have run. I fumbled desperately with the box and managed to get another match alight. I forced myself to look again.
His hair was close-cropped and white except where the blackness spread. The blackness was congealed blood, and it lay on and about him like spilled wax. His mouth was open and there was a gaping wound by his ear. There was no telling what he had looked like. He was lying on his right side, his knees drawn up to his chest and his elbows nearly touching them. He had a dark serge suit and leather sandals, but no socks. He had been small and thin. The flies buzzed round him. He had been dead for more than a few hours.
I began to retch and went out on the landing.
A minute passed and I was beginning to get my breath again when I thought I heard a sound from below.
The blood was thudding in my head so loudly and my breathing was so quick and shallow that it was difficult to be certain. Then I managed to hold my breath for just over a second and heard the sound again. Very slowly and quietly somebody was coming up the stairs.
I don’t know who I thought it was; the murderer, I suppose; at that moment I would have panicked if a fly had settled on my hand. In the darkness I stumbled back into the room, shut the door, lighted a match, and looked feverishly for the bolt. There was a bolt, but the socket of it was missing. I looked round desperately for something to jam the door with. I tried to use the chair, but the door handle was too low. The match I was holding went out. I fumbled with the box again, opened it upside down, and the matches spilled on the floor. I was shaking with fear now. I went down on my knees and started to pick the matches up. At that moment I heard the footsteps on the landing just outside the door. I remained motionless. Under the door I saw a light flicker. The person outside had a flashlight.
Then the light went out and the door opened.
There was silence for a moment. Suddenly the flashlight went on and swept quickly round the room. It stopped on the body. Then it moved again quickly and stopped on me.
The end of a revolver barrel gleamed just in front of the flashlight. I did not move.
A voice said, ‘What are you doing here, Mr Foster?’
It was Pashik.
CHAPTER TEN
I got to my feet.
‘Why are you here, Mr Foster?’ he repeated.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Do you mind taking that light off my face?’
He turned the light down to my feet. I could see him now and the revolver in his hand was still pointing at me. He had his dispatch case under his arm and the medallion on it winked faintly.
‘Well, Mr Foster?’
‘I might ask you the same question.’
‘I followed you, Mr Foster.’
‘With a gun?’
‘It was possible that we might not be alone.’
‘We’re not.’ I looked at the dead man on the floor, but he did not move the light from my feet.
‘I want to know why you are here, Mr Foster, and who told you of this place. And I want to know right now.’ There was a very sharp edge to his voice.
‘Katerina Deltchev asked me to deliver a letter for her. This was the address on it.’
‘Show me the letter.’
‘Pashik, do we have to stay in this room? Can’t we go outside? Anyway, shouldn’t we be calling the police? This man’s been murdered.’
‘No, Mr Foster, we should not be calling the police. Show me that letter.’
I got it out. He came forward, took it from me, and turned the light on it.
‘She told me that it was to a young man,’ I said.
Without replying he put the letter in his pocket and swept the light round the room.
‘Have you touched anything here, Mr Foster?’
‘This chair. Why?’
‘What did you touch it for?’
‘When I heard you coming up the stairs I tried to jam it under the door handle.’
‘Wipe the chair where you touched it and also both sides of the door with your handkerchief. Then pick up all the matches you dropped, including the burnt-out ones, please.’
I obeyed him. Just then the wish to get out of the room was stronger than my disposition to argue. He held the light down while I picked up the matches.
‘Did anyone know you were coming here?’
‘Only Katerina Deltchev.’
‘You told nobody?’
‘No.’
‘Not Petlarov?’
‘No.’
‘Mr Sibley?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Did anyone see you come in here?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. There weren’t many people about.’
‘Your clothes are noticeably foreign. Did anyone turn to look at you?’
‘You should know if you were following me.’
‘I was not close enough to see. Was there anybody in the passage below when you arrived?’
‘No.’ I had collected all the matches. I straightened up. ‘I can’t stay in this room any longer,’ I said, and went out on the landing.
‘Wipe the door, Mr Foster.’
I did so. He ran the light round the room again and came out. ‘Shut the door with your handkerchief in your hand, please. Yes, that will do. Now, Mr Foster, my car is at the end of the street by the wine shop. You have your matches. Go down as you came up, walk to my car, get in it, and wait for me.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘We must not be seen leaving together.’
‘Why not?’
‘Get going, Mr Foster.’
He still had the revolver in his hand and he handled the thing as if he were used to it. Oddly, there was nothing incongruous about the look of Pashik with a gun.
He held the light for me as I went down the top flight of stairs. After that I struck matches again. It was a relief to get into the street. By the time I reached his car I had done a good deal of thinking.
I smoked the greater part of a cigarette before he joined me. Without a word he climbed into the driver’s seat, took his gun and flashlight from the dispatch case and, putting them in the door pockets, stuffed a greasy rag over them. He started the car. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘we’ll go see a friend of mine.’
‘What friend?’
‘He will advise us what we must do. He is of a special kind of police.’
‘What special kind?’
‘You will see, Mr Foster. Perhaps the ordinary police should be told. I do not know.’
He twitched the wheel suddenly, swerved across the road, and swung round uncertainly into a turning on the left.
I threw away the cigarette I had been smoking and lit another.
‘Why did you follow me, Pashik?’
