Cause for Alarm v-2

by Eric Ambler

  By a quarter to nine we got to the top of what appeared to be a long ridge. We were both of us breathless and Zaleshoff called a halt. Then, when he had got his breath back:

  “We ought to be above Fusine and slightly beyond it-about here.” He jabbed the map. I did not bother to see where. “If we keep going level for a bit now we should strike the path where it tops the ridge. That is, if we can see it at all. If this damned mist would lift…”

  We went on. In spite of the exertion of climbing, in spite of the two jerseys, I began to feel terribly cold. I could feel the snow, melted by the heat of my body, soaking through the thick woollen socks above the gaiters. The top of the ridge was rocky and we toiled through drifts of snow that came up to our waists. By this time, too, night was falling. The mist seemed to be closing in on us. I began to feel panicky.

  As the light went the mist cleared. It seemed to dissolve into the shadows. At one moment it was all round us; thirty seconds later it had gone and we saw the lights of isolated cottages on the hillside far away down the valley. There were no stars. The night hung like a black fog overhead. A few minutes later it began to snow hard.

  The top of the ridge was partly screened by trees, but the shelter they gave was negligible. The snow did not fall in flakes, but in great frozen chunks. There was a frightening savagery about it. There was no wind and it fell vertically: but when we moved forward it beat against our faces with stinging force. Our arms shielding our faces, we blundered on a few steps at a time, pausing in between for breath.

  We must have gone on for twenty minutes like that before we felt the ridge begin to dip slightly. Zaleshoff grasped my arm.

  “We’re getting near the path now,” he panted; “keep your eyes open for it.”

  But that was easier said than done. I had long ago thrown away my spectacles. Now I wished that I had kept them. The strain of trying to peer through screwed-up eyes into the darkness beyond the streaming white mass in front of us was almost unbearable. The ridge dipped and rose again and still we had not found the path. My legs were beginning to feel leaden. We went on for another ten minutes. Then I stopped. Zaleshoff was a few paces ahead of me. I called out to him and he turned back.

  “What is it?”

  I waited to get my breath. “Zaleshoff,” I said at last, “we’re lost.”

  For a moment he did not move. Then I saw him nod. For a minute we stood there in silence, the snow hissing through the trees and beating down on us. I remember that it had piled up on my shoulders so that if I bent my head sideways I could touch it with my cheek. I had begun to shiver.

  “Let’s have a drink,” he said, “it’s in my rucksack.”

  I cleared the snow off the top of the rucksack and got out the rum. We took a stiff peg each. I could feel it, warm and sickly, trickling down to my stomach.

  “What do we do about it?” I said as I replaced the bottle.

  “We can’t be so far away from the path. If we get down the side of the ridge here, maybe we can find some place among the rocks where we can shelter until it gets light.”

  “You mean spend the night out in this?”

  “We’ve got the rum.”

  “All right. Anything’s better than standing here.”

  We started to scramble down the side of the hill. It was steeper than the side by which we had come up and we slithered down most of the way. At last we came to rest on a shelf of rock.

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” muttered Zaleshoff; “we shall end up on the floor of the valley. We’ll try going forward.”

  We edged our way along the shelf. Soon it sloped sharply upwards and we were climbing back towards the top of the ridge.

  The snow was coming down as heavily as ever. We were both soaking wet and numb with cold. We had stopped to get our breath back and take stock of our position when we saw the light ahead of and above us.

  The side of the ridge was scooped out in a series of hollows like huge teeth marks. We were at the edge of one of these hollows. The shelf turned away sharply to the left and the light could only be coming from somewhere farther along the top of the ridge as it curved southward.

  The light seemed to flicker.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “It might be someone with a lantern. But it’s a bit too steady for that. We can’t be more than a kilometre from Fusine. It may be a house. Come on, we’ll see.”

  “What’s the use?”

  “If there’s a house it means we must be near the path that guy was talking about. It starts from Fusine. Let’s go.”

