be the real troops who had fired. This, I may tell you, was the plan that the prosecutor at the trial did not wish to explain.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the absurdity of it would make people laugh. Does it not make you laugh, Mr Foster?’
‘It might have worked.’
He shook his head mournfully. ‘I can see, Mr Foster, that you would not be a good conspirator. One has only to think for a moment of the kidnapping-’
‘What were all these messages about?’
‘The uniforms, naturally. They could not buy them. Instead they stole them from the soldiers’ brothels. It was all very childish. When Aleko took over he made a new plan. Uniforms were wanted, but those of ordinary line troops, not those of the bodyguard. Three men only would be needed. It was a good plan. You know, when there is a parade great care is taken to guard against assassins. The occupants of rooms overlooking the square are carefully checked by the police, and the flat roofs of the buildings round it are guarded by troops from outside the city. The first part of the plan was to conceal a machine gun and ammunition on one of the flat roofs. Then just before the parade men in uniform would go up to the roof and tell the troops already there that the guards were being doubled as trouble was expected. As the real troops were from outside, these would not expect to recognize men who said they were from a city battalion. The false men would have bottles of brandy and things to eat in their haversacks. After a while they would offer to share it. The brandy would be heavily dosed with morphine. The soldiers would go to sleep; the gun would be produced and set up and trained on the platform. All would be in readiness for the appearance of Vukashin. And when the thing was done, escape would be possible. It would be difficult in the surprise and confusion to say exactly where the shots had come from. The troops on nearby roofs might think they were from a window below. But there would be doubt. And while there was doubt, there would be time for us to descend to the street and mingle with the crowd. Who is going to suspect three soldiers? Until the real ones wake up, hours later, nobody will know how it was done, and by then it will be too late.’
‘Philip Deltchev will have escaped?’
‘Exactly, Mr Foster. That was why the plan seemed so good at first to Philip and Pazar and so strange to me. Until I knew that Brankovitch was deeply involved and saw that it would be quite easy for him to arrange for the police to be warned that, say, thieves disguised as soldiers would be raiding such-and-such a building during the parade and that a patrol waiting at the exits could catch them red-handed.’
‘So as there will be no Philip, there will be no assassination. Is that it?’
‘No, Mr Foster, that is not it. There were to be three on the gun — Philip, myself, and one of Aleko’s men.’
‘One of those who tried to kill me?’
‘That is so. But there is another man and Aleko himself. What, I asked myself, would they be doing while Vukashin was being assassinated?’
‘Leaving the country, I should think.’
‘Yes, I thought that. But three days ago there was a serious complication. Aleko told us that there would be a second gun on another roof and that he and the other man would man it. Philip would have the honour of firing first, but Aleko would be there in case of an emergency. What would that suggest to you, Mr Foster?’
‘That he was suspicious? That he didn’t trust Philip?’
‘Yes, I considered those possibilities. But then another thought occurred to me, a very interesting idea. Luckily I was able to check it. The following night the guns were hidden on the roofs we had selected-’
‘Which are they?’
He smiled. ‘That I think I will not tell you, Mr Foster. You will discover.’
There was something very disturbing about that smile. I suddenly became uneasy.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘The guns were wrapped in sacking and hung by wires inside the brick chimneys. Very early in the morning I returned by myself and examined them.’ He paused, smiling again.
‘And-?’
‘The gun on Philip’s roof had no firing pin. It had been taken out.’
I looked blank. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t see-’
‘Don’t you, Mr Foster?’ His eyes gleaming through the spectacles were no longer sad. ‘Power is a great thing, you know. To be able to move and control great affairs — not the characters and situations on a stage, Mr Foster, but the real — that is the greatest of all pleasures. You feel it in the stomach.’ He patted his own. ‘Here. I feel it now.’
‘Yes?’ I wondered suddenly if he were mad.
‘Consider.’ He stood up and strode over to the window. ‘A man in Aleko’s profession is always in a difficult position. He must always be sure that his master has the power to protect him. He must always be sure that the master wishes to protect him. And he must consider the future. It is dangerous for him to serve one powerful person at the expense of another who may later do him harm. Aleko is clever. He would not have survived if he had not been. He is used to weighing advantages. And so I ask myself questions. Why are there two guns? Why is there no firing pin in a gun that Aleko expects to pour bullets into Vukashin? I answer, because it is Vukashin who is Aleko’s best master and has been so perhaps from the first. What ultimate chance has Brankovitch in a struggle for power over Vukashin’s dead body? None! He would go down in the end. His own intelligence would trip him. The sort of brutal cunning that lets him dig his own grave will always win. That is Vukashin’s strength and Aleko knows it. Philip would have pressed the trigger of a gun aimed at Vukashin and nothing would have happened. Aleko would have pressed the trigger of the second gun, aimed at Brankovitch, and the gun would have fired. Philip and I and Aleko’s man would have been arrested and hanged. The gun that would be used in evidence would be the one Aleko left on the other roof. The two murderous Deltchevs would hang together. The murderous Agrarian Socialists would be punished. Vukashin would be secure both from the opposition and from the plots and ambitions of Brankovitch. Aleko, who loves skiing, would be waiting, rich and happy, for the snow at St Moritz. A pretty picture, Mr Foster!’
‘Yes.’ There seemed nothing else to say.
‘But a picture that will not be seen.’
‘Because Philip is in Athens.’
He held up a finger. ‘And because I am here.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You will see now why I wish you to understand. The one obstacle is Aleko’s man — one of those who tried to kill you — the one who was to have been with Philip and me. In one hour’s time he will go to a rendezvous to meet us. If we do not arrive he will go to Aleko to warn him, and when Aleko knows that Philip is not there he will not fire. Brankovitch’s life will be saved.’
‘I see.’
‘But if I stop this man, Aleko will fire. Brankovitch will die, and because there is no Philip to arrest, Vukashin will have to take Aleko. And when Philip has told his story to you and it is ringing round the world, Vukashin’s day will begin to end. That is, if I stop this man.’
I said nothing.
For a moment he continued to stare out of the window; then he turned to face me, his self-assurance gone, his face working grotesquely. ‘Do I stop him, Mr Foster?’ he demanded. ‘You tell me!’
I stared at him, and he read my thoughts.
He shook his head. ‘No, Mr Foster, it is not in your hands. There is nobody here for you to tell this story to. That is if you yourself wish to live. Warn Brankovitch, and you will be rewarded by him with a bullet. Warn Vukashin and it will be the same. You know too much for either’s safety.’
‘There’s our legation. They could warn Brankovitch.’
‘Then you would be killing me instead. I do not think you will choose that alternative. You have no moral dilemma, Mr Foster. It is my own I put to you.’
I was silent.
He sat down and gazed suddenly into space for a moment. ‘Do you know America well?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Not very well.’
