His lips didn’t curve into a derisive smile, but even without that I could hear the cold venom he put into my invented name.
‘Nobody will care if you vanish, and nobody will connect your disappearance to the death of some young poor lady found drowned in the Thames,’ he continued.
He extended a second finger. ‘Secondly, I have very discreet associates. It would be a marvel if your body was even found.’
Another finger. He caught my gaze with his, and held it. ‘Thirdly, look at me. Look into my eyes and then tell me again I would not dare to get rid of you.’
Well, at least I now knew one thing. He was no industrialist who had made his fortune by producing tin cans or porcelain figurines. He was something else entirely.
‘Where,’ he asked in a voice so low I almost didn’t catch it, ‘is the file. Last chance, Mr Linton.’
‘I… I…’ Dammit, what was happening to me? I could feel my whole body beginning to shake, and my eyes felt strange. They felt as if they were… wet.
Oh no! No, no, no and no again! I was not going to cry like some little girl! Not in front of him. Not now. I was going to be brave and prove to him that I was just as good as any man and… and…
I started to cry.
I admit it, all right? I started to cry.
‘I… I don't know,’ I sniffled, lowering my head and searching desperately for a handkerchief. But these were my uncle’s trousers, and he never went out, so there were no handkerchiefs in his pockets. Hurriedly, I tried to wipe away the tears with my sleeve before he could see them. ‘I didn’t take your file! I didn’t! I…’
I blinked up at him, breathing heavily. What was he going to do now? Call his henchmen and have me killed?
To my surprise I saw him not where he had been a moment ago. He had retreated a few steps. The ice had gone out of his eyes, and he was standing in a slightly awkward position, his hands tugged into the pockets of his waistcoat as if he didn’t know what to do with them.
‘Um… here,’ he muttered. Pulling one of his hands out of the pocket, he handed me a clean white linen handkerchief.
‘You just threatened to kill me and now you’re offering me a handkerchief?’ I asked, tearfully.
He shrugged, and the awkwardness vanished as he fixed me with his eyes again. ‘I can hardly question you further while you are… leaking like this. It is noisy and messy. Put an end to it. Now!’
Taking the handkerchief, I blew my nose in a noisy and not very ladylike manner. Then I held it out to him.
‘Here.’
He shook his head.
‘You don't want it back?’
‘Are you mad?’ he demanded. ‘Of course I do! That thing cost three shillings and tuppence! I would simply be very obliged if you washed it before giving it back, though.’
‘Oh… err… of course I will.’ I paused. ‘If you don't kill me, that is,’ I added, as an afterthought.
‘Oh, that.’ He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Mr Ambrose, uncomfortable? What was this?
Finally he waved deprecatingly. ‘I have thought of a better way. A way I can determine whether you are guilty or innocent.’
‘Well, I’m very glad to hear it.’
‘I imagine so.’ Straightening into his usual erect pose again, Mr Ambrose clapped his hand. ‘Karim!’
He hadn’t even called very loudly, and there was a locked door in the way. There was no way the big bearded fellow could have heard him.
‘You called, Sahib?’
With a yelp, I sprang back and whirled to see the Mohammedan standing right behind me, towering in the safe’s doorway.
With a curt wave, Mr Ambrose directed him back into my office.
‘Search the room. File S39XX300.’
Apparently, Mr Ambrose was as economical with his words as with his money and facial expressions. Karim didn’t need any more explanation. He went back into my office. Soon after, I heard the noise of drawers being opened.
‘So what is it?’ I asked. ‘This better method that does not require me to learn to swim with my lungs full of water?’
Was my voice steady? I thought it was. I probably should have been more scared, but somehow this felt unreal. I was discussing with a practical stranger his reasons for not wanting to kill me. Was this really happening?
‘Well, you did not have the keys for the safe until today,’ Mr Ambrose reasoned, his gaze wandering up and down my body in a strange manner. ‘I do not believe you are capable of cracking a safe. Ergo, if you took the file, you must have done it today. And if it is not in your office, you must still have it on you.’
