Eric Ambler - The Schirmer Inheritance

“I understand. If there were money in it and nobody risked incriminating himself, such a person might find out what I wanted to know.”

“Exactly.”

“Have you someone in mind?”

“Yes, but I must make a discreet inquiry first to see if an approach can safely be made. I think that Colonel Chrysantos would be very annoyed with me, Mr. Carey, if I put your life in danger”-he flashed a lustrous smile at Miss Kolin-“or that of Madame.”

Miss Kolin looked down her nose.

George grinned. “No, we mustn’t annoy the Colonel. But all the same it’s very kind of you to take all this trouble, Captain.”

The Captain raised a protesting hand. “It is nothing. If you should happen to mention to the Colonel that I was of some small assistance to you, I should be well repaid.”

“Naturally I shall mention it. But who is this person you think might fix it up?”

“It is a woman. Outwardly she is the proprietress of a wineshop. In fact she deals secretly in arms. If a man wishes a rifle or a revolver, he goes to her. She gets it for him. Why do we not arrest her? Because then someone else would begin to deal, someone we might not know and could not so easily keep under surveillance. One day, perhaps, when we can be sure of stopping her sources of supply, we will take her. Until then, things are better as they are. She has a love of gossip and for your purpose is most suitable.”

“But doesn’t she know she’s under surveillance?”

“Ah yes, but she bribes my men. The fact that they take her money makes her feel safe. It is all quite friendly. But we do not wish to alarm her, so she must be consulted first.” He rose to his feet, suddenly businesslike. “Perhaps tonight.”

“That’s good of you, Captain. Won’t you stay and have a drink?”

“Ah, no, thank you. Just now I have various appointments. Tomorrow I will send a note to you here to give you the address to go to if she has agreed, and any other necessary instructions.”

“O.K. Fine.”

There was a lot of heel-clicking and politeness and he went. George signalled to the barman.

“Well, Miss Kolin,” he said when they were served again, “what do you think?”

“I think that the Captain’s various appointments are almost certainly with his mistress.”

“I meant do you think there’s anything in this. You know this part of the world. Do you think he’ll do what he said about contacting this woman?”

She shrugged. “I think that for a hundred dollars the Captain would do almost anything.”

It took a moment or two for George to appreciate the implication of this statement. “But the Captain’s not getting the money,” he said.

“No?”

“No. That’s for the wineshop woman, if she comes through with the information.”

“I do not think he will give her a hundred dollars. Perhaps twenty. Perhaps nothing.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You asked me for my impression.” “He’s the Keen Young Executive type. All he wants is a pat on the back from the boss. You see.” Miss Kolin smiled sardonically.

George did not get much rest that night. The precautions he had taken against bedbugs had somehow served to convince him that the mattress frame must be alive with the creatures. In the darkness he had soon begun to imagine that he was being attacked by them. Useless now to remind himself of the D.D.T. he had applied; Balkan bugs probably ate the stuff like ice cream. After a fourth panic inspection failed to reveal even one attacker, he became desperate, stripped the bed, and made a further assault on the mattress with the insufflator. A rose-coloured dawn was glowing among the mountain peaks before he succeeded in going to sleep.

He awoke, resentfully, at nine o’clock. While he was at breakfast in the café downstairs, a letter arrived from the Captain.

DEAR SIR [George read]:

The woman is Madame Vassiotis at the wineshop in the rue Monténégrine. She will expect you, but not until this afternoon. Say that you come from Monsieur Kliris. Do not refer to me. She has been told what you want and might have an answer for you. The price will be U. S. dollars 150, but do not give it to the woman herself or speak of it. I wish to be assured personally that you are satisfied before you pay. If, when I have seen you this evening, you tell me that all is well, I will see that the money goes to her by Monsieur Kliris .

The letter was written on plain paper and unsigned. George did not show it to Miss Kolin.

The rue Monténégrine proved to be a steep, refuse-strewn lane in the poorer quarter of the town. The houses were broken down and ugly. Lines of dingy washing were strung across the lane between some of the upper windows; others had bedding hung out over the sills. There were a great many children about.

The wineshop was near the top of the lane by a builder’s yard. It had no display window. There was a bead-curtained doorway in a wall, and two or three steps led down to the interior. George and Miss Kolin entered and found themselves in a kind of cellar, with wine barrels stacked on their sides against the walls, and a massive wooden bench in the centre. Light came from an oil lamp on a shelf. The air was cool and there was a smell of stale wine and old barrels that was not unpleasant.

There were two persons in the shop. One of them, an old man in blue denim trousers, sat on the bench drinking a glass of wine. The other was Madame Vassiotis.

She was amazingly fat, with huge pendulous breasts and a vast lap. She was sitting on, and almost completely enveloping, a low stool by a doorway at the back of the shop. When they entered, she rose slowly to her feet and waddled forward into the light.

Her head was small for her body, with dark hair drawn tightly away from the brow. The face seemed as though it ought to belong to someone younger or less gross. It was still firm and delicately shaped, and the eyes under their heavy lids were dark and clear.

She murmured a word of greeting.

Miss Kolin replied. George had briefed her in readiness for the interview and she did not trouble to interpret the preliminaries. He saw Madame Vassiotis nod understandingly and glance at the old man. He prompttly finished his wine and went out. Then she bowed slightly to George and, with a gesture of invitation, led the way through a doorway at the back into a sitting-room.

There, there were Turkish carpets on the walls, a divan with plush cushions, and a few pieces of rickety Victorian furniture. It reminded him of a fortune-teller’s booth in a travelling fair. Only the crystal ball was missing.

Madame Vassiotis poured three glasses of wine, sank down heavily on the divan, and motioned them to chairs. When they were seated, she folded her hands in her lap and looked placidly from one to the other of them as if waiting for someone to propose a parlour game.

“Ask her,” George said, “if she has been able to get any reply to the questions put to her by Monsieur Kliris.”

Madame Vassiotis listened gravely to the translation and then, with a nod, began to speak.

“She states,” said Miss Kolin, “that she has been able to speak with one of the andartes who took part in the affair near Vodena. Her information is that the German Sergeant was killed.”

“Does she know how he was killed?”

“He was in the first truck of the German convoy. It exploded a mine.”

George thought for a moment. He had not mentioned either of those facts to the Captain. It was promising.

“Did the informant see the Sergeant dead?”

“Yes.”

“Was he on the road?”

“He was where he fell when the truck was hit.”

“What happened to the body afterwards?”

He saw Madame Vassiotis shrug.