Free Topkapi by Eric Ambler

said. As it was, I had told a story that happened to be true, but sounded as if I thought they were half-witted. You can imagine how I felt as I waited. With no room at all for manoeuvre, I knew that I must be in for a bad time.
    The sun went down and the window turned black. It was very quiet. I could hear no sounds at all from other parts of the jail. Presumably, things were arranged so that there they could hear no sounds made in the interrogation room - screams, etc. When I had been there two hours, there were footsteps in the corridor outside, the door was unlocked, and a new guard came in with a tin bowl of mutton soup and a hunk of bread. He put these on the table in front of me, then nodded to his friend, who went out and relocked the door. The new man took his place on the bench.
    There was no spoon. I dipped a piece of bread in the soup and tasted it. It was lukewarm and full of congealed fat. Even without my indigestion I could not have eaten it. Now, the smell alone made me want to throw up.
    I looked at the guard. “ Su ?” I asked.
    He motioned to the washroom. Evidently, if I wanted water I would have to drink from the tap. I did not relish the idea. Indigestion was bad enough; I did not want dysentery, too. I made myself eat some of the bread and then took out my cigarettes again in the hope that the new man might be ready to give me a match. He shook his head. I pointed to a plastic ash tray on the table to remind him that smoking was not necessarily prohibited. He still shook his head.
    A little before nine, a twin-engined plane flew over the jail and then circled as if on a landing pattern. The sound seemed to mean something to the guard. He looked at his watch, and then absently ran his hand down the front of his tunic as if to make sure that the buttons were all done up.
    More to break the interminable silence in the room than because I wanted to know, I asked: “Is there a big airport at Edirne?”
    I spoke in French, but it meant nothing to him. I made signs, which he misunderstood.
    “Askeri ucak,” he said briefly.
    An army plane. That concluded that conversation; but I noticed that he kept glancing at his watch now. Probably, I thought, it was time for his relief and he was becoming impatient.
    Twenty minutes later there was the distant sound of a car door slamming. The guard heard it, too, and promptly stood up. I stared at him and he glowered back.
    “Hazirol!” he snapped, and then exasperatedly: “Debout! Debout!”
    I stood up. I could hear approaching footsteps and voices now. Then the door was unlocked and flung open.
    For a moment nothing more happened, except that someone in the corridor, whom I could not see, went on speaking. He had a harsh, peremptory voice which seemed to be giving orders that another voice kept acknowledging deferentially - ” Evet, evet, ejendim, derhal .” Then the orders ceased and the man who had been giving them came into the room.
    He was about thirty-five, I would think, perhaps younger, tall and quite slim. There were high cheekbones, grey eyes, and short brown hair. He was handsome, I suppose, in a thin-lipped sort of way. He was wearing a dark civilian suit that looked as if it had been cut by a good Roman tailor, and a dark-grey silk tie. He looked as if he had just come from a diplomatic corps cocktail party; and for all I know he may have done so. On his right wrist there was a gold identity bracelet. The hand below it was holding a large manila envelope.
    He examined me bleakly for a moment, then nodded.
    “I am Major Tufan, Deputy Director, Second Section.”
    “Good evening, sir.”
    He glanced at the guard, who was staring at him round-eyed, and suddenly snapped out an order. “ Defol! ”
    The guard nearly fell over himself getting out of the room.
    As soon as the door closed, the major pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. Then he waved me back to my seat by the bread.
    “Sit down, Simpson. I believe that you speak French easily,