Journey Into Fear (5 page)

“He says, Monsieur,” reported the Manager, complacently, “that it is not serious—no more than a little scratch.”

“I already knew that. If you wish to go back to bed, please do so. But I should like some hot coffee. I am cold.”

“Immediately, Monsieur.” He snapped his fingers to the Assistant Manager, who scuttled out. “And if there is anything else, Monsieur?”

“No, thank you. Nothing. Good night.”

“At your service, Monsieur. It is all most regrettable. Good night.”

He went. The doctor cleaned the wound carefully, and began to dress it. Graham wished that he had not telephoned Kopeikin. The fuss was over. It was now nearly four o’clock. But for the fact that Kopeikin had promised to call in to see him, he might have had a few hours’ sleep. He was yawning repeatedly. The doctor finished the dressing, patted it reassuringly, and looked up. His lips worked.

“Maintenant,”
he said laboriously,
“il faut dormir.”

Graham nodded. The doctor got to his feet and repacked his bag with the air of a man who has done everything possible for a difficult patient. Then he looked at his watch and sighed.
“Trèstard,”
he said.
“Gitece
g
-im. Adiyo, efendi.”

Graham mustered his Turkish.
“Adiyo, hekim efendi. Cok tesekkür ederim.”

“Birsey de
g
il. Adiyo.”
He bowed and went.

A moment later, the Assistant Manager bustled in with the coffee, set it down with a businesslike flourish clearly intended to indicate that he, too, was about to return to his bed, and collected the bottle of whisky.

“You may leave that,” said Graham; “a friend is on his way to see me. You might tell the porter …”

But as he spoke, the telephone rang, and the night porter announced that Kopeikin had arrived. The Assistant Manager retired.

Kopeikin came into the room looking preternaturally grave.

“My dear fellow!” was his greeting. He looked round. “Where is the doctor?”

“He’s just left. Just a graze. Nothing serious. I feel a bit jumpy but, apart from that, I’m all right. It’s really very good of you to turn out like this. The grateful management has presented me with a bottle of whisky. Sit down and help yourself. I’m having coffee.”

Kopeikin sank into the arm-chair. “Tell me exactly how it happened.”

Graham told him. Kopeikin heaved himself out of the arm-chair and walked over to the window. Suddenly he
stooped and picked something up. He held it up: a small brass cartridge case.

“A nine millimetre calibre self-loading pistol,” he remarked. “An unpleasant thing!” He dropped it on the floor again, opened the window and looked out.

Graham sighed. “I really don’t think it’s any good playing detectives, Kopeikin. The man was in the room; I disturbed him, and he shot at me. Come in, shut that window, and drink some whisky.”

“Gladly, my dear fellow, gladly. You must excuse my curiosity.”

Graham realised that he was being a little ungracious. “It’s extremely kind of you, Kopeikin, to take so much trouble. I seem to have made a lot of fuss about nothing.”

“It is good that you have.” He frowned. “Unfortunately a lot more fuss must be made.”

“You think we ought to call in the police? I don’t see that it can do any good. Besides, my train goes at eleven. I don’t want to miss it.”

Kopeikin drank some whisky and put his glass down with a bang. “I am afraid, my dear fellow, that you cannot under any circumstances leave on the eleven o’clock train.”

“What on earth do you mean? Of course I can. I’m perfectly all right.”

Kopeikin looked at him curiously. “Fortunately you are. But that does not alter facts.”

“Facts?”

“Did you notice that both your windows and the shutters outside have been forced open?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t look. But what of it?”

“If you will look out of the window you will see that there is a terrace below which gives on the garden. Above the terrace there is a steel framework which reaches almost to the second floor balconies. In the summer it is covered with straw matting so that people can eat and drink on the terrace, out of the sun. This man obviously climbed up by the framework. It would be easy. I could almost do it myself. He could reach the balconies of all the rooms on this floor of the hotel that way. But can you tell me why he chooses to break into one of the few rooms with both shutters and windows locked?”

“Of course I can’t. I’ve always heard that criminals were fools.”

“You say nothing was stolen. Your suitcase was not even opened. A coincidence that you should return just in time to prevent him.”

