The light of day

8

The morning call was a repetition of that of the previous night, and made no more sense at 7 a.m. than it had at 11. I got up and went to the bathroom. Luckily, I had had the sense to remove my towel to my bedroom; but Geven had left a filthy mess. There was gray scum in the bath and shaving soap in the basin. Patience was necessary in order to flush the toilet successfully, and he had given up too soon.

Shaved, he looked more bleary-eyed than he had with the three-day growth, but his mood was one of jovial aggression. Fischer’s complaints about the shish kebab, it seemed, had been loud and insolent. But the reprisal had already been planned-the spies’ dinner that night would be boiled mutton in yoghurt a la Turque. Fischer would learn to his cost who was master in the kitchen; and if he didn’t like the knowledge, well then, the spies could go on eating pig swill or find themselves another chef.

I had breakfast, got the car out, and drove to the garage for petrol.

Tufan answered promptly. I made my report about the overheard conversation first, editing only slightly. “If I took over. He was Leo’s idea, let Leo take care of him. After tomorrow he doesn’t matter too much anyway. Grenades… mass surrender.”

He made me repeat it slowly. When he started to complain that there wasn’t more of it, I told him about the map. I had guessed that this would excite his interest, and it did.

“You say it looked like a map of an island?”

“I thought so. The shape was roughly triangular.”

“Was it a colored map?”

“No, black and white.”

“Then it could have been a marine chart?”

“I suppose so.”

He said thoughtfully: “A boat, the chart of an island, grenades, respirators, guns, surrender…”

“And something that Fischer is to do today,” I reminded him.

He ignored the interruption. “You are sure this island had a triangular shape?”

“I thought so, but the map wasn’t absolutely flat. It was hard to see. It could have been a design for a swimming pool.”

He ignored the frivolity. “Could it have been kidney-shaped?”

“Perhaps. Would that mean something?”

“That is the shape of the island of Yassiada, where certain political prisoners are held awaiting trial. It is only fifteen kilometers from Pendik. Have you heard the name Yassiada mentioned?”

“No.”

“Or Imrali?”

“No. Is that an island, too?”

“It is a town on an island sixty kilometers from Pendik. It is also the place where Menderes was hanged.”

“How is that island shaped?”

“Like the head of a dog. I must have another report from you this evening without fail, even if it is only negative.”

“I will do what I can.”

“Above all, you must search for this chart.”

“How can I?”

“You can search at night. In any case you must obtain a closer look at it.”

“I don’t see how I can do that. Even if they bring it out again, I won’t be able to get any closer.”

“With binoculars you could.”

“I have no binoculars.”

“On the way back to the villa, stop on the road. The Opel is on surveillance duty today. An agent from the car will give you binoculars.”

“Supposing Harper sees them. How do I explain them?”

“Do not let him see them. I expect a report tonight. If necessary you will make direct contact with the surveillance personnel. Is that clear?” He hung up.

I drove back towards the villa. Just outside Sariyer on the coast road I pulled up. The Opel stopped a hundred yards behind me. After a minute or two, a man got out of it and walked towards the Lincoln. He was carrying a leather binocular case. He handed it to me without a word and went back to the Opel.

I put the binoculars on the seat and drove on. They were too big to put in my pocket. I would either have to smuggle them up to my room somehow, or hide them in the garage. I was annoyed with myself. I should have known better. Any sort of map is catnip to intelligence people. I should have kept quiet about it.

Even without the binoculars, though, I would have been irritated, and I did have sense enough to realize that. The binoculars were only a nusiance. It was really the conclusion he had come to that bothered me.

What he’d wanted to see all along, and, quite evidently, what he now did see, was yet another conspiracy against the Committee of National Union, yet another coup in preparation. The last attempt to overthrow the Committee had been made by a group of dissident army officers inside the country. What more likely than that the next attempt would be made with the help of money and hired terrorists from outside the country? What more likely than that it would begin with a daring rescue of officer prisoners awaiting trial? As he had said: “A boat, the chart of an island, grenades, respirators, guns, surrender.” It all added up so neatly.

The trouble was, as it had been all along, that he didn’t know the people concerned. I did. I knew how vile they were, too. In fact, there was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to see them get hell. But they just didn’t strike me as the sort of people who would be hired terrorists. I could not have said why. If he had countered by asking me what sort of people were hired terrorists and how many I had met, I would have had no sensible answer. All I could have said would have been: “These people wouldn’t take that kind of risk.”

