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Mr Ambrose gave a snort. ‘I’m not sure that “chap” would be the right noun to describe him.’
‘Well, what would describe him, then?’
He didn’t fall for the trap.
‘Adequate try, Mr Linton.’
Not even good try?
‘Why won’t you tell me?’
I looked sideways at Karim again, but although he tried not to let it show, he was just as nonplussed as I was. He didn’t know who this mystery man was either. And if Mr Ambrose’s motivations of not telling for our own good also applied to Karim…
Eyeing the large sabre at the Mohammedan’s belt, I shuddered. Who in the world could be a threat to Karim? Who could be more dangerous than a sabre-wielding bearded giant? Maybe I really shouldn’t delve too deeply into this. Maybe it would be wise just to let it go.
But then again, when had I ever been wise? If I were, life would be so very dull.
‘We could better guard against him if we knew who he was,’ I pointed out.
I could see he’d rather have bitten his tongue off, but Karim opened his mouth.
‘She does,’ he said in a slow tone of voice as if he had to drag every word forcibly from the pit of his stomach, ‘actually have a point, Sahib.’
‘No, he doesn't.’ Mr Ambrose shook his head.
We turned a corner and suddenly stood before the door into the main hall again. There Mr Ambrose waited till we had caught up with him. He stood, silent and still as a statue, facing the door as if he could see images there that were invisible to anybody else. We stepped up beside him, but still he didn’t move. Karim, who obviously - unlike me - didn’t have the intention of arguing with his master any more, felt the need to change the subject. He cleared his throat and asked: ‘Should I buy a ticket for Mr Simmons, Sahib?’
Mr Ambrose twitched, seeming to awake from a trance.
‘What did you say?’
‘The ticket for Mr Simmons. The train ticket out of London. Should I buy it and give it to him when he leaves the building?’
There was one more moment of silence. Then Mr Ambrose shook his head. ‘He will be dead within a day of leaving this building,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Corpses need no tickets.’
I paled and stared at him, wide-eyed.
‘D-dead?’ I stuttered. ‘But you said…’
‘Oh, I won’t kill him.’ He turned to look at me. There was a slightly different set to his mouth. If I didn’t know that he didn’t have such a thing as facial expressions, I would almost have said he looked… grim. ‘I won’t need to. He told me the name of his employer.’
‘And?’
‘And I know the man. Once he leaves this building, Simmons has only hours to live.’ He turned again and opened the door. ‘So you see, there’s no reason to waste perfectly good money.’
Dysfunctional Dismissal
Hours to live. He has only hours to live.
The sentence, so calmly spoken, was still echoing through my mind while I followed Mr Ambrose up the stairs and through the hallway. I barely noticed Mr Stone’s greeting in time to return it.
Hours to live. Only hours.
Should somebody warn Simmons? Shouldn’t Mr Ambrose? But I saw that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to kill Simmons for what the man had done, but neither was he going to lift a finger to preserve his life. I knew that from looking at his face alone.
‘Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s calm and cool voice startled me from my thoughts. ‘Step into my office for a minute. There is a business matter I wish to discuss with you.’
A business matter? Now? What about the fellow you’re setting up to have his throat slit?
