by Eric Ambler
Then, in sheer desperation, I did something rather silly. I felt that I had to know if the grenades and pistols were still in the car. If they had been taken out, at least one bit of my theory was still just tenable. I could assume that they had been delivered or were in process of delivery to the person who wanted them.
I had about twenty minutes to spare before Miss Lipp came out of the Seraglio; but in case she was early I drove the car to the other end of the courtyard under some trees opposite the Church of St. Irene. Then I got the Phillips screwdriver out of my bag and went to work on the door by the driver’s seat.
I wasn’t worried about anyone seeing me. After all, I was only carrying out Tufan’s orders. The men in the Opel wouldn’t interfere; and if some cab driver became inquisitive, I could always pretend that I was having trouble with a door lock. All that mattered was the time, because I had to do it carefully to avoid making marks.
I loosened all the screws carefully first, and then began to remove them. It seemed to take an age. And then a horrible thing happened. Just as I was taking out the last screw but one, I happened to glance up and saw Miss Lipp with the guide walking across the courtyard from the alleyway leading to the Archaeological Museum.
I knew at once that she had seen the car because she was walking straight towards it. She was about two hundred yards away, and on the opposite side of the car to the door I had been working on, but I knew that I couldn’t get even one of the screws back in time. Besides, I was not in the place she had told me to be. There was only one thing I could do: stuff the screws and screwdriver into my pocket, start the car, drive around the courtyard to meet her, and hope to God the two loose screws would hold the panel in place when I opened the door to get out.
I had one piece of luck. The guide practically fell over himself opening her door for her, so I didn’t have to open the one on my side. I was able to get my apology in at the same time.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Lipp. I thought you might be visiting the St. Irene Church and I wanted to save you the walk back.”
That got by all right because she couldn’t thank the guide and answer me at the same time. The guide was an unexpected help, too, as he immediately asked her if she would like to see the church, “pure Byzantine, built in the reign of Justinian, and of great historical interest.”
“I’ll leave that for another time,” she said.
“But you will be here tomorrow, madame, when the Treasury Museum is on view?”
“Well, maybe.”
“Otherwise, it must be Thursday, madame. That part and the pictures are on view only two days in the week, when all the other rooms are closed.” He was obviously panting for her to come again. I wondered how much she had tipped him.
“I’ll try and make it tomorrow. Thank you again.” She gave him the smile. To me, she said: “Let’s go.”
I drove off. As soon as we got onto the cobbles the panel started to vibrate. I immediately pressed my knee against it and the vibration stopped; but I was really scared now. I didn’t think that she would notice that the screws were out; but Fischer or Harper certainly would; and there was this unknown we were going to meet. I knew that I had somehow to replace the screws while the car was at the airport.
“Is the plane on time?” she asked.
A donkey cart came rattling out of a side street at that moment, and I made a big thing of braking and swerving out of its way. I didn’t have to pretend that the cart had shaken me up. I was shaken up all right. My call to Tufan and the argument with him had made me forget completely about calling the airline. I did the best I could.
“They didn’t know of any delay,” I said; “but the plane was making an intermediate stop. Would you like me to check again?”
“No, it’s not worth it now.”
“Did you enjoy the Seraglio, Miss Lipp?” I thought if I kept talking it might quieten my stomach down a bit.
“It was interesting.”
“The Treasury is worth seeing, too. Everything the Sultans used was covered with jewels. Of course, a great many of the things were gifts from kings and emperors who wanted to impress the Sultans with their greatness. Even Queen Victoria sent things.”
“I know.” She chuckled. “Clocks and cut glass.”
“But some of the things are really incredible, Miss Lipp. There are coffee cups sculptured out of solid amethyst, and, you know, the largest emerald in the world is there on the canopy of one of the thrones. They even did mosaic work with rubies and emeralds instead of marble.” I went on to tell her about the gem-encrusted baldrics. I gave her the full treatment. In my experience every normal woman likes talking about jewels. But she didn’t seem much interested.