When I got back to the villa, Fischer was standing on the terrace at the top of the steps. He motioned to me to pull up there. As he came down the steps, I remembered, just in time, to shove the binoculars onto the floor by my feet.

“You will not be wanted today, Simpson,” he said. “We are going on a private excursion. I will drive the car.”

“Very good, sir. It is full of petrol, but I was going to dust it.” I was all smiles above, and all binoculars below.

“Very well.” He waved me off in his highhanded way. “The car must be here in half an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

I drove round the courtyard into the garage, and hid the binoculars behind an empty oil drum before I gave the car a flickover with a wet duster.

Just before ten I drove it to the courtyard and left it there with the ignition key in. Then, I went back to the yard, through the door into the orchard, and found a place from which I could see the car without being seen. When they went out, I wanted to make sure that they had all gone-Fischer, Harper, Miss Lipp, and Miller.

After forty minutes or so, all four came out and got into the car. As soon as they had gone, I went to the kitchen. Geven was there chopping meat and sipping brandy. I had a drink myself and let him talk for a while before asking whether they were expected back for lunch. They were not. He would make an omelet pour le personnel.

I went upstairs to the bedroom floor. At the head of the back stairs the corridor ran left and right, parallel to the rear wall of the villa. If you turned right, you came to my room and Geven’s, among others; if you turned left, you were faced by a pair of double doors. Beyond them were the master bedrooms and guest suites.

The double doors were half open when I went up. Through the opening, I caught a glimpse of a wickerwork trolley full of dirty linen, and of old Hamul working on the floor of the corridor with a carpet sweeper. Mrs. Hamul was presumably changing the sheets on the beds.

I went to my room, waited an hour, and then strolled back along the corridor.

The door was still open and the Hamuls were still messing about in the bedrooms. I went down to the kitchen and had another drink with Geven. He was busy with the stewpot and another hour went by before he decided to make the omelet. I heard the Hamuls come down at about the same time and go through to the laundry. As soon as I had finished eating, I told Geven that I was going to have a sleep and went upstairs again.

First, I locked my room from the outside in case he looked in to see if I were there; then I went through the double doors and shut them behind me.

What I was looking for was the map, and it was difficult to know where to start. There were about eighteen rooms there, and they were of all shapes and sizes. Some were bedrooms, some sitting rooms; some were so sparsely furnished that it was hard to tell what they had been. Where there was furniture, it was all in the same bilious-looking French-hotel style. The only things not in short supply were mirrors and chandeliers; every room had those.

I identified Miller’s room first, because his suitcase was open on the bed, then Fischer’s because of the shirts in one of the drawers. I found no map in either room. Miss Lipp’s suite was over the center portico, with Harper’s next to it on the corner. There was a connecting door. I looked through all the drawers and cupboards, I looked inside the suitcases, I looked above and below every piece of furniture. The only maps I found were in a copy of Europa Touring that was on Miss Lipp’s writing desk, along with some Italian paperback novels.

Beyond Harper’s suite, and on the side of the building overlooking the orchard, there was a room that had been fitted up as a studio. Architect’s drawers had been built along one wall. It seemed a good place to look for a large flat map, and I was carefully going through every drawer when I heard the sound of car doors slamming.

I scrambled through Harper’s bedroom, which had windows onto the courtyard, and saw the roof of the Lincoln in front of the portico. Then I panicked. I missed the door which led to the passage and got into his bathroom instead. By the time I had found the right door, I could hear Fischer’s voice from the stairs. It was hopeless to try to dodge round through the rooms. I didn’t know the way well enough. All I could do was retreat back through Harper’s bedroom into the studio and shut the door. From there, there was no other way out, except through the window; but it was the only hiding place I could find.

I heard him come into the room, then a clink of money, then a sort of slap. He was emptying his pockets onto the table. The door didn’t latch properly and I could hear every move he made. I knew that he would hear any move I made, too. I froze there.

“My God, that city’s worse than New York in August,” he said.

I heard Miss Lipp answer him. The door connecting the suites, which I had shut, must have been opened by her.

“I wonder if Hamul fixed that water. Undo me, will you, Liebchen ?”

He moved away. I tiptoed over to the studio window and looked out. There was a small balcony outside and, a few feet below, the roof of the terrace. If I could get down there, I thought it might be possible to reach the orchard without breaking my neck. The trouble was that I would have to open the french window to get to the balcony. It had one of those long double bolts that you work by twisting a handle in the center. They can make a clattering noise when they spring open, and this one looked as if it would. I went back to the door.

