Read Online The Light of Day by Eric Ambler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eric Ambler
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Suspense fiction, Espionage, Criminals, Turkey, Jewel Thieves, Athens (Greece)
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relish the idea. Indigestion was bad enough; I did not want dysentery, too. I made myself eat some of the bread and then took out my cigarettes again in the hope that the new man might be ready to give me a match. He shook his head. I pointed to a plastic ash-tray on the table to remind him that smoking was not necessarily prohibited. He still shook his head.
A little before nine, a twin-engined plane flew over the jail and then circled as if on a landing pattern. The sound seemed to mean something to the guard. He looked at his watch and then absently ran his hand down the front of his tunic as if to make sure that the buttons were all done up.
More to break the interminable silence in the room than because I wanted to know, I asked: 'Is there a big airport at Edirne?'
I spoke in French, but it meant nothing to him. I made signs which he misunderstood.
'Askeri ucak,' he said briefly.
An Army plane. That concluded that conversation; but I noticed that he kept glancing at his watch now. Probably, I thought, it was time for his relief and he was becoming impatient.
Twenty minutes later there was the distant sound of a car door slamming. The guard heard it, too, and promptly stood up. I stared at him and he glowered back.
'Hazirol!' he snapped, and then exasperatedly, 'Debout ! Debout! '
I stood up. I could hear approaching footsteps and voices now. Then the door was unlocked and flung open.
For a moment nothing more happened, except that someone in the corridor, whom I could not see, went on speaking. He had a harsh peremptory voice which seemed to be giving orders that another voice kept acknowledging deferentially— 'Evet, evet efendim, derhal.' Then the orders ceased and the man who had been given them came into the room.
He was about thirty-five I would think, perhaps younger, tall and quite slim. There were high cheekbones, grey eyes and short brown hair. He was handsome, I suppose, in a thin-lipped sort of way. He was wearing a dark civilian suit that looked as if it had been cut by a good Roman tailor, and a dark-grey silk tie. He looked as if he had just come from a diplomatic corps cocktail party; and f or all I know he may have done so. On his right wrist there was a gold identity bracelet. The hand below it was holding a large manila envelope.
He examined me bleakly for a moment, then nodded. 'I am Major Tufan, Deputy-Director Second Section.’
‘Good evening, Major.'
He glanced at the guard, who was staring at him round-eyed, and suddenly snapped out an order: 'Def oi!'
The guard nearly fell over himself getting out of the room.
As soon as the door closed the Major pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. Then he waved me back to my seat by the bread.
'Sit down, Simpson. I believe that you speak French easily, but not Turkish.’
‘Yes, Major.'
‘Then we will speak m French instead of English. That will be easier for me.'
I answered in French. 'As you wish, sir.'
He took cigarettes and matches from his pocket and tossed them on the table in front of me. 'You may smoke.'
Thank you.'
I was glad of the concession, though not in the least reassured by it. When a policeman gives you a cigarette it is usually the first move in one of those 'let's-see-if-we-can't-talk-sensibly-as-man-to-man' games in which he provides the rope and you hang yourself. I lit a cigarette and waited for the next move.
He seemed in no hurry to make it. He bad opened the envelope and taken from it a file of papers which he was searching through and rearranging, as if he had just dropped the whole lot and was trying to get it back into the right order.
There was a knock at the door. He took no notice. After a moment or two the door opened and a guard came io with a bottle of raki and two glasses. Tufan motioned to him to put them on the table, and then noticed the soup. 'Do you want any more of that?' he asked. 'No thank you, sir.'
He said something to the guard, who took the soup and bread away and locked
A little before nine, a twin-engined plane flew over the jail and then circled as if on a landing pattern. The sound seemed to mean something to the guard. He looked at his watch and then absently ran his hand down the front of his tunic as if to make sure that the buttons were all done up.
More to break the interminable silence in the room than because I wanted to know, I asked: 'Is there a big airport at Edirne?'
I spoke in French, but it meant nothing to him. I made signs which he misunderstood.
'Askeri ucak,' he said briefly.
An Army plane. That concluded that conversation; but I noticed that he kept glancing at his watch now. Probably, I thought, it was time for his relief and he was becoming impatient.
Twenty minutes later there was the distant sound of a car door slamming. The guard heard it, too, and promptly stood up. I stared at him and he glowered back.
'Hazirol!' he snapped, and then exasperatedly, 'Debout ! Debout! '
I stood up. I could hear approaching footsteps and voices now. Then the door was unlocked and flung open.
For a moment nothing more happened, except that someone in the corridor, whom I could not see, went on speaking. He had a harsh peremptory voice which seemed to be giving orders that another voice kept acknowledging deferentially— 'Evet, evet efendim, derhal.' Then the orders ceased and the man who had been given them came into the room.
He was about thirty-five I would think, perhaps younger, tall and quite slim. There were high cheekbones, grey eyes and short brown hair. He was handsome, I suppose, in a thin-lipped sort of way. He was wearing a dark civilian suit that looked as if it had been cut by a good Roman tailor, and a dark-grey silk tie. He looked as if he had just come from a diplomatic corps cocktail party; and f or all I know he may have done so. On his right wrist there was a gold identity bracelet. The hand below it was holding a large manila envelope.
He examined me bleakly for a moment, then nodded. 'I am Major Tufan, Deputy-Director Second Section.’
‘Good evening, Major.'
He glanced at the guard, who was staring at him round-eyed, and suddenly snapped out an order: 'Def oi!'
The guard nearly fell over himself getting out of the room.
As soon as the door closed the Major pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. Then he waved me back to my seat by the bread.
'Sit down, Simpson. I believe that you speak French easily, but not Turkish.’
‘Yes, Major.'
‘Then we will speak m French instead of English. That will be easier for me.'
I answered in French. 'As you wish, sir.'
He took cigarettes and matches from his pocket and tossed them on the table in front of me. 'You may smoke.'
Thank you.'
I was glad of the concession, though not in the least reassured by it. When a policeman gives you a cigarette it is usually the first move in one of those 'let's-see-if-we-can't-talk-sensibly-as-man-to-man' games in which he provides the rope and you hang yourself. I lit a cigarette and waited for the next move.
He seemed in no hurry to make it. He bad opened the envelope and taken from it a file of papers which he was searching through and rearranging, as if he had just dropped the whole lot and was trying to get it back into the right order.
There was a knock at the door. He took no notice. After a moment or two the door opened and a guard came io with a bottle of raki and two glasses. Tufan motioned to him to put them on the table, and then noticed the soup. 'Do you want any more of that?' he asked. 'No thank you, sir.'
He said something to the guard, who took the soup and bread away and locked
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