Journey Into Fear

CHAPTER FIVE

It was an Ægean day: intensely coloured in the sun and with small pink clouds drifting in a bleached indigo sky. A stiff breeze was blowing and the amethyst of the sea was broken with white. The Sestri Levante was burying her stem in it and lifting clouds of spray which the breeze whipped across the well-deck like hail. The steward had told him that they were within sight of the island of Makronisi and as he went out on deck he saw it: a thin golden line shimmering in the sun and stretched out ahead of them like a sand bar at the entrance to a lagoon.

There were two other persons on that side of the deck. There was Haller and with him, on his arm, a small desiccated woman with thin grey hair, who was evidently his wife. They were steadying themselves at the rail and he was holding his head up to the wind as if to draw strength from it. He had his hat off and the white hair quivered with the air streaming through it.

Evidently they had not seen him. He made his way up to the boat deck. The breeze there was stronger. Mr. Kuvetli and the French couple stood by the rail clutching at their hats and watching the gulls following the ship. Mr. Kuvetli saw him immediately and waved. He went over to them.

“Good morning. Madame. Monsieur.”

They greeted him guardedly but Mr. Kuvetli was enthusiastic.

“It is good morning, eh? You sleep well? I look forward to our excursion this afternoon. Permit me to present Monsieur and Madame Mathis. Monsieur Graham.”

There was handshaking. Mathis was a sharp-featured man of fifty or so with lean jaws and a permanent frown. But his smile, when it came, was good and his eyes were alive. The frown was the badge of his ascendancy over his wife. She had bony hips and wore an expression which said that she was determined to keep her temper however sorely it were tried. She was like her voice.

“Monsieur Mathis,” said Mr. Kuvetli, whose French was a good deal more certain than his English, “is from Eskeshehir, where he has been working with the French railway company.”

“It is a bad climate for the lungs,” said Mathis. “Do you know Eskeshehir, Monsieur Graham?”

“I was there for a few minutes only.”

“That would have been quite enough for me,” said Madame Mathis. “We have been there three years. It was never any better than the day we arrived.”

“The Turks are a great people,” said her husband. “They are hard and they endure. But we shall be glad to return to France. Do you come from London, Monsieur?”

“No, the North of England. I have been in Turkey for a few weeks on business.”

“To us, war will be strange after so many years. They say that the towns in France are darker than the last time.”

“The towns are damnably dark both in France and in England. If you do not have to go out at night it is better to stay in.”

“It is war,” said Mathis sententiously.

“It is the filthy Bosche,” said his wife.

“War,” put in Mr. Kuvetli, stroking an unshaven chin, “is a terrible thing. There is no doubt of it. But the Allies must win.”

“The Bosche is strong,” said Mathis. “It is easy to say that the Allies must win, but they yet have the fighting to do. And do we yet know whom we are going to fight or where? There is a front in the East as well as in the West. We do not yet know the truth. When that is known the war will be over.”

“It is not for us to ask questions,” said his wife.

His lips twisted and in his brown eyes was the bitterness of years. “You are right. It is not for us to ask questions. And why? Because the only people who can give us the answers are the bankers and the politicians at the top, the boys with the shares in the big factories which make war materials. They will not give us answers. Why? Because they know that if the soldiers of France and England knew those answers they would not fight.”

His wife reddened. “You are mad! Naturally the men of France would fight to defend us from the filthy Bosche.” She glanced at Graham. “It is bad to say that France would not fight. We are not cowards.”

“No, but neither are we fools.” He turned quickly to Graham. “Have you heard of Briey, Monsieur? From the mines of the Briey district comes ninety per cent. of France’s iron ore. In nineteen fourteen those mines were captured by the Germans, who worked them for the iron they needed. They worked them hard. They have admitted since that without the iron they mined at Briey they would have been finished in nineteen seventeen. Yes, they worked Briey hard. I, who was at Verdun, can tell you that. Night after night we watched the glare in the sky from the blast furnaces of Briey a few kilometres away; the blast furnaces that were feeding the German guns. Our artillery and our bombing aeroplanes could have blown those furnaces to pieces in a week. But our artillery remained silent; an airman who dropped one bomb on the Briey area was court-martialled. Why?” His voice rose. “I will tell you why, Monsieur. Because there were orders that Briey was not to be touched. Whose orders? Nobody knew. The orders came from someone at the top. The Ministry of War said that it was the generals. The generals said that it was the Ministry of War. We did not find out the facts until after the war. The orders had been issued by Monsieur de Wendel of the Comité des Forges who owned the Briey mines and blast furnaces. We were fighting for our lives, but our lives were less important than that the property of Monsieur de Wendel should be preserved to make fat profits. No, it is not good for those who fight to know too much. Speeches, yes! The truth, no!”