It sounded as if they were in his sitting room. I heard her give a soft chuckle.

“Too many clothes on,” she said.

He came back into the bedroom and, then, after a moment or two, went into the bathroom. Water began to run. I went to the window again and gingerly tried the handle. It moved easily enough. The bottom bolt slid out and the door sprang inward with a slight thud; but then I saw that one side of the connecting link was broken and that the top bolt hadn’t moved. I tried to pull it down by hand, but it was too stiff. I would have to push it down through the slot at the top. I put a chair against the window and looked about for something metal I could use to push with.

The noise of running water from the bathroom stopped, and I stood still again. I tried to think what I had in my pockets that might move the bolt; a key perhaps.

“I will have to do something about my tan when we get back,” said Miss Lipp. She was in the next room now.

“It’s holding up.”

“Your hair’s wet.”

Silence, then a deep sigh from her and the bed creaked.

For about two minutes I clung to the hope that they were going to have a siesta. Then movements began. After a while I could hear their breathing and it wasn’t the breathing of sleep. More minutes went by and there were other sounds. Then, the beast with two backs was at work, and soon it was making its usual noises, panting and grunting and moaning, while I stood there like a half-wit, picturing her long legs and slim thighs and wondering how on earth I was going to get out of there without anybody seeing me. I was sweating so much that it was running into my eyes and misting my glasses. I couldn’t have seen to get the bolt open just then, even if I had dared to try.

They seemed to go on interminably; but the noisy finales arrived at last. I waited, hopefully, for them to go to their bathrooms; but they didn’t. There was just a long silence, until I heard him say: “Here,” and a lighter clicked. Another silence, until he broke it.

“Where shall we eat tonight?”

“Les Baux. I will have the feuillete de ris de veau. You?”

“Avallon, Moulin des Ruats, the coq au vin.”

“With the Cuvee du Docteur?”

“Of course. Though right now, frankly, I’d settle for a ham sandwich and a glass of beer.”

“It’s not for long, Liebchen. I wonder who told Hans that this man could cook.”

“He can cook all right, but he’s one of those lushes who has to be wooed. If he isn’t, he gets into a white rage and says ‘The hell with you.’ Hans doesn’t know how to handle him. I’ll bet Arthur eats better than we do. In fact, I know damn well he does. Where’s the ash tray?”

“Here.” She giggled. “Careful!”

“Merde, alors!”

“That is not the place for an ash tray.”

Soon it began all over again. Eventually, when they were exhausted, they did have the decency to go to the bathrooms. While the water was running, I got up onto the chair and worked on the bolt with my room key. By the time he had finished in the bathroom, I had the window unlatched. I had to wait then until they were asleep; though it was not until I heard her voice again that I knew that she had returned to his bed.

“Liebchen,” she said drowsily.

“What is it?” He was half asleep, too.

“Be careful, please, tomorrow.”

“Entendu.”

There was the sound of a kiss. I looked at my watch. It was twenty past three. I gave them ten minutes, then carefully edged over to the window and pulled one side open. I did it very slowly because there was a slight breeze outside and I did not want the draft to open the bedroom door while I was still there. Then I edged my way out onto the balcony.

It was a four-foot drop to the roof of the terrace and I made scarcely any noise getting down. I had more trouble at the end of the terrace. I am really not built for climbing, and I tried to use the trelliswork as a stepladder. It gave way, and I slithered to the ground clutching at the branches of an espaliered peach tree.

I managed to get to my room without anyone seeing the mess I was in. When I had cleaned up and changed my shirt, I went down to the car and put it away in the garage.

If I had noticed then that the door panels had been taken off, things would have turned out very differently for Harper, Lipp, and Miller; but I didn’t notice. It didn’t even occur to me to look at them. I was still too flustered to do anything except try to behave naturally. Garaging the car was just a way of showing myself outside and on the job.

I went back into the kitchen. There was nobody there. I found a bottle of Geven’s brandy and had a drink and a cigarette. When I was quite calm again, I went out and walked down the drive to the road.

The Opel was parked near the fishing-boat pier. I strolled across to it and saw the men inside watching me. As I passed, I said: “Tufan.”

When I had gone on a few paces I heard a car door open. A moment or so later a man fell in step beside me.

