Graham crawled back down the slope for a few yards, got painfully to his feet and stumbled away, down through the trees towards the lower road.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was after midday before he reached the café in the village and a telephone. By the time a car from the Turkish Consulate arrived, he had had a wash and fortified himself with brandy.
The Consul was a lean, business-like man, who spoke English as if he had been to England. He listened intently to what Graham had to say before he said much himself. When Graham had finished, however, the Consul squirted some more soda water into his vermouth, leaned back in his chair and whistled through his teeth.
“Is that all?” he inquired.
“Isn’t it enough?”
“More than enough.” The Consul grinned apologetically. “I will tell you, Mr. Graham, that when I received your message this morning, I telegraphed immediately to Colonel Haki, reporting that you were very likely dead. Allow me to congratulate you.”
“Thank you. I was lucky.” He spoke automatically. There seemed to be something strangely fatuous about congratulations on being alive. He said: “Kuvetli told me the other night that he had fought for the Gazi and that he was ready to give his life for Turkey. You don’t, somehow, expect people who say that sort of thing to be taken up on it so quickly.”
“That is true. It is very sad,” said the Consul. He was obviously itching to get to business. “Meanwhile,” he continued adroitly, “we must see that no time is lost. Every minute increases the danger of his body being found before you are out of the country. The authorities are not very well disposed towards us at the moment, and if he were found before you had left, I doubt if we could prevent your being detained for at least some days.”
“What about the car?”