Free Ripley's Game by Patricia Highsmith

till just a few minutes ago.’
    They were walking out to the kerb. Wister droned on in his American accent. Except for his scar, nothing about Wister suggested violence. He was, Jonathan decided, too calm, which from a psychiatric point of view might be ominous. Or was he merely nursing an ulcer? Wister stopped beside a well-polished black Mercedes-Benz. An older man, wearing no cap, took care of Jonathan’s medium-sized suitcase, and held the door for him and Wister.
    ‘This is Karl,’ Wister said.
    ‘Evening,’ Jonathan said.
    Karl smiled, and murmured something in German.
    It was quite a long drive. Wister pointed out the Rathaus, ‘the oldest ia all Europe, and the bombs didn’t get it’, and a great church or cathedral whose name Jonathan didn’t get. He and Wister were sitting together in the back. They entered a part of the town with a more countrylike atmosphere, went over still another bridge, and on to a darker road.
    ‘Here we are.’ Wister said. ‘My place.’
    The car had turned into a climbing driveway and stopped beside a large house with a few lighted windows and a lighted, well-kept entrance.
    ‘It’s an old house with four flats, and I have one.’ Wister explained. ‘Lots of such houses in Hamburg. Converted. Here I have a nice view of the Alster. It’s the Aussen Alster, the big one. You’ll see more tomorrow.’
    They rode up in a modern lift, Karl taking Jonathan’s suitcase. Karl pressed a bell, and a middle-aged woman in a black dress and white apron opened the door, smiling.
    ‘This is Gaby.’ said Wister to Jonathan. ‘My part-time housekeeper. She works for another family in the house and sleeps with them, but I told her we might want some food tonight. Gaby, Herr Trevanny aus Frankreich.’
    The woman greeted Jonathan pleasantly, and took his coat. She had a round, pudding-like face, and looked the soul of goodwill.
    ‘Wash in here, if you like.’ said Wister, gesturing to a bathroom whose light was already on. ‘I’ll get you a scotch. Are you hungry?’
    When Jonathan came out of the bathroom, the lights – four lamps – were on in the big square living-room. Wister was sitting on a green sofa, smoking a cigar. Two scotches stood on the coffee-table in front of Wister. Gaby came in at once with a tray of sandwiches and a round, pale-yellow cheese.
    ‘Ah, thank you, Gaby.’ Wister said to Jonathan, ‘Late for Gaby, but when I told her I had a guest coming, she insisted on staying on to serve the sandwiches.’ Wister, though making a cheerful remark, still didn’t smile. In fact his straight eyebrows drew together anxiously as Gaby arranged the plates and the silverware. When she departed, he said, ‘You’re feeling all right? Now the main thing is – the visit to the specialist. I have a good man in mind, Dr Heinrich Wentzel, a haematologist at the Eppendorfer Krankenhaus, which is the main hospital here. World famous. I’ve made an appointment for you for tomorrow at two, if that’s agreeable.’
    Certainly. Thank you,’ Jonathan said.
    ‘That gives you a chance to catch up on your sleep. Your wife didn’t mind too much, I hope, your taking off on such short notice? … After all it’s only intelligent to consult more than one doctor about a serious ailment…’
    Jonathan was only half listening. He felt dazed, and he was also a bit distracted by the décor, by the fact it was all supposed to be German, and that it was the first time he’d been in Germany. The furnishings were quite conventional and more modern than antique, though there was a handsome Biedermeier desk against the wall opposite Jonathan. There were low bookshelves along all the walls, long green curtains at the windows, and the lamps in corners spread the light pleasantly. A purple wooden box lay open on the glass coffee-table, presenting a variety of cigars and cigarettes in compartments. The white fireplace had brass accessories, but there was no fire now. A rather interesting painting