Eric Ambler - Journey Into Fear

But if he were not going to raise the alarm and wait for the police, what was he going to do?

Supposing Moeller had planned this. Supposing he or Banat had overheard Mr. Kuvetli’s instructions to him and, believing that he was sufficiently intimidated to do anything to save himself, had thought of this way of delaying his return. Or they might be preparing to “discover” him with the body and so incriminate him. But no: both those suppositions were absurd. If they had known of Mr. Kuvetli’s plan they would have let the Turk go ashore by the pilot boat. It would have been his, Graham’s, body that would have been found and the finder would have been Mr. Kuvetli. Obviously, then, Moeller could neither know of the plan nor suspect that the murder would be discovered. An hour from now he would be standing with Banat and the gunmen who were to meet him, waiting for the victim to walk unsuspectingly …

But the victim would not be unsuspecting. There was a very slender chance …

He turned and, grasping the handle of the door, began to turn it gently. He knew that if he thought twice about what he had decided to do he would change his mind. He must commit himself before he had time to think.

He opened the door a fraction of an inch. There was no one in the alleyway. A moment later, he was out of the cabin and the door of it was shut behind him. He hesitated barely a second. He knew that he must keep moving. Five steps brought him to cabin number three. He went in.

Mr. Kuvetli’s luggage consisted of one old-fashioned valise. It was standing strapped up in the middle of the floor, and perched on one of the straps was a twenty lire piece. Graham picked up the coin and held it to his nose. The smell of attar of roses was quite distinct. He looked in the wardrobe and behind the door for Mr. Kuvetli’s overcoat and hat, failed to find them, and concluded that they had been disposed of through the porthole. Banat had thought of everything.

He put the valise up on the berth and opened it. Most of the things on top had obviously been stuffed in anyhow by Banat, but lower down the packing had been done very neatly. The only thing of any interest to Graham, however, was a box of pistol ammunition. Of the pistol which fired them there was no sign.

Graham put the ammunition in his pocket and shut the valise again. He was undecided as to what he should do with it. Banat had obviously counted on its being taken to the Customs shed by the steward, who would pocket the twenty lire and forget about Mr. Kuvetli. That would be all right from Banat’s point of view. By the time the people in the Customs shed started asking questions about an unclaimed valise, Monsieur Mavrodopoulos would be non-existent. Graham, however, had every intention of remaining in existence if he could possibly do so. Moreover, he intended-with the same proviso-to use his passport to cross the Italian frontier into France. The moment Mr. Kuvetli’s body was found the rest of the passengers would be sought for questioning by the police. There was only one thing for it: Mr. Kuvetli’s valise would have to be hidden.

He opened the washing cabinet, put the twenty lire piece on the corner by the bowl, and went to the door. The coast was still clear. He opened the door, picked up the valise, and lugged it along the alleyway to cabin number four. Another second or two and he was inside with the door shut again.

He was sweating now. He wiped his hands and forehead on his handkerchief and then remembered that his fingerprints would be on the hard leather handle of the valise as well as on the door handle and washing cabinet. He went over these objects with his handkerchief and then turned his attention to the body.

Obviously the gun was not in the hip pocket. He went down on one knee beside the body. He felt himself beginning to retch again and took a deep breath. Then he leaned across, gripped the right shoulder with one hand and the right side of the trousers with the other and pulled. The body rolled on to its side. One foot slid over the other and kicked the floor. Graham stood up quickly. In a moment or two, however, he had himself in hand sufficiently to bend down and pull the jacket open. There was a leather holster under the left arm but the gun was not in it.

He was not unduly disappointed. The possession of the gun would have made him feel better but he had not been counting on finding it. A gun was valuable. Banat would naturally take it. Graham felt in the jacket pocket. It was empty. Banat had evidently taken Mr. Kuvetli’s money and laisser passer as well.

He got up. There was nothing more to be done there. He put on a glove, cautiously let himself out and walked along to cabin number six. He knocked. There was a quick movement from within and Madame Mathis opened the door.

The frown with which she had prepared to meet the steward faded when she saw Graham. She gave him a startled “good morning.”

“Good morning, Madame. May I speak to your husband for a moment?”

Mathis poked his head over her shoulder. “Hullo! Good morning! Are you ready so soon?”

“Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course!” He came out in his shirt sleeves and grinning cheerfully. “I am important only to myself. I am easy to approach.”

“Would you mind coming into my cabin for a moment?”

Mathis glanced at him curiously. “You look very serious, my friend. Yes, of course I will come.” He turned to his wife. “I will be back in a minute, chérie.”

Inside the cabin, Graham shut the door, bolted it and turned to meet Mathis’ puzzled frown.

“I need your help,” he said in a low voice. “No, I don’t want to borrow money. I want you to take a message for me.”

“If it is possible, of course.”

“It will be necessary to talk very quietly,” Graham went on. “I do not want to alarm your wife unnecessarily and the partitions are very thin.”

Fortunately, Mathis missed the full implications of this statement. He nodded. “I am listening.”

“I told you that I was employed by an armaments manufacturer. It is true. But in a sense I am also, at the moment, in the joint services of the British and Turkish Governments. When I get off this ship this morning, an attempt is going to be made by German agents to kill me.”

“This is true?” He was incredulous and suspicious.

“I am afraid it is. It would not amuse me to invent it.”

“Excuse me, I …”

“That’s all right. What I want you to do is to go to the Turkish Consulate in Genoa, ask for the Consul and give him a message from me. Will you do that?”

Mathis stared hard at him for a moment. Then he nodded. “Very well. I will do it. What is the message?”

“I should like to impress upon you first that this is a highly confidential message. Is that understood?”

“I can keep my mouth shut when I choose.”

“I know I can rely on you. Will you write the message down? Here is a pencil and some paper. You would not be able to read my writing. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“This is it: ‘Inform Colonel Haki, Istanbul, that agent I.K. is dead, but do not inform the police. I am forced to accompany German agents, Moeller and Banat, travelling with passports of Fritz Haller and Mavrodopoulos, I …”

Mathis’s jaw dropped and he let out an exclamation. “Is it possible!”

“Unfortunately, it is.”

“Then it was not seasickness that you had!”

“No. Shall I go on with the message?”

Mathis swallowed. “Yes. Yes. I did not realize.… Please.”

“ ‘I shall attempt to escape and reach you, but in the event of my death please inform British Consul that these men are responsible.’ ” It was, he felt, melodramatic; but it was no more than he wished to say. He felt sorry for Mathis.