The footman stood with his hands by his sides.
Neither of them moved for twenty minutes.
At the end of that time, Yashim suddenly started. He raised his head. Something had attracted his attention at the window. He leaned slightly to one side and peered, but whatever it was that caught his eye seemed to have gone. He kept a watch on the window nonetheless.
About thirty seconds later he was almost on his feet, staring. The footman’s eyes slid over him, and then to the window, but the window was black and revealed nothing to him.
But Yashim’s attention was called to something almost out of sight. Curious, he leaned further over to the right, to follow it better. From where he stood, the footman realised that he couldn’t see what the foreigner was looking at.
He wondered what it could be.
Yashim gave a little smile, whistled through his nose, and continued to watch, craning his head.
The footman rubbed his ringers against his palms.
The foreigner, he noticed, had jerked his head slightly, to keep up with the event occurring outside. It seemed to be moving away, out of his line of sight, because the fellow was leaning forward now.
Very slowly, Yashim leaned back in his chair. He looked puzzled. In fact, he simply could not imagine the significance of what he appeared to have seen.
Something within the grounds, the footman knew.
When there should be nothing. No one.
The footman wondered what it could have been. It had to be a light. A light in the dark, in the grounds. Going round the side of the embassy.
What would the butler have done? The footman glanced at the Turk, who was still sitting exactly where he had sat half an hour before. Wearing a slight frown.
Having seen something he hadn’t expected. That nobody else had observed.
The footman took a measured step forwards, hesitated, then continued to the front door and opened it.
He glanced to the left. The spaces between the columns of the portico were dark as pitch. He took a step out, and another, craning for a better view.
He sensed a darkness at his back and half turned. The Turk filled the doorway.
The Turk held out his hands, palms up, and shrugged. Then he gestured to himself and to the gatehouse.
“I’m going,” he said in Turkish.
The footman understood the gesture. His anxiety increased.
The Turk descended the steps.
The footman waited until he had cleared the portico, and then ran very quickly down the steps himself, and headed left, into the dark.
Privately he relished the little cold wind which hit him on the face but could not in a thousand years ruffle his artificial hair. Still he saw nothing. He darted to the corner of the building and looked down the side of the east wing.
It was as far as he dared to go.
[ 76 ]
Yashim sprinted back up the steps, crossed the empty hall and took the stairs three at a time. At the top he slowed and put his hand on the doorknob of the vestibule.
What if there was another footman, as before, standing sentinel in there?
