Free Cause for Alarm by Eric Ambler Page A

I collect photographs.”
    He leaned forward suddenly, his jaw thrust out pugnaciously. “Mr. Marlow, this evening is, to all intents and purposes, the first time we’ve met and I’ve spent most of it so farin telling you a pack of lies. You’ve probably guessed that already, because you’ve caught me out in one that I hadn’t meant you to catch me out in. I didn’t know that that photograph wasn’t fixed properly. Well, all right. That’s about as bad a way of starting up a life-long friendship as I can think of off-hand. There’s a nice atmosphere of skulduggery and mistrust about it. You realise that you don’t know who the Hell I am and decide that you don’t want to know. You’re probably thinking that I must be some sort of crook. Splendid! And now I’m going to ask you to let me give you a piece of advice. I’m going to tell you that it won’t cost you a cent, that, on the contrary, you stand to make big money by taking the advice, and you’re going to wonder what my game is. And now, the whole thing is sounding to you about as phoney as a glass eye, isn’t it?”
    “It is,” I said firmly; “what is it to be, a vacuum cleaner or a refrigerator? I don’t need either.”
    He frowned. “Do you mind being serious for a moment, Mr. Marlow?”
    “I’m sorry. All this disarming candour has been a little too much for me.”
    “Well now, I’m going to ask you to trust me and take the advice.”
    “I’m always ready to listen to advice.”
    “Good. Then my advice to you is to accept General Vagas’ invitation. He might have a proposition for you.”
    I faced him squarely. “Now look here, Mr. Zaleshoff. I don’t know what you’ve got in the back of your mind and I really am not interested. Furthermore, I quite fail to see what on earth an invitation issued to me has to do with you.”
    “I still ask you to accept it.”
    “Well, it may interest you to know that I have already decided to refuse it.”
    “Then change your mind, Mr. Marlow.”
    I rose. “I feel sure you will excuse me, Mr. Zaleshoff. I’vehad a tiring day and I’m not very fond of round games, even in the morning. Thank you for your dinner and for your very pleasant brandy. Perhaps you will allow me to return your hospitality some time. At the moment I’m afraid I must go. Good night to you.”
    He stood up. “Good night, Mr. Marlow. I shall look forward to seeing you again soon and having another chat.”
    I went to the door.
    “Oh, by the way.”
    I turned. He picked the card up from his desk and flicked it with a finger-nail. “You may have noticed,” he said slowly, “that at the foot of this card there is a note. It says: ‘See V. 18.’ Card V.18 is in one of those filing cabinets. If, after you see General Vagas next time, you would like to inspect that card, I shall be delighted to get it out for you.”
    “Why should I want to inspect it?”
    “The V, Mr. Marlow, stands for Vagas.”
    “That’s very interesting; but as I shan’t be seeing General Vagas …” I shrugged. “Good night.”
    “Pleasant dreams, Mr. Marlow.”
    I went.
    My dreams that night were far from pleasant. I remember waking up at about half-past three from a nightmare in which Bellinetti was smothering me with huge stacks of photographs of General Vagas. But when I finally went to sleep again I was thinking of Claire. It was, after all, only a question of a month or two before I would see her again. Dear Claire.

5

DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGES
    I DID not see Zaleshoff again for over a week.
    The gods, like most other practical jokers, have a habit of repeating themselves too often. Man has, so to speak, learned to expect the pail of water on his head. He may try to side-step, but when, as always, he gets wet, he is more concerned about his new hat than the ironies of fate. He has lost the faculty of wonder. The tortured shriek of high tragedy has degenerated into a petulant grunt. But there is still one minor booby-trap in the repertoire