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Authors: Eric Ambler
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to insure against our gaining any information concerning Kassen or his work. It is a nuisance, but it cannot be helped. We shall have to employ other measures.”
“Such as?”
Groom smiled.
“Perhaps we had better not go into that, Professor. I think I have mentioned, however, that I should rely upon my knowledge of Ixanian officialdom to help us—that knowledge plus a large banking account. It is really quite simple.”
With a chuckle he settled himself back in his corner and returned to his papers. He had the air of a man with something up his sleeve.
Left to his own thoughts, Carruthers gazed out of the window at the lights of a distant town. He was not pleased with himself. Conway Carruthers seemed to be losing his grip. He had made the mistake of underrating an opponent. More, he had failed even to perceive an opponent. Could it be because she was a beautiful woman? Impossible! Had he not resisted the wiles, the womanly guile of countless beautiful spies? Had they not possessed tawny hair and sinuous bodies? Had they not reclined provocatively on gilt divans? Had not their green eyes held promise of untold delights in return for the secrets he alone could reveal? And had he not gone on his way smiling with grim amusement at their baffled fury, their childish simplicity? Of course. Yet perhaps it was that this woman’s eyes were dark, dark brown, that her hair was lustrous black, that her smile gave him a curious feeling in the pit of hisstomach, that she was infinitely—as those appreciative Italians put it—infinitely
simpatica
. Perhaps, but he was mooning—mooning like one of those love-sick young Englishmen who always ruined his plans in chapter twelve by dashing frantically but indiscreetly to the rescue of their terrified woman. No more of it! From now on, he, Carruthers, would be the master.
Before the train reached Bâle an incident occurred which Carruthers dismissed at the time as unimportant, but which he was to remember later.
Groom did not go into dinner and Carruthers ate the first half of his meal in silence. Facing him was a lean-faced, rather untidy young man who spoke to the waiter in fluent French but with an unmistakable American accent.
There is nothing like a French restaurant car travelling at speed for promoting casual acquaintance. It is difficult to maintain a formal reserve with soup and wine splashing sociably over both sides of the intervening table.
“They tell me,” said the American at last, dabbing ruefully with his napkin at the sleeve of his jacket, “that French railroad track is the worst in the world.”
“This section of it is certainly one of the oldest.”
“Then they ought not to serve soup
and
wine at the same time.”
The discussion became general. The American had apparently travelled widely. The conversation turned to places. Seizing a possible chance to obtain some information, Carruthers brought the conversation round to Eastern Europe.
Belgrade was mentioned. Then: “Have you ever been to Zovgorod?” inquired Carruthers casually.
The American met his eyes for a fraction of a second before replying briefly, “No.” He seemed disinclined to continue theconversation, called for his bill, paid it and with a nod to Carruthers rose and left the car.
As the train entered the outskirts of Bâle, Groom issued his first instructions.
There was a wait of several hours before the train to which their through-coach was to be coupled would leave for Bucharest. He, Groom, would go to the office of the Bâle agents of Messrs. Cator & Bliss Limited in the Badenstrasse and there have a letter prepared setting forth in detail the Company’s offer to Professor Barstow. This he would sign and hand to the Professor until such time as the document could be superseded by a stamped agreement. Carruthers expressed his thanks dutifully.
The Professor would buy such things as he thought necessary—clothes, toilet requisites
and
a camera—and meet Groom on the
“Such as?”
Groom smiled.
“Perhaps we had better not go into that, Professor. I think I have mentioned, however, that I should rely upon my knowledge of Ixanian officialdom to help us—that knowledge plus a large banking account. It is really quite simple.”
With a chuckle he settled himself back in his corner and returned to his papers. He had the air of a man with something up his sleeve.
Left to his own thoughts, Carruthers gazed out of the window at the lights of a distant town. He was not pleased with himself. Conway Carruthers seemed to be losing his grip. He had made the mistake of underrating an opponent. More, he had failed even to perceive an opponent. Could it be because she was a beautiful woman? Impossible! Had he not resisted the wiles, the womanly guile of countless beautiful spies? Had they not possessed tawny hair and sinuous bodies? Had they not reclined provocatively on gilt divans? Had not their green eyes held promise of untold delights in return for the secrets he alone could reveal? And had he not gone on his way smiling with grim amusement at their baffled fury, their childish simplicity? Of course. Yet perhaps it was that this woman’s eyes were dark, dark brown, that her hair was lustrous black, that her smile gave him a curious feeling in the pit of hisstomach, that she was infinitely—as those appreciative Italians put it—infinitely
simpatica
. Perhaps, but he was mooning—mooning like one of those love-sick young Englishmen who always ruined his plans in chapter twelve by dashing frantically but indiscreetly to the rescue of their terrified woman. No more of it! From now on, he, Carruthers, would be the master.
Before the train reached Bâle an incident occurred which Carruthers dismissed at the time as unimportant, but which he was to remember later.
Groom did not go into dinner and Carruthers ate the first half of his meal in silence. Facing him was a lean-faced, rather untidy young man who spoke to the waiter in fluent French but with an unmistakable American accent.
There is nothing like a French restaurant car travelling at speed for promoting casual acquaintance. It is difficult to maintain a formal reserve with soup and wine splashing sociably over both sides of the intervening table.
“They tell me,” said the American at last, dabbing ruefully with his napkin at the sleeve of his jacket, “that French railroad track is the worst in the world.”
“This section of it is certainly one of the oldest.”
“Then they ought not to serve soup
and
wine at the same time.”
The discussion became general. The American had apparently travelled widely. The conversation turned to places. Seizing a possible chance to obtain some information, Carruthers brought the conversation round to Eastern Europe.
Belgrade was mentioned. Then: “Have you ever been to Zovgorod?” inquired Carruthers casually.
The American met his eyes for a fraction of a second before replying briefly, “No.” He seemed disinclined to continue theconversation, called for his bill, paid it and with a nod to Carruthers rose and left the car.
As the train entered the outskirts of Bâle, Groom issued his first instructions.
There was a wait of several hours before the train to which their through-coach was to be coupled would leave for Bucharest. He, Groom, would go to the office of the Bâle agents of Messrs. Cator & Bliss Limited in the Badenstrasse and there have a letter prepared setting forth in detail the Company’s offer to Professor Barstow. This he would sign and hand to the Professor until such time as the document could be superseded by a stamped agreement. Carruthers expressed his thanks dutifully.
The Professor would buy such things as he thought necessary—clothes, toilet requisites
and
a camera—and meet Groom on the
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