'God!' I cried. 'Isn't that enough?'
He gazed at the drink in his glass. 'You should not leap to conclusions, Mr Blair,' he said. 'You only heard part of the conversation.'
'Listen, Keramikos,' I said. 'You can't fool me by suggesting that I didn't hear all the conversation. That little scrap was complete in itself. The Austrian was proposing cold-blooded murder.'
'And do you know why?'
'Because you're searching for something,' I snapped back, angered by the casualness of his manner. 'What is there to search for that's so important you'll commit murder in order not to be interrupted?'
'That, my friend, is none of your business,' he replied quietly. 'If you believe you have correctly interpreted the scrap of conversation you have overheard, then I suggest you avoid travelling on the slittovia. And confine your curiosity to your own affairs. My advice to you is — get on with your film story.'
'How the hell do you expect me to write a film script in these circumstances?' I cried.
He laughed. 'That is for you to consider. In the meantime, be a little less curious. Good-night, Mr Blair.' He nodded to me curtly and walked out of the room. I heard his feet on the stairs and then the sound of a door closing.
I finished my drink and went up to my room. The door stood open as Keramikos had said. I was certain I had closed it when I left. The room looked just the same. There was no indication that any one had been in it. I sat down on the bed and switched on the electric heater. I was puzzled and, I think, a little frightened. Keramikos had not been angry, but there had been a quiet menace in his words that was even more disturbing.
To try and sleep was out of the question. I decided to add to my report to Engles. I picked up my typewriter and lifted the cover. I was just going to remove the sheet of paper on which I had already typed the day's report when I noticed that the top of it had been caught between the cover and the base. The paper was torn and dirtied by the catches. Now I am always most careful to adjust the paper so that this does not happen when I am putting my typewriter away with copy in it. It is quite automatic. Somebody had read that report and had failed to adjust the paper properly before putting the lid back on the typewriter. I made a quick search of the room. My things were all in place, but here and there they had been moved slightly — a bottle of ink at the bottom of my suitcase was on its side, some letters in a writing case were in a different order and several other small things were out of place. I became certain that Keramikos had searched my room. But why had he left the door open? Was he trying to frighten me?