The Light of the Day - Eric Ambler [53]
“The baggage in there is not clean. It has been in the belly of a plane with other baggage. It has been on the floor and table of the customs place. It has been handled by the man who searched it, handled again by the porter. Nothing is clean.” His accent had no American inflections, and he couldn’t pronounce his th’s. I thought he might be French.
I draped the coat over the back of the seat in front of him. “Will that be all right, sir?”
“Yes, of course,” he said impatiently.
That type is always the same. They make the difficulties and then behave as if you’re the one who’s being the nuisance.
“Let’s go, Arthur,” said Miss Lipp. Her tone was noncommittal. I couldn’t tell whether she found him tiresome or not. I watched them in the driving mirror.
As soon as we were clear of the airport, he settled back and looked her over in a fatherly way.
“Well, my dear, you’re looking healthy. How are Karl and Giulio?”
“Karl’s fine. Giulio we haven’t seen yet. He’s with the boat. Karl was thinking of going over there tomorrow.”
“Have you anything planned for then?”
“We thought you might like to do a little sightseeing. That is unless you’re tired.”
“You are more considerate than a daughter, my dear.” The teeth leered at her and the pale eyes behind the rimless glasses flickered towards my back.
I had already realized that this was a conversation conducted solely for my benefit, but now I saw her face stiffen. She knew that I was listening hard and was afraid that he was overdoing it.
“You must persuade Arthur to show you around the Seraglio Palace,” she said. “He is quite an authority on it. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”
That was as good as telling me that the old fool would believe any cock-and-bull story I cared to tell him. On the other hand, it must be telling him something, too; perhaps warning him that the driver wasn’t such a fool as he looked. I had to be careful.
“I would be happy to show Mr. Miller what there is to see,” I said.
“Well, we must certainly think about that,” he replied; “certainly, we must think about it.”
He glanced at her to see if he had said the right thing. A sentence of my father’s came into my mind. “One moment they’re all full of piss and wind and the next moment …” At that point he would make a raspberry sound with his tongue. Vulgar, of course, but there was never any doubt about the kind of man he meant.
Mr. Miller kept quiet after that. Once or twice she pointed out places of interest, in the manner of a hostess with a newly arrived guest; but the only thing he asked about was the tap water at the villa. Was it safe to drink or was there bottled water available? There was bottled water, she told him. He nodded, as if that had confirmed his worst fears, and said that he had brought plenty of Entero Vioform for intestinal prophylaxis.
We reached the villa a little after five. Miss Lipp told me to sound the horn as I went up the drive.
The reception committee consisted of Harper and Fischer. Hovering in the background, ready to carry luggage, was an old man wearing an apron whom I took to be Hamul, the resident caretaker.
Tufan had said that Fischer was the lessee of the villa but there was no doubt who was the real host there. All Fischer received from the incoming guest was a nod of recognition. Harper got a smile and an “Ah, my dear Karl.” They shook hands with businesslike cordiality, and then Harper, Miller, and Miss Lipp went straight into the house. To Fischer were left the menial tasks of telling Hamul where Miller’s bags were to go, and of showing me where to put the car and where I was to sleep.
At the back of the villa there was a walled stable yard. Part of the stabling had been converted into a garage with room for two cars. It was empty except for a Lambretta motor scooter.
“The Lambretta belongs to the cook,” Fischer said; “see that he does not steal gasoline from the car.”
I followed him across the yard to the rear entrance of the house.
Inside, I had a brief glimpse of the polished wood flooring of