He dropped Mr. Kuvetli’s box of ammunition through the porthole and went up on deck.
They were in the harbour now and moving across to the west side. Towards the sea the sky was clear but a mist hung over the heights above the town, obscuring the sun and making the white amphitheatrical mass of buildings seem cold and desolate.
The only other person on deck was Banat. He was standing gazing out at the shipping with the absorbed interest of a small boy. It was difficult to realise that, at some moment in the last ten hours, this pale creature had come out of cabin number four with a knife which he had just driven into Mr. Kuvetli’s neck; that in his pocket at that moment were Mr. Kuvetli’s papers, Mr. Kuvetli’s money and Mr. Kuvetli’s pistol; that he intended to commit within the next few hours yet another murder. His very insignificance was horrible. It lent a false air of normality to the situation. Had Graham not been so acutely alive to the danger he was in, he would have been tempted to believe that the memory of what he had seen in cabin number four was the memory not of a real experience, but of something conceived in a dream.
He was no longer conscious of any fear. His body was tingling in a curious way; he was short of breath, and every now and again a wave of nausea would rise up from the pit of his stomach; but his brain seemed to have lost touch with his body. His thoughts arranged themselves with a quick efficiency that surprised him. He knew that short of abandoning all hope of reaching England in time to fulfil the Turkish contract by the specified date, his only chance of getting out of Italy alive lay in his beating Moeller at Moeller’s own game. Mr. Kuvetli had made it clear that Moeller’s “alternative” was a trick devised with the sole object of transferring the scene of the killing to a less public place than a main street of Genoa. In other words, he was to be “taken for a ride.” In a very short time now, Moeller, Banat and some others would be waiting with a car outside the Customs shed ready, if necessary, to shoot him down there and then. If, however, he were considerate enough to step into the car they would take him away to some quiet place on the Santa Margherita road and shoot him there. There was just one weak spot in their plan. They thought that if he were to get into the car he would do so believing that he was to be driven to a hotel in order to make an elaborate show of falling ill. They were mistaken; and in their being mistaken they presented him with the beginnings of a way out. If he acted quickly and boldly he might be able to get through.
They would not, he reasoned, be likely to tell him as soon as he got in the car what they were going to do. The fiction about the hotel and the clinic near Santa Margherita would be maintained until the last moment. From their point of view, it would be much easier to drive through the narrow streets of Genoa with a man who thought he was going to have six weeks’ holiday than with a man who had to be forcibly prevented from attracting the attention of passers-by. They would be inclined to humour him. They might even let him register at a hotel. In any case, it was unlikely that the car would go right through the city without being held up once by the traffic. His chances of escape lay in his being able to take them by surprise. Let him once get free in a crowded street, and they would have great difficulty in catching him. His objective, then, would be the Turkish Consulate. He had chosen the Turkish Consulate rather than his own, for the simple reason that with the Turks he would have to do less explaining. A reference to Colonel Haki would simplify matters considerably.
The ship was approaching the berth now, and men were standing on the quay ready to catch the lines. Banat had not seen him, but now Josette and José came out on deck. He moved quickly round to the other side. Josette was the last person he wanted to talk to at that moment. She might suggest that they share a taxi to the centre of the city. He would have to explain why he was leaving the quay in a private car with Moeller and Banat. There might be all sorts of other difficulties. At that moment he came face to face with Moeller.
The old man nodded affably. “Good morning, Mr. Graham. I was hoping to see you. It will be pleasant to get ashore again, won’t it?”
“I hope so.”
Moeller’s expression changed slightly. “Are you ready?”
“Quite.” He looked concerned. “I haven’t seen Kuvetli this morning. I hope everything is going to be all right.”