looked at his watch, saw that the time was half-past two, and guessed that they had stopped at Chanaq to drop the pilot. A few minutes later, as the engines started again, he went to sleep again.

It was not until the steward brought his coffee seven hours later that he learned that the pilot cutter from Chanaq had brought a telegram for him.

It was addressed: “GRAHAM, VAPUR SESTRI LEVANTE, CANAKKALE.” He read:

“H. REQUESTS ME INFORM YOU B. LEFT FOR SOFIA HOUR AGO. ALL WELL. BEST WISHES. KOPEIKIN.”

It had been handed in at Beyoglu at seven o’clock the previous evening.