They were standing beside a big American sedan drawn up beyond the taxis. There were two other men on the far side of the car: one was tall and thin and wore a mackintosh and a workman’s cap, the other was a very dark heavy-jowled man with a grey belted ulster and a soft hat which he wore without a dent in it. A fifth and younger man sat at the wheel of the car.
His heart thumping, Graham beckoned to the porter, who was making for the taxis, and walked towards them.
Moeller nodded as he came up. “Good! Your luggage? Ah, yes.” He nodded to the tall man, who came round, took the case from the porter, and put it in the luggage boot at the back.
Graham tipped the porter and got in the car. Moeller followed him and sat beside him. The tall man got in beside the driver. Banat and the man in the ulster sat on the pull-down seats facing Graham and Moeller. Banat’s face was expressionless. The man in the ulster avoided Graham’s eyes and looked out of the window.
The car started. Almost immediately, Banat took out his pistol and snapped the safety catch.
Graham turned to Moeller. “Is that necessary?” he demanded. “I’m not going to escape.”
Moeller shrugged. “As you please.” He said something to Banat who grinned, snapped the safety catch again and put the gun back in his pocket.
The car swung into the cobbled road leading to the dock gates.
“Which hotel are we going to?” Graham inquired.
Moeller turned his head slightly. “I have not yet made up my mind. We can leave that question until later. We shall drive out to Santa Margherita first.”