His wife sniggered. “It is always the same. Let someone mention the war and he begins to talk about Briey-something that happened twenty-four years ago.”

“And why not?” he demanded. “Things have not changed so much. Because we do not know about such things until after they have happened it does not mean that things like it are not happening now. When I think of war I think also of Briey and the glare of the blast furnaces in the sky to remind myself that I am an ordinary man who must not believe all that he is told. I see the newspapers from France with the blanks in them to show where the censor has been at work. They tell me certain things, these newspapers. France, they say, is fighting with England against Hitler and the Nazis for democracy and liberty.”

“And you don’t believe that?” Graham asked.

“I believe that the peoples of France and England are so fighting, but is that the same thing? I think of Briey and wonder. Those same newspapers once told me that the Germans were not taking ore from the Briey mines and that all was well. I am an invalid of the last war. I do not have to fight in this one. But I can think.”

His wife laughed again. “Ha! It will be different when he gets to France again. He talks like a fool but you should take no notice, Messieurs. He is a good Frenchman. He won the Croix de Guerre.”

He winked. “A little piece of silver outside the chest to serenade the little piece of steel inside, eh? It is the women, I think, who should fight these wars. They are more ferocious as patriots than the men.”

“And what do you think, Mr. Kuvetli?” said Graham.

“Me? Ah, please!” Mr. Kuvetli looked apologetic. “I am neutral, you understand. I know nothing. I have no opinion.” He spread out his hands. “I sell tobacco. Export business. That is enough.”

The Frenchman’s eyebrows went up. “Tobacco? So? I arranged a great deal of transport for the tobacco companies. What company is that?”

“Pazar of Istanbul.”

“Pazar?” Mathis looked slightly puzzled. “I don’t think …”

But Mr. Kuvetli interrupted him. “Ah! See! There is Greece!”

They looked. There, sure enough, was Greece. It looked like a low bank of cloud on the horizon beyond the end of the golden line of Makronisi, a line that was contracting slowly as the ship ploughed on its way through the Zea channel.

“Beautiful day!” enthused Mr. Kuvetli. “Magnificent!” He drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I anticipate very much to see Athens. We get to Piræus at two o’clock.”

“Are you and Madame going ashore?” said Graham to Mathis.

“No, I think not. It is too short a time.” He turned his coat collar up and shivered. “I agree that it is a beautiful day, but it is cold.”

“If you did not stand talking so much,” said his wife, “you would keep warm. And you have no scarf.”

“Very well, very well!” he said irritably. “We will go below. Excuse us, please.”

“I think that I, too, will go,” said Mr. Kuvetli. “Are you coming down, Mr. Graham?”

“I’ll stay a little.” He would have enough of Mr. Kuvetli later.

“Then at two o’clock.”

“Yes.”

When they had gone he looked at his watch, saw that it was eleven-thirty, and made up his mind to walk round the boat deck ten times before he went down for a drink. He was, he decided as he began to walk, a good deal better for his night’s rest. For one thing, his hand had ceased throbbing and he could bend the fingers a little, without pain. More important, however, was the fact that the feeling of moving in a nightmare which he had had the previous day had now gone. He felt whole again and cheerful. Yesterday was years away. There was, of course, his bandaged hand to remind him of it but the wound no longer seemed significant. Yesterday it had been a part of something horrible. To-day it was a cut on the back of his hand, a cut which would take a few days to heal. Meanwhile he was on his way home, back to his work. As for Mademoiselle Josette, he had had, fortunately, enough sense left not to behave really stupidly. That he should actually have wanted, even momentarily, to kiss her was fantastic enough. However, there were extenuating circumstances. He had been tired and confused; and, while she was a woman whose needs and methods of fulfilling them were only too apparent, she was undeniably attractive in a blowzy way.

He had completed his fourth circuit when the subject of these reflections appeared on the deck. She had on a camel hair coat instead of the fur, a green cotton scarf round her head in place of the woollen one, and wore sports shoes with cork “platform” soles. She waited for him to come over to her.

He smiled and nodded. “Good morning.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Good morning! Is that all you have to say?”

He was startled. “What should I say?”

“You have disappointed me. I thought that all Englishmen got out of bed early to eat a great English breakfast. I get out of bed at ten but you are nowhere to be found. The steward says that you are still in your cabin.”