“What is it?” He was a dark, hard-eyed police type in an oatmeal-colored shirt with buttoned pockets. He spoke in French.

“Something dangerous is to be attempted tomorrow,” I said. “I do not know what. I overheard part of a conversation. Major Tufan should be informed.”

“Very well. Why did you not drive today?”

“They told me I wasn’t needed. Where did they go?”

“To Istanbul, Beyoglu. They drove to a garage by the Spanish Consulate. It is a garage that has spare parts for American cars. The driver, Fischer, remained there with the car for ten minutes. The other two men and the woman walked to the Divan Hotel. They had lunch there. Fischer joined them there and also had lunch. Then they walked back to the garage, picked up the car, and returned here. Major Tufan says that you are to report on a chart later.”

“If I can. Tell him I made a search of the bedrooms while they were out, but could not find the chart. I will try to search the living rooms tonight. It may be quite late before I can report. Will you be here?”

“Someone will be.”

“All right.”

As we turned and walked back towards the Opel, I crossed the road and re-entered the drive. I had something to think about now. From what I had overheard in the courtyard the night before, I knew that Fischer had some special task to perform that day. Had he already performed it, or was it yet to be performed? Driving the car into Istanbul so that he and the others could have some eatable food didn’t seem very special. On the other hand, it was odd that I should have been told to stay behind, and odd about that visit to the garage. There was nothing wrong with the car and it needed no spare parts. And why had Fischer not walked to the Divan with the other three? Why had he stayed behind?

It is obvious that I should have thought of the car doors first. I didn’t do so for a very simple reason: I knew from personal experience how long it took to remove and replace one panel, and Fischer had not been at the garage long enough to empty one door, let alone four. The possibility that his function might have been to give orders instead of doing the actual work didn’t occur to me, then. And, I may say, it didn’t occur to Tufan at all. If it had, I should have been spared a ghastly experience.

Anyway, when I went back through the yard to take a look at the car, my mind was on spare parts. I looked in the luggage compartment first to see if anything had been stowed away there; then I examined the engine. You can usually tell by the smudges and oil smears when work has been done on an engine. I drew a blank, of course. It wasn’t until I opened the door to see if anything had been left in the glove compartment that I saw the scratches.

Whoever had taken the panels off had made the very mistake I had been so careful to avoid; he had used an ordinary screwdriver on the Phillips heads. There were scratches and bright marks on the metal as well as cuts in the leather where the tool had slipped. Of course, nobody would have noticed them on a casual inspection, but I was so conscious of the panels and what I had seen behind them that the slightest mark stood out. I went over all four and knew at once that they had all been taken off and replaced. I also knew, from the different feel of the doors when I swung them on their hinges, that the heavy things which had been concealed inside were no longer there. Presumably, they had been removed in the garage near the Spanish Consulate. Where they were at that moment was anybody’s guess.

I wondered whether I should go down to the road again immediately and report to the surveillance car, or wait until I reported later about the map. I decided to wait. If the stuff was still in the garage, it would probably still be there in the morning. If, as seemed more likely, it had already been moved somewhere else, then the damage was done and two or three hours would make no difference. Anyway, I didn’t want to go back down to the road. I felt that I had run enough risks for one day already; and I still had to go looking for that damned map. I think I did the sensible thing. I can’t stand people who are wise after the event, but it must be obvious now that it was Tufan who made the real mistakes, not me.

The trouble with Geven began while we were in the kitchen eating our dinner; or, rather, while I was eating and he was putting away more brandy. It was about seven o’clock, and he had been drinking steadily since six. In that hour he must have had nearly a third of a bottle. He wasn’t yet quite drunk; but he was certainly far from sober.

He had made a perfectly delicious risotto with finely chopped chicken livers and pimientos in it. I was on my second helping and trying to persuade him to eat what he had on his plate, when Fischer came in.

“Geven!”

Geven looked up and gave him his wet smile. “Vive la Compagnie,” he said convivially, and reached for a dirty glass. “Un petit verre, monsieur?”

Fischer ignored the invitation. “I wish to know what you are preparing for dinner tonight,” he said.

“It is prepared.” Geven gave him a dismissive wave of his hand and turned to me again.

“Then you can tell me what it is.” At that moment Fischer caught sight of my plate. “Ah, I see. A risotto, eh?”

Geven’s lip quivered. “That is for us servants. For the master and his guests there is a more important dish in the manner of the country.”

“What dish?”

“You would not understand.”

