Free Silhouette in Scarlet by Elizabeth Peters Page B

member of the Special Branch had a few glaring flaws. The way he picked me up, for instance – pretty crude, for a pro. Yet he knew me, my reputation and my
background, including the fact that I was on good terms with members of the Munich police. So why didn’t he take me into his confidence if he wanted me to help him? And if he didn’t
want my help, why was he hanging around?
    There was an obvious answer to that question, but I wasn’t conceited enough to believe it. He was mildly interested, but it was only too apparent that he was even more interested in John.
Surely he didn’t suspect me of being John’s confederate. Even if he knew about the Paris affair . . . If he was a police official, he probably did know about it; the whole damned
embarrassing business was on record at the Sûreté. However, the French police had cleared me completely, and if Leif was familiar with that episode he would have every reason to assume
I wanted to get even with John. There was only one thing I could think of that might arouse official suspicions of my present trip, and that was the message John had sent. I had flushed it down the
toilet in a fit of pique – but the package had been opened before I received it.
    Maybe Leif was a cop after all. It isn’t easy for a private citizen to interfere with the mails.
    I decided it was time to get a few things off my chest ‘You owe me an explanation,’ I said.
    Leif started. ‘What?’
    ‘You heard me. All you’ve told me is that you are following John . . . No, damn it, you haven’t even told me that much. Were you following him? Is that why you were at the
airport – or were you waiting for me to show up? Why didn’t you arrest him when I identified him? Do you suspect me? Was one of your men following me today, and is six to midnight your
shift?’
    I had Leif’s complete attention now. He quit fiddling with his moustache and folded his hands on the table. He was trying to look cool, but the whitened grip of his fingers destroyed the
image.
    ‘It is known that you have been in communication with Smythe,’ he said.
    ‘How? Mind you, I’m not admitting that I have; I’m just asking what gives you that idea.’
    ‘I am not at liberty to divulge my sources. You understand – ’
    ‘No, I don’t understand. I’m sick and tired of oblique hints and vague accusations. And, what’s more – ’
    ‘Be quiet!’
    My rising voice had attracted attention. Fortunately for me, he had stopped me before my big flapping mouth had made any damaging admissions or accusations.
    We glared at one another. Leif was breathing so hard the air from his nostrils made the ends of his moustache flap. After a moment his tight lips relaxed and he chuckled softly.
    ‘The little kitten spits and hisses,’ he said. ‘It is charming. I suppose many men have told you that you are beautiful when you are angry.’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re the first.’
    He looked pleased. I guess he thought I was complimenting him. ‘Have you any more questions, little lady?’ he asked.
    ‘Suppose you answer the ones I’ve already asked.’
    ‘Certainly. But not here. We will walk, and find a place where we can talk privately.’ When we left the cafe he took my hand and continued to hold it as we strolled along the quay
The sun was setting; it would go on setting for hours, hanging around like an unwanted guest. The water reflected the deepening blue of the western sky. The tall masts of the sailing ship Wasa , now a youth hostel, lifted like pointing fingers. She was a beautiful craft, long and sleek. I decided that if Leif suggested a boat ride, I would make damned good and sure the boat
was crowded. Yet it was difficult for me to be afraid of a man who called me little lady and told me I was beautiful when I was angry. I couldn’t imagine a cop using a tired old line like
that one – in fact, I couldn’t imagme any man under seventy using it. Was he, or was he not?
    He didn’t suggest