“But what about my passport?”
“There’s nothing new about that. It’s a good way of keeping tabs on you. They know perfectly well that it’s the devil’s own job to get a passport replaced even when there’s every reason to suppose that it has been destroyed. There are endless formalities. When it’s not definitely lost, when it’s just mislaid, when there’s more than a chance that it may turn up, the difficulties are multiplied. That suits them. If you wanted to leave the country, you’d have to get a Document of Identity for travelling purposes from your Consul. That would mean approaching the police for a visa. In other words, you can’t leave the country without their say-so. They’ve got you pretty well taped.”
“And I suppose that the letter opening was their work, too.”
“Sure. They’ve got to keep a check on Bellinetti, too. That’s their way.”
I sat for a moment in silence. In my mind’s eye I was trying to get the thing into its correct perspective. Vagas, Ferning, Bellinetti. Ferning, with his small anxious eyes, his protesting mouth, had been the born victim. Inset: the murdered man. Ferning was the sheep. Vagas and Bellinetti were the wolves-wolves which hunted in different packs. But where exactly did Zaleshoff fit in? There was nothing sheep-like about him. Was he, too, a wolf? Anyway, what did it matter? It was nothing to do with me, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake as Ferning. The less I knew, the better. Ask no questions…
I looked up. “Well,” I said crisply, “it’s very good of you to tell me all this, Mr. Zaleshoff, to warn me of some of the perils of the big city. But, as it happens, your warning is unnecessary. I have already told Vagas that I will have nothing to do with his precious proposition.”
“Do you mean to say,” he said slowly, “that he let you turn him down flat?”
I laughed. I was feeling very sure of myself. “Not exactly. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was left that I should telephone my decision to him. But I had already made up my mind before I saw you this evening.” I paused. “Vagas,” I went on, “must be a cold-blooded devil to put me forward as the next Ovra victim.”
“Vagas obviously does not know that Ferning’s death wasn’t an accident or he would have met you in secret. He might even have thought it a waste of time to contact you at all.”
“But what about Madame Vagas. She evidently holds her husband responsible for Ferning’s death. But how…?”
“Exactly!” he chimed in grimly. “That’s why that note startled me a bit. Madame Vagas knows more than she should.”
“Well, at any rate,” I said easily, “it’s no concern of mine. I’d already made up my mind, and what you’ve told me clinches the decision.”
He looked at me thoughtfully and stroked his chin. Then:
“I don’t think you quite understand, Mr. Marlow,” he said slowly.
“Understand what?”
He sighed. “My motives for giving you this information.”
“Well, what were they?”
“I, too, have a proposition to put to you.”
I laughed. “Well, let’s have it. It can’t be as bad as Vagas’ little effort.”
He coughed self-consciously. For the first time I saw signs of embarrassment in his face. “It’s just this, Mr. Marlow,” he began, and then stopped.
“Well?”
“I want you to telephone General Vagas and say that you have decided, after all, to accept his offer.”
8
You’d better have another drink,” he added.
And then I began to laugh. They both surveyed me in sheepish silence.
“My dear good Zaleshoff,” I spluttered at last, “you really mustn’t play these lunatic jokes.”
My intention had been to annoy him and I succeeded. He reddened. “It’s not a joke, Marlow.”
“Isn’t it?” Then my own temper got the better of me. I stopped laughing. “If it isn’t a joke, what the devil is it?”
He made a very obvious effort to keep calm. “If you will allow me to explain…”
“Explain! explain!” My voice rose. “You’ve done nothing else but explain. Now you let me do a little explaining. I’m an engineer and I’m in Milan for a specific purpose. I have a job to do and I propose to do it. I am not interested in any proposition that is not aimed at promoting the interests of my company. Is that absolutely clear? Because if it isn’t clear, I must thank you for a very pleasant dinner and go.”
Zaleshoff was sitting with a face like a thundercloud. As I finished, he drew a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. But his sister forestalled him.
“Just a minute, Andreas.” She turned to me. “Mr. Marlow,” she said coolly, “someone once said that the English were the best hated race on the world’s surface. I am beginning to understand what was meant by that. Of all the stupid, smug, short-sighted, complacent, obstinate, asinine…”
“Tamara!”
She flushed. “Be quiet, Andreas. I haven’t finished. You, Mr. Marlow, come here knowing nothing about anything except, presumably, your business as an engineer. That I can understand. But that you should refuse even to listen to what someone has to tell you about the world outside your own tiny mind, I cannot understand. Haven’t you a spark of vulgar curiosity in you?”
I got to my feet. “I think I had better go.”
She went and stood with her back to the door. “Oh, no you don’t, you’re going to listen to my brother.”
“Let him go, Tamara,” Zaleshoff said quietly. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll do without him.”
For a moment I stood there irresolute. I was feeling embarrassed, foolish and very slightly ashamed. After all, I had refused to listen. Besides, Zaleshoff’s last sentence had touched me on the raw. “We’ll do without him.” It was the sort of thing you said to children to shame them into doing what they did not want to do. Unaccountably, it was having that effect on me. I have since wondered whether that had perhaps been Zaleshoff’s precise intention. His was a curious, deceptive mind. He had a way of exploiting the standard emotional counters that was highly disconcerting. You could never be quite sure whether his acting was studied or not and, if it was, whether for emphasis or concealment. Now, however, I told myself that I was indeed being childish, that the best thing I could do would be to carry out my declared intention and go. But I still stood there.
The girl moved away from the door. “Well, Mr. Marlow,” she said challengingly.
I sat down again with a sigh and a shrug. “I don’t know what this is all about,” I said shortly, “but I’ll have that other drink if it’s going.”
Zaleshoff nodded. “Sure.” Without another word, without even a hint of surprise, he got up and poured out two drinks. The girl came over to me.
“I’m very sorry,” she said humbly; “that was rude of me. You must think we’re very curious hosts.”
I did think so, but I grinned. “That’s all right. I’m afraid I’ve got rather a bad temper.”
Zaleshoff handed me my glass. “It’s a wonder that some good man hasn’t shot her before this.”
“Probably,” she retorted calmly, “because most good men don’t carry guns.” She examined me curiously. “Why didn’t you throw something at me just now, Mr. Marlow?”
“Because,” said her brother sharply, “there wasn’t anything handy. Now, for goodness’ sake, Tamara, get on with your sewing. Are you married, Marlow?”
“No. Engaged. She’s a doctor in England.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t want to appear inquisitive, but is there any particular reason why you should have taken this job here?”
“Yes. I got caught in what is politely called a trade recession. I couldn’t get a job worth having in England. My savings were nearly all gone. I was feeling desperate one day, and I accepted an offer from Spartacus.”