“I wish to know.”

Geven answered in Turkish. I understood one word of what he said: kuzu, baby lamb.

To my surprise, and to Geven’s, too, I think, Fischer answered in the same language.

Geven stood up and shouted something.

Fischer shouted back, and then walked from the room before Geven had time to answer.

Geven sat down again, his lower lip quivering so violently that, when he tried to drain his glass, most of the brandy ran down his chin. He refilled the glass and glowered at me.

“Pislik!” he said. “Domuz!”

Those are rude words in Turkish. I gathered that they were meant for Fischer, so I said nothing and got on with my food.

He refilled my glass and shoved it towards me. “A toast,” he said.

“All right.”

“There’ll be no promotion this side of the ocean, so drink up, my lads, bless ’em all!”

Only he didn’t say “bless.” I had forgotten that he had been educated in Cyprus when it was under British rule.

“Drink!”

I drank. “Bless ’em all.”

He began to sing. “Bless all the sergeants and W.O. ones, bless all the corporals and their bleeding sons! Drink!”

I sipped. “Bless ’em all.”

He drained the glass again and leaned across the chopping table breathing heavily. “I tell you,” he said menacingly; “if that bastard says one more word, I kill him.”

“He’s just a fool.”

“You defend him?” The lower lip quivered.

“No, no. But is he worth killing?”

He poured himself another drink. Both lips were working now, as if he had brought another thought agency into play in order to grapple with the unfamiliar dilemma my question had created.

The Hamuls arrived just then to prepare for the service of the evening meal, and I saw the old man’s eyes take in the situation. He began talking to Geven. He spoke a country dialect and I couldn’t even get the drift of what he was saying; but it seemed to improve matters a little. Geven grinned occasionally and even laughed once. However, he still went on drinking, and, when I tried to slip away to my room, there was a sudden flare of temper.

“Where you go?”

“You have work to do here. I am in the way.”

“You sit down. You are my guest in the kitchen. You drink nothing. Why?”

I had a whole tumblerful of brandy in front of me by now. I took another sip.

“Drink!”

I drank and tried to look as if I were enjoying myself. When he wasn’t looking, I managed to tip half the brandy in my glass down the sink. It didn’t do much good. As soon as he noticed the half-empty glass, he filled it up again.

Dinner had been ordered for eight-thirty, and by then he was weaving. It was Mrs. Hamul who did the dishing up. He leaned against the range, glass in hand, smiling benignly on her while she ladled the loathsome contents of the stewpot onto the service platters. Dinner was finally served.

“Bless ’em all!”

“Bless ’em all!”

“Drink!”

At that moment there was an indistinct shout from the direction of the dining room. Then a door along the passage was flung open, and there were quick footsteps. I heard Miss Lipp call out: “Hans!” Then Fischer came into the kitchen. He was carrying a plateful of food.

As Geven turned unsteadily to confront him, Fischer yelled something in Turkish and then flung the plate straight at his head.

The plate hit Geven on the shoulder and then crashed to the floor; but quite a lot of food went onto his face. Gravy ran down his smock.

Fischer was still shouting. Geven stared at him stupidly. Then, as Fischer flung a final insult and turned to go, a most peculiar expression came over Geven’s face. It was almost like a wide-eyed smile. “ Monsieur est servi,” he said. At the same instant, I saw his hand dart out for the chopping knife.

I shouted a warning to Fischer, but he was already out in the passage. Geven was after him in a flash. By the time I got through the door, Fischer was already backing away and yelling for help. There was blood streaming from a gash on his face and he had his hands up trying to protect himself. Geven was hacking and slashing at him like a madman.

As I ran forward and clung onto the arm wielding the chopping knife, Harper came into the passage from the dining room.

“Senden illallah!” bawled Geven.

Then Harper hit him in the side of the neck and he went down like an empty sack.

Fischer’s arms and hands were pouring blood now, and he stood there looking down at them as if they did not belong to him.

Harper glanced at me. “Get the car around, quick.”

I stopped the car at the foot of the steps and went in through the front of the house. It did not seem to be a moment for standing on ceremony.

Fischer was sitting in a marble-floored washroom just off the main hall. Harper and Miss Lipp were wrapping his hands and arms in towels; Miller was trying to stanch the face wound. The Hamuls were running round in circles.

Harper saw me and motioned to Hamul. “Ask the old guy where the nearest doctor is. Not a hospital, a private doctor.”