  We started to climb again. The way was steep and dangerous. With each difficult step I could feel my strength going. The cold and the altitude were slowly overcoming me. My heart was pounding furiously. But I floundered on up after Zaleshoff. I was afraid of being left behind.

  The light had disappeared. A feeling of lassitude began to steal over me. Now it did not matter if I was left behind. My head was swimming. I heard myself calling out to him to stop. Then suddenly I felt my feet sink through the snow on to a level surface. The light reappeared and it was nearer. I could see the shape of a window.

  Zaleshoff’s hand was on my shoulder. I heard him telling me to stay where I was. Then I saw him disappear towards a blackness beyond the snow. I stood still. Behind the thudding of the blood in my head I could hear the quiet, incessant rustle of the snow.

  Suddenly there was a shout from the direction in which he had gone. The next moment I heard him yelling out something in a language I did not understand. Involuntarily I stumbled forward up the slope. Then, out of the white darkness ahead loomed two figures. Hands gripped my arms. I heard Zaleshoff shouting again; and this time he was using English.

  “It’s O.K. Marlow. Take it easy. Don’t resist. We’re over.”

  Resist! I was too exhausted even to laugh at the idea.

  17

  “NO CAUSE FOR ALARM”

  The remainder of that night we spent by the brazier in the concrete Yugo-Slav advance frontier post into which we had succeeded in blundering. As soon as dawn broke we were removed to a guard post a kilometre away.

  The Yugo-Slav officials were suspicious but polite. There was an air of informality about the proceedings that I had not expected. The men who had arrested us stood about spitting and smoking while we were questioned. It was not until later that I learned that it was only the fact that we were not Italians that interested them. Italian refugees were still, apparently, fairly common.

  Zaleshoff produced his passport and was released within the hour. I was allowed to telephone the Vice-Consul at Zagreb. It took a long time to get the call through, and they gave us coffee while we waited in front of the guardroom stove; but by eleven o’clock matters had been satisfactorily arranged and, on the understanding that we reported to the police immediately on our arrival there, we were permitted to proceed to Zagreb. That night, for the first time in five days, I slept in a bed.

  The following morning, clad in a brand new Yugo-Slav suit and armed with an identity paper from the Consul, I travelled with Zaleshoff to Belgrade. The luxury of being able to face a ticket collector without flinching was delicious. I was extraordinarily excited and pleased with myself. I had telephoned to Claire, explained that I had had to leave Italy hurriedly (I did not say just how hurriedly) to escape a charge of bribery over a Spartacus contract, and promised to be home within the week. She had refrained manfully from asking for details. I had told Zaleshoff of the fact with some pride.

  He had grinned. “If I were you, Marlow, I’d get busy as soon as I got to London. If you don’t look sharp and marry her, some other guy will.”

  “That’s precisely what I’d been thinking.”

  I had also telephoned Wolverhampton. Mr. Fitch had not been so accommodating in the matter of details. News of the warrant for my arrest had reached Spartacus via the British authorities. Bombarded with quesions, I had said that I had been staying with friends waiting for the thing to blow over, that I
was now safe and sound, and that I would get to Wolverhampton as soon as possible. At that point the operator had intervened with the news that I had been talking for six minutes. I had suggested quickly that Umberto be empowered to carry on temporarily in Milan and hung up. I should, I reflected, have two months’ salary to come from Spartacus.

  But one thing that Fitch had said troubled me. He had raised the question of the Italian Government starting extradition proceedings. I mentioned it to Zaleshoff.

  He laughed. “Extradition? Not a chance. Even if they knew you were here they wouldn’t do anything about it. For one thing they’d know that it was too late to prevent your reaching Vagas. For another, they’d have to answer too many questions themselves to make it worth their while. What about that passport photograph they put in the paper? Supposing the British authorities wanted to know how they got it. No, I guess the only one they’ll take it out of is Bellinetti. I wouldn’t be in that bird’s shoes for a good deal.”

  He had evidently been in touch with Tamara, for she was waiting for us at the Belgrade station. They kissed each other’s hands. It was rather touching. She smiled at me.