“Unfortunately they don’t serve English breakfasts on this boat. I made do with coffee and drank it in bed.”

She frowned. “Now, you do not ask why I wished to see you. Is it so natural that I should wish to see you as soon as I left my bed?”

The mock severity was appalling. Graham said: “I’m afraid I didn’t take you seriously. Why should you want to find me?”

“Ah, that is better. It is not good but it is better. Are you going into Athens this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“I wished to ask you if you would let me come with you.”

“I see. I should be …”

“But now it is too late.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Graham happily. “I should have been delighted to take you.”

She shrugged. “It is too late. Mr. Kuvetli, the little Turk, has asked me and, faut de mieux, I accepted. I do not like him but he knows Athens very well. It will be interesting.”

“Yes, I should think it would be.”

“He is a very interesting man.”

“Evidently.”

“Of course, I might be able to persuade him …”

“Unfortunately, there is a difficulty. Last night Mr. Kuvetli asked me if I minded his going with me as he had never been in Athens before.”

It gave him a great deal of pleasure to say it; but she was disconcerted only momentarily. She burst out laughing.

“You are not at all polite. Not at all. You let me say what you know to be untrue. You do not stop me. You are unkind.” She laughed again. “But it is a good joke.”

“I’m really very sorry.”

“You are too kind. I wished only to be friendly to you. I do not care whether I go to Athens or not.”

“I’m sure Mr. Kuvetli would be delighted if you came with us. So should I, of course. You probably know a great deal more about Athens than I do.”

Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “What, please, do you mean by that?”

He had not meant anything at all beyond the plain statement. He said, with a smile that he intended to be reassuring: “I mean that you have probably danced there.”

She stared at him sullenly for a moment. He felt the smile, still clinging fatuously to his lips, fading. She said slowly: “I do not think I like you as much as I thought. I do not think that you understand me at all.”

“It’s possible. I’ve known you for such a short time.”

“Because a woman is an artiste,” she said angrily, “you think that she must be of the milieu.”

“Not at all. The idea hadn’t occurred to me. Would you like to walk round the deck?”

She did not move. “I am beginning to think that I do not like you at all.”

“I’m sorry. I was looking forward to your company on the journey.”

“But you have Mr. Kuvetli,” she said viciously.

“Yes, that’s true. Unfortunately, he’s not as attractive as you are.”

She laughed sarcastically. “Oh, you have seen that I am attractive? That is very good. I am so pleased. I am honoured.”

“I seem to have offended you,” he said. “I apologise.”

She waved one hand airily. “Do not trouble. I think that it is perhaps because you are stupid. You wish to walk. Very well, we will walk.”

“Splendid.”

They had taken three steps when she stopped again and faced him. “Why do you have to take this little Turk to Athens?” she demanded. “Tell him that you cannot go. If you were polite you would do that.”

“And take you? Is that the idea?”

“If you asked me, I would go with you. I am bored with this ship and I like to speak English.”

“I’m afraid that Mr. Kuvetli might not think it so polite.”

“If you liked me it would not matter to you about Mr. Kuvetli.” She shrugged. “But I understand. It does not matter. I think that you are very unkind, but it does not matter. I am bored.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you are sorry. That is all right. But I am still bored. Let us walk.” And then, as they began to walk: “José thinks that you are indiscreet.”

“Does he? Why?”

“That old German you talked to. How do you know that he is not a spy?”

He laughed outright. “A spy! What an extraordinary idea!”

She glanced at him coldly. “And why is it extraordinary?”

“If you had talked to him you would know quite well that he couldn’t possibly be anything of the sort.”

“Perhaps not. José is always very suspicious of people. He always believes that they are lying about themselves.”

“Frankly, I should be inclined to accept José’s disapproval of a person as a recommendation.”

“Oh, he does not disapprove. He is just interested. He likes to find things out about people. He thinks that we are all animals. He is never shocked by anything people do.”

“He sounds very stupid.”

“You do not understand José. He does not think of good things and evil things as they do in the convent, but only of things. He says that a thing that is good for one person may be evil for another, so that it is stupid to talk of good and evil.”

“But people sometimes do good things simply because those things are good.”

“Only because they feel nice when they do them-that is what José says.”

“What about the people who stop themselves from doing evil because it is evil?”

“José says that if a person really needs to do something he will not trouble about what others may think of him. If he is really hungry, he will steal. If he is in real danger, he will kill. If he is really afraid, he will be cruel. He says that it was people who were safe and well fed who invented good and evil so that they would not have to worry about the people who were hungry and unsafe. What a man does depends on what he needs. It is simple. You are not a murderer. You say that murder is evil. José would say that you are as much a murderer as Landru or Weidmann and that it is just that fortune has not made it necessary for you to murder anyone. Someone once told him that there was a German proverb which said that a man is an ape in velvet. He always likes to repeat it.”

“And do you agree with José? I don’t mean about my being a potential murderer. I mean about why people are what they are.”

“I do not agree or disagree. I do not care. For me, some people are nice, some people are sometimes nice and others are not at all nice.” She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. “You are sometimes nice.”

“What do you think about yourself?”

She smiled. “Me? Oh, I am sometimes nice, too. When people are nice to me, I am a little angel.” She added: “José thinks that he is as clever as God.”

“Yes, I can see that he would.”

“You do not like him. I am not surprised. It is only the old women who like José.”

“Do you like him?”

“He is my partner. With us it is business.”

“Yes, you told me that before. But do you like him?”

“He makes me laugh sometimes. He says amusing things about people. You remember Serge? José said that Serge would steal straw from his mother’s kennel. It made me laugh very much.”

“It must have done. Would you like a drink now?”

She looked at a small silver watch on her wrist and said that she would.

They went down. One of the ship’s officers was leaning by the bar with a beer in his hand, talking to the steward. As Graham ordered the drinks, the officer turned his attention to Josette. He obviously counted on being successful with women: his dark eyes did not leave hers while he was talking to her. Graham, listening to the Italian with bored incomprehension, was ignored. He was content to be ignored. He got on with his drink. It was not until the gong sounded for lunch and Haller came in that he remembered that he had done nothing about changing his place at table.

The German nodded in a friendly way as Graham sat down beside him. “I did not expect to have your company to-day.”

“I completely forgot to speak to the steward. If you …”

“No, please. I take it as a compliment.”

“How is your wife?”

“Better, though she is not yet prepared to face a meal. But she took a walk this morning. I showed her the sea. This is the way Xerxes’ great ships sailed to their defeat at Salamis. For those Persians that grey mass on the horizon was the country of Themistocles and the Attic Greeks of Marathon. You will think that it is my German sentimentality but I must say that the fact that for me that grey mass is the country of Venizelos and Metaxas is as regrettable as it could be. I was at the German Institute in Athens for several years when I was young.”

“Shall you go ashore this afternoon?”

“I do not think so. Athens can only remind me of what I know already-that I am old. Do you know the city?”

“A little. I know Salamis better.”

“That is now their big naval base, isn’t it?”

Graham said yes rather too carelessly. Haller glanced sideways and smiled slightly. “I beg your pardon. I see that I am on the point of being indiscreet.”

“I shall go ashore to get some books and cigarettes. Can I get anything for you?”

“It is very kind of you, but there is nothing. Are you going alone?”

“Mr. Kuvetli, the Turkish gentleman at the next table, has asked me to show him round. He has never been to Athens.”

Haller raised his eyebrows. “Kuvetli? So that is his name. I talked with him this morning. He speaks German quite well and knows Berlin a little.”

“He speaks English, too, and very good French. He seems to have travelled a lot.”

Haller grunted. “I should have thought that a Turk who had travelled a lot would have been to Athens.”

“He sells tobacco. Greece grows its own tobacco.”

“Yes, of course. I had not thought of that. I am apt to forget that most people who travel do so not to see but to sell. I talked with him for twenty minutes. He has a way of talking without saying anything. His conversation consists of agreements or indisputable statements.”

“I suppose it’s something to do with his being a salesman. ‘The world is my customer and the customer is always right.’ ”

“He interests me. In my opinion he is too simple to be true. The smile is a little too stupid, the conversation a little too evasive. He tells you some things about himself within the first minutes of your meeting him and then tells you no more. That is curious. A man who begins by telling you about himself usually goes on doing so. Besides, who ever heard of a simple Turkish business man? No, he makes me think of a man who has set out to create a definite impression of himself in people’s minds. He is a man who wishes to be underrated.”

“But why? He’s not selling us tobacco.”

“Perhaps, as you suggest, he regards the world as his customer. But you will have an opportunity of probing a little this afternoon.” He smiled. “You see, I assume, quite unwarrantably, that you are interested. I must ask your pardon. I am a bad traveller who has had to do a great deal of travelling. To pass the time I have learned to play a game. I compare my own first impressions of my fellow travellers with what I can find out about them.”

