“Yes,” said Ashenden.
“So do I. It is a habit I learned in New York. I always think that a fine set of teeth are an adornment to a man.”
There was a washbasin in the compartment and the General scrubbed his teeth, with gurglings and garglings, energetically. Then he got a bottle of eau de cologne from his bag, poured some of it on a towel and rubbed it over his face and hands. He took a comb and carefully arranged his wig; either it had not moved in the night or else he had set it straight before Ashenden awoke. He got another bottle out of his bag, with a spray attached to it, and squeezing a bulb covered his shirt and coat with a fine cloud of scent, did the same to his handkerchief, and then with a beaming face, like a man who has done his duty by the world and is well pleased, turned to Ashenden and said:
“Now I am ready to brave the day. I will leave my things for you, you need not be afraid of the eau de cologne, it is the best you can get in Paris.”
“Thank you very much,” said Ashenden. “All I want is soap and water.”
“Water? I never use water except when I have a bath. Nothing can be worse for the skin.”
When they approached the frontier, Ashenden, remembering the General’s instructive gesture when he was suddenly awakened in the night, said to him:
“If you’ve got a revolver on you I think you’d better give it to me. With my diplomatic passport they’re not likely to search me, but they might take it into their heads to go through you and we don’t want to have any bothers.”
“It is hardly a weapon, it is only a toy,” returned the Mexican, taking out of his hip-pocket a fully loaded revolver of formidable dimensions. “I do not like parting with it even for an hour, it gives me the feeling that I am not fully dressed. But you are quite right, we do not want to take any risks; I will give you my knife as well. I would always rather use a knife than a revolver; I think it is a more elegant weapon.”
“I daresay it is only a matter of habit,” answered Ashenden. “Perhaps you are more at home with a knife.”
“Anyone can pull a trigger, but it needs a man to use a knife.”
To Ashenden it looked as though it were in a single movement that he tore open his waistcoat and from his belt snatched and opened a long knife of murderous aspect. He handed it to Ashenden with a pleased smile on his large, ugly and naked face.
“There’s a pretty piece of work for you, Mr. Somerville. I’ve never seen a better bit of steel in my life, it takes an edge like a razor and it’s strong; you can cut a cigarette-paper with it and you can hew down an oak. There is nothing to get out of order and when it is closed it might be the knife a schoolboy uses to cut notches in his desk.”
He shut it with a click and Ashenden put it along with the revolver in his pocket.
“Have you anything else?”
“My hands,” replied the Mexican with arrogance, “but those I daresay the custom officials will not make trouble about.”
Ashenden remembered the iron grip he had given him when they shook hands and slightly shuddered. They were large and long and smooth; there was not a hair on them or on the wrists, and with the pointed, rosy, manicured nails there was really something sinister about them.
V
The Dark Woman
Ashenden and General Carmona went through the formalities at the frontier independently and when they returned to their carriage Ashenden handed back to his companion the revolver and the knife. He sighed.
“Now I feel more comfortable. What do you say to a game of cards?”
“I should like it,” said Ashenden.
The Hairless Mexican opened his bag again and from a corner extracted a greasy pack of French cards. He asked Ashenden whether he played écarté and when Ashenden told him that he did not suggested piquet. This was a game that Ashenden was not unfamiliar with, so they settled the stakes and began. Since both were in favour of quick action, they played the game of four hands, doubling the first and last. Ashenden had good enough cards, but the General seemed notwithstanding always to have better. Ashenden kept his eyes open and he was not careless of the possibility that his antagonist might correct the inequalities of chance, but he saw nothing to suggest that everything was not above board. He lost game after game. He was capoted and rubiconed. The score against him mounted up and up till he had lost something like a thousand francs, which at that time was a tidy sum. The General smoked innumerable cigarettes. He made them himself with a twist of the finger, a lick of his tongue and incredible celerity. At last he flung himself against the back of his seat.
“By the way, my friend, does the British Government pay your card losses when you are on a mission?” he asked.
“It certainly doesn’t.”
“Well, I think you have lost enough. If it went down on your expense account I would have proposed playing till we reached Rome, but you are sympathetic to me. If it is your own money I do not want to win any more of it.”
He picked up the cards and put them aside. Ashenden somewhat ruefully took out a number of notes and handed them to the Mexican. He counted them and with his usual neatness put them carefully folded into his pocketbook. Then, leaning forward, he patted Ashenden almost affectionately on the knee.
“I like you, you are modest and unassuming, you have not the arrogance of your countrymen, and I am sure
