Graham looked up from his plate to meet a level stare. There was no mistaking the question in the pale blue eyes. He knew that Banat, too, was watching him. He said slowly: “It would be a pleasure to disappoint Monsieur Mavrodopoulos.”
Moeller smiled and the smile reached his eyes. “So it would. Now let me see. What was I saying? Ah, yes …”
That was all; but Graham went on with his meal, knowing that one at least of the day’s problems was solved. He would not have to approach Moeller: Moeller would approach him.
But Moeller was evidently in no hurry to do so. The afternoon dragged intolerably. Mr. Kuvetli had said that they were not to have any sort of conversation and Graham deemed it advisable to plead a headache when Mathis suggested a rubber of bridge. His refusal affected the Frenchman peculiarly. There was a troubled reluctance about his acceptance of it, and he looked as if he had been about to say something important and then thought better of it. There was in his eyes the same look of unhappy confusion that Graham had seen in the morning. But Graham wondered about it only for a few seconds. He was not greatly interested in the Mathis.
Moeller, Banat, Josette and José had gone to their cabins immediately after lunch. Signora Beronelli had been induced to make the fourth with the Mathis and Mr. Kuvetli and appeared to be enjoying herself. Her son sat by her watching her jealously. Graham returned in desperation to the magazines. Towards five o’clock, however, the bridge four showed signs of disintegrating and, to avoid being drawn into a conversation with Mr. Kuvetli, Graham went out on deck.
The sun, obscured since the day before, was pouring a red glow through a thinning of the clouds just above the horizon. To the east the long, low strip of coast which had been visible earlier was already enveloped in a slate grey dusk and the lights of a town had begun to twinkle. The clouds were moving quickly as for the gathering of a storm and heavy drops of rain began to slant in on to the deck. He moved backwards out of the rain and found Mathis at his elbow. The Frenchman nodded.
“Was it a good game?” Graham asked.
“Quite good. Madame Beronelli and I lost. She is enthusiastic, but inefficient.”
“Then, except for the enthusiasm, my absence made no difference.”
Mathis smiled a little nervously. “I hope that your headache is better.”
“Much better, thank you.”
It had begun to rain in earnest now. Mathis stared out gloomily into the gathering darkness. “Filthy!” he commented.
“Yes.”
There was a pause. Then:
“I was afraid,” said Mathis suddenly, “that you did not wish to play with us. I could not blame you if such were the case. This morning you were good enough to make an apology. The true apology was due from me to you.”
He was not looking at Graham. “I am quite sure …” Graham began to mumble, but Mathis went on as if he were addressing the seagulls following the ship. “I do not always remember,” he said bitterly, “that what to some people is good or bad is to others simply boring. My wife has led me to put too much faith in the power of words.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Mathis turned his head and smiled wryly. “Do you know the word
encotillonné?”
“No.”
“A man who is governed by his wife is
encotillonné.”
“In English we say ‘hen-pecked.’ ”
“Ah, yes?” Obviously he did not care what was said in English. “I must tell you a joke about it. Once I was
encotillonné
. Oh, but very badly! Does that surprise you?”
“It does.” Graham saw that the man was dramatising himself, and was curious.
“My wife used to have a very great temper. She still has it, I think, but now I do not see it. But for the first ten years of our marriage it was terrible. I had a small business. Trade was very bad and I became bankrupt. It was not my fault, but she always pretended that it was. Has your wife a bad temper, Monsieur?”
“No. Very good.”
“You are lucky. For years I lived in misery. And then one day I made a great discovery. There was a socialist
meeting in our town and I went to it. I was, you must understand, a Royalist. My family had no money, but they had a title which they would have liked to use without their neighbours sniggering. I was of my family. I went to this meeting because I was curious. The speaker was good, and he spoke about Briey. That interested me because I had been at Verdun. A week later we were with some friends in the café and I repeated what I had heard. My wife laughed in a curious way. Then when I got home I made my great discovery. I found that my wife was a snob and more stupid than I had dreamed. She said that I had humiliated her by saying such things as if I believed them. All her friends were respectable people. I must not speak as if I were a workman. She cried. I knew then that I was free. I had a weapon that I could use against her. I used it. If she displeased me I became a socialist. To the smug little tradesmen whose wives were her friends I would preach the abolition of profit and the family. I bought books and pamphlets to make my arguments more damaging. My wife became very docile. She would cook things that I liked so that I would not disgrace her.” He paused.