  “You’re looking well, Mr. Marlow.”

  “He’s done a lot of walking,” remarked Zaleshoff; “there’s nothing like walking for getting you fit.” He grasped her arm. “Where’s Vagas? Have you found him yet?”

  “Yes. His house is shut up, but I put Fedor on to watch it. He went there yesterday and came out forty minutes later with a suitcase. Fedor followed him to the Hotel Amerika. He’s got a suite there on the second floor. Number two hundred and ten.”

  “Good.” I saw his eyes flicker towards me.

  “Fedor?” I said. “That sounds like a good old American name.” But he ignored the remark.

  “Where are we staying?”

  “I’ve taken rooms at the Acacia for us and one for Mr. Marlow at the Amerika-on the second floor.”

  “Let’s go to the Acacia first.”

  At the Hotel Acacia we talked for half an hour. Or, rather, Zaleshoff talked and I nodded. Tamara had left us to ourselves, but presently she appeared with a large and expensive-looking suitcase containing a pair of pyjamas, a tooth brush and toilet necessities, and a number of secondhand books to add weight to it. Towards six o’clock I put the case into a taxi and was driven to the Hotel Amerika.

  As I was registering I glanced at the key rack and saw that the key of number two hundred and ten was hanging there. Vagas was out. I went up to my room, deposited my hat, unpacked the sponge bag and the pyjamas and then descended to the lounge. There I selected a table from which I could see across the foyer to the main entrance, ordered a drink and sat down to wait.

  He would, I thought, be returning to the hotel to change his clothes for the evening, and I was right. I had just finished my second drink when I saw him come through the revolving doors, collect his key and walk towards the lift. I put my drink down quickly and dashed for the stairs. I just had time to reach the lift entrance on the second floor and press the button as if to summon the lift, when the doors opened.

  Vagas stepped out and we met face to face.

  His eyebrows went up; but as evident as his surprise was his suspicion. I affected amazement and delight. Before he could say a word I seized his hand and wrung it heartily.

  “General Vagas! the very man I’ve been looking for!”

  “Mr. Marlow! this is most unexpected.”

  “Very unexpected,” I said warmly. “I’ve been wondering all the afternoon where I could find you. I looked up your address in the directory, but your place was shut up. I’d given it up as hopeless. And all the time, we were on the same floor in the same hotel!”

  He smiled faintly. “Well, now that you have found me, Mr. Marlow, perhaps you will join me in a drink.”

  “I should be delighted. This is remarkable,” I babbled enthusiastically as we walked along the corridor. “When I found your place empty, I naturally thought that you must be away.”

  His lips still smiling, he listened. I could almost feel his suspicion of me. Inside the room, he went to a cupboard and got out some glasses and two bottles.

  “When did you arrive, Mr. Marlow? Brandy and Evian?”

  “Thank you. This afternoon after lunch.”

  “From Italy.”

  But Zaleshoff had coached me carefully. “No, from Vienna.” I laughed. “That little business transaction of ours did not end very happily, did it, General? You know, I was in Naples at the time, and if my assistant had not telephoned me when I was in Rome and warned me, I really believe they would have arrested me when I got back. Naturally, my Consul would have put that right quick enough, but I thought that I had better play for safety. I managed to get a boat for Villefranche. I tried to telephone you in Milan, but your manservant told me that you had left.” I delivered a long tirade against the interference of the Italian police in private business matters.

  He listened politely. “I understand that the Commendatore was arrested. Most unfortunate. It was reported in the papers. By the way, have you seen the Italian papers lately, Mr. Marlow?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I thought you might have seen the reports of the case. Most interesting.”

  I wondered if he knew that the Italian papers had been quite silent on the subject of the Commendatore. I found out soon that he did know it.

  He handed me a glass and bent down to fill his own.

  “Mr. Marlow,” he said over his shoulder, “I am most curious to know just why you came to Belgrade instead of returning to England and why you were so anxious to see me.”