“A lucky coincidence. For goodness’ sake, Kopeikin, let’s talk about something else. The man’s escaped. That’s the end of it.”

Kopeikin shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my dear fellow. Does he not seem to you to have been a very curious thief? He behaves like no other hotel thief ever behaved. He breaks in, and through a locked window as well. If you had been in bed, he would certainly have awakened you. He must, therefore, have known beforehand that you were not there. He must also have discovered your room number. Have you anything so obviously valuable that a thief finds it worth his while to make such preparations? No. A curious thief! He carries, too, a pistol weighing at least a kilogramme with which he fires three shots at you.”

“Well?”

Kopeikin bounced angrily out of his chair. “My dear fellow, does it not occur to you that this man was shooting to kill you, and that he came here for no other purpose?”

Graham laughed. “Then all I can say is that he was a pretty bad shot. Now you listen to me carefully, Kopeikin. Have you ever heard the legend about Americans and Englishmen? It persists in every country in the world where English isn’t spoken. The story is that all Americans and Englishmen are millionaires, and that they always leave vast amounts of loose cash about the place. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try to snatch a few hours’ sleep. It was very good of you to come round, Kopeikin, and I’m very grateful, but now …”

“Have you ever,” demanded Kopeikin, “tried firing a heavy pistol in a dark room at a man who’s just come through the door? There’s no direct light from the corridor outside. Merely a glow of light. Have you ever tried? No. You might be able to see the man, but it’s quite another thing to hit him. Under these circumstances even a good shot might miss first time as this man missed. That miss would unnerve him. He does not perhaps know that Englishmen do not usually carry firearms. You may fire back. He fires again, quickly, and clips your hand. You probably cry out with the pain. He probably thinks that he has wounded you seriously. He fires another shot for luck, and goes.”

“Nonsense, Kopeikin! You must be out of your senses. What conceivable reason could anyone have for wanting to kill me? I’m the most harmless man alive.”

Kopeikin glared at him stonily. “Are you?”

“Now what does
that
mean?”

But Kopeikin ignored the question. He finished his whisky. “I told you that I was going to telephone a friend of mine. I did so.” He buttoned up his coat deliberately. “I am sorry to tell you, my dear fellow, that you must come with me to see him immediately. I have been trying to break the news to you gently, but now I must be frank. A man tried to murder you to-night. Something must be done about it at once.”

Graham got to his feet. “Are you mad?”

“No, my dear fellow, I am not. You ask me why anyone should want to murder you. There is an excellent reason. Unfortunately, I cannot be more explicit. I have my official instructions.”

Graham sat down. “Kopeikin,
I
shall go crazy in a minute. Will you kindly tell me what you are babbling about? Friend? Murder? Official instructions? What is all this nonsense?”

Kopeikin was looking acutely embarrassed. “I am sorry, my dear fellow. I can understand your feelings. Let me tell you this much. This friend of mine is not, strictly speaking, a friend at all. In fact, I dislike him. But his name is Colonel Haki, and he is the head of the Turkish secret police. His office is in Galata, and he is expecting us to meet him there now to discuss this affair. I may also tell you that I anticipated that you might not wish to go, and told him so. He said, forgive me, that if you did not go you would be fetched. My dear fellow, it is no use your being angry. The circumstances are exceptional. If I had not known that it was necessary both
in your interests and in mine to telephone him, I would not have done so. Now then, my dear fellow, I have a taxi outside. We ought to be going.”

Graham got slowly to his feet again. “Very well. I must say, Kopeikin, that you have surprised me. Friendly concern, I could understand and appreciate. But this … Hysteria is the last thing I should have expected from you. To get the head of the secret police out of bed at this hour seems to me a fantastic thing to do. I can only hope that he doesn’t object to being made a fool of.”

Kopeikin flushed. “I am neither hysterical nor fantastic, my friend. I have something unpleasant to do, and I am doing it. If you will forgive my saying so, I think …”

“I can forgive almost anything except stupidity,” snapped Graham. “However, this is your affair. Do you mind helping me on with my overcoat?”