“If you are right you score a point? If you are wrong you lose one?”

“Precisely. Actually I enjoy losing more than winning. It is an old man’s game, you see.”

“And what is your impression of Señor Gallindo?”

Haller frowned. “I am afraid that I am only too right about that gentleman. He is not really very interesting.”

“He has a theory that all men are potential murderers and is fond of quoting a German proverb to the effect that a man is an ape in velvet.”

“It does not surprise me,” was the acid reply. “Every man must justify himself somehow.”

“Aren’t you a little severe?”

“Perhaps. I regret to say that I find Señor Gallindo a very ill-mannered person.”

Graham’s reply was interrupted by the entrance of the man himself, looking as if he had just got out of bed. He was followed by the Italian mother and son. The conversation became desultory and over-polite.

The Sestri Levante was tied up alongside the new wharf on the north side of the harbour of the Piræus soon after two o’clock. As, with Mr. Kuvetli, Graham stood on the deck waiting for the passenger gangway to be hoisted into position, he saw that Josette and José had left the saloon and were standing behind him. José nodded to them suspiciously as if he were afraid that they were thinking of borrowing money from him. The girl smiled. It was the tolerant smile that sees a friend disregarding good advice.

Mr. Kuvetli spoke up eagerly. “Are you going ashore, Monsieur-dame?”

“Why should we?” demanded José. “It is a waste of time to go.”

But Mr. Kuvetli was not sensitive. “Ah! Then you know Athens, you and your wife?”

“Too well. It is a dirty town.”

“I have not seen it. I was thinking that if you and Madame were going, we might all go together.” He beamed round expectantly.

José set his teeth and rolled his eyes as if he were being tortured. “I have already said that we are not going.”

“But it is very kind of you to suggest it,” Josette put in graciously.

The Mathis came out of the saloon. “Ah!” he greeted them. “The adventurers! Do not forget that we leave at five. We shall not wait for you.”

The gangway thudded into position and Mr. Kuvetli clambered down it nervously. Graham followed. He was beginning to wish that he had decided to stay on board. At the foot of the gangway he turned and looked up-the inevitable movement of a passenger leaving a ship. Mathis waved his hand.

“He is very amiable, Monsieur Mathis,” said Mr. Kuvetli.

“Very.”

Beyond the Customs shed there was a fly-blown old Fiat landaulet with a notice on it in French, Italian, English and Greek, saying that an hour’s tour of the sights and antiquities of Athens for four persons cost five hundred drachmes.

Graham stopped. He thought of the electric trains and trams he would have to clamber on to, of the hill up to the Acropolis, of the walking he would have to do, of the exhausting boredom of sightseeing on foot. Any way of avoiding the worst of it was, he decided, worth thirty shillingsworth of drachmes.

“I think,” he said, “that we will take this car.”

Mr. Kuvetli looked worried. “There is no other way? It is very expensive.”

“That’s all right. I’ll pay.”

“But it is you who do favour to me. I must pay.”

“Oh, I should have taken a car in any case. Five hundred drachmes is not really expensive.”

Mr. Kuvetli’s eyes opened very wide. “Five hundred? But that is for four persons. We are two.”

Graham laughed. “I doubt if the driver will look at it that way. I don’t suppose it costs him any less to take two instead of four.”

Mr. Kuvetli looked apologetic. “I have little Greek. You will permit me to ask him?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

The driver, a predatory looking man wearing a suit several sizes too small for him and highly polished tan shoes without socks, had leapt out at their approach and was holding the door open. Now he began to shout. “Allez! Allez! Allez!” he exhorted them; “très bon marché. Cinque-cento, solamente.”

Mr. Kuvetli strode forward, a stout, grubby little Daniel going out to do battle with a lean Goliath in stained blue serge. He began to speak.

He spoke Greek fluently; there was no doubt of it. Graham saw the surprised look on the driver’s face replaced by one of fury as a torrent of words poured from Mr. Kuvetli’s lips. He was disparaging the car. He began to point. He pointed to every defect in the thing from a patch of rust on the luggage grid to a small tear in the upholstery, from a crack in the windshield to a worn patch on the running board. He paused for breath and the angry driver seized the opportunity of replying. He shouted and thumped the door panels with his fist to emphasise his remarks and made long streamlining gestures. Mr. Kuvetli smiled sceptically and returned to the attack. The driver spat on the ground and counterattacked. Mr. Kuvetli replied with a short, sharp burst of fire. The driver flung up his hands, disgusted but defeated.

