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Authors: Eric Ambler
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men of a curious experience he once had in Linz when he had been young; and declare that he had been a romantic young fool at the time, and that the girl had probably been as unattractive as a glass of sour wine.
He was contemplating, with some distaste, the sentimental trend of these reflections, when his thoughts were interrupted by the squeal of brakes.
He had crossed the river and was within a few minutes of the station. He looked round quickly, but he could see no sign of a car, and concluded that the noise of brakes had come from a side street which he had just passed. He walked on a little way and looked round again.
The road was fairly broad and well lighted, but deserted. Suddenly there was the whine of a car being driven hardin reverse gear and a big saloon swung out of the turning backwards and pulled up with a jerk. A second later it shot forward in the direction from which he had come. With an unpleasant start he recognised it. It was the car that he had last seen waiting outside the Hotel Josef.
He watched it disappear round a corner with relief. Evidently they had not spotted him. Then he mentally kicked himself. How could they “spot” him? They did not, could not know of his existence. Or if they did, if Sachs had told them, they couldn’t know what he looked like. He walked on, cursing himself for a nervous fool. When, turning the next corner, he glanced back and thought he saw a figure dissolve quickly into the shadows by the wall, he decided that the sooner he got some sleep the better.
He was still considering the dangers of an overwrought imagination when he arrived at the Café Schwan.
Having reclaimed his suitcase and learnt that the Hotel Werner, two streets away, was both good and cheap, he decided that after the excitements of the past hour or so, a cup of hot chocolate would be a good introduction to sleep.
While it was being prepared, he bought some matches, and was feeling in his pocket for his cigarettes when his fingers met the wallet he had picked up in Sachs’ room.
He fingered it a trifle unhappily. He should have left it for the police to find. He had not meant to take it and had slipped it into his pocket without thinking. However, now he
had
got it, he might as well learn what there was to be learnt from it. He took it out of his pocket.
It was of imitation leather with the initial “B” in one corner and had obviously cost very little. Inside, however, were over eight hundred marks in notes, four hundred and fifty of which belonged by rights to him. The only other thing in the wallet was a small green note-book. All buttwo pages of it were blank. The two pages contained addresses; but the writing was so bad that Kenton postponed the task of deciphering them. He tore them out and stuffed them into his overcoat pocket.
There remained the money. After a good deal of quibbling with himself, he decided that he had a legitimate claim against the estate of Herr Sachs. Accordingly, he transferred four hundred and fifty marks to his own wallet.
He finished his chocolate and thought for a moment. Then he asked the man behind the counter for envelopes and stamps.
In the first he placed the balance of the money and addressed it to Herr Sachs at the Hotel Josef. The police would take charge of it. In the second he put one hundred marks with a note of thanks to the Havas man. In the third he put the photographs.
The first two he stamped. The third he marked with his own name and handed it over, accompanied by five marks and a circumstantial story, to the man behind the counter for safe keeping.
He had cleared his conscience on the subject of Herr Sachs’ money. The Havas man’s loan had been repaid. He had relieved himself of the compromising presence of the photographs. He had five hundred odd marks in his pocket. Moreover, he was feeling sleepy. Later on that day, he would return to Berlin. With something approaching a light heart, he posted his letters and made his way to the
He was contemplating, with some distaste, the sentimental trend of these reflections, when his thoughts were interrupted by the squeal of brakes.
He had crossed the river and was within a few minutes of the station. He looked round quickly, but he could see no sign of a car, and concluded that the noise of brakes had come from a side street which he had just passed. He walked on a little way and looked round again.
The road was fairly broad and well lighted, but deserted. Suddenly there was the whine of a car being driven hardin reverse gear and a big saloon swung out of the turning backwards and pulled up with a jerk. A second later it shot forward in the direction from which he had come. With an unpleasant start he recognised it. It was the car that he had last seen waiting outside the Hotel Josef.
He watched it disappear round a corner with relief. Evidently they had not spotted him. Then he mentally kicked himself. How could they “spot” him? They did not, could not know of his existence. Or if they did, if Sachs had told them, they couldn’t know what he looked like. He walked on, cursing himself for a nervous fool. When, turning the next corner, he glanced back and thought he saw a figure dissolve quickly into the shadows by the wall, he decided that the sooner he got some sleep the better.
He was still considering the dangers of an overwrought imagination when he arrived at the Café Schwan.
Having reclaimed his suitcase and learnt that the Hotel Werner, two streets away, was both good and cheap, he decided that after the excitements of the past hour or so, a cup of hot chocolate would be a good introduction to sleep.
While it was being prepared, he bought some matches, and was feeling in his pocket for his cigarettes when his fingers met the wallet he had picked up in Sachs’ room.
He fingered it a trifle unhappily. He should have left it for the police to find. He had not meant to take it and had slipped it into his pocket without thinking. However, now he
had
got it, he might as well learn what there was to be learnt from it. He took it out of his pocket.
It was of imitation leather with the initial “B” in one corner and had obviously cost very little. Inside, however, were over eight hundred marks in notes, four hundred and fifty of which belonged by rights to him. The only other thing in the wallet was a small green note-book. All buttwo pages of it were blank. The two pages contained addresses; but the writing was so bad that Kenton postponed the task of deciphering them. He tore them out and stuffed them into his overcoat pocket.
There remained the money. After a good deal of quibbling with himself, he decided that he had a legitimate claim against the estate of Herr Sachs. Accordingly, he transferred four hundred and fifty marks to his own wallet.
He finished his chocolate and thought for a moment. Then he asked the man behind the counter for envelopes and stamps.
In the first he placed the balance of the money and addressed it to Herr Sachs at the Hotel Josef. The police would take charge of it. In the second he put one hundred marks with a note of thanks to the Havas man. In the third he put the photographs.
The first two he stamped. The third he marked with his own name and handed it over, accompanied by five marks and a circumstantial story, to the man behind the counter for safe keeping.
He had cleared his conscience on the subject of Herr Sachs’ money. The Havas man’s loan had been repaid. He had relieved himself of the compromising presence of the photographs. He had five hundred odd marks in his pocket. Moreover, he was feeling sleepy. Later on that day, he would return to Berlin. With something approaching a light heart, he posted his letters and made his way to the
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