“All right, chum,” it said. “Gently does it. No, don’t move. Just put your hands behind your head, keep absolutely quiet, and hope you won’t get hurt. Got it?”
9
George’s experience of extreme danger had been gained in the cockpits of heavy bombers and in circumstances for which he had been carefully prepared by long periods of training. Of dangers such as those which lurk behind doors in Macedonian hotels, dangers unrelated to the wearing of a uniform and the organized prosecution of a war, he had had no experience, and neither Princeton nor Harvard Law School had done anything to prepare him for one.
As, therefore, he raised his hands obediently and put them behind his head, he was suddenly aware of an overwhelming, unreasoning, and quite impracticable desire to run away somewhere and hide. He struggled against it for a moment; then the man spoke again and the desire went as suddenly as it had arrived. The blood began to pound unpleasantly in his head.
“That’s right, chum,” the voice was saying soothingly. “Now just go over to the window there and pull the shutters to. Then we’ll have a little light on the scene. Slowly does it. Yes, you’ll have to use your hands, but watch what you do with them or we’ll have an accident. Don’t try calling out or anything, either. All nice and quiet. That’s the ticket.”
George pulled the shutters to, and at the same moment the light in the room went on. He turned.
The man who stood by the light switch, watching him, was in his middle thirties, short and thickset, with dark, thinning hair. His suit was obviously a local product. Just as obviously he was not. The rawboned, snub-nosed face and the sly, insolent eyes originated, as did the Cockney accent, from somewhere within the Greater London area.
“That’s better, eh?” the visitor said. “Now we can see what’s what without the neighbours across the street getting nosy.”
“What the hell’s the idea of all this?” said George. “And who the hell are you?”
“Easy, chum.” The visitor grinned. “No names, no pack drill. You can call me Arthur if you like. It’s not my name, but it’ll do. Lots of people call me Arthur. You’re Mr. Carey, aren’t you?”