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‘His things are gone,’ said a third voice. ‘I asked Mr Garfield down at the lockers, and he said that Simmons took them with him on the same day he disappeared.’
‘That settles it,’ declared Mr Ambrose. ‘He’s the thief. He has been planning this.’
‘It appears so, Sir,’ agreed the man called Warren. ‘May I ask what was stolen?’
‘No.’
What was this? No? Just like that? No? Mr Ambrose didn’t even trust his own people? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised that I was stuck in here sorting files then, instead of being out there where the real work was being done.
‘You are looking for a folder with the inscription “S39XX300”,’ Mr Ambrose told them, icily. ‘That is all you need to know.’
‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’
‘First you will search this office. I have some urgent business and will leave you to it. If you have any questions, ask Karim.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
His footsteps receded, and the noises from the other room indicated that Mr Warren and his cronies had begun their search. I returned my attention to my work.
Quite a good idea, it appeared: I had been so distracted that I hadn’t noticed I had tried to stuff a bunch of files into the open mouth of some wooden African totem. Hurriedly I removed them and started looking for their proper container.
For the next few minutes I busied with the files. Then I suddenly heard footsteps approaching the door of the safe. Yet before I could panic and begin to wonder what they wanted with me, I heard Karim’s voice.
‘Not in there, Warren.’
‘But Mr Ambrose said to search everywhere.’
‘Everywhere in this office. Not in the safe. There is…’ Karim’s voice dropped to a whisper as he explained something to Warren. I didn’t exactly hear everything, but I thought I caught the word ‘Ifrit’.
‘Really?’ Warren whispered. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I saw it with my own eyes,’ Karim assured him.
‘Right in there? In the safe room?’
‘Indeed. So you see you had better not…’
‘Of course! I’ll steer clear of it, don't you worry.’
For the following few minutes my fantasies changed from strangling Mr Ambrose to braining Karim with a wooden African totem. In the end I suppose the difference didn’t much matter. Men! They were all the same.
During the following hours I worked ceaselessly, clearing up the mess my dear master had left behind. He wouldn’t have an excuse to accuse me of slacking, oh no! The task actually wasn’t as hard as I had feared. All the folders strewn over the floor were numbered. Since I had already fully grasped the sorting system, and the one here in the safe was simply an extension of that in my office, I got on quickly, and orderly rows of boxes grew on the shelves.
Finally, the door to my office opened and I heard his unmistakable voice.
‘Are you done, Warren?’
‘Nearly, Mr Ambrose.’
‘As soon as you’re done here, prepare your men for a little trip, by which I do not mean a stroll in the park. Do we understand each other?’
‘Yes, Mr Ambrose.’
‘Very well. I shall join you in a minute, as soon as I’ve seen how my little Ifrit is doing.’
‘Your what, Sir?’
‘Forget what I said, Warren.’
