Lawrence Durrell - Judith

“Aaron — this is your part of the world.”

“Yes. I know the girl.”

They all thought heavily for a moment. Then Ben Adam went to a telephone and asked for a number. “Hullo, is that the Central Prison? May I speak to Faber, please?” There was a long wait while Aaron said under his breath to the Professor: “A contact in Central.”

Ben Adam motioned them to silence. “About Baby, Faber, it was about him; what is he doing these days? Is he at home? No. Off duty? Thank you.”

He replaced the phone carefully, caressed it like a pet parrot, and came back to the table. “He’s not there; he must be at his villa. But he might be anywhere at all. Shall I try and ring him to see?”

He went back to the phone and asked for a number. It rang and rang and he held the receiver away from his head as he shook it with a gesture meaning “Nobody at home” — suddenly there was a click and Donner’s voice said: “Hullo?” Ben Adam replaced the receiver.

“Aaron,” he said, “get going.” But already Aaron was slipping a magazine into his Luger and putting on his tattered overcoat.

It was with something of a flourish that Donner unlocked the front door of the little suburban villa and ushered his captive inside. He had solicitously taken charge of the briefcase by this time, with the gesture of a man putting it under arrest. As he opened the door the telephone was ringing. He lumbered across to the hall table and took it up, calling “Hullo” in a peevish tone. The instrument went dead as he did so. He shrugged his shoulders and came back to the girl as she stood by the front door.

“Now, Miss Roth,” he said, with an attempt at genial gallantry, “if you follow my advice you will be free and in full possession of your papers in a few hours. Meantime you will wait here.” He showed her into a shabby little sitting-room and indicated a sofa; from the sideboard he produced a bottle of whisky and a bottle of gin and some glasses. “If you feel like refreshment… he said, “you needn’t ask. Just act. This is Liberty Hall.”

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“To check your papers.”

“But you have seen my identity card.”

“Oh, that!” said Donner, pouring himself a whisky. “It’s the other stuff in the briefcase; how do we know it isn’t some secret stuff for the Germans — some code?”

“Do you know my history?”

“More or less.”

“And you think it is likely at this stage — and above all with Germany just about to crack?”

Donner put one hand on the side of his nose. “I’m not saying it is so,” he said. “But my orders are just to check.”

“And do you do mathematics?” she asked acidly.

“No. But we have experts in everything. But let’s not waste your valuable time. I’ll ring my man now.”

He picked up the briefcase and took it back into the hall with him to telephone; she saw him place it on the stand beside the instrument. He asked for a number and was connected fairly soon. His voice had changed. It had become charged with a new kind of excitement. “It’s your old friend, remember? Yes, it’s me. I’ve got it all here. Or you could send him round to collect — I’ll wait for the vetting. How long would it take? I have the lady here and I don’t want to inconvenience her more than necessary. In an hour then.”

He came back into the sitting-room with great good humour. “At most a couple of hours,” he said, “and you are free as the wind.”

Judith bit her lip and stared desperately through the open door to the briefcase; it seemed miles away now, at the end of a long avenue of work and despair. Moreover, it was so puzzling, this strange encounter with this unorthodox policeman; nothing that he said sounded truthful or reasonable. Surely the British would hardly steal unpatented plans; or if they did, surely they would be a bit more subtle about it.

“When I get out,” she said, “I’m going straight round to the central station to find out if you have been acting with authority or not.”

Donner jumped and his eyes widened. He gave an uneasy laugh and an ugly expression came over his face. He came close to her and said:

“Listen to me, young lady. I’m trying to be nice to you. But if you play any funny tricks, you know… She stared at him, smiling grimly.

“You are acting without authority. I can see it in your face.” Donner flushed and struck her across the cheek. She staggered back and sat down on the sofa with a thud.

“Now,” he said quietly, “just don’t give me any of your lip, or I’ll really start to interrogate you. Authority! I have the authority to use any means to drag the truth out of criminals. It’s my job. Just you go round to Central and ask them. They’ll tell you all right.” His bluster was unconvincing, but she sat nursing her bruised face and feeling the taste of blood from the cut inside her lip.

“Now listen,” said Donner plaintively, “be a sensible girl and cut out the rag; I’ve told you you’ll go free quite soon with all your papers. Here, have a little drink and be friendly.”

But as he reached forward, the lights went out and absolute blackness engulfed the little flat. Donner groaned and grunted with surprise. “Another power cut!” he said.

She heard him stand up and walk to the window cautiously, where she saw his huge bulk outlined in vague silhouette against the night.

“That’s funny,” he muttered. “The other houses are lighted all right.”

There came a faint sound from the pathway outside the house and a vague alarm filled Donner’s mind — but why he could not say. “Stay quite still,” he said hoarsely, and crossed to the doorway into the hall on tiptoe. The front door had a wrought-iron frame on hinges, which during the hot months of the summer could be swung back to admit the air. The grille was now shut but, as Donner walked towards it, there was a scratching movement and it swung softly open.

“Is that you, Ali?” said Donner, in accents of hope and uncertainty, peering out at the night; but an arm came through the opening and fastened itself suddenly and brutally upon the collar of the khaki bush-jacket, twisting and knotting itself round in an unbreakable hold. No word was spoken, but Donner’s knees suddenly weakened under him as he felt himself choking. His anguished gasps sounded like the bronchial coughing of an animal.

“Let me go!” he gasped as he sagged.

In the darkness Judith crossed behind him and took possession of her briefcase. Donner was sagging now, almost on his knees, but the door was still locked. Judith closed her eyes and mentally made a map of the place — trying to think of something with which to hit the policeman. Then she recalled a heavy metal vase in the sitting-room. She picked up the object and returned to find that Donner had managed in the interval to draw a gun, though his present position, half on the floor, made it difficult to bring it to bear on the possessor of the arm who stood on the doorstep silently strangling him. She brought the vase down as hard as she could on his head and Donner spread-eagled himself on the floor, cursing and whining. The hand released its hold and groped for the latch. The door swung open and a voice called:

“Judith Roth?”

“I’m here,” she said and slipped through the doorway. “Have you got…

“Yes.”

Donner’s pistol with its silencer made a deep plushy sound in the silence of the night; they felt the grooves the bullets cut in the air as they bounded down the stairs into the garden. The rescuer was wearing a handkerchief tied over his face like a desperado from some ancient print of a hold-up in America. As they ran down the path, a car was drawing up and two men were getting out, apparently bound for Donner. Aaron dragged Judith to one side and they waited behind the bush, panting until the men had passed them on the drive. Aaron had whipped off his mask now, and she stared at him with a surprise and delight that would be difficult to exaggerate.