  I registered astonishment. “You don’t mean to say that you’ve forgotten about those questions you asked me in your letter? I took quite a lot of trouble over them, and then I did not have time to write to you before I left for Naples. After that, as I told you, I found that you’d left Milan. I…”

  His hand with the bottle of Evian in it had been moving towards his glass. Suddenly it stopped. He straightened his back.

  “One moment, Mr. Marlow. Am I to understand that you had actually secured that information before you left Italy?”

  “You are, General.” I grinned. “With a five thousand lire bonus at the end of it, can you blame me for taking a little holiday trip to Belgrade. I don’t suppose that Spartacus will be very pleased with me over this bribery business. It’s not my fault, of course. But the Italians may rat on that contract. I shall probably be glad of fifty pounds.”

  For a moment or two he looked at me in silence. Then:

  “You have the information with you, Mr. Marlow?”

  I smiled and tapped my forehead. “In here, General.” I had, I hoped, the air of a cunning, stupid man who knows that he has the whip-hand and is determined to use it.

  He contemplated me thoughtfully. His eyes were very dangerous, and I could feel my assumed confidence oozing away, leaving only a wooden empty smile behind it. Then he put his hand in his breast pocket and drew out a wallet. Slowly he counted out five mille notes and tossed them on to the table in front of me.

  “Well, Mr. Marlow?”

  I repeated the second part of Zaleshoff’s lesson and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes gleam with interest. He went to a bureau, drew out a piece of paper and told me to repeat what I had said. I did so. He jotted down a note or two. At last he stood up again.

  “I am glad to state, Mr. Marlow, that this information has the appearance of accuracy and may be of use to us. I think I should remind you, however, that this transaction must be our last. I should be quite unable to persuade my superiors that there is any reason for continuing to pay your salary now that you are no longer persona grata in Italy. You understand that?”

  “Oh yes, General.” I hesitated and looked at him rather furtively. “With regard to the matter we discussed in the car that night, I should like some assurance that the information concerning my employers’ business will not be used in any way… er… prejudicial.”


  A glint of amusement appeared for an instant in his eyes; but he assured me gravely enough that I need have no fears.

  “Can I persuade you to have dinner with me, Mr. Marlow?” he added.

  “I should like to, General, but I am leaving for London in the morning and I have some letters to write. I feel sure you will excuse me.”

  It was feeble enough as an excuse, but he nodded. Clearly, he had not expected me to accept.

  “A pity. However”-he held out his hand-“ bon voyage, Mr. Marlow, and thank you. My wife will be sorry that she missed you.”

  I almost jumped. Was it possible that the man did not know of his wife’s death? Then I realised that the statement was a trap. I had said that I had not seen the Italian papers. I ought not to know that his wife was dead, that she had killed herself. He was grasping my hand, and I was afraid for a moment that he might have felt the involuntary contraction of my muscles. That was, of course, why he had taken my hand before he had mentioned his wife.

  I managed to keep my voice level. “Please convey my respects to Madame Vagas.”

  Then a curious thing happened. Before this, I had not seen him in the daylight. His maquillage was not as heavy as that which he wore at night. Now, as his cheeks creased momentarily into the first genuine smile I had seen on his face, I saw that beneath the paint his face was pock-marked.

  The smile was gone; but when he spoke his voice held laughter, the laughter of a man who is enjoying a good joke.

  “I shall do my best to convey your respects to my wife, Mr. Marlow,” he said deliberately; “I shall make a point of doing so next time I see her. A rivederci.”

  I fumbled with the door-knob. I was feeling slightly sick.

  “Good night, General.”

  As the door shut behind me I heard him laugh.

  I got my hat from my room and went downstairs on my way to report to Zaleshoff. I was not sure that I had not been made a fool of. Then, as I stopped by the desk to leave my key, I heard something which made me change my mind. The telephone stood adjacent to the clerk’s desk and I heard the operator repeat the word “Berlin” twice and then “ danke.” Someone in the hotel was putting a call through to Berlin.