Mr. Kuvetli turned to Graham. “Price,” he reported simply, “is now three hundred drachmes. It is too much, I think, but it will take time to reduce more. But if you think …”

“It seems a very fair price,” said Graham hurriedly.

Mr. Kuvetli shrugged. “Perhaps. It could be reduced more, but …” He turned and nodded to the driver, who suddenly grinned broadly. They got into the cab.

“Did you say,” said Graham, as they drove off, “that you had never been in Greece before?”

Mr. Kuvetli’s smile was bland. “I know little Greek,” he said. “I was born in Izmir.”

The tour began. The Greek drove fast and with dash, twitching the wheel playfully in the direction of slow moving pedestrians, so that they had to run for their lives, and flinging a running commentary over his right shoulder as he went. They stopped for a moment on the road by the Theseion and again on the Acropolis where they got out and walked round. Here, Mr. Kuvetli’s curiosity seemed inexhaustible. He insisted on a century by century history of the Parthenon and prowled round the museum as if he would have liked to spend the rest of the day there; but at last they got back into the car and were whisked round to the theatre of Dionysos, the arch of Hadrian, the Olympieion, and the Royal Palace. It was, by now, four o’clock and Mr. Kuvetli had been asking questions and saying “very nice” and “formidable” for well over the allotted hour. At Graham’s suggestion they stopped in the Syntagma, changed some money and paid off the driver, adding that if he liked to wait in the square he could earn another fifty drachmes by driving them back to the wharf later. The driver agreed. Graham bought his cigarettes and books and sent his telegram. There was a band playing on the terrace of one of the cafés when they got back to the square and at Mr. Kuvetli’s suggestion they sat down at a table to drink coffee before returning to the port.

Mr. Kuvetli surveyed the square regretfully. “It is very nice,” he said with a sigh. “One would like to stay longer. So many magnificent ruins we have seen!”

Graham remembered what Haller had said at lunch about Mr. Kuvetli’s evasions. “Which is your favourite city, Mr. Kuvetli?”

“Ah, that is difficult to say. All cities have their magnificences. I like all cities.” He breathed the air. “It is most kind of you to bring me here to-day, Mr. Graham.”

Graham stuck to the point. “A great pleasure. But surely you have some preference.”

Mr. Kuvetli looked anxious. “It is so difficult. I like London very much.”

“Personally I like Paris better.”

“Ah, yes. Paris is also magnificent.”

Feeling rather baffled, Graham sipped his coffee. Then he had another idea. “What do you think of Señor Gallindo, Mr. Kuvetli?”

“Señor Gallindo? It is so difficult. I do not know him. His manner is strange.”

“His manner,” said Graham, “is damnably offensive. Don’t you agree?”

“I do not like Señor Gallindo very much,” conceded Mr. Kuvetli. “But he is Spanish.”

“What can that have to do with it? The Spanish are an exceedingly polite race.”

“Ah, I have not been to Spain.” He looked at his watch. “It is quarter-past four now. Perhaps we should go, eh? It has been very nice this afternoon.”

Graham nodded wearily. If Haller wanted Mr. Kuvetli “probed” he could do the probing himself. His, Graham’s, personal opinion was that Mr. Kuvetli was an ordinary bore whose conversation, such as it was, sounded a little unreal because he used languages with which he was unfamiliar.

Mr. Kuvetli insisted on paying for the coffee; Mr. Kuvetli insisted on paying the fare back to the wharf. By a quarter to five they were on board again. An hour later Graham stood on deck watching the pilot’s boat chugging back towards the greying land. The Frenchman, Mathis, who was leaning on the rail a few feet away, turned his head.

“Well, that’s that! Two more days and we shall be in Genoa. Did you enjoy your excursion ashore this afternoon, Monsieur?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. It was …”

But he never finished telling Monsieur Mathis what it was. A man had come out of the saloon door some yards away and was standing blinking at the setting sun which streamed across the sea towards them.

“Ah, yes,” said Mathis. “We have acquired another passenger. He arrived while you were ashore this afternoon. I expect that he is a Greek.”

Graham did not, could not, answer. He knew that the man standing there with the golden light of the sun on his face was not a Greek. He knew, too, that beneath the dark grey raincoat the man wore there was a crumpled brown suit with lumpy padded shoulders; that below the high-crowned soft hat and above the pale, doughy features with the self-conscious mouth was thinning curly hair. He knew that this man’s name was Banat.