Free The Schirmer Inheritance by Eric Ambler Page B

beginning to be irritated by her. “Shall we sit down somewhere and talk, Miss Kolin?”
    “Of course.”
    He led the way across the foyer to some comfortable chairs near the bar. She followed a little too slowly. His irritation increased. She might be an attractive woman, but there was no reason for her to behave as if she were fending off a clumsy attempt at seduction. She was here about a job. Did she want it or didn’t she? If she didn’t, why waste time by coming at all?
    “Now, Miss Kolin,” he said as they sat down, “how much did the Embassy people tell you about this job?”
    “That you were going to Germany to interview various persons there in connection with a lawsuit. That you would want verbatim reports of the interviews transcribed. That it might be necessary to attend later at an American Embassy to have these transcriptions notarized. The length of time forwhich you would require me would be not less than one month and not more than three. I should receive my normal fees on a monthly basis, and all travelling and hotel expenses would be paid in addition.” She looked past him again, her head held high—a lady of quality importuned by a lascivious workman.
    “Yes that’s about right,” George said. “Did they tell you which lawsuit it was?”
    “They said that it was a highly confidential matter and that you would no doubt explain what it was necessary for me to know.” A faint, indifferent smile—men are such children with their little secrets.
    “Right. What passport do you have, Miss Kolin?”
    “French.”
    “I understood you were a Yugoslav citizen.”
    “I am naturalized French. My passport
is
valid for Germany.”
    “Yes, that was what I wanted to know.”
    She nodded but did not say anything. One could be patient with the slow-witted, but one was not obliged to pander to them.
    Several sentences came to the tip of George’s tongue at that moment, most of them designed to bring the interview to an abrupt conclusion. He swallowed them. Just because she wouldn’t pretend to be stupider or more eager for the work than she really was, he didn’t have to insult the woman. She had an unfortunate manner. All right! Did that make her a bad interpreter? And what did he expect her to do? Cringe?
    He offered her a cigarette.
    She shook her head. “Thank you, I prefer these.” She brought out a packet of Gitanes.
    He struck a match for her. “Are there any questions about the job you would like to ask me?” he said.
    “Yes.” She blew smoke out. “Have you had any experience of using an interpreter, Mr. Carey?”
    “None at all.”
    “I see. Do you speak any German?”
    “A little, yes.”
    “How little? It is not a pointless question.”
    “I’m sure it isn’t. Well, I speak the German I learned at high school. I was stationed in Germany for a few months after the war and heard a fair amount of German spoken there. I can understand the drift of most conversations between Germans, but I sometimes misunderstand so completely that I might think I was listening to an argument about politics when what I was really hearing was a discussion of the finer points of chicken farming. Does that answer your question?”
    “Very clearly. I will explain the point. When you are using an interpreter, it is not always easy to avoid listening also to the conversation being interpreted. That way confusion may arise.”
    “In fact, it’s better to trust to the interpreter and not try to do the work for her.”
    “Exactly.”
    The barman was hovering in the background. George ignored him. The interview was as good as over and he did not want to prolong it. Her cigarette was half smoked now. When it had burned down another quarter of an inch, he would get up.
    “I expect you know Germany pretty well, Miss Kolin.”
    “Only certain parts.”
    “The Rhineland?”
    “A little.”
    “You worked on the preparations for the Nuremberg trials, I hear.”
    “Yes.”
    “As a Yugoslav you must have