“I will ask him,” muttered Fischer. His face was a dirty gray.

I caught Hamul’s arm and shoved him forward.

There were two doctors in Sariyer, he said, but the nearest was outside Bulyukdere in the other direction. He would come to the villa if called by telephone.

Harper shook his head when Fischer told him this. “We’ll go to him ,” he said. “We’ll give him five hundred lira and tell him you tripped over an electric fan. That should fix it.” He looked at Miss Lipp. “You and Leo had better stay here, honey. The fewer, the better.”

She nodded.

“I don’t know the way to this doctor’s house,” I said. “May we take Hamul as a guide?”

“Okay.”

Harper sat in the back with Fischer and a supply of fresh towels; Hamul came in front with me.

The doctor’s house was two miles along the coast road. When we got there, Fischer told Hamul to wait outside in the car with me; so it was not possible for me to walk back and tell the men in the Opel what was going on. Presumably, they would find out from the doctor later on. Hamul fingered the leather of the seat for a while, then curled up on it and went to sleep. I tried to see if I could get out without waking him, but the sound of the door opening made him sit up instantly. After that, I just sat there and smoked. I suppose that I should have written a cigarette packet message about the car doors and dropped it then-Hamul wouldn’t have noticed that-but at that point I still thought that I was going to be able to make a verbal report later.

They were inside well over an hour. When he came out, Fischer didn’t look too bad at first sight. The cut on his face had a lint dressing neatly taped over it, and his left arm was resting in a small sling of the kind that suggests comfort for a minor sprain rather than a serious injury. But when he got closer I could see that both his hands and forearms were quite extensively bandaged, and that the left hand was cupped round a thick pad taped so as to immobilize the fingers. I got out and opened the door for him. He smelled of disinfectant and surgical spirit.

He and Harper got in without a word, and remained silent on the way back to the villa.

Miller and Miss Lipp were waiting on the terrace. As I pulled up into the courtyard, they came down the steps. I opened the door for Fischer. He got out and walked past them into the house. Still, nothing was said. Hamul was already making for his own quarters at the back. Miller and Miss Lipp came up to Harper.

“How is he?” Miller asked. There was nothing solicitous about the question. It was a grim request for information.

“The left hand has seven stitches on one cut, four on another, more stitches on the arm. The right forearm has seven stitches. The other cuts weren’t so deep. The doctor was able to tape those up. He gave him some shots and a sedative.” His eyes went to Miss Lipp. “Where’s the cook?”

“Gone,” she said. “When he woke up, he asked if he could go to his room. We let him. He just packed his things and went off on that scooter of his. We didn’t try to stop him.”

He nodded.

“But about Fischer…” Miller began, his teeth showing as if he wanted to eat someone.

Harper broke in firmly. “Let’s go inside, Leo.” He turned to me. “You can put the car away for now, Arthur, but I may want it again later to drive to Pendik, so you stick around. Make yourself some coffee in the kitchen, then I’ll know where to find you.”

“Very good, sir.”

When I got to the kitchen I found that someone, Mrs. Hamul no doubt, had washed the dishes and cleaned the place up. The charcoal fires on the range were not quite dead, but I made no attempt to revive one. I found a bottle of red wine and opened that.

I was getting anxious. It was nearly ten-thirty and the radio call was due at eleven; but I didn’t so much mind missing another Essential you report progress; it was the undelivered report on the car doors that bothered me. Obviously, Fischer’s getting hurt had thrown some sort of wrench into the works and changes of plan were being made. If those changes meant that I was going to be up all night driving Harper to Pendik and back, I would have to deliver the message via a cigarette packet after all. I went into the scullery, in case Harper should suddenly come into the kitchen, and wrote the message- Car doors now empty, check gorage near Spanish Consulate- on a piece of paper torn off a shelf lining. I felt better when I had done that. My other assignment for the night, the search for the mysterious map, didn’t worry me at all. In fact, though it may seem funny now, at that point in the proceedings I had completely forgotten about it.

It was after eleven-thirty and I had finished the last of the wine, when there was the sound of a door opening and Harper came through from the dining room. I got to my feet.

“Sorry to keep you up this late, Arthur,” he said; “but Mr. Miller and I are having a friendly argument, and we want you to help us decide who’s right. Come in.”

I followed him through the dining room, and along a passage to the room in which I had seen them the previous night.

