“But you don’t want to call in the police and involve the hotel. Is that it?”
The Assistant Manager smiled nervously. “No good can be done, Monsieur. The police would merely ask questions and make inconveniences for all.” Inspiration came to him. “For all, Monsieur,” he repeated emphatically. “You are a business man. You wish to leave Istanbul this morning. But if the police are brought in, it might be difficult. There would be, inevitably, delays. And for what purpose?”
“They might catch the man who shot me.”
“But how, Monsieur? You did not see his face. You cannot identify him. There is nothing stolen by which he could be traced.”
Graham hesitated. “But what about this doctor you are getting? Supposing he reports to the police the fact that there is someone here with a bullet wound.”
“The doctor’s services, Monsieur, will be paid for liberally by the management.”
There was a knock at the door and the porter came in with whisky, soda-water, and glasses which he set down on the table. He said something to the Assistant Manager who nodded and then motioned him out.
“The doctor is on his way, Monsieur.”
“Very well. No, I don’t want any whisky. But drink some yourself. You look as though you need it. I should like to make a telephone call. Will you tell the porter to telephone the Crystal Apartments in the rue d’Italie? The number is forty-four, nine hundred and seven, I think. I want to speak to Monsieur Kopeikin.”
“Certainly, Monsieur. Anything you wish.” He went to the door and called after the porter. There was another incomprehensible exchange. The Assistant Manager came back and helped himself generously to the whisky.