Free Journey Into Fear by Eric Ambler Page A

smile at the corners of her mouth. “This way is so much less expensive. Did I say that I was travelling by train?”
    Graham flushed. “No, of course not.” He realised that he was being rather rude. “In any case, I am delighted to see you again so soon. I have been wondering what I should do if I found that the Hotel des Belges was closed.”
    She looked at him archly. “Ah! You were really going to telephone me, then?”
    “Of course. It was understood, wasn’t it?”
    She discarded the arch look and replaced it with a pout. “I do not think that you are sincere after all. Tell me truthfully why you are on this boat.”
    She began to walk along the deck. He could do nothing but fall in step beside her.
    “You don’t believe me?”
    She lifted her shoulders elaborately. “You need not tell me if you do not wish to. I am not inquisitive.”
    He thought he saw her difficulty. From her point of view there could be only two explanations of his presence on the boat: either his claim to be travelling first class on the Orient Express had been a pretentious lie intended to impress her—in which case he would have very little money—or he had somehow discovered that she was travelling on the boat, and had abandoned the luxury of the Orient Express in order to pursue her—in which case he would probably have plenty of money. He had a sudden absurd desire to startle her with the truth.
    “Very well,” he said. “I am travelling this way to avoid someone who is trying to shoot me.”
    She stopped dead. “I think it is too cold out here,” shesaid calmly. “I shall go in.”
    He was so surprised that he laughed.
    She turned on him quickly. “You should not make such stupid jokes.”
    There was no doubt about it; she was genuinely angry. He held up his bandaged hand. “A bullet grazed it.”
    She frowned. “You are very bad. If you have hurt your hand I am sorry, but you should not make jokes about it. It is very dangerous.”
    “Dangerous!”
    “You will have bad luck, and so shall I. It is very bad luck to joke in that way.”
    “Oh, I see.” He grinned. “I am not superstitious.”
    “That is because you do not know. I would sooner see a raven flying than joke about killing. If you wish me to like you, you must not say such things.”
    “I apologise,” said Graham, mildly. “Actually I cut my hand with a razor.”
    “Ah, they are dangerous things! In Algiers José saw a man with his throat cut from ear to ear with a razor.”
    “Suicide?”
    “No, no! It was his
petite amie
who did it. There was a lot of blood. José will tell you about it if you ask him. It was very sad.”
    “Yes, I can imagine. José is travelling with you, then?”
    “Naturally.” And then, with a sidelong look: “He is my husband.”
    Her husband! That explained why she “put up with” José. It also explained why Colonel Haki had omitted to tell him that the “dancing blonde” was travelling on the boat. Graham remembered the promptitude with whichJosé had retired from the dressing-room. That, no doubt, had been a matter of business.
Attractions
at a place like Le Jockey Cabaret were not quite so attractive if they were known to have husbands in the vicinity. He said: “Kopeikin didn’t tell me that you were married.”
    “Kopeikin is very nice, but he does not know everything. But I will tell you confidentially that with José and me it is an arrangement. We are partners, nothing more. He is jealous about me only when I neglect business for pleasure.”
    She said it indifferently, as if she were discussing a clause in her contract.
    “Are you going to dance in Paris now?”
    “I do not know. I hope so; but so much is closed on account of the war.”
    “What will you do if you can’t get an engagement?”
    “What do you think? I shall starve. I have done it before.” She smiled bravely. “It is good for the figure.” She pressed her hands on her hips and looked at him, inviting his considered opinion. “Do