Journey Into Fear (6 page)

“Yes. Kopeikin here is the company’s Turkish agent.”

“Quite so. You are, I believe, Mr. Graham, a naval ordnance expert.”

Graham hesitated. He had the engineer’s dislike of the word “expert.” His managing director sometimes applied
it to him when writing to foreign naval authorities; but he could, on those occasions, console himself with the reflection that his managing director would describe him as a full-blooded Zulu to impress a customer. At other times he found the word unreasonably irritating.

“Well, Mr. Graham?”

“I’m an engineer. Naval ordnance happens to be my subject.”

“As you please. The point is that Messrs. Cator and Bliss, Ltd., have contracted to do some work for my Government. Good. Now, Mr. Graham, I do not know exactly what that work is”—he waved his cigarette airily—“that is the affair of the Ministry of Marine. But I have been told some things. I know that certain of our naval vessels are to be rearmed with new guns and torpedo tubes and that you were sent to discuss the matter with our dockyard experts. I also know that our authorities stipulated that the new equipment should be delivered by the spring. Your company agreed to that stipulation. Are you aware of it?”

“I have been aware of nothing else for the past two months.”

“Iyi dir!
Now I may tell you, Mr. Graham, that the reason for that stipulation as to time was not mere caprice on the part of our Ministry of Marine. The international situation demands that we have that new equipment in our dockyards by the time in question.”

“I know that, too.”

“Excellent. Then you will understand what I am about to say. The naval authorities of Germany and Italy and Russia are perfectly well aware of the fact that these
vessels are being rearmed and I have no doubt that the moment the work is done, or even before, their agents will discover the details known at the moment only to a few men, yourself among them. That is unimportant. No navy can keep that sort of secret: no navy expects to do so. We might even consider it advisable, for various reasons, to publish the details ourselves. But”—he raised a long, well-manicured finger—“at the moment you are in a curious position, Mr. Graham.”

“That, at least, I can believe.”

The Colonel’s small grey eyes rested on him coldly. “I am not here to make jokes, Mr. Graham.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Not at all. Please take another cigarette. I was saying that at the moment your position is curious. Tell me! Have you ever regarded yourself as indispensable in your business, Mr. Graham?”

Graham laughed. “Certainly not. I could tell you the names of dozens of other men with my particular qualifications.”

“Then,” said Colonel Haki, “allow me to inform you, Mr. Graham, that for once in your life you
are
indispensable. Let us suppose for the moment that your thief’s shooting had been a little more accurate and that at this moment you were, instead of sitting talking with me, lying in hospital on an operating table with a bullet in your lungs. What would be the effect on this business you are engaged in now?”

“Naturally, the company would send another man out immediately.”

Colonel Haki affected a look of theatrical astonishment.

“So? That would be splendid. So typically British! Sporting! One man falls—immediately another, undaunted, takes his place. But wait!” The Colonel held up a forbidding arm. “Is it necessary? Surely, Mr. Kopeikin here could arrange to have your papers taken to England. No doubt your colleagues there could find out from your notes, your sketches, your drawings, exactly what they wanted to know even though your company did not build the ships in question, eh?”

Graham flushed. “I gather from your tone that you know perfectly well that the matter could not be dealt with so simply. I was forbidden, in any case, to put certain things on paper.”

Colonel Haki tilted his chair. “Yes, Mr. Graham,”—he smiled cheerfully—“I do know that. Another expert would have to be sent out to do some of your work over again.” His chair came forward with a crash. “And meanwhile,” he said through his teeth, “the spring would be here and those ships would still be lying in the dockyards of Izmir and Gallipoli, waiting for their new guns and torpedo tubes. Listen to me, Mr. Graham! Turkey and Great Britain are allies. It is in the interests of your country’s enemies that, when the snow melts and the rain ceases, Turkish naval strength should be exactly what it is now.
Exactly what it is now!
They will do anything to see that it is so.
Anything
, Mr. Graham! Do you understand?”

Graham felt something tightening in his chest. He had to force himself to smile. “A little melodramatic, aren’t you? We have no proof that what you say is true. And, after all, this is real life, not …” He hesitated.