It was L-shaped and even bigger than I had thought. When I had looked through the windows, all I had seen had been the short arm of the L. The long arm went all the way to the main entrance hall. There was a low platform with a concert-size grand piano on it. The room looked as if it had been used at some time for “musical soirees.”

Miss Lipp and Miller were sitting at the library desk. Fischer was in the background, sitting in an armchair with his head thrown back so that he stared at the ceiling. I thought for a moment that he had passed out, but as I came in he slowly raised his head and stared at me. He looked terrible.

“Sit down, Arthur.” Harper motioned me to a chair facing Miller.

I sat down. Miss Lipp was watching Miller. Miller was watching me through his rimless glasses. The toothy smile was there as ever, but it was the most unamused smile I have ever seen; it was more like a grimace.

Harper leaned against the back of the settee.

“It’s really two problems, Arthur,” he said. “Tell me this. How long does it take to get to Pendik at this time of night? The same as during the day?”

“Less, perhaps; but it would depend on the ferry to Uskudar.”

“How often does that run at night?”

“Every hour, sir.”

“So if we missed one it could take us well over two hours?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Miller. “Two hours to Pendik, two hours to persuade Giulio, two more hours to persuade Enrico…”

“If he would be persuaded,” Miss Lipp put in.

Harper nodded. “Of course. And then two hours back. Not a very restful night, Leo.”

“Then postpone,” Miller snapped.

Harper shook his head. “The overheads, Leo. If we postpone, it means abandon. What will our friends say to that?”

“It is not their necks.” Miller looked resentfully at Fischer. “If you had not…” he began, but Harper cut him off sharply.

“We’ve been over all that, Leo. Now, why don’t you at least give it a whirl?”

Miller shrugged.

Harper looked at me. “We want to make an experiment, Arthur. Do you mind going over there and standing against the wall with your back against it?”

“Over here?”

“That’s right. Your back touching the wall.” He went over to Fischer, picked up a length of thick cord which was lying across the bandaged hands, and threw one end of it to me. I saw that the other end was attached to a leg of the settee. “Now here’s what it is, Arthur,” he went on; “I’ve told Mr. Miller that you can pull that settee six feet towards you just with the strength of your arms. Of course, your back’s leaning against the wall, so you can’t use your weight to help you. It has to be just your arms. Mr. Miller says you can’t do it, and he’s got a hundred-dollar bill that says he’s right. I’ve got one that says he’s wrong. If he wins, I pay. If I win, you and I split fifty-fifty. How about it?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“Very well, begin,” said Miller. “Your shoulders against the wall, your heels not more than ten centimeters from it and together.” He moved over so that he could see that I didn’t cheat.

I have always detested that kind of parlor trick; in fact, I dislike any sort of trial of physical strength. They always remind me of a lot of boys I once saw in the school lavatories. They were standing in a row seeing who could urinate the farthest. Suddenly they started laughing and then began to aim at each other. I happened to get in the way and it was very unpleasant. In my opinion, rugger is the same kind of thing-just childish, smelly, homosexual horseplay. I always got out of it whenever I could. Today, any sort of exercise brings on my indigestion immediately.

Frankly, then, I didn’t think that there was the slightest chance of my being able to pull that heavy settee one foot, much less six. I am not particularly strong in the arms anyway. Why should I be? I have enough strength to lift a suitcase and drive a car; what more do I want?

“Go on,” said Miller. “Pull with all your strength!”

I should have done as he said and fallen flat on my face. Then, Harper would have lost a hundred dollars, and I should have been spared the ordeal. But Miss Lipp had to interfere.

“Just a minute, Arthur,” she said; “I tried this and I couldn’t do it. But you’re a man with a good pair of shoulders on you, and I think you can do it.”

Even if I had never heard her use the phrase “indignant sheep” about me, I would have known this heavy-handed guile for what it was. I do not have a good pair of shoulders on me. I have narrow, sloping ones. Women who think they can get away with that childish sort of flattery make me sick. I was really annoyed. Unfortunately, that made me go red. She smiled. I suppose she thought I was blushing because of her bloody compliment.

“I’m not much good at this sort of game,” I said.

“The thing is to pull on the cord steadily, Arthur. Don’t jerk it. Pull steadily, and when it starts moving, keep pulling steadily hand over hand. It’s an easy fifty dollars. I know you can do it.”

I was getting really browned off with her now. “All right, you bitch,” I thought to myself; “I’ll show you!” So I did the exact opposite of what she’d said. I jerked on the cord as hard as I could.