“Well,” she said, “they can’t be worth much.”
“All those hundreds and thousands of jewels, Miss Lipp!” My leg was getting stiff trying to stop the panel from vibrating. I wriggled surreptitiously into a new position.
She shrugged. “The guide told me that the reason they have to close some rooms on the days they open up the others is because they’re understaffed. The reason they’re understaffed is because the government hasn’t the money to spend. That’s why the place is so shabby, too. Pretty well all of the money they have for restoration goes into the older, the Byzantine buildings. Besides, if all those stones were real gems they’d be in a strong-room not a museum. You know, Arthur, quite a lot of these old baubles turn out in the end to be just obsidian garnet.”
“Oh, these are real gems, Miss Lipp.”
“What’s the biggest emerald in the world look like, Arthur?”
“Well, it’s pear-shaped, and about the size of a pear, too.”
“Smooth or cut?”
“Smooth.”
“Couldn’t it be green tourmaline?”
“Well, I suppose I don’t know really, Miss Lipp. I’m not an expert.”
“Do you care which it is?”
I was getting bored with this. “Not much, Miss Lipp,” I answered. “It just makes a more interesting story if it’s an emerald.”
She smiled. “It makes a more amusing story if it’s not. Have you ever been to the mysterious East?”
“No, Miss Lipp.”
“But you’ve seen pictures. Do you know what makes those tall pagodas glitter so beautifully in the moonlight?”
“No, Miss Lipp.”
“They’re covered with little pieces of broken bottle glass. And the famous emerald Buddha in Bangkok isn’t emerald at all, it’s carved from a block of ordinary green jasper.”
“Little-known facts,” I thought. “Why don’t you send it in to Reader’s Digest?” I didn’t say it though.
She took a cigarette from the gold case in her bag and I fumbled in my pocket for matches; but she had a gold lighter, too, and didn’t notice the matches I held out to her. “Have you always done this sort of work?” she asked suddenly.
“Driving? No, Miss Lipp. Most of my life I have been a journalist. That was in Egypt. When the Nasser crowd took over, things became impossible. It was a matter of starting again.” Simple, straightforward-a man who has suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune but wasn’t looking for anyone’s shoulder to weep on.
“I was thinking about the traveler’s checks,” she said. “Is that what you meant by ‘starting again’?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Harper had to tell you about that.” It was no surprise, of course, that Harper had told her; but with so many other things on my mind-driving, keeping the door panel from rattling, cramp in my leg and wondering how the hell I was going to replace the screws-all I could think of was that obvious reply.
“Did you think he wouldn’t tell me?” she went on.
“I didn’t think about it either way, Miss Lipp.”
“But since he did tell me and since you’re driving this car, that must mean that I don’t mind too much about things like that, mustn’t it?”
For one idiotic moment I wondered if she were making some sort of pass at me; bu
t it was a brief moment.
“I suppose so,” I answered.
“And that Mr. Harper doesn’t mind either?”
“Yes.”
“And that, in fact, we’re all very sensible, tolerant persons?”
I couldn’t help glancing at her. She was watching me in her amused, considering way, but there was nothing sleepy about her eyes now. They were steadily intent.
And then I got the message. I was being sounded, either to discover what I had made of the setup and if they had left any shirt-tails showing, or to find out if I could be trusted in some particular way. I knew that how I answered would be very important indeed to me; but I didn’t know what to say. It was no use pretending to be stupid any more, or trying to avoid the issue. A test was being applied. If I failed it, I was out-out with Harper, out with Tufan and his Director, out with the Turkish customs, and, in all probability, out with the Greek police as well.
I felt my face getting red and knew that she would notice. That decided me. People get red when they feel guilty or nervous; but they also get red when they are angry. In order not to seem nervous or guilty, all I could do was to seem angry.
“Including Mr. Fischer?” I asked.
“What about Mr. Fischer?”
“Is he sensible, too, Miss Lipp?”
