Eric Ambler - Journey Into Fear

“That is true. It is very sad,” said the Consul. He was obviously itching to get to business. “Meanwhile,” he continued adroitly, “we must see that no time is lost. Every minute increases the danger of his body being found before you are out of the country. The authorities are not very well disposed towards us at the moment, and if he were found before you had left, I doubt if we could prevent your being detained for at least some days.”

“What about the car?”

“We can leave the driver to explain that. If, as you say, your suit-case was destroyed in the fire, there is nothing to connect you with the accident. Are you feeling well enough to travel?”

“Yes. I’m bruised a bit and I still feel damnably shaky, but I’ll get over that.”

“Good. Then, all things considered, it will be as well if you travel immediately.”

“Kuvetli said something about a ’plane.”

“A ’plane? Ah! May I see your passport, please?”

Graham handed it over. The Consul flicked over the pages, shut the passport with a snap and returned it. “Your transit visa,” he said, “specifies that you are entering Italy at Genoa and leaving it at Bardonecchia. If you are particularly anxious to go by air we can get the visa amended, but that will take an hour or so. Also you will have to return to Genoa. Also, in case Kuvetli is found within the next few hours, it is better not to bring yourself to the notice of the police with a change of arrangements.” He glanced at his watch. “There is a train to Paris which leaves Genoa at two o’clock. It stops at Asti soon after three. I recommend that you get on it there. I can drive you to Asti in my car.”

“I think some food would do me good.”

“My dear Mr. Graham! How stupid of me! Some food. Of course! We can stop at Novi. You will be my guest. And if there is any champagne to be had we shall have it. There is nothing like champagne when one is depressed.”

Graham felt suddenly a little light-headed. He laughed.

The Consul raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” Graham apologised. “You must excuse me. You see, it is rather funny. I had an appointment to meet someone on the two o’clock train. She’ll be rather surprised to see me.”

He became conscious of someone shaking his arm and opened his eyes.

“Bardonecchia, signore. Your passport, please.”

He looked up at the wagon-lit attendant bending over him and realised that he had been asleep since the train had left Asti. In the doorway, partly silhouetted against the gathering darkness outside, were two men in the uniform of the Italian railway police.

He sat up with a jerk, fumbling in his pocket. “My passport? Yes, of course.”

One of the men looked at the passport, nodded and dabbed at it with a rubber stamp.

“Grazie, signore . Have you any Italian bank-notes?”

“No.”

Graham put his passport back in his pocket, the attendant switched the light off again, and the door closed. That was that.

He yawned miserably. He was stiff and shivering. He stood up to put his overcoat on and saw that the station was deep in snow. He had been a fool to go to sleep like that. It would be unpleasant to arrive home with pneumonia. But he was past the Italian passport control. He turned the heating on and sat down to smoke a cigarette. It must have been that heavy lunch and the wine. It … And then he remembered suddenly that he had done nothing about Josette. Mathis would be on the train, too.

The train started with a jerk and began to rumble on towards Modane.

He rang the bell and the attendant came.

“Signore?”

“Is there going to be a restaurant car when we get over the frontier?”

“No, signore.” He shrugged. “The war.”

Graham gave him some money. “I want a bottle of beer and some sandwiches. Can you get them at Modane?”

The attendant looked at the money. “Easily, signore.”

“Where are the third-class coaches?”

“In the front of the train, signore.”

The attendant went. Graham smoked his cigarette and decided to wait until the train had left Modane before he went in search of Josette.

The stop at Modane seemed interminable. At last, however, the French passport officials finished their work and the train began to move again.

Graham went out into the corridor.

Except for the dim blue safety lights, the train was in darkness now. He made his way slowly towards the third-class coaches. There were only two of them, and he had no difficulty in finding Josette and José. They were in a compartment by themselves.

She turned her head as he slid the door open and peered at him uncertainly. Then, as he moved forward into the blue glow from the ceiling of the compartment, she started up with a cry.

“But what has happened?” she demanded. “Where have you been? We waited, José and I, until the last moment, but you did not come as you had promised. We waited. José will tell you how we waited. Tell me what happened.”

“I missed the train at Genoa. I had a long drive to catch it up.”

“You drove to Bardonecchia! It is not possible!”

“No. To Asti.”

There was a silence. They had been speaking in French. Now José gave a short laugh and, sitting back in his corner, began to pick his teeth with his thumbnail.

Josette dropped the cigarette she had been smoking on to the floor and trod on it. “You got on the train at Asti,” she remarked lightly, “and you wait until now before you come to see me? It is very polite.” She paused and then added slowly: “But you will not keep me waiting like that in Paris, will you, chéri ?”

He hesitated.

“Will you, chéri?” There was an edge to her voice now.

He said: “I’d like to talk to you alone, Josette.”

She stared at him. Her face in that dim, ghastly light was expressionless. Then she moved towards the door. “I think,” she said, “that it will be better if you have a little talk with José.”

“José? What’s José got to do with it? You’re the person I want to talk to.”

“No, chéri . You have a little talk with José. I am not very good at business. I do not like it. You understand?”

“Not in the least.” He was speaking the truth.

“No? José will explain. I will come back in a minute. You talk to José now, chéri.”

“But …”

She stepped into the corridor and slid the door to behind her. He went to open it again.

“She will come back,” said José; “why don’t you sit down and wait?”

Graham sat down slowly. He was puzzled. Still picking his teeth, José glanced across the compartment. “You don’t understand, eh?”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to understand.”

José peered at his thumbnail, licked it, and went to work again on an eye tooth. “You like Josette, eh?”

“Of course. But …”

“She is very pretty, but she has no sense. She is a woman. She does not understand business. That is why I, her husband, always look after the business. We are partners. Do you understand that?”

“It’s simple enough. What about it?”

“I have an interest in Josette. That is all.”

Graham considered him for a moment. He was beginning to understand only too well. He said: “Say exactly what you mean, will you?”

With the air of making a decision, José abandoned his teeth and twisted on his seat so that he was facing Graham. “You are a business man, eh?” he said briskly. “You do not expect something for nothing. Very well. I am her manager and I do not give anything for nothing. You want to amuse yourself in Paris, eh? Josette is a very nice girl and very amusing for a gentleman. She is a nice dancer, too. Together we earn at least two thousand francs a week in a nice place. Two thousand francs a week. That is something, eh?”