Dennis Wheatley - Mayhem in Greece

Some ten minutes later, Mrs. Sebesta returned from the printers; so now that Robbie was once more under her slave-driver's eye, he had to put considerably more energy into his attentions to her typewriter, but his mind continued to speculate excitedly on what he had learned owing to Barak's visit. After a while, it occurred to him that, as Krajcir had been instructed to find accommodation for these groups of Czechs, he must now have in his office a complete list of the numbers in each group and the places at which they intended to prospect for oil—or whatever it was they meant to set about under that cover. To leave the agency without securing that, or at least getting a sight of it, would surely be wanton neglect in exploiting to the full the chance he had been given. But how could he set about it?

Every evening at about half past six, it was Krajcir's custom to go out for about twenty minutes. He always remarked casually on leaving that he was going round the corner to 'consult with his associates'; but they all knew that he was simply slipping out to drink an ouzo at a nearby cafe, where he could be found if urgently needed.

His absence would offer a chance to get a look at the papers on his desk but, even as Robbie thought of it, he discarded the idea. It was most unlikely that Pani Sebesta would leave the agency again before closing time, and what possible excuse could be give for going into Krajcir's office? Certainly none that would justify his remaining there long enough to go through the Manager's papers, and any attempt to do so without such an excuse would almost certainly result in the Sebesta woman coming in to see what he was up to, and catching him red-handed.

For another half-hour he wrestled with his problem, then a daring thought came to him. Why should he not return after the office was closed, and break into it? The courtyard formed a cul-de-sac, so he would run no risk of being seen by passers-by, and after dark no one except the handful of people who lived there came in or out of it; so during the five or ten minutes it would take him to force an entry, the odds were all against anyone coming on the scene.

The idea filled him with renewed excitement, but when he began to consider the practical details, his ardour became a little damped. The outer door of the office not only had a mortice lock, but was further secured by a padlock. During his year in Greece, apart from picking up that language he had given no time to adding others to his repertoire and, having had endless free hours to fill, he had got through a considerable number of books. So many of these having been gangster thrillers, he needed no telling that professional burglars always went to work with jemmies, blow-torches, electric drills or sticks of gelignite. To obtain any of these aids to crime at such short notice was obviously out of the question, and that ruled out any hope of his forcing the door.

That left only the windows; but again he would have no means of forcing one, and to break a pane might easily attract the attention of someone in the houses on the opposite side of the courtyard. Perhaps, though, before leaving, he could manage to fix one of them so that it was not properly locked. The fact that his colleagues would remain at work in the outer office until closing time, when he himself would have to leave, ruled out any possibility of tampering with any of the three windows there; so it would have to be the one in Krajcir's private sanctum.

By this time he had finished cleaning the typewriter, and his taskmistress had put him on to stamping a pile of circulars. When he was half-way through them, Krajcir came out and, with his usual announcement about 'having a word with his associates', went off for his aperitif. After stamping the remainder of the pile, Robbie gave a loud sniff, and muttered to old Pani Sebesta: 'Left my handkerchief in my mac; just going to get it.'

As he stepped into Krajcir's office, she gave him only a glance. Shutting the door behind him, he stepped quickly across to the open window. It was not a large one, so the catch that secured it could be reached from outside by stretching an arm through any of its panes, had one of them been missing. On the inner sill, partly hiding the lowest row of panes, stood a line of thick reference books.

Having already thought out what he meant to do, Robbie wasted no time but swiftly removed two of the reference books from the left end of the row. He then picked up a paper-weight from Krajcir's desk and gave the left corner pane a sharp tap with it. Nothing happened. His hand was trembling and beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead, but he nerved himself to give the pane another, harder, tap. That did it. The pane cracked but, to his relief, did not fall out. It was starred into four large and two small irregular triangles. Letting out his breath with a little gasp, he hastily put back the paper-weight and replaced the reference books. They hid all but two of the cracks in the upper part of the pane, and he felt that he would be very unlucky if, in the hour before closing time, Krajcir noticed them. He had been away barely two minutes'when he returned to the outer office, violently blowing his nose.

For the last hour he remained on tenterhooks, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. At eight o'clock, the usual goodnights were said and the agency was locked up till Monday. A quarter of an hour later, hardly conscious of what he ate, he was having his dinner at the Grande Bretagne. During it, his mind was busily speculating on the best time at which to make his attempt. The classic choice seemed to be in the small hours of the morning, but against that was the fact that the streets would be almost empty; so it was much more likely that, if a policeman happened to spot anyone slipping into a cul-de-sac, he would come along to investigate. On the other hand, the majority of Athenians were very averse to going to bed early. At any time up till one o'clock, someone living in the cul-de-sac might come home from a party, the last house at one of the cinemas, or even from sitting talking with friends in a cafe.

While pondering this dilemma, it suddenly struck Robbie that the present was the perfect hour. There would still be plenty of people in the streets, but the inhabitants of the courtyard would either have already gone out or be occupied at home, eating their dinners. Pushing aside his compote of mandarines, he hurried from the restaurant.

The rain had stopped and it was a warm evening so, without bothering to get a hat or coat, he walked quickly round to the agency. The courtyard was deserted. There were lights in the ground-floor windows of one of the houses and in several of the upper windows round the well, but all of them had their curtains drawn. After a quick look round, he went to the window of Krajcir's office. It lay at right angles to the agency's other three windows, as it was round a corner; so while getting in through it, he could not be seen by anyone approaching from the street. For an illegal entry, things could not have been more propitious. Then, just as he was about to stretch out his hand to the broken Pane, he was brought up short by a shattering thought. In his hurry, he had forgotten to collect his torch.

To switch on the light when he got into Krajcir's office would be asking for trouble. Any of the neighbours, seeing a light there at that unusual hour, would be certain to become suspicious, see him through the window and, if they noticed that the door was still padlocked, send for the police. Yet without a light, how was-he to read the papers he hoped to find in Krajcir's desk?

He had on him a pocket lighter. As long as he held it on, it-would serve for him to read by; but he was hoping to copy down any particulars, so that he would not have to trust to memory,, and he could not very well do that with only one hand. For a moment he stood there, a prey to awful indecision. Then he decided that, without a torch, it would take him three times as long to do the job, and that even then he might bungle it. Turning, he left the courtyard, at something between a walk and a run.