The settee moved a few inches; but, of course, what I’d done by jerking it, was to get the feet out of the dents they’d made for themselves in the thick carpet. After that, I just kept on pulling and it slid some more. As it got nearer it became easier because I was pulling up as well as along.

Harper looked at Miller. “What about it, Leo?”

Miller felt my arms and shoulders as if he were buying a horse. “He is flabby, out of condition,” he said sourly.

“But he did the trick,” Harper reminded him.

Miller spread out his hands as if to abandon the argument.

Harper took a note from his wallet. “Here, Arthur,” he said, “fifty dollars.” He paused and then went on quietly: “How would like to earn two thousand?”

I stared at him.

“Sit down,” he said.

I sat down and was glad to do so. My legs were trembling. With two thousand dollars I could buy a Central American passport that would be good for years; and it would be a real passport, too. I know, because I have looked into such matters. As long as you don’t actually go to the country concerned, there’s no trouble at all. You just buy the passport. That’s the way their consuls abroad line their pockets. Of course, I knew it was all a pipe dream. Even if I did whatever it was they wanted, Harper wasn’t going to be in a position to pay me, because the chances were that Tufan would have him in jail by then. Still, it was a good dream.

“I’d like that very much,” I said.

They were all watching me intently now.

“Don’t you want to know what you have to do for it?” Harper asked.

I wasn’t going to let him walk all over me. I sat back. “What Mr. Fischer was going to do, I suppose,” I answered; “that is, if he hadn’t that little accident this evening.”

Miss Lipp laughed. “I told you Arthur wasn’t as simple as he looks,” she said.

“What else do you know, Arthur?” This was Harper again.

“Only what Miss Lipp told me, sir-that you are all very sensible, tolerant persons, who are very broad-minded about things that the law doesn’t always approve of, but who don’t like taking risks.”

“I told you all that, Arthur?” She pretended to be surprised.

“It was what I gathered, Miss Lipp.”

Harper smiled. “All right, Arthur,” he said; “suppose we just leave it there. We have a deal.”

“I think I’m entitled to know a little more than that.”

“And you will, Arthur. We’ll be leaving here tomorrow afternoon around three, bags packed and everything because we won’t be coming back. Before we go you’ll have a complete briefing. And don’t worry. All you have to do is just pull on a rope at the right place and time. Everything else is taken care of.”

“Is this a police matter?”

“It would be if they knew about it, but they don’t. I told you, you don’t have to worry. Believe me, you’ve taken bigger risks in Athens for a lot less than two thousand.”

“On that subject, sir, I think I am now entitled to have my letter back.”

Harper looked questioningly at Miller and Fischer. The latter began to talk in German. He spoke slowly and wearily now, and I guessed that the sedative had taken effect, but his attitude was clear enough. So was Miller’s. Harper turned to me and shook his head regretfully.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, that’ll have to wait. In fact, my friends seem to feel that you may be quite a security risk for the next twelve hours or so.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do.” He grinned. “I’ll bet the idea’s been churning around in that cute little brain of yours for the last five minutes. ‘If two hands on a rope are worth two thousand dollars to these people, what would a tip-off be worth to the police?’ ”

“I assure you…”

“Of course you do, Arthur. I was only kidding.” His tone was quite friendly. “But you see the problem. We like to feel safe. Even that letter doesn’t mean much here. Do you have the car keys?”

“Yes.”

“Let me have them.”

I handed them to him.

“You see we wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts and maybe walk out on us,” he explained.

“And we would not like him to use the telephone,” said Miller.

“That’s right.” Harper thought for a moment. “Hans is going to need help undressing,” he said; “and the doctor’s given him another antibiotic he has to take. I think it would be best if we made up an extra bed in his room and Arthur slept there.”

“So that he can kill me when I am helpless and get out by the window?” Fischer demanded thickly.

“Oh, I don’t think Arthur would do that. Would you, Arthur?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s right. But we don’t want Hans to be worrying, do we? The doctor says he really needs to sleep. And you should have a good night’s sleep, too, Arthur. You won’t get any tomorrow night. You wouldn’t mind taking a couple of good strong sleeping pills, would you? Or maybe even three?”

I hesitated.

“Oh, they won’t hurt you, Arthur.” Miss Lipp gave me a fond smile. “I’ll tell you what. If you’ll be a good boy and take your pills, I’ll take one, too. We’ll all need our sleep tomorrow.”

What could I say?