They drove to Galata in grim silence. Kopeikin was sulking. Graham sat hunched up in his corner staring out miserably at the cold, dark streets, and wishing that he had not telephoned Kopeikin. It was, he kept telling himself, absurd enough to be shot at by a hotel sneak thief: to be bundled out in the early hours of the morning to tell the head of the secret police about it was worse than absurd; it was ludicrous. He felt, too, concerned on Kopeikin’s account. The man might be behaving like an idiot; but it was not very pleasant to think of him making an ass of himself before a man who might well be able to do him harm in his business. Besides, he, Graham, had been rude.

He turned his head. “What’s this Colonel Haki like?”

Kopeikin grunted. “Very
chic
and polished—a ladies’ man. There is also a legend that he can drink two bottles of whisky without getting drunk. It may be true. He was one of Ataturk’s men, a deputy in the provisional government of nineteen-nineteen. There is also another legend—that he killed prisoners by tying them together in pairs and throwing them into the river to save both food and ammunition. I do not believe everything I hear, nor am I a prig, but, as I told you, I do not like him. He is, however, very clever. But you will be able to judge for yourself. You can speak French to him.”

“I still don’t see …”

“You will.”

They pulled up soon afterwards behind a big American car which almost blocked the narrow street into which they had turned. They got out. Graham found himself standing in front of a pair of double doors which might have been the entrance to a cheap hotel. Kopeikin pressed a bell push.

One of the doors was opened almost immediately by a sleepy-looking caretaker who had obviously only just been roused from his bed.

“Haki efendi evde midir,”
said Kopeikin.

“Efendi var-dir. Yokari.”
The man pointed to the stairs.

They went up.

Colonel Haki’s office was a large room at the end of a corridor on the top floor of the building. The Colonel himself walked down the corridor to meet them.

He was a tall man with lean, muscular cheeks, a small mouth and grey hair cropped Prussian fashion. A narrow
frontal bone, a long beak of a nose and a slight stoop gave him a somewhat vultural air. He wore a very well-cut officer’s tunic with full riding breeches and very tight, shiny cavalry boots; he walked with the slight swagger of a man who is used to riding. But for the intense pallor of his face and the fact that it was unshaven, there was nothing about him to show that he had recently been asleep. His eyes were grey and very wide-awake. They surveyed Graham with interest.

“Ah!
Nasil-siniz. Fransizca konus-abilir misin
. Yes? Delighted, Mr. Graham. Your wound, of course.” Graham found his unbandaged hand being gripped with considerable force by long rubbery fingers. “I hope that it is not too painful. Something must be done about this rascal who tries to kill you.”

“I’m afraid,” said Graham, “that we have disturbed your rest unnecessarily, Colonel. The man stole nothing.”

Colonel Haki looked quickly at Kopeikin.

“I have told him nothing,” said Kopeikin placidly. “At your suggestion, Colonel, you may remember. I regret to say that he thinks that I am either mad or hysterical.”

Colonel Haki chuckled. “It is the lot of you Russians to be misunderstood. Let us go into my office where we can talk.”

They followed him: Graham with the growing conviction that he was involved in a nightmare and that he would presently wake up to find himself at his dentist’s. The corridor was, indeed, as bare and featureless as the corridors of a dream. It smelt strongly, however, of stale cigarette smoke.

The Colonel’s office was large and chilly. They sat
down facing him across his desk. He pushed a box of cigarettes towards them, lounged back in his chair and crossed his legs.

“You must realise, Mr. Graham,” he said suddenly, “that an attempt was made to kill you to-night.”

“Why?” demanded Graham irritably. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it. I returned to my room to find that a man had got in through the window. Obviously he was some sort of thief. I disturbed him. He fired at me and then escaped. That is all.”

“You have not, I understand, reported the matter to the police.”

“I did not consider that reporting it could do any good. I did not see the man’s face. Besides, I am leaving for England this morning on the eleven o’clock train. I did not wish to delay myself. If I have broken the law in any way I am sorry.”

“Zarar yok!
It does not matter.” The Colonel lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling. “I have a duty to do, Mr. Graham,” he said. “That duty is to protect you. I am afraid that you cannot leave on the eleven o’clock train.”

“But protect me from
what?”

“I will ask you questions, Mr. Graham. It will be simpler. You are in the employ of Messrs. Cator and Bliss, Ltd., the English armament manufacturers?”