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‘Yes, mate!’
‘And don't call me mate. Only drunken sailors do that.’
‘Yes, Si- ma- um… thingy.’
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes?’
‘Be silent! I am trying to listen.’
I decided against giving an answer. I had run out of forms of address in any case, and I was just as interested as he to hear what was going on up ahead. Straining my ears, I tried to catch the voices he had mentioned. There was something… Not voices, only indistinct noises. A clang of metal here, a dull thump there, that was it.
Then it came: a low shout, just before the next thump. Again a shout, a bit like a command, but not really, and then another thump.
‘What do you suppose it means?’ I whispered.
His hand jerked up.
Blast! I had forgotten: no whispering. Quickly, I continued in a more normal tone of voice: ‘That doesn't sound like an office, does it?’
He shook his head.
‘Well? What is it?’
‘I am reluctant to venture a guess with only audible data at my disposal, Mr Linton. But it sounds very much like a dock. Like a ship being loaded.’
‘But… we’re still a long way away from the docks, aren’t we?’
‘Yes.’
Without any further explanation, he started forward again.
Yes? That’s all you’re going to say?
Cursing inwardly, I hurried after him. He still marched along the corridor as if the whole place belonged to him, as if he had a right to be here that nobody could dispute. I did my best to imitate him, but probably didn’t quite succeed. Slowly, the noises up ahead grew louder, the voices clearer. It was clear now that things were being loaded. I could hear the recurring thumps of the load as it was let down from high above, and the squeak of what I supposed were pulleys and cranes.
The shouted commands made it certain:
‘Two yards to the left!’
‘Down! Now!’
‘A bit to the right!’
‘You’ve got it! Gently now, gently. This stuff is valuable!’
I could see light up ahead. Suddenly, the corridor opened in front of us into a wide hall. I wanted to duck back, but Mr Ambrose hissed at me out of the corner of his mouth: ‘Don’t you dare! They have already seen us!’
And he was right. The eyes of several soldiers who were standing on a gallery that lead all around the room were on us. They were out of hearing range, but they could see our every move.
‘Oh my God!’ I breathed. ‘What now?’
‘Do as I do,’ he hissed. ‘Exactly as I do, on the other side. Now!’
And he took a few steps to the right, until he stood at the left end of the corridor, and assumed an erect position, his arms clasped behind his back, his legs clamped together. Having no idea why, I did the same, and felt pretty silly about it.
After a few moments, the soldiers on the gallery seemed to lose interest in us. Their eyes wandered on to more important things, like the crates full of dried cod that were piled on top of one another in a corner of the hall.