“Not what, Mr. Graham?” The Colonel was watching him like a cat about to streak after a mouse.

“… the cinema, I was going to say, only it sounded a little impolite.”

Colonel Haki stood up quickly. “Melodrama! Proof! Real life! The cinema! Impolite!” His lips curled round the words as if they were obscene. “Do you think I care what you say, Mr. Graham? It’s your carcass I am inter ested in. Alive, it’s worth something to the Turkish Republic. I’m going to see that it stays alive as long as I’ve any control over it. There is a war on in Europe. Do you understand
that
?”

Graham said nothing.

The Colonel stared at him for a moment and then went on quietly. “A little more than a week ago, while you were still in Gallipoli, we discovered—that is, my agents discovered—a plot to murder you there. The whole thing was very clumsy and amateurish. You were to be kidnapped and knifed. Fortunately, we are not fools.
We
do not dismiss as melodramatic anything that does not please us. We were able to persuade the arrested men to tell us that they had been paid by a German agent in Sofia—a man named Moeller about whom we have known for some time. He used to call himself an American until the American Legation objected. His name was Fielding then. I imagine that he claims any name and nationality that happens to suit him. However, I called Mr. Kopeikin in to see me and told him about it but suggested that nothing should be said about it to you. The less these things are talked about the better and, besides, there was nothing to be gained by upsetting you while you were so hard at
work. I think I made a mistake. I had reason to believe that this Moeller’s further efforts would be directed elsewhere. When Mr. Kopeikin, very wisely, telephoned me immediately he knew of this fresh attempt, I realised that I had underestimated the determination of this gentleman in Sofia. He tried again. I have no doubt that he will try a third time if we give him a chance.” He leaned back in his chair. “Do you understand now, Mr. Graham? Has your excellent brain grasped what I have been trying to say? It is perfectly simple! Someone is trying to kill you.”

O
N THE RARE OCCASIONS
—when matters concerned with insurance policies had been under consideration—on which Graham had thought about his own death, it had been to reaffirm the conviction that he would die of natural causes and in bed. Accidents did happen, of course; but he was a careful driver, an imaginative pedestrian and a strong swimmer; he neither rode horses nor climbed mountains; he was not subject to attacks of dizziness; he did not hunt big game and he had never had even the smallest desire to jump in front of an approaching train. He had felt, on the whole, that the conviction was not unreasonable. The idea that anyone else in the world might so much as hope for his death had never occurred to him. If it had done so he would probably have hastened to consult a nerve specialist. Confronted by the proposition that someone was, in fact, not merely hoping for his death but deliberately trying to murder him, he was as profoundly shocked as if he had been presented with incontrovertible
proofs that
a
²
no longer equalled
b
²
+ c
²
or that his wife had a lover.

He was a man who had always been inclined to think well of his fellow creatures; and the first involuntary thought that came into his head was that he must have done something particularly reprehensible for anyone to want to murder him. The mere fact that he was doing his job could not be sufficient reason. He was not dangerous. Besides, he had a wife dependent on him. It was impossible that anyone should wish to kill him. There must be some horrible mistake.

He heard himself saying: “Yes. I understand.”

He didn’t understand, of course. It was absurd. He saw Colonel Haki looking at him with a frosty little smile on his small mouth.

“A shock, Mr. Graham? You do not like it, eh? It is not pleasant. War is war. But it is one thing to be a soldier in the trenches: the enemy is not trying to kill you in particular because you are Mr. Graham: the man next to you will do as well: it is all impersonal. When you are a marked man it is not so easy to keep your courage. I understand, believe me. But you have advantages over the soldier. You have only to defend yourself. You do not have to go into the open and attack. And you have no trench or fort to hold. You may run away without being a coward. You must reach London safely. But it is a long way from Istanbul to London. You must, like the soldier, take precautions against surprise. You must know your enemy. You follow me?”

“Yes. I follow you.”

