“Oh, there you are,” said Zaleshoff. “This, Mr. Marlow, is my sister, Tamara.”
She smiled. I found myself smiling back at her.
“I’m glad you could come, Mr. Marlow,” she said; “I was afraid that you would be annoyed with us for not speaking to you last night. Andreas has probably explained why we didn’t.”
“Actually,” I replied, “he hasn’t explained. But I’m quite sure that it was necessary.”
“Andreas, you said…”
He flourished an arm dramatically. “Silence! We will discuss these matters after we have eaten. To your kitchen, Tamara!”
At the door she paused. “It is simply, Mr. Marlow,” she explained gently, “that he was badly brought up. You must try to make allowances for these gaucheries.” She shook her head compassionately and disappeared into the kitchen.
Zaleshoff chuckled. “Have a drink, Mr. Marlow?”
“Thanks.”
“Whisky? I got a bottle in specially.”
“That’s very good of you.”
He took some glasses out of the bookcase. “Nothing’s too good for a man who can put up with Vagas for an evening.”
“Oh, so you do know him!”
He wagged an admonitory finger. “I know of him. Say ‘when.’ ”
“When!”
“I bet he warned you against me, didn’t he?”
“In a sort of way.”
“Ah! well, here’s looking at you.”
“Cheerio.”
The girl entered carrying a tray with a big copper saucepan in the middle of it. “Can you eat a real paprika goulash, Mr. Marlow?”
“With enthusiasm.”
“That’s fine, because that’s what this is.”
“I should like to know,” grunted Zaleshoff, “what you’d have done if he’d said it made him sick. Opened the other can, I suppose.”
The meal proceeded amidst a running fire of amiable bickering. It was obvious that it was all a performance put on for my benefit; but it was amusing enough and I began to enjoy myself. The goulash was delicious. There was, too, something pleasantly stimulating in the company of Zaleshoff and his sister. For the first time since I had left England, I began to feel friendly towards my surroundings. At last, warmed by a stomach-full of goulash, I began a racy account of my evening with General and Madame Vagas. I made no mention, however, of the General’s proposition, and Zaleshoff did not refer to our previous conversation on the subject. We might have been three very ordinary acquaintances discussing a fourth. Then, suddenly, the atmosphere changed. And it was a change for the worse.
I had been rambling on happily on the subject of Ricciardo and his incense. They were laughing. Then, quite casually, I went on to mention the note that Madame Vagas had pressed into my hand and my diagnosis of the lady’s mental condition.
The effect of my statement was sensational. There was a sudden silence in the room. It was as though someone had switched off a very noisy radio.
“What did you say was in that note, Mr. Marlow?” Zaleshoff’s voice was preternaturally calm. The girl’s eyes were fixed on her plate.
“I’ve got it in my pocket if you want to see it. But why? What’s the matter? You surely don’t take it seriously?”
He glanced at the note in silence, then gave it back to me with a shrug.
“No, I don’t take it seriously. It’s the work of a spiteful woman. I wouldn’t have remarked on it at all, except for one thing.”
“Well?”
“That sentence happens to be very nearly true.”
I goggled at him. “But Ferning was run over.”
“Ferning,” said Zaleshoff firmly, “was murdered.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Ferning.”
I got up from the table. “Now look here, Zaleshoff. You’ve given me a good dinner, and so far I’ve enjoyed myself. But I tell you frankly…”
But he did not allow me to get any further.
“Sit down, Mr. Marlow. The time has come for you and me to have a little heart to heart talk.”
“I don’t…”
“Sit down!” He raised his voice.
“Yes, Mr. Marlow,” said the girl; “do sit down. You’ll get indigestion. Have some more whisky.”
“I don’t want any whisky, thank you, and I won’t sit down.” I was trembling with annoyance.
“Very well, then,” snarled Zaleshoff, “stand up. But listen to me for a moment.”
“I’m listening.”
“Good. Then get this. I don’t know whether you walk about in blinkers or whether you’re just plain stupid. But if you don’t mind my saying so, it’s time the Italian representative of the Spartacus Machine Tool Company of Wolverhampton began to ask himself a few questions.”
“Such as?”
“Dammit, man!” he exploded; “you’ve been here ten days. You’ve had your passport taken away from you and been ordered to report to the police every week like a paroled convict. Doesn’t that seem a bit funny to you? You’ve had your mail tampered with, and you’ve had your assistant, Bellinetti, trailing you ever since you arrived. I know, because I’ve watched him. Doesn’t that say anything to you? And what’s more, you’ve had a proposition that stinks to high Heaven put to you by a bird who says he’s a Yugo-Slav General. You’ve had all that, and now you’re going to walk out on me.” His jaw shot out like a battering-ram. “Me! the only guy who can tell you what it’s all about.”
We glared at one another for a moment.
“Well,” I demanded, “what is it all about?”
He smacked his hands together. “Ah, that’s better! Now, for goodness’ sake have another drink.”
“Very well.”
“And don’t say it,” he added irritably, “as if I were offering you a tot of prussic acid.”
“Sorry. Only,” I added, “you can scarcely expect me to treat this talk of murder as if it were sewing-bee gossip.”
“You mustn’t take any notice of him,” chimed in the girl; “he thinks that tact is something you use to nail down linoleum.”
“Quiet!” roared Zaleshoff. He turned to me. “Now, Mr. Marlow,” he went on in tones of sickening affability, “do you feel equal to the strain of hearing a few facts?”
“Perfectly.”
“Then here’s fact number one. Last night this guy Vagas put a proposition to you. It went something like this. He said that he was acting on behalf of the Yugo-Slav Government and that his people were prepared to pay you to supply them with details of the Spartacus shell-production machines as you supply them to the subsidised factories. Is that right?”
“More or less.”
“He probably didn’t put it as simply as that. He probably talked a lot about it being simply a matter of routine intelligence and that there wasn’t the slightest risk involved. All you had to do was to let him have the dope and take your rake-off. Right?”
“Right.”
“Good. That, Mr. Marlow, is exactly what he told Ferning nine months ago. Ferning…”
