“We can leave the driver to explain that. If, as you say, your suit-case was destroyed in the fire, there is nothing to connect you with the accident. Are you feeling well enough to travel?”
“Yes. I’m bruised a bit and I still feel damnably shaky, but I’ll get over that.”
“Good. Then, all things considered, it will be as well if you travel immediately.”
“Kuvetli said something about a ’plane.”
“A ’plane? Ah! May I see your passport, please?”
Graham handed it over. The Consul flicked over the pages, shut the passport with a snap and returned it. “Your transit visa,” he said, “specifies that you are entering Italy at Genoa and leaving it at Bardonecchia. If you are particularly anxious to go by air we can get the visa amended, but that will take an hour or so. Also you will have to return to Genoa. Also, in case Kuvetli is found within the next few hours, it is better not to bring yourself to the notice of the police with a change of arrangements.” He glanced at his watch. “There is a train to Paris which leaves Genoa at two o’clock. It stops at Asti soon after three. I recommend that you get on it there. I can drive you to Asti in my car.”
“I think some food would do me good.”
“My dear Mr. Graham! How stupid of me! Some food. Of course! We can stop at Novi. You will be my guest. And if there is any champagne to be had we shall have it. There is nothing like champagne when one is depressed.”
Graham felt suddenly a little light-headed. He laughed.
The Consul raised his eyebrows.