“Does that matter?”
I glanced at her again. “If my personal safety-safety from some sort of bad luck, let us say-depended on Fischer’s being sensible, I’d be quite worried.”
“Because he upset a drink over you?”
“Ah, he told you that, did he? No, that was only stupid. I’d be worried because he was careless, because he gave himself away.”
“Only himself?” There was quite an edge to her voice now. I knew that I had gone far enough.
“What else is there to give away, Miss Lipp?” I am wary but not treacherous, Miss Lipp. I watch my own interests, Miss Lipp, but I know how to be discreet, too, no matter how phony the setup looks.
“What indeed?” she said shortly.
She said no more. The test was over. I did not know whether I had passed or not; but there was nothing more that I could do, and I was glad of the relief. I hoped she would not notice that I was sweating.
We arrived at the airport ten minutes before the plane was due. She got out and went into the arrivals section, leaving me to find a place to park. I quickly did the two loose screws up before I went to join her.
She was at the Air France counter.
“Fifteen minutes to wait,” she said.
“And at least another fifteen before they get through customs,” I reminded her. “Miss Lipp, you have had no lunch. The cafe here is quite clean. Why not wait there and have some cakes and tea? I will keep a check on the plane and arrange for a porter to be ready. When the passengers are in customs I will let you know.”
She hesitated, then, to my relief, nodded. “All right, you do that.”
“May I ask who it is that we are meeting?”
“Mr. Miller.”
“I will take care of everything.”
I showed her where the cafe was, hung around long enough to make sure that she was going to stay there, and then hurried back to the car.
I was sweating so much by this time that my fingers kept slipping on the screwdriver. In fact, I did what I had been trying hard to avoid doing and scratched the leather; but it couldn’t be helped. I rubbed some spit on the place and hoped for the best. The Opel was parked about a dozen yards away and I could see the men in it watching me. They probably thought I’d gone mad.
When the last screw was in place, I put the screwdriver back in my bag and went inside again to the Air France counter. The plane was just landing. I found a porter, gave him five lira, and told him about Mr. Miller. Then I went to the men’s room and tried to stop myself from sweating by running cold water over my wrists. It helped a little. I cleaned myself up and went back to the cafe.
“The passengers are beginning to come through now, Miss Lipp.”
She picked up her bag. “Take care of the check will you, Arthur?”
It took me a minute or two to get the waiter’s attention, so I missed the meeting between Miss Lipp and Mr. Miller. They were already on the way out to the car when I saw them. The porter was carrying two pieces of luggage, one suitcase and one smaller bag. I went ahead and got the luggage compartment open.
Mr. Miller was about sixty with a long neck and nose, lined gray cheeks, and a bald head with brown blotches on the skin. The backs of his hands had blotches, too. He was very thin and his light tussore suit flapped as he walked as if it had been made for someone with more flesh to cover. He had rimless glasses, pale lips, a toothy smile, and that fixed stare ahead which says: “You’ll have to get out of my way, I’m afraid, because I haven’t the time to get out of yours.”
As they came up to the car Miss Lipp said: “This is Arthur Simpson, who’s driving for us, Leo.”
Before I could even say “good afternoon” he had handed me the raincoat he had been carrying over his arm. “Good, good,” he said, and climbed into the back seat. She smiled slightly as she got in after him, though not at me, to herself.
The coat smelled of lavender water. I put it with the luggage, tipped the porter again, and got into the driver’s seat.
“To the villa, Miss Lipp?” I asked.
“Yes, Arthur.”
“Wait a minute.” It was Miller. “Where is my coat?”
“With your luggage, sir.”
“It will get dirty in there. It should be on a seat in here.”
“Yes, sir.”
I got out again and retrieved the coat.
“What a fuss you make, Leo,” I heard her say. “The car’s quite clean.”