“You mean that you don’t believe all these things you say about Briey and banking and capitalism?” demanded Graham.
Mathis smiled faintly. “That is the joke about which I told you. For a time I was free. I could command my wife and I became more fond of her. I was a manager in a big factory. And then a terrible thing happened. I found that I had begun to believe these things I said. The books I read showed me that I had found a truth. I, a
Royalist by instinct, became a socialist by conviction. Worse, I became a socialist martyr. There was a strike in the factory and I, a manager, supported the strikers. I did not belong to a union. Naturally! And so I was dismissed. It was ridiculous.” He shrugged. “So here I am! I have become a man in my home at the price of becoming a bore outside it. It is funny, is it not?”
Graham smiled. He had decided that he liked Monsieur Mathis. He said: “It would be funny if it were wholly true. But I can assure you that it was not because I was bored that I did not listen to you last night.”
“You are very polite,” began Mathis dubiously; “but …”
“Oh, there is no question of politeness. You see, I work for an armaments manufacturer, and so I have been more than interested in what you have had to say. On some points I find myself in agreement with you.”
A change came over the Frenchman’s face. He flushed slightly; a small delighted smile hovered round his lips; for the first time Graham saw the tense frown relax. “On which points do you
not
agree?” he demanded eagerly.
At that moment Graham realised that, whatever else had happened to him on the
Sestri Levante
, he had made at least one friend.
They were still arguing when Josette came out on deck. Unwillingly, Mathis interrupted what he was saying to acknowledge her presence.
“Madame.”
She wrinkled her nose at them. “What are you discussing? It must be very important that you have to stand in the rain to talk about it.”
“We were talking politics.”
“No, no!” said Mathis quickly. “Not politics, economics! Politics are the effect. We were talking about causes. But you are right. This rain is filthy. If you will excuse me, please, I will see what has happened to my wife.” He winked at Graham. “If she suspects that I am making propaganda she will not be able to sleep to-night.”
With a smile and a nod he went. Josette looked after him. “He is nice, that man. Why does he marry such a woman?”
“He is very fond of her.”
“In the way that you are fond of me?”
“Perhaps not. Would you rather we went in?”
“No. I came out for some air. It will not be so wet round on the other side of the deck.”
They began to walk round to the other side. It was dark now and the deck lights had been put on.
She took his arm. “Do you realise that to-day we have not really seen each other until now? No! Of course you do not realise it! You have been amusing yourself with politics. It does not matter that I am worried.”
“Worried? What about?”
“This man who wants to kill you, imbecile! You do not tell me what you are going to do at Genoa.”
He shrugged. “I’ve taken your advice. I’m not troubling about him.”
“But you will go to the British Consul?”
“Yes.” The moment had come when he must do some really steady lying. “I shall go straight there. Afterwards I shall have to see one or two people on business. The train does not leave until two o’clock in the afternoon, so
I think that I shall have time. We can meet on the train.”
She sighed. “So much business! But I shall see you for lunch, eh?”
“I’m afraid it’s unlikely. If we did arrange to meet I might not be able to keep the appointment. It’ll be best if we meet on the train.”
She turned her head a little sharply. “You are telling me the truth? You are not saying this because you have changed your mind?”
“My dear Josette!” He had opened his mouth to explain again that he had business to attend to, but had stopped himself in time. He must not protest too much.
She pressed his arm. “I did not mean to be disagreeable,
chéri
. It is only that I wish to be sure. We will meet at the train if you wish it. We can have a drink together at Torino. We reach there at four and stop for half an hour. It is because of the coaches from Milano. There are some nice places to drink in Torino. After the ship here it will be wonderful.”
