needed those S2 machines-as many of them as they could get. To arrest Ferning would have been too noisy. There was only one thing to do-liquidate him. They called in the murder squad.”
“Do you mean to say that he was deliberately run over?”
“I do. They’ve done it that way before. Twice in Naples and once in Cremona. The man at Cremona had been a trade-union official once and he wouldn’t lie down. He was popular with the workers, so they had to make it accidental. It works beautifully. A man’s run over. Too bad! but it’s happening every day. So what?”
He sat back on the divan and finished his drink. I thought for a moment, then extracted Ferning’s page of notes from my wallet.
“I found this in Ferning’s desk. The first two lines refer to Spartacus transactions with the Braganzetta works at Turin. I deciphered that much. Can you tell me what the rest means?”
He took the page and frowned at it for a moment. Then his face cleared.
“Yes. I can tell you what it means. As you say, the first two lines refer to three special S2 machines for anti- aircraft shell production and a standard machine for the Braganzetta works. What comes after…”
“Here, wait a minute!” I put in suspiciously. “ I didn’t say anything about special S2 machines. How did you know?”
He looked blandly surprised. “It’s obvious. You’ve only got to look at these notes to see it.”
I thought both his manner and his explanation singularly unconvincing, but I said nothing. He went on:
“The rest refers to a forty thousand ton battleship building at Spezia and to be completed fourteen months hence. It is reported, he says, that it is to have a six-metre belt of manganese steel armour one point two metres thick. Six fifty-five centimetre naval guns with elevations of thirty degrees are being supplied, presumably by the Braganzetta works. A Genoese firm is supplying the mountings. That’s probably the Grigori-Sforza works.” He handed the page back to me. “It goes on to give further details.”
“And you got all that just by looking at those notes?” I queried sarcastically.
He shrugged. “It’s quite clear when you know what you’re looking for. That is probably the draft of his last report to Vagas.”
“I see.” I didn’t see, but it was obviously useless to argue. “Well, it’s all very upsetting, but I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“You don’t!” He made a gesture of exasperation. “Tamara, he doesn’t…”
“No, I don’t,” I snapped. “You know darn well I don’t.” His calm recital of what seemed to me to be a revolting story had both shocked and irritated me.
“It’s really very simple, Mr. Marlow,” said the girl soothingly. “You see, having found out that Ferning was engaged in espionage and murdered him, the Ovra was bound to regard you, Ferning’s successor, with a certain amount of suspicion. You might try the same game.”
“But why didn’t they kill Vagas? Why kill Ferning? He was only the subordinate.”
“Because,” grunted Zaleshoff, “Vagas is too smart for them. He’s got a new variation on the royal and ancient game of grafting and it’s a honey. He doesn’t confine his activities to espionage. That’s where he’s clever. He safeguards himself by doing a little business on the side. Quite a lot of prominent officials would lose slices of their incomes if Vagas was liquidated. They now he’s a foreign agent, but as long as they can feel that they’re stopping him getting hold of anything useful, they’re happy. That’s their mistake, because he gets the goods. He makes them think they’re fooling him, when all the time he’s laughing up his sleeve at them. The secret of it is, of course, that because their private business deals with Vagas are profitable, they want to think that it’s harmless.”
“But what about my passport?”
“There’s nothing new about that. It’s a good way of keeping tabs on you. They know perfectly well that it’s the devil’s own job to get a passport replaced even when there’s every reason to suppose that it has been destroyed. There are endless formalities. When it’s not definitely lost, when it’s just mislaid, when there’s more than a chance that it may turn up, the difficulties are multiplied. That suits them. If you wanted to leave the country, you’d have to get a Document of Identity for travelling purposes from your Consul. That would mean approaching the police for a visa. In other words, you can’t leave the country without their say-so. They’ve got you pretty well taped.”
“And I suppose that the letter opening was their work, too.”
“Sure. They’ve got to keep a check on Bellinetti, too. That’s their way.”
I sat for a moment in silence. In my mind’s eye I was trying to get the thing into its correct perspective. Vagas, Ferning, Bellinetti. Ferning, with his small anxious eyes, his protesting mouth, had been the born victim. Inset: the murdered man. Ferning was the sheep. Vagas and Bellinetti were the wolves-wolves which hunted in different packs. But where exactly did Zaleshoff fit in? There was nothing sheep-like about him. Was he, too, a wolf? Anyway, what did it matter? It was nothing to do with me, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake as Ferning. The less I knew, the better. Ask no questions…
I looked up. “Well,” I said crisply, “it’s very good of you to tell me all this, Mr. Zaleshoff, to warn me of some of the perils of the big city. But, as it happens, your warning is unnecessary. I have already told Vagas that I will have nothing to do with his precious proposition.”
“Do you mean to say,” he said slowly, “that he let you turn him down flat?”
I laughed. I was feeling very sure of myself. “Not exactly. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was left that I should telephone my decision to him. But I had already made up my mind before I saw you this evening.” I paused. “Vagas,” I went on, “must be a cold-blooded devil to put me forward as the next Ovra victim.”
“Vagas obviously does not know that Ferning’s death wasn’t an accident or he would have met you in secret. He might even have thought it a waste of time to contact you at all.”
“But what about Madame Vagas. She evidently holds her husband responsible for Ferning’s death. But how…?”
“Exactly!” he chimed in grimly. “That’s why that note startled me a bit. Madame Vagas knows more than she should.”
“Well, at any rate,” I said easily, “it’s no concern of mine. I’d already made up my mind, and what you’ve told me clinches the decision.”
He looked at me thoughtfully and stroked his chin. Then:
“I don’t think you quite understand, Mr. Marlow,” he said slowly.
“Understand what?”
He sighed. “My motives for giving you this information.”
“Well, what were they?”
“I, too, have a proposition to put to you.”
I laughed. “Well, let’s have it. It can’t be as bad as Vagas’ little effort.”
He coughed self-consciously. For the first time I saw signs of embarrassment in his face. “It’s just this, Mr. Marlow,” he began, and then stopped.
“Well?”
“I want you to telephone General Vagas and say that you have decided, after all, to accept his offer.”
8
You’d better have another drink,” he added.
And then I began to laugh. They both surveyed me in sheepish silence.
“My dear good Zaleshoff,” I spluttered at last, “you really mustn’t play these lunatic jokes.”
My intention had been to annoy him and I succeeded. He reddened. “It’s not a joke, Marlow.”
“Isn’t it?” Then my own temper got the better of me. I stopped laughing. “If it isn’t a joke, what the devil is it?”
He made a very obvious effort to keep calm. “If you will allow me to explain…”
“Explain! explain!” My voice rose. “You’ve done nothing else but explain. Now you let me do a little explaining. I’m an engineer and I’m in Milan for a specific purpose. I have a job to do and I propose to do it. I am