‘And?’ I asked. ‘What do you intend to do now?’
His gaze went up and down my body again. ‘As I said,’ he repeated, his dark, sea-coloured eyes intent. ‘You must have it on you.’ He took a step towards me.
And suddenly I understood.
My hands shot up to shield me. ‘Oh no. No, nononono, Mister! Don’t even think about it!’
I Defend my Honour, More’s the Pity
He cocked his head.
‘No?’
‘No! Definitely no! Despite what you have been trying to tell yourself, I am still a girl and I am most definitely not going to let you rummage around in my knickers!’
‘You would rather end up face-down in the Thames?’
‘I would rather that you trusted me!’
‘Trust…’ The word came slowly over his sculpted lips as if he hadn’t used them in a very long time. ‘Mister Linton… in Russia they have a saying about that. Do you know it, Mr Linton?’
He took a step closer.
‘How the heck should I? I’m not Russian!’
‘The saying is: “trust, but verify”.’ He took a step closer again. ‘I do not subscribe to that saying. I never trust. But I always verify.’
‘You are not getting me out of my dress so you can rummage around in my underwear!’ I declared, maybe a bit too forcefully. That was largely due to the fact that a part of my mind was occupied with how it would feel to have him rummage around in my underwear. And another part of my mind was busy being furious at the aforementioned part of my mind for having such thoughts.
‘You are not wearing a dress, but trousers,’ he pointed out in his usual cold, curt manner.
‘Whatever! Are you a gentleman, Sir, or a cur?’
‘That depends on the necessities of the situation.’
‘And in this situation?’
‘Give me back the file, Mr Linton, and I will not have to search you.’
‘For the hundredth time, I do not have it!’
‘For the fourth time, actually,’ he corrected. ‘Do not exaggerate.’
Heavy footsteps approached. They needed a few seconds to break through my concentration, and it was the same with Mr Ambrose. We were glaring at each other with such intensity that at first we didn’t notice the giant bearded figure who had appeared in the doorway.
Finally, Mr Ambrose wrenched his gaze away from me.
‘Yes?’ he asked.
Karim shook his weighty turban and beard, as well as the head that was squeezed in between. ‘Nothing, Sahib.’
At which Mr Ambrose’s gaze returned to me with double intensity.
‘You know what that means, Mister Linton?’
‘What?’ I snapped. ‘And don't call me Mister!’
‘It means that I have no choice but to search you.’
‘No!’ I crossed my arms. He wasn’t going to touch me! Not ever!
Well, not that I really would have minded so much. But if I would ever let him take a closer look at my underwear, it would not be to search it for some stupid paper, thank you very much! I mean, every girl has to have some self-respect.
Self-respect? my inner feminist screamed at me. Under what circumstances do you think him taking a look at your underwear would be all right with your self-respect? Have you forgotten that you despise men in whatever form they come?
‘Karim?’ Mr Ambrose said
, darkly. ‘I’m going to take care of this. Close the safe door and lock us in. Open it only when I call again.’
My eyes widened. I rushed towards the door, but before I could reach it the huge Mohammedan had slammed it shut and plunged us into utter darkness.
*~*~**~*~*
‘Ouch!’
‘Ng!’
‘Let go!’
‘Stop wriggling you…’
Slap!
The noise echoed quite loudly in the dark, hollow room. There were a few seconds of silence, then I heard Mr Ambrose’s calm voice - calm in the way a volcano was calm before the explosion.
‘Karim? Karim, open the door again.’
Slowly, the door slid open, admitting a brilliant ray of sunlight that cut through the darkness like a red hot knife through butter. It fell on Mr Ambrose’s face, which also was pretty much red hot, at least in the places where my hand had made contact with his cheek.
