Read Online Cause for Alarm by Eric Ambler - Free Book Online Page A

switched the light out. But I knew there would be a name panel on the wall by the stairs. Under cover of lighting a cigarette I looked at it by the light of the match.
    “Vittorio Saponi, Agent,” said a voice in my ear; “but my name is Zaleshoff, Andreas P. Zaleshoff. It’s a Russian name, but that’s my parents’ fault, not mine. It’s no use asking me where old Mister Saponi is, because the guy’s dead and I wouldn’t know. I bought the business off his son. Shall we go and eat?”
    By the dying flame of the match I could see his blue eyes, shrewd and amused, on mine. I grinned back at him. We groped our way downstairs.
    At his suggestion we went to a big underground restaurant near the Piazza Oberdan. The ceiling was low and the air was thick with tobacco smoke. The sound of an orchestra playing energetically in one corner was lost in the din of conversation.
    “It’s noisy,” he acknowledged, “but the food’s German and pretty good. Besides, I thought you might like to know of the place. It’s convenient, and when you’re as tired of
pasta
as I am, it’s a godsend. You’ve only been here three days, haven’t you?”
    “Yes, I got here Monday. By the way—sorry to be inquisitive—what are you agent for?”
    “Moroccan perfumes, Czech jewellry and French bicycles.”
    “Business good?”
    “There isn’t any.” I did not know quite what to say to this but he went on. “No, Mr. Marlow, there isn’t so much as a smell of business. I was drilling for oil in Yugo-Slavia before I came here. I’d tapped a lot of gas and got the usual indications but I decided eventually to give it up as a bad job and the Government there took over. Three weeks later they struck it good and hard—gushers. When Fate makes a dirty crack like that, Mr. Marlow, it’s apt to jaundice a man’s outlook. I came here and bought this outfit off the executors of the late V. Saponi. The books looked pretty good. It wasn’t until I’d actually paid over my good dollars that I found that all the goodwill in the agency had died with old Saponi and that young Saponi had side-tracked what pickings were left into his own pants’ pocket.”
    “That’s bad.”
    “Bad enough. Fortunately, I’ve got other contacts. All the same, I’ve promised myself a good five minutes with young Saponi one of these days.” His jaw jutted forward. He regarded me with an expression of amiable ferocity. “I suppose you wouldn’t like to buy a French bicycle, Mr. Marlow? I’ve got the sample somewhere.”
    I laughed. “I’m afraid I shan’t have much time for cycling. There’s a lot to be done on the fourth floor.”
    He nodded. “I thought there might be. Your people in Wolverhampton were rather long about appointing someone.”
    “You knew Ferning, didn’t you, Mr. Zaleshoff?”
    He nodded and began to roll himself a cigarette.
    “Yes, I did. Why?”
    “Oh, nothing in particular. Except that I’ve no idea what he looked like.”
    “I shouldn’t think that would worry you.”
    “It doesn’t. I’m just curious.”
    “Any special reason for the curiosity?” It could not have been said more casually.
    “No. Only so many people seem to want to know if I knew Ferning. Even the police seem interested.”
    “The police! You don’t want to take any notice of
them
.”
    “It’s difficult not to take notice. I spent practically the whole morning at the
Amministrazione
.” I launched into a somewhat spiteful account of my encounter with the
signor Capitano
. He listened but made no comment. By the time I had finished, the food had arrived.
    We ate in comparative silence. I was, quite frankly, more interested in my food than in conversation. This seemed to suit my companion. His thoughts seemed to have strayed. Once I noticed him gazing moodily at the table-cloth, his fork poised in mid-air. His eyes met mine and he grinned. “There’s a soup stain on the cloth that looks exactly like South America,” he said apologetically.