“It’ll be splendid. What about José?”
“Ah, it does not matter about him. Let him drink by himself. After the way he was rude to you this morning, I do not care what José does. Tell me about the letters you are writing. Are they all finished?”
“I shall finish them this evening.”
“And after that, no more work?”
“After that, no more work.” He felt that he could not stand much more of this. He said: “You’ll get cold if we stay out here much longer. Shall we go inside?”
She stopped and withdrew her arm from his so that he could kiss her. Her back was taut as she strained her body
against his. Seconds later she drew away from him, laughing. “I must remember,” she said, “not to say ‘whisky-soda,’ but ‘whisky and soda’ now. That is very important, eh?”
“Very important.”
She squeezed his arm. “You are nice. I like you very much,
chéri.”
They began to walk back towards the saloon. He was grateful for the dimness of the lights.
He did not have long to wait for Moeller. The German agent had been in the habit of leaving the table and going to his cabin as soon as a meal was finished. Tonight, however, Banat was the first to go, evidently by arrangement; and the monologue continued until the Beronellis had followed him. It was an account of comparisons made between the Sumero-Babylonian liturgies and the ritual forms of certain Mesopotamian fertility cults and it was with unmistakable triumph that he at last brought it to an end. “You must admit, Mr. Graham,” he added, lowering his voice, “that I have done extremely well to remember so much. Naturally, I made a few mistakes, and a good deal was lost, I have no doubt, in my translation. The author would probably fail to recognize it. But to the uninitiated I should say it would be most convincing.”
“I have been wondering why you have taken so much trouble. You might have been talking Chinese for all the Beronellis knew or cared.”
Moeller looked pained. “I was not talking for the Beronellis, but for my own private satisfaction. How stupid it is to say that the memory fails with the approach
of old age. Would you think that I am sixty-six?”
“I’m not interested in your age.”
“No, of course not. Perhaps we could have a private talk. I suggest that we take a walk together on deck. It is raining, but a little rain will not hurt us.”
“My coat is on the chair over there.”
“Then I will meet you on the top deck in a few minutes’ time.”
Graham was waiting at the head of the companionway when Moeller came up. They moved into the lee of one of the lifeboats.
Moeller came straight to the point.
“I gather that you have seen Kuvetli.”
“I have,” said Graham grimly.
“Well?”
“I have decided to take your advice.”
“At Kuvetli’s suggestion?”
This, Graham reflected, was not going to be as easy as he had thought. He answered: “At my own. I was not impressed by him. Frankly, I was amazed. That the Turkish Government should have put such a fool of a man on the job seems to me incredible.”
“What makes you think he is a fool?”
“He seems to think that you are making some attempt to bribe me and that I am inclined to accept the money. He threatened to expose me to the British Government. When I suggested that I might be in some personal danger he seemed to think that I was trying to trick him in some stupid way. If that’s your idea of a clever man, I’m sorry for you.”
“Perhaps he is not used to dealing with the English
brand of self-esteem,” Moeller retorted acidly. “When did this meeting take place?”
“Last night, soon after I saw you.”
“And did he mention me by name?”
“Yes. He warned me against you.”
“And how did you treat the warning?”
“I said that I would report his behaviour to Colonel Haki. He did not, I must say, seem to care. But if I had any idea of securing his protection, I gave it up. I don’t trust him. Besides, I don’t see why I should risk my life for people who treat me as if I were some sort of criminal.”
He paused. He could not see Moeller’s face in the darkness but he felt that the man was satisfied.
“And so you’ve decided to accept my suggestion?”
“Yes, I have. But,” Graham went on, “before we go any farther, there are one or two things I want to get clear.”
“Well?”
“In the first place, there is this man Kuvetli. He’s a fool, as I’ve said, but he’ll have to be put off the scent somehow.”
“You need have no fears.” Graham thought he detected a note of contempt in the smooth heavy voice. “Kuvetli will cause no trouble. It will be easy to give him the slip in Genoa. The next thing he will hear of you is that you are suffering from typhus. He will be unable to prove anything to the contrary.”