‘You,’ he said decidedly, his jaw taut, ‘are either as guilty as the devil himself or have more morals than apparent at first sight.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘What is that supposed to mean, “more than apparent at first sight”?’
‘It is supposed to mean more morals than one would expect from a girl who runs around dressed in men’s clothes!’
‘Hey, this was your idea, remember?’
‘An idea I thought no sane individual would take seriously.’
‘Well, I have, and now I’m here. So what are you going to do with me?’
His threatening sea-coloured eyes fixed on my face again.
‘I must search you, Mr Linton. It is useless to resist.’
The fellow had just intended to undress me and he was still calling me ‘Mister’? This was unbelievable!
‘Why should I steal your stupid file?’ I shouted. ‘I don't even know what’s in it!’
‘You could have been put up to it.’
‘By whom?’
‘By one of the men who want me ruined and dead.’
He said that so coldly, so calmly, that it cut right through my anger. I looked closer and saw that behind his granite façade, emotions were boiling inside him. He was just too stubborn to admit it.
‘What’s so important about that file?’ I asked, softly. Well, relatively softly, anyway.
‘If you took it, you already know,’ was his response. ‘And if you didn’t, I will not tell you.’
‘Why not?’
‘I do not have to explain myself to you!’
‘So what now?’ I asked again.
‘I could tie you down to search you,’ he threatened.
‘You could try.’ My hands came up defensively again. Unconsciously, Mr Ambrose’s hand went to his cheek, and I had to grin. Was I crazy? It was still a very real possibility that I would end up face-down in the Thames today, and here I was, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
But I just couldn’t help being excited! This was the first half-way thrilling thing to have happened in my massively mundane life.
Mr Ambrose noticed my grin. Just before he turned to his turban-wearing henchman, I thought I could see a faint scowl on his face. What? I had elicited a facial expression from Mr Granite Face? Surely not!
‘Karim? Would you be so good as to search her?’ Mr Ambrose inquired.
The Mohammedan’s eyes flickered to me for a moment. He stood straighter and gripped the hilt of his sabre.
‘I would fight an Ifrit[23] for you, Sahib… but this creature?’ He gave me a look that reminded me of the way my aunt always looked at me. ‘I must respectfully decline.’
‘I thought so,’ nodded Mr Ambrose.
‘What in God’s name is an Ifrit?’ I demanded.
‘A powerful half-demon from Arabian mythology,’ Mr Ambrose informed me. ‘They are over twelve feet tall, armed with huge swords and have fists and wings that burn with hellfire.’
Dear me. I had no idea Karim thought so highly of me.
Mr Ambrose started pacing up and down with long, measured strides. I watched him carefully, my heartbeat still not returned to its normal rhythm. With his impassive face, fathomless eyes and long black tailcoats fluttering behind him like bat wings, he really looked more than a little intimidating. For a moment, I considered running. Maybe I could make it to the hallway and scream for help. Mr Stone would hear me. Maybe he would run for the police.
Karim met my eyes. His small, beady specimens weren’t quite as impressive as those of his master, but his were full of suspicion and animosity.
‘I sent Stone away,’ he stated. ‘The door to the hallway is locked.’
Mr Ambrose didn’t cease his pacing. I knew it wasn’t him the comment had been meant for, anyway. I gave Karim a curt nod, which he returned. If I had the slightest doubt before that Mr Ambrose could and would kill to protect his interests, it was now gone. With such servants at his command, the deed would be easy to accomplish.
I wondered why I didn’t feel more afraid.
Suddenly, Mr Ambrose stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face me.
‘You,’ he said curtly, ‘have placed me in a difficult position, Mr Linton.’
‘Because you have to kill me now?’ I inquired.
‘No.’ Maybe I was mistaken, but I could have sworn his jaw tightened a little bit. ‘Because I cannot kill you, Mr Linton. Any man under the same suspicion you are under now I would simply challenge to a duel and shoot like the dog he is. However,’ he paused for a moment to take a breath, ‘that will not be possible in your case, since you are… not quite as male as I could wish.’