His brain was icily calm now, but it seemed to have
lost control of his body. He knew that he must try to look as if he were taking it all very philosophically, but his mouth kept filling with saliva, so that he was swallowing repeatedly, and his hands and legs were trembling. He told himself that he was behaving like a schoolboy. A man had fired three shots at him. What difference did it make whether the man had been a thief or an intending murderer? He had fired three shots, and that was that. But all the same, it did somehow make a difference …

“Then,” Colonel Haki was saying, “let us begin with what has just happened.” He was obviously enjoying himself. “According to Mr. Kopeikin, you did not see the man who shot at you.”

“No, I didn’t. The room was in darkness.”

Kopeikin chipped in. “He left cartridge cases behind him. Nine millimetre calibre ejected from a self-loading pistol.”

“That does not help a great deal. You noticed nothing about him, Mr. Graham?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. It was all over so quickly. He had gone before I realised it.”

“But he had probably been in the room for some time waiting for you. You didn’t notice any perfume in the room?”

“All I could smell was cordite.”

“What time did you arrive in Istanbul?”

“At about six p.m.”

“And you did not return to your hotel until three o’clock this morning. Please tell me where you were during that time.”

“Certainly. I spent the time with Kopeikin. He met me at the station, and we drove in a taxi to the Adler-Palace, where I left my suitcase and had a wash. We then had some drinks and dined. Where did we have the drinks, Kopeikin?”

“At the Rumca Bar.”

“Yes, that was it. We went on to the Pera Palace to dine. Just before eleven we left there, and went on to Le Jockey Cabaret.”

“Le Jockey Cabaret! You surprise me! What did you do there?”

“We danced with an Arab girl named Maria, and saw the cabaret.”

“We? Was there, then, only one girl between you?”

“I was rather tired, and did not want to dance much. Later we had a drink with one of the cabaret dancers, Josette, in her dressing-room.” To Graham it all sounded rather like the evidence of detectives in a divorce case.

“A nice girl, this Josette?”

“Very attractive.”

The Colonel laughed: the doctor keeping the patient’s spirits up. “Blonde or brunette?”

“Blonde.”

“Ah! I must visit Le Jockey. I have missed something. And what happened then?”

“Kopeikin and I left the place. We walked back to the Adler-Palace together where Kopeikin left me to go on to his apartment.”

The Colonel looked humorously astonished. “You left this dancing blonde?”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that? There were no—little games?”

“No. No little games.”

“Ah, but you have told me that you were tired.” He swung round suddenly in his chair to face Kopeikin. “These women—this Arab and this Josette—what do you know of them?”

Kopeikin stroked his chin. “I know Serge, the proprietor of Le Jockey Cabaret. He introduced me to Josette some time ago. She is a Hungarian, I believe. I know nothing against her. The Arab girl is from a house in Alexandria.”

“Very well. We will see about them later.” He turned again to Graham. “Now, Mr. Graham, we shall see what we can find out from you about the enemy. You were tired, you say?”

“Yes.”

“But you kept your eyes open, eh?”

“I suppose so.”

“Let us hope so. You realise that you must have been followed from the moment you left Gallipoli?”

“I hadn’t realised that.”

“It must be so. They knew your hotel and your room in it. They were waiting for you to return. They must have known of every movement you made since you arrived.”

He got up suddenly and, going to a filing cabinet in the corner, extracted from it a yellow manillla folder. He brought it back and dropped it on the desk in front of Graham. “Inside that folder, Mr. Graham, you will find photographs of fifteen men. Some of the photographs are clear; most are very blurred and indistinct. You will have to do the best you can. I want you to cast your
mind back to the time you boarded the train at Gallipoli yesterday, and remember every face you saw, even casually, between that time and three o’clock this morning. Then I want you to look at those photographs and see if you recognise any of the faces there. Afterwards Mr. Kopeikin can look at them, but I wish you to see them first.”

Graham opened the folder. There was a series of thin white cards in it. Each was about the size of the folder, and had a photograph gummed to the top half of it. The prints were all the same size, but they had obviously been copied from original photographs of varying sizes. One was an enlargement of part of a photograph of a group of men standing in front of some trees. Underneath each print was a paragraph or two of typewritten matter in Turkish: presumably the description of the man in question.