The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [180]
“No,” said Scott-King.
“Do you not?” asked Dr. Antonic anxiously. “Do you not? Neither do I.”
That evening Miss Bombaum and Scott-King took a cab to the suburbs and left it at a café where they met a man who had sat with Miss Bombaum in the Ritz on her first evening. No names were exchanged.
“Who’s this guy, Martha?”
“An English friend of mine I want you to help.”
“Going far?”
“England. Can he see the chief?”
“I’ll go ask. He’s on the level?”
“Surely.”
“Well, stick around while I ask.”
He went to telephone and returned saying, “The chief ’ll see him.
We can drop him off there, then have our talk.”
They took another cab and drove further from the city into a district of tanneries and slaughterhouses, recognizable by their smell in the hot darkness. Presently they stopped at a lightless villa.
“In there. Don’t ring. Just push the door.”
“Hope you have a good trip,” said Miss Bombaum.
Scott-King was not a reader of popular novels and so was unfamiliar with the phrase “It all happened so quickly that it was not until afterwards . . .” That, however, expressed his situation. The cab drove off as he was still stumbling up the garden path. He pushed the door, entered an empty and lightless hall, heard a voice from another room call “Come in,” went in, and found himself in a shabby office confronting a Neutralian in the uniform of a major of police.
The man addressed him in English. “You are Miss Bombaum’s friend? Sit down. Do not be alarmed by my uniform. Some of our clients are very much alarmed. A silly boy tried to shoot me last week when he saw me like this. He suspected a trap. You want to go to England, I think. That is very difficult. Now if you had said Mexico or Brazil or Switzerland it would be easier. You have reasons which make England preferable?”
“I have reasons.”
“Curious. I spent many years there and found it a place of few attractions. The women had no modesty, the food upset my stomach. I have a little party on their way to Sicily. That would not do instead?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Well, we must see what can be done. You have a passport? This is lucky. English passports come very dear just now. I hope Miss Bombaum explained to you that mine is not a charitable organization. We exist to make profits and our expenses are high. I am constantly bothered by people who come to me supposing I work for the love of it. I do love my work, but love is not enough. The young man I spoke of just now, who tried to shoot me—he is buried just outside under the wall—he thought this was a political organization. We help people irrespective of class, race, party, creed or colour—for cash in advance. It is true, when I first took over, there were certain amateur associations that had sprung up during the World War—escaping prisoners, communist agents, Zionists, spies and so on. I soon put them out of business. That is where my position in the police is a help. Now I can say I have a virtual monopoly. Our work increases every day. It is extraordinary how many people without the requisite facilities seem anxious to cross frontiers today. I also have a valued connection with the Neutralian government. Troublesome fellows whom they want to dispose of pass through my hands in large numbers. How much have you got?”
“About forty pounds.”
“Show me.”
Scott-King handed him his book of travellers’ cheques.
“But there are seventy pounds here.”
“Yes, but my hotel bill . . .”
“There will be no time for that.”
“I am sorry,” said Scott-King firmly. “I could not possibly leave an hotel with my bill unpaid, especially in a foreign country. It may seem absurdly scrupulous to you but it is one of the things a Granchesterian simply cannot do.”
The Major was not a man to argue from first principles. He took men as they came and in his humane calling he dealt with many types.
“Well, I shan’t pay it,” he said. “Do you know anyone else in Bellacita?”
“No