“The baggage in there is not clean. It has been in the belly of a plane with other baggage. It has been on the floor and table of the customs place. It has been handled by the man who searched it, handled again by the porter. Nothing is clean.” His accent had no American inflections, and he couldn’t pronounce his th ’s. I thought he might be French.
I draped the coat over the back of the seat in front of him. “Will that be all right, sir?”
“Yes, of course,” he said impatiently.
That type is always the same. They make the difficulties and then behave as if you’re the one who’s being the nuisance.
“Let’s go, Arthur,” said Miss Lipp. Her tone was noncommittal. I couldn’t tell whether she found him tiresome or not. I watched them in the driving mirror.
As soon as we were clear of the airport, he settled back and looked her over in a fatherly way.
“Well, my dear, you’re looking healthy. How are Karl and Giulio?”
“Karl’s fine. Giulio we haven’t seen yet. He’s with the boat. Karl was thinking of going over there tomorrow.”
“Have you anything planned for then?”
“We thought you might like to do a little sightseeing. That is unless you’re tired.”
“You are more considerate than a daughter, my dear.” The teeth leered at her and the pale eyes behind the rimless glasses flickered towards my back.
I had already realized that this was a conversation conducted solely for my benefit, but now I saw her face stiffen. She knew that I was listening hard and was afraid that he was overdoing it.
“You must persuade Arthur to show you around the Seraglio Palace,” she said. “He is quite an authority on it. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”
That was as good as telling me that the old fool would believe any cock-and-bull story I cared to tell him. On the other hand, it must be telling him something, too; perhaps warning him that the driver wasn’t such a fool as he looked. I had to be careful.
“I would be happy to show Mr. Miller what there is to see,” I said.
“Well, we must certainly think about that,” he replied; “certainly, we must think about it.”
He glanced at her to see if he had said the right thing. A sentence of my f
ather’s came into my mind. “One moment they’re all full of piss and wind and the next moment…” At that point he would make a raspberry sound with his tongue. Vulgar, of course, but there was never any doubt about the kind of man he meant.
Mr. Miller kept quiet after that. Once or twice she pointed out places of interest, in the manner of a hostess with a newly arrived guest; but the only thing he asked about was the tap water at the villa. Was it safe to drink or was there bottled water available? There was bottled water, she told him. He nodded, as if that had confirmed his worst fears, and said that he had brought plenty of Entero Vioform for intestinal prophylaxis.
We reached the villa a little after five. Miss Lipp told me to sound the horn as I went up the drive.
The reception committee consisted of Harper and Fischer. Hovering in the background, ready to carry luggage, was an old man wearing an apron whom I took to be Hamul, the resident caretaker.
Tufan had said that Fischer was the lessee of the villa but there was no doubt who was the real host there. All Fischer received from the incoming guest was a nod of recognition. Harper got a smile and an “Ah, my dear Karl.” They shook hands with businesslike cordiality, and then Harper, Miller, and Miss Lipp went straight into the house. To Fischer were left the menial tasks of telling Hamul where Miller’s bags were to go, and of showing me where to put the car and where I was to sleep.
At the back of the villa there was a walled stable yard. Part of the stabling had been converted into a garage with room for two cars. It was empty except for a Lambretta motor scooter.
“The Lambretta belongs to the cook,” Fischer said; “see that he does not steal gasoline from the car.”
I followed him across the yard to the rear entrance of the house.
Inside, I had a brief glimpse of the polished wood flooring of a passage beyond the small tiled hallway, before he led the way up a narrow staircase to the top floor. All too obviously we were in the old servants’ quarters. There were six small attic cubicles with bare wood floors, bare wood partition walls, and a single skylight in the roof for all of them. The sanitary arrangements consisted of an earthenware sink with a water tap on the wall at the head of the stairs. It was stiflingly hot under the low roof and there were dust and cobwebs everywhere. Two of the cubicles showed signs of having been swept out recently. Each contained an iron bedstead with a mattress and gray blankets. In one, there was a battered composition-leather suitcase. Fischer showed me to the other.