Night Journey

by Winston Graham

  A footstep behind me.

  The secretary drew himself up. “Dr von Riehl. Dr Pietro of the University of Turin.”

  I moved a little away but not so far as to be unable to hear their conversation.

  “A tragic evening, Dr von Riehl. Much, much our worst raid so far.”

  “It was nothing to what we have given them. And shall give them in the future. But you have the loss of Herr Professor Brayda unfortunately suffered.”

  “This is a very grievous blow to science. His was an original mind, a lonely mind, seldom sharing his ideas. A practical eccentric, one might say. It was fortunate you were staying near. I was delayed; the police advised me it was not safe to leave the hotel.”

  “Quite so,” rather contemptuously. “ I understand. But to myself I do not think any good fortune for being at the scene of the bombing.”

  “I mean, in the matter of Professor Brayda’s researches into the new gases.”

  “I am not following.”

  “Well, as I have said, his was always a lonely mind. If his chief assistant was killed and his laboratory wrecked, there might have been some risk at least of his latest ideas dying with him.”

  Von Riehl took off his half moon glasses and breathed on them and polished them with a cream silk handkerchief.

  “Yes, naturally. That too was in Professor Brayda’s mind.” To the secretary: “ He spoke to me at some length.”

  “Yes, sir, I heard him. You have the notes, sir.”

  “I took notes,” said von Riehl. “For It seemed necessary a dying man’s every word to take down. It seems from what he said that this idea of his is of an irritant gas of some potential.” He put his spectacles on again, hooking them carefully behind each ear. “So far so good. But in detail he spoke nothing I could understand. His brain, you see, was then wandering. A dying man’s delirium.”

  “But, sir,” the secretary said, “at first he seemed—completely himself. He spoke, I thought, very clearly, very deliberately, sir. I am not, of course, a scientist, but I have worked for Professor Brayda for three years, and—and …”

  Dr von Riehl looked over the top of his glasses at the wounded man. “You will see the notes? Ton would wish to see the notes I took?” He brought some sheets of paper from his pocket and thrust them at the secretary, who flushed and hesitantly accepted them and then without looking at them passed them to Dr Pietro.

  The Italian held them near the light and frowned.

  “These are—I can make very little of this.” He turned the first sheet over. “Now this is to do with hydro-electric power … and has some reference to deliveries of wolfram …”

  Outside a hooter sounded; presumably the all-clear.

  Dr Pietro shook his head. “ Incomprehensible. These might be supply problems. But even then much of it—you use a shorthand system, Dr von Riehl?”

  “No. But it was jotted down, you understand, in haste. Often his words no sense made. Like a child, delirious.”

  The Italian shrugged. “This is too bad. Well … first I must pay my sad respects to his widow. Then the laboratory. What can be salvaged——”

  “Have you seen it?” the secretary asked.

  “As bad as that? But surely he kept notes of his work? Full notes.”

  “Yes, full notes in his office, I know. But that received the direct hit.”

  “Anyway we shall try. Perhaps we shall be allowed a small light now. Then in the morning a thorough search. Where did he keep his personal papers?”

  “In the house next door, sir. His house. But they were chiefly personal. I did not deal with his scientific findings.”

  Dr von Riehl picked up his hat. “He was to me most anxious the information to impart. Unfortunate to fail.”

  “Unfortunate indeed,” said Pietro. “I met him at a small scientific party two months ago in Turin and he gave me then the impression that his work was exciting him—even alarming him.”

  “Too bad. Too bad.”

  I did not want to leave with von Riehl so I slipped out of the house ahead of him. I had been very lucky all through, and one did not want to try one’s luck too far.

  In only one thing had I been very unfortunate, and that was in out being on the scene half an hour earlier. Then I could have been sure to what extent von Riehl was lying.

  I was certain he was lying for two reasons. He had taken the notes from a different pocket from that in which I had seen him put them. And although Brayda’s mind may have been confused by the approach of death when I was present, he had spoken sensibly enough to give me the gist of what he had probably told Dr Amadeus von Riehl. And there was nothing nonsensical in that.

  Chapter Eleven

  There were a number of simple choices I could have made at this time, and of all of them I no doubt chose the unwisest. But I had left my papers and my passport at the hotel, and it seemed to me that the only course was to go back for them and then ring Andrews, so that if he gave me different instructions I could act on them without, if need be, any later return. Of course I knew that my headlong drive to the Faroni works had almost certainly rid me of any followers, and by going back I might run into them again; but in any event I was still officially Edmondo Catania attached to Captain Bonini, and perhaps should have to continue to behave like him.

  When I got back to the hotel I paid off the driver and went in. There was no one about, and my bedroom was again untouched, the bed still with the impression of my body on it. Telephone Andrews from here? That seemed unwise. Wait until morning? But Andrews and Dwight were leaving by the early train.

  I stuffed papers and passport in my pocket, walked quietly out on to the balcony. Almost below, to the left of the hotel door, a square-built hatless man in a raincoat was standing.

  It was now after four o’clock. Where was the nearest public telephone? The station was not very far away: a five or six minute walk. One could probably telephone is perfect safety from there.

  But could one walk in perfect safety? The trams, I thought, did not start till six. The chance of a taxi was small. But if this man who followed me had wanted to, he could have killed me last night.

  There was a tired dark man behind the reception desk now, but he only raised tired dark eyes as I passed. As I came out I had to turn left, away from where the man in the raincoat would still be standing; I walked off at a brisk pace in the direction of the Stazione Centrale.

  There was no one at all about; Milan was making up for its disturbed night. I did not turn, though office I heard footsteps behind. The moon was still bright and unsullied. Not a cloud. There might never have been a raid. Dawn could not be so very far away, but as yet there was no sign.

