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Simmons' voice was rough. It sounded like he hadn’t used it for conversation in days.
Drip.
A drop of water fell out of the hole in the bucket and landed on Simmons' forehead. He shook himself.
‘Could you…’ His voice dwindled, and he coughed. ‘Could you please tell your servant to get rid of that bucket? It is quite annoying, having water drip onto you all the time.’
He didn’t seem afraid any more. I wondered why. When we had caught him, he’d been terrified. Then I abruptly realized why. What was the sense of being afraid? The worst was already behind him. He had been broken and made to confess.
‘Please…’ Simmons rasped. ‘Please, get rid of the bucket.’
Mr Ambrose considered in silence for a moment - then he made a hand gesture to Karim. The Indian stepped forward and, with a speed that made me yelp in surprise, whipped his scimitar[33] out of its sheath, severing the rope that held the bucket. It fell, sloshing water in every direction, and with a resounding thump bounced off Simmons' head, drenching him in cold water.
Simmons' face contorted in a grimace. ‘That’s not exactly what I meant.’
‘It’s down, isn’t it?’ Karim growled. ‘Now start talking, or I’ll start doing things with this you’ll like even less.’ He held the point of his scimitar to Simmons’s throat. ‘Talk!’
‘I believe Karim has voiced my expectations very succinctly,’ Mr Ambrose said, crouching down so that his dark, sea-green eyes were on a level with Simmons’. ‘Talk.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ Simmons asked in a voice that sounded very tired and, yes, now very afraid again, too. Looking into Mr Ambrose’s eyes obviously made him feel there might yet be worse things in store for him. I knew the feeling.
‘When did all this start?’ Mr Ambrose asked.
‘All this, Sir? I’m afraid I do not…’
‘Don’t play games with me, Simmons! With me, the stakes are far too high.’
Simmons swallowed.
‘I know,’ his former employer continued in a cold voice, ‘that you must have been in the pay of one of my enemies for some time. They could not simply convince you to break into my private safe overnight. You are far too insecure and timid for that. So I repeat: when did this all start?’
‘S-six or seven weeks ago, Sir.’
‘I see.’ Mr Ambrose didn’t seem to be fazed by the information. But then, when did he ever seem fazed by anything? ‘How did it happen?’
‘Th-they came to my house one evening. They told me that they had a proposition for me, that they would pay much better than that miser Ambro-’
Simmons almost bit his tongue off, realizing a bit too late that it might not be very wise to relate the men’s exact words. I had to stuff my fist into my mouth to keep from sniggering. Karim noticed and threw me a look that could have burned holes in solid metal.
‘Is that what they said?’ Mr Ambrose mused, his facial expression not changing a bit. ‘Well, and did they pay much better than that miser Ambrose?’
‘Um… well…’
‘Let’s assume from the suitcase of banknotes we found in your room that they did indeed. What did you do for them?’
‘I… I gave them information on your daily routine, your correspondence, on what files and papers passed through my hands, Sir. At least at first.’
‘And later?’
‘Later they wanted more, Sir. They wanted me to start taking things. When I refused, they started threatening they would reveal to you what I had so far done for them.’
Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘Of course. You are stupid, Simmons, do you know that?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Simmons lowered his eyes, but Mr Ambrose stepped closer and with his penetrating dark gaze forced the man to look up again.
‘These things you took - what were they?’