There! That was why I was not afraid.
‘You mean because I’m a girl,’ I pointed out. ‘Which means I am female, not male. You can say the word, you know. It’s not poisonous.’
‘Oh, but it is,’ he responded, coolly. ‘Poisonous to my reputation, and now to my interests. I must have that file, Mr Linton. However, you were right: I am a gentleman. And because of that unfortunate condition you conceal under your trousers, I, as a gentleman, can neither search you nor kill you to gain what I must have.’
Unfortunate condition? God, this fellow really needed his head examined!
‘Why are you so bloody convinced that it was me who stole your precious papers, anyway?’ I lashed out. ‘Why so determined to think that I am the guilty one? Why not some other member of your staff? The file could have been gone for days.’
‘No, it couldn’t,’ he replied curtly. ‘Because nobody had access to the files in the safe.’
‘Nobody else had another key? And what about the one you gave me?’
‘Why these pointless questions?’ he asked, shaking his head. ‘We both know that you are guilty! There is no duplicate key, and the one I gave you was in my own possession the entire time since last Wednesday when-’
Abruptly, his head-shaking ceased. His whole body froze.
‘Yes?’ I demanded. ‘When what?’
Slowly he came out of his paralysis and turned his head to face me directly. His dark eyes flashed as though a storm was raging in them. For one moment he looked so dangerous I actually took a step back.
But then I realized that for once, his anger was not directed at me. A word passed his lips like the hiss of a snake preparing to strike:
‘Simmons!’
Karim let out a low oath in a language I didn’t understand. But the way he said it, I didn’t have to know the words to know that it was a curse. He had obviously understood. I, on the contrary, was still completely in the dark.
‘Simmons?’ I echoed, making it a question.
He met my eyes with his deep, dark, blue-grey ones.
‘Yes. Simmons, Mr Linton. Simmons, my previous private secretary. Simmons, who disappeared a few days ago without any explanation. Simmons, the treacherous snake.’
With a few long strides Mr Ambrose was over at my desk and started rifling through my drawers. The wooden ones in the desk, I mean.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded. ‘I th
ought your big bull already checked those.’
Karim threw me a look that signified about a ton of displeasure. Apparently he didn’t appreciate his new nickname. I made a mental note to use it again at the earliest opportunity.
‘Karim did search the drawers,’ Mr Ambrose agreed. ‘But he searched them for the missing file, not for a sign of where the traitor who has taken the file might have gone. This was his desk once.’
‘So you think that this Simmons did it now? You no longer think it was me?’
‘No! I was a fool to ever have thought it. After all, you’re only…’ He waved his hand non-committally.
‘A girl?’ I piped up. ‘Is that what you were going to say? We females can steal things just as well as any man, thank you very much!’
‘A moment ago you were afraid of me thinking you’re guilty, and now you praise your skills as a thief?’
‘Not my skills, but the skills of womanhood in general! And I was certainly not afraid.’
‘You were not?’
‘Do I look afraid to you?’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘You look superfluous. Leave the room. I and my men have a thief to catch.’ He nodded to the door and returned to his work of rifling through the desk, as if I had already left, or as if I had ceased to exist entirely. That, I was sure, was how he would have preferred things.
Crossing my arms, I planted myself in front of him.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘I give you the rest of the day off,’ he said, not looking at me. ‘Go and enjoy your holiday. Trust me when I say I do not give holidays often.’
‘With me it seems that is almost the only thing you do! I did not come here to juggle meaningless pieces of paper like a monkey trained for some circus and then be chucked out after half a day. I came here to work! And if you have a thief to catch, I will come with you!’
‘Just for your information,’ he said, ‘the pieces of paper that you have “juggled” as you put it have most certainly not been meaningless.’
He still didn’t bother to turn around and look at me. All I could do was send my furious glares at his broad, hard back, and that did nothing to calm me down.