transmission to you. Have you not received them?”
I shook my head. I was beginning to understand.
“No doubt General Vagas will let you have them, Signore.”
“I may not be seeing the General. Perhaps your secretary could furnish me with another set, Commendatore.”
“Unfortunately,” he replied blandly, “there are no more available. I recommend your making an effort to see the General.” He sat down again. “And now, Signore, if you will excuse me…”
I went. So that was that. Without Vagas’ approval I was not to be allowed even to quote.
I returned to my office in a bitter temper. I found that I was again being followed by the tall man who had seen me to the hotel the night before. The sight of Bellinetti sitting with Serafina at a caffe near the Via San Giulio when he should have been at his work did nothing to improve the situation. And there was a telephone message for me. One of the machines supplied to a firm in Cremona had broken down. The spare parts would not fit. If I could make it convenient to go to Cremona and advise their engineers concerning repairs and subsequent readjustments they would be very glad. The matter was urgent.
Cursing heartily, I told Umberto to telephone back and say that I would go to Cremona the next day. Then I sat down at my desk. There were mountains of work to be done. If I were to spend the next day at Cremona I should have to work late. I attacked the first mountain.
It was after nine o’clock and my eyes and back were aching when at last I switched off the lights and locked up. The stairs were, as usual, in darkness; but there was a slit of light under the door of the Agenzia Saponi. Zaleshoff was, I felt, the last person I wanted to talk to at the moment. I went past on tip-toe.
In the street I stood for a moment trying to make up my mind where to eat. I had not yet written to Claire. If I had a quick meal somewhere I could, perhaps, write the letter at the Parigi and catch the last post. I looked round for the man who had been following me earlier in the day, but I could not see him. He was probably, I decided, somewhere in the shadows waiting for me to move. I remember that it occurred to me that it must be very dull for him. Then I made up my mind and started to walk in the direction of the station.
It was in a small street off the Via San Giulio and not much more than a hundred yards from the office that it happened.
I was walking fairly quickly, for I was both hungry and thirsty. I had a cigarette in my mouth. It was as I tossed the end away that I noticed the car turning the corner behind me. For a moment its glaring headlights picked me out. My shadow, long, distorted and grotesque, lay along the pavement and a foot or two up the side of a long, dark, steel-shuttered building that was, I think, some sort of warehouse. Then the shadow twisted as the car accelerated. It passed me-a big, black American limousine-still going slowly.
Suddenly, a few yards ahead of me, it swung across the road to the kerb and stopped. As it did so, the doors opened and four men got out and stood across the pavement facing me.
I walked on towards them.
Probably the best thing I could have done would have been to turn round and run; but I did not do so. It had occurred to me that it was rather an odd place for them to have stopped, for there was no doorway for several yards on either side of the car and on the opposite of the road was a long hoarding. But the thought was no more than one of casual curiosity.
It was only when I was a foot or two from them that I realised that something was wrong. They made no effort to give me room to pass. My heart thumped suddenly against my ribs. I hesitated, then made to squeeze past between the shutters and the end man.
He moved over slightly, blocking my path.
I stopped and muttered an “excuse me.” Then I saw that the two near the car had moved round to form a semi-circle with myself as the centre. Involuntarily I backed against the shutter.
They were dressed in dark clothes with soft hats pulled down over their foreheads. In the darkness their faces were no more than white shapes.
“ Come vi chiamate? ”
The question came suddenly from one of them. I could not tell which. It was the only thing that was said. But for that they might have been mutes. I said my name and added that I was English.
One of them, the man nearest the car, turned his head and nodded to the others. They moved forward, closing in on me. It was done in complete silence. I looked round wildly. We were alone in the street. Then I lost my head. There was a gap between a pair of them. I dived for it frantically; but, even as I did so, I knew that it was useless. I felt two hands grip the lapels of my overcoat. The next moment I was flung back violently against the shutter. I started forward again to speak. “I…” I began. Then a fist hit me in the stomach.
My chin dropped forward. I began to retch. Another blow landed on my mouth, I felt a ring on the man’s finger crush the skin against the bone. Then I hit the ground. They began to kick me.
As I fell I had rolled over, in an instinctive effort at self-protection, so that my back was against the shutter. The blow in the stomach had brought my knees up under my chin. Now my hands went to my face. The kicks rained on my arms and legs. Then a heel was driven into my ribs. An excruciating pain shot through my body. As I strove to force air into my lungs I gasped and grunted. A red mist was swimming in front of my eyes. Dimly I was conscious of the shocks of the blows, but they no longer seemed to hurt me. It was as though I were under the partial influence of an an?sthetic.
I do not remember when they stopped. I have a faint recollection of hearing the car start, but the blood was thumping in my head and it was as though my senses were blanketed with cotton-wool. It seemed an age that I lay there, my knees still drawn up, my hands still over my face. Then, gradually, very gradually, I began to get my breath back and with it came the pain, sickening waves of it that made me want to cry out.
At last I got slowly to my feet and stood for a time motionless, leaning against the shutter. My flesh felt liquid. I was conscious only of my bones and my joints, of the skeleton which was my body’s structure. I could feel every inch of it. I knew that I could not stand there indefinitely; and yet I had not the courage to move. In the distance I heard the sound of a train chuffing slowly out of the station. Then the chuffing ceased and there was the faint clink-clink of trucks being shunted.
For some reason, the sound seemed to rouse me. I must do something. The silent, deserted street was suddenly terrifying. I decided to get back to my office. There I could rest for a bit and it was near.
My legs had begun to tremble violently and it was all I could do to keep my feet, but I began to make my way back. When I reached the entrance to the office building I was staggering, but I managed to get my key out and unlock the door before I finally fell down. I lay there for a minute or two trying to keep my senses. After a bit, however, I got a hold on the rail and began to drag myself up the stairs.
By the time I had got to the second floor I was nearly done. My head was aching violently and I wanted badly to be sick. I made an effort and began to climb again. Then I saw the light under Zaleshoff’s door and remembered that Zaleshoff had some brandy.
I crawled up the last few stairs and got to the door. I steadied myself against the door-post. I could hear Zaleshoff talking to somebody. I knocked once. Then, as my head began to swim, I closed my eyes. It seemed hours before I opened them again, but they couldn’t have been shut for more than a few seconds for, when I did open them, there was Zaleshoff standing holding the door open and staring at me blankly.
“What, for Pete’s sake, is the matter?”
“If you don’t mind,” I said carefully, “I should like a drink of your brandy.” But almost before I had finished the sentence I felt my knees sagging. The next moment I sprawled forward at his feet.
The girl, Tamara, was there with him. Between them they got me to a chair. The cotton-wool was in my ears again but I could hear their voices.
“Is he drunk?” This from the girl.
“No-beaten up. Go and get the cognac.”
She got the brandy. I felt it burning its way down my throat and into my stomach. With my eyes still closed, I grinned at him. “Sorry to be such a nuisance.”
“Shut your trap and drink some more of this. You can talk in a minute.” I felt him examining my legs. “Tamara, go and get some hot water from the portinaia. Then get a taxi and get some tincture of arnica from a chemist.”
She went. I drank some more brandy and my head began to clear. I opened my eyes. Zaleshoff was frowning at me.
