Free Greek Fire by Winston Graham Page A

destroying him, but if so it is not the sort of grief that is mine. What use will he be when the letter comes, if such is his condition? I am worried and don’t know how to turn. That is why I have come to you.”
    â€œYou think I’m worth trusting now?”
    â€œYou have sad eyes, M. Vanbrugh—as if they have seen many things they would like to forget. But I think you are a man of honour.”
    Darkness had come like a curtain drawn. Bats were circling over the tower.
    â€œWhen do you expect the papers?”
    â€œNot until early next week. I cannot cable for them, for it is certain our cousin will not send them without a signature in writing which he can recognise. But in my letter I ask him to cable back. I have that cable tonight.” She clasped and unclasped her fat strong hands; they seemed to need something to take hold of. “The cable says he receives my letter yesterday afternoon, that is Friday. The cable says sending today.”
    â€œSaturday.… They might be here Monday. No, that’s barely possible. Tuesday at the earliest.”
    â€œThat is what I thought.”
    â€œPhilip knows of the cable?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut the letter will come addressed to you—if it is not tampered with.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCan you be sure of getting it first?”
    â€œThe letters are usually put just inside the front door of the house where we live. I can do my best to be about in the hall when the postman comes.”
    â€œDo that.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œCan you bring them straight to me?”
    She hesitated. In a two-storeyed house nearby someone had switched on a light in an un-shuttered upper room, and Gene’s face showed clearly. This time it had no expression.
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œIf they are what I suppose they may be, then I can help you to make use of them in the most effective way.”
    â€œWhat do you suppose they may be?”
    â€œThere’s no point in guessing when we shall be sure so soon.”
    The light went out and they were left in a greater darkness.
    â€˜ What was the name of the man my husband mentioned in Paris?”
    â€œAvra.”
    â€œWhy are you interested in him?”
    â€œI think when you get these papers it may explain that to.”
    â€œI have to trust you,” she said. “ If you let me down …”
    â€œI’ll not let you down.”

Chapter Thirteen
    It was just on nine when he got to Heracles House. He knew he was taking a risk in going, but a ‘ must’ within himself made the risk necessary.
    There was no one about when he stepped into the self-operating lift and pressed the button for the seventh floor; lights winked and the lift sighed and took him up with a carefully graded acceleration; after a very few seconds it sighed again and let him out. The lobby upstairs was empty and he pressed the bell at the door at the end and a manservant showed him into a small ante-room where half a dozen people were talking.
    Some he already knew; Maurice Taksim, the Turk; General Telechos; Gallanova, the Yugo-Slav ballerina; others he knew by sight, like Jon Manos. George Lascou came towards him, grey waistcoated, gold glinting like a welcoming smile from the bridge of the pince-nez. For a short moment their hands touched and eyes met; conventional gestures of welcome and the empty words—good-of-you-to-come, kind-of-you-to-have-me. Almost at once Anya appeared through another door, in a dress that glittered as she walked across the room.
    It was a small dinner-party, candle-lit at table, in a handsome high-windowed dining-room; two menservants, black-clad and silent, hovered like benevolent ghosts. On Gene’s right was Mme Telechos; on his left was Gallanova, a fine-boned Slav with an imperious chin, in a Molyneux gown of slashed crimson. Beyond her was a stout moustached little man called Major Kolono whom Gene felt he had seen somewhere before and