“Thank God, we’re out of that!”
“There wasn’t really the smallest danger. But what are we to do now? The Colonel will be angry that the papers haven’t been found.”
“I’m taking the five o’clock train to Rome. I shall wire for instructions there.”
“Very well, I will come with you.”
“I should have thought it would suit you better to get out of the country more quickly. There’s a boat tomorrow that goes to Barcelona. Why don’t you take that and if necessary I can come to see you there?”
The Hairless Mexican gave a little smile.
“I see that you are anxious to be rid of me. Well, I won’t thwart a wish that your inexperience in these matters excuses. I will go to Barcelona. I have a visa for Spain.”
Ashenden looked at his watch. It was a little after two. He had nearly three hours to wait. His companion comfortably rolled himself a cigarette.
“What do you say to a little supper?” he asked. “I’m as hungry as a wolf.”
The thought of food sickened Ashenden, but he was terribly thirsty. He did not want to go out with the Hairless Mexican, but neither did he want to stay in that hotel by himself.
“Where could one go at this hour?”
“Come along with me. I’ll find you a place.”
Ashenden put on his hat and took his dispatch-case in his hand. They went downstairs. In the hall the porter was sleeping soundly on a mattress on the floor. As they passed the desk, walking softly in order not to wake him, Ashenden noticed in the pigeonhole belonging to his room a letter. He took it out and saw that it was addressed to him. They tiptoed out of the hotel and shut the door behind them. Then they walked quickly away. Stopping after a hundred yards or so under a lamppost Ashenden took the letter out of his pocket and read it; it came from the Consulate and said: The enclosed telegram arrived tonight and in case it is urgent I am sending it round to your hotel by messenger
. It had apparently been left some time before midnight while Ashenden was sitting in his room. He opened the telegram and saw that it was in code.
“Well, it’ll have to wait,” he said, putting it back in his pocket.
The Hairless Mexican walked as though he knew his way through the deserted streets and Ashenden walked by his side. At last they came to a tavern in a blind alley, noisome and evil, and this the Mexican entered.
“It’s not the Ritz,” he said, “but at this hour of the night it’s only in a place like this that we stand a chance of getting something to eat.”
Ashenden found himself in a long sordid room at one end of which a wizened young man sat at a piano; there were tables standing out from the wall on each side and against them benches. A number of persons, men and women, were sitting about. They were drinking beer and wine. The women were old, painted, and hideous; and their harsh gaiety was at once noisy and lifeless. When Ashenden and the Hairless Mexican came in they all stared and when they sat down at one of the tables Ashenden looked away in order not to meet the leering eyes, just ready to break into a smile, that sought his insinuatingly. The wizened pianist strummed a tune and several couples got up and began to dance. Since there were not enough men to go round some of the women danced together. The General ordered two plates of spaghetti and a bottle of Capri wine. When the wine was brought he drank a glassful greedily and then waiting for the pasta eyed the women who were sitting at the other tables.
“Do you dance?” he asked Ashenden. “I’m going to ask one of these girls to have a turn with me.”
He got up and Ashenden watched him go up to one who had at least flashing eyes and white teeth to recommend her; she rose and he put his arm round her. He danced well. Ashenden saw him begin talking; the woman laughed and presently the look of indifference with which she had accepted his offer changed to one of interest. Soon they were chatting gaily. The dance came to an end and putting her back at her table he returned to Ashenden and drank another glass of wine.
“What do you think of my girl?” he asked. “Not bad, is she? It does one good to dance. Why don’t you ask one of them? This is a nice place, is it not? You can always trust me to find anything like this. I have an instinct.”
The pianist started again. The woman looked at the Hairless Mexican and when with his thumb he pointed to the floor she jumped up with alacrity. He buttoned up his coat, arched his back and standing up by the side of the table waited for her to come to him. He swung her off, talking, smiling, and already he was on familiar terms with everyone in the room. In fluent Italian, with his Spanish accent, he exchanged badinage with one and the other. They laughed at his sallies. Then the waiter brought two heaped platefuls of macaroni and when the Mexican saw them he stopped dancing without ceremony and, allowing his partner to get back to her table as she chose, hurried to his meal.
“I’m ravenous,” he said. “And yet I ate a good dinner. Where did you dine? You’re going to eat some macaroni, aren’t you?”
“I have no appetite,” said Ashenden.
But he began
