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‘Simmons, let me put it this way: who are you more afraid of - this man or me?’
The ex-secretary opened and closed his mouth like a stranded goldfish, but nothing came out, even when Mr Ambrose drew back his cane.
‘Interesting… apparently it’s a tie?’
Simmons nodded.
‘Well, then think of this.’ Mr Ambrose leant forward and whispered, in a tone so calmly threatening it made the hair on the back of my neck and on some other more delicate place stand up: ‘I have you in my power. He does not.’
Simmons slumped.
‘All right,’ he moaned. ‘All right, I’ll tell you. But only under one condition.’
‘Which is?’
‘You let me go and give me a train ticket out of town. If I tell you that name, I’ll need to get out of town, and my legs won’t be fast enough.’
Mr Ambrose didn’t hesitate.
‘Granted.’ He nodded curtly. ‘The name?’
‘I… don't think I was supposed to hear it,’ Simmons said in a low voice, looking around as if he expected somebody to appear out of the air and strike him down. ‘They were talking one day when I arrived early, and I heard it.’
‘The name, Simmons!’
‘The train ticket! You have to swear that I’ll get the train ticket!’
‘I swear! The name, Simmons! Now!’
Simmons looked around and wet his lips again. ‘It’s… It is…’
Suddenly, he stopped and shook his head, gazing at Karim and me out of heavily lidded, tired and very frightened eyes.
‘No! I don't want anybody else to hear it.’
What?
Was he joking? I was on the tips of my toes here!
‘I don't want him to find out,’ Simmons murmured. ‘If he does…’
Quickly he leant forward and whispered something in Mr Ambrose’s ear.
Blast the man!
I had been waiting breathlessly all this time for the solution of the mystery, and now I wasn’t going to hear it? I wanted to clobber Simmons over the head with something heavy, especially when I saw Mr Ambrose’s eyes lighting up in recognition.
‘Him!’ His hands were balled into fists again. ‘After all this time, him!’
For a moment his eyes flickered to me - then they were back on Simmons.
‘Well,’ he said, almost as if speaking to himself, ‘at least now we know that the file is still in England. He wouldn’t dream of having to run and hide. He probably thinks himself untouchable.’ In a softer voice he added: ‘And who knows… He might be right.’
Abruptly, he fixed his icy glare on Simmons. ‘You will not speak of this to anybody else, understand?’ The threat was there, hard and cold in his voice.
Simmons’ lips twitched. There was no humour about it. ‘Certainly not, Sir. I value my throat just as it is, without any decorative cuts or slashes in it.’
‘Very well.’
