Dennis Wheatley - Mayhem in Greece

With one sweep of his big hand, he swept the papers on which he had been working back into the folder, then thrust it into the drawer of the desk. Turning, he took two long strides on tiptoe, opened the closet door, slipped inside and pulled it to behind him.

He was only just in time. The door of the office opened as that of the closet swung to and, had the light been on, Krajcir must have caught sight of its movement. From fear that the sound of the door shutting would give him away, Robbie had not closed it completely. Next moment, through the two-inch gap that remained, he saw the light flash on, and heard the man who was with Krajcir ask:

'Have you much for me this week?'

'About the usual,' Krajcir replied. 'But there is nothing from Rhodes.'

The other grunted. 'Our man there is in the Radar ship. Perhaps it has been moved or gone off on some exercise, so that he was prevented from getting ashore.'

'Hello!' Krajcir's voice came again with a note of surprise.

'What's this?'

His companion gave an abrupt laugh. 'A torch, and rather a nice one. But what about it?'

Robbie, still in a dither, was fighting to control his breathing. At the word 'torch', the sweat turned cold on his forehead. Of course; he had left his torch on Krajcir's desk. He had not even had time to switch it off. Had it not been partly masked, and its beam dimmed by the strong electric light above the desk, they must have noticed it before. Now that they had, it was a complete give-away. They could not fail to realize that they had disturbed an intruder, and that he muvt be hiding somewhere close at hand. Certain now that his discovery was imminent, he wrung his big hands in an agony of apprehension, as he listened to the ensuing conversation.

^But it's not mine,' Krajcir said in a puzzled voice.

'Then it must belong to one of your staff.'

No, I'll swear it wasn't here when I left the office an hour ago.

Besides, it's still switched on. Someone must have broken in.'

The door was padlocked when we arrived and all the windows were closed, so no one could have.'

'But how can one account, then, for a lighted torch being left on my desk?'

'You probably switched it on yourself when you picked it up. Anyway it's obvious that the safe has not been tampered with, and nothing else seems to have been disturbed. You are simply imagining things. One of your staff must have left it there, and you failed to notice it before. That's all there is to it. Now let's get to work. I'm beginning to need my dinner.'

As Robbie breathed again, there came the clink of keys, then the sound of the heavy door of the safe being swung open. For a few minutes there was a rustling of papers, then Krajcir's companion asked:

T take it you will have no difficulty in finding accommodation for Barak's people?'

'I don't think so. Had it been later in the season I might have, but the tourist rush is some weeks from its peak yet. Anyhow, it is only a matter of fixing up the various groups for a couple of nights until they can move on to the villas and farmhouses we are taking for them. That reminds me, though, I meant to put in the safe the particulars Barak gave me, but it slipped my memory.'

They wouldn't convey anything to your staff. Anyone who saw them would only take them for ordinary tourist bookings.'

That's true. Even I have not been let into what it's all about, and that's none of my business. But Barak did stress to me that I was to treat the matter as top secret, so I may as well pop them in the safe while it is open.'

There came the sound of a drawer being pulled out, then a swift exclamation from Krajcir. 'Devil take it! Somebody has been here.'

'Are you sure? Has someone been at your papers?' The other man's voice now held quick concern.

'Yes, look here. These are the notes I took from Barak, and someone has been making a copy of them. I know that round, childish hand. By God, I've got it! That's the writing of the Englishman.'

'What Englishman?'

'The young fellow that Comrade Minister Havelka sent me.'

'You mean the British Ambassador's nephew?'

'Yes. He's quite useless. In fact he's such a dreamer that I'm not quite sure that he's all there. But I was ordered to give him a job.'

Even gripped as he was in an agony of apprehension, Robbie winced. He might be a bit slow at some things, but that did not justify anyone branding him as an idiot. Yet perhaps he was. Who but an idiot would have got himself involved in this sort of thing? And what a mess he had made of it. Not only had he left his torch behind, but also the notes he had taken—and they were in his writing, so he had given himself away completely.

'He was enough "all there" to copy your papers,' snapped Krajcir's companion. 'No doubt he only acted the part of a halfwit in order to lull any suspicions you might have of him.'

As Robbie had never acted any part, and was quite incapable of being anything but his ordinary, simple self, this brought him no consolation. Feeling as though he had the Sword of Damocles suspended above his head, he held his breath while waiting to learn what would happen aext.

'I was not warned that he might be a spy,' Krajcir retorted angrily. 'But why, having taken these notes, should he have left them here?'

'Perhaps our arrival disturbed him.'

'That's it! His torch, left on the desk still alight! You must be right. And he couldn't have got away. We should have seen or heard him.'

Robbie stiffened. Every muscle in his body became taut, like those of a condemned man awaiting immediate execution. Next moment, the blow fell. Two swift steps sounded outside the cupboard door, then it was wrenched open.

For a few seconds Krajcir glared at him, then he snarled: 'So, Mister Englishman; you are a spy, eh? How did you get in here?'

'I—er—well, if you must know, through the window,' Robbie admitted lamely.

'You are in the British Secret Service, yes?'

'No, oh no,' Robbie swiftly protested. 'I assure you, Pan Krajcir, that I'm not.'

'Do not lie to me. You broke in here not to steal but to spy. We have evidence of it.'

'Yes, I know: It was silly of me to leave my torch on your desk . . . and the notes I'd taken.'

Krajcir took a pace back, and said harshly: 'Come out of there. You will sit down at my desk and write a full confession.'

This was something for which Robbie had not bargained. To be convicted was one thing, to confess was quite another. If he denied the charge, quite a lot of people might believe that the Czechs had used the fact that a young Englishman had taken a job with them to fake a charge against him, so that they could make anti-British propaganda out of the case. But to confess would give people no option about what to think. It would never be believed that he had gone into this on his own. They would take it as certain that his uncle had been behind the whole business, and lay the blame at his door for whatever happened to his nephew. Sir Finsterhorn had inspired no great devotion in Robbie but, all the same, he was not quite so simple as to fail to see the implications in this choice. Steeped as he was in the traditions of chivalry, since he had got himself into this mess nothing would have induced him to allow blame for it to be attributed to anyone else.

Stepping out of the cupboard, he slowly shook his head. 'No, Pan Krajcir, I'm afraid I couldn't do that.'

With set mouth, the other man stared at him, then spoke. Whereas Krajcir's voice had been imbued with anger and impatience, this one's held quiet authority. Till now, he had remained concealed behind the cupboard door. On stepping past it, Robbie got his first sight of him. Instantly, he recognized the square, bald-headed figure that he had last seen with Barak at Toyrcolimano. It was the First Secretary, Nejedly. He said: