“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.”