  As the great marble façade of the station loomed up, I bent to tie my shoe. There should have been some subtler way but I had not been taught it. Two men. Not one. Two men followed. This perhaps was the direct result of an unfortunate accident in a Venetian canal. I had thought all along that had been a mistake. Such confidence as had been growing in me hurriedly left by a back door.

  The enormous booking hall, usually crowded, was almost deserted. Telephones to the left. Just to cover myself I went to a booking window and asked what was the next train for Venice. Then I stopped to buy a magazine and got a first good glimpse of the two men buying grapes in cellophane paper from a girl with a wagon. The light was bright there. Both young; one tall with a square Teutonic face, fair hair, steel-blue eyes; the other hook-nosed, thin. Their looks dispersed the last hopes that they might not belong to the U.A.I. branch of the German Secret Police. Even in Germany, I think, they would have looked what they were.

  Telephone booth, Andrews’s number in Venice. A matter of two or three minutes only. Andrews’s soft-spoken accentless Italian.

  “Pronto, si?”

  “Signor Brevio?”

  “Si, si?”

  “Catania speaking. From Milan.”

  “Just a minute … Yes?”

  “An air-raid to-night.” I said. “The m
eeting arranged for to-morrow has been postponed. The principal speaker has been put out of action.”

  A longer pause. I had an offensive picture of Jane waking in the dark beside him, Andrews with a palm over the mouth-piece saying, keep quiet, it’s Mencken.

  “Out of action?” Andrews’s voice. “Temporarily or permanently?”

  “Permanently.” I had been thinking how to tell what had happened without its being understandable to a listener. “ Reich Doctor was there and took down what notes he could, but I arrived too late. This may make a big difference as it may be that all other notes have been destroyed. Shall I be seeing you as arranged?”

  “Certainly. Follow your instructions.”

  “I do not think my instructions cover the present situation. Do you remember that—er—that dealer who went into liquidation only last Monday?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, two representatives of the same firm are again in touch with me.”

  “Oh … You’re sure it is the same firm?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Oh … Have they attempted to interfere with your normal trading?”

  “Not yet. But one has just entered the next telephone box to me now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Milan station.”

  “Has your employer arrived yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Listen, Catania. We are coming to join you to-day. Until then you must try to do the best you can. If your employer arrives, keep in close contact with him. This will be a protection for yourself. If he does not come, then the initiative as to how you spend the day is very much your own. You won’t need me to urge you to avoid any dealings with the representatives of the rival firm.”

  “I have no wish to go into liquidation,” I said drily.

  “Nor do we wish you to. But spend the day as I say. This afternoon—early this evening—go to see our friends, whose address we gave you. We have arranged for you to call, but at a special time only. Not before six o’clock and not after six thirty. Capito?”

  Capito.”

  “Between those times arrangements have been made to meet all eventualities. If by then you have been able to disengage yourself from these rival representatives, it will be a very desirable thing. But in any case go.”

  “I’ll go.”

  In the next box the hook-nosed German was thumbing through the phone book. I could not see the other man. After I had hang up I telephoned two other numbers at random, from which, not unnaturally at that time of the morning, there was no reply.

  I left. In the square outside workmen were waiting for a tram to take them into the centre of the city. The sky was bright behind the station, green and gold and blush pink.

  The tram came and there was a rush for it. Somehow I got on board, pressed like a sardine. The hook-nosed man was left behind. I got off at the Piazza Cavour. Unfortunately there had been a taxi.

  Early breakfast at a small popular café where there were already soma customers. Safety in numbers again; and after the nightly raid people wanted extra nourishment before the day began. They needed to talk, to sip a drink and relax. My friend took a table by the door and ordered something in a glass.

  The waiter, thin and middle-aged, had a worried, depressed look. He had a brother, he said, making aircraft engines at the Faroni works. One had tried to get through before coming on duty but they said the line was engaged. Why not say “ down” and have done with it? The main railway line, one heard, had been hit, five kilometres north of the city. One did not at all know where it was going to end. This bombing of cities was so barbarous; it was like sacking a town in the old days; it was a return to Alaric. Things were at a pretty pass.

  “Do not worry,” I said. “ The Germans have done far worse to the British. We must trust in our friends.”

  He nodded unconvincingly. “ Yes, yes, of course. But it is all rather confusing, this war. Not like the last; that was dear-cut eh? Enemies, friends? Does one reverse them at will like a tablecloth? And all in a lifetime, signore. I do not know.”

  Afterwards I walked to the Duomo and went inside. Mass was being celebrated in one of the aisles, and on impulse I joined the group praying and took the sacraments. It was the first time for nearly a year, but to-day it seemed proper, as a man might before battle. In times of danger the old rituals count.

  Later I sat in the square in brilliant sunshine and read the Corriera della Sera. Censored and regimented by Fascism, the great Liberal newspaper still clung to the dignity of its original outlay as if the façade would deceive people into thinking it could still call its soul its own. To-day there was an angry editorial against the “un-neutral” attitude of Greece.

  I put a hand up to scratch my chin, and this led me to a barber’s shop where I had a shave, a haircut, shampoo, a manicure. This exhausted my inventiveness, but before it was done a tall blond young man with a square head and blue-grey eyes took a chair beside me. His Italian accent was good but not good enough. He came from Berlin, or even farther east We ignored each other.

  There was a telephone in the shop and I rang the Hotel Colleoni. Yes, there had been a message for me from a Captain Bonini of Venice, cancelling his booking of the two rooms. Would I kindly collect my case when convenient?

  Did that mean the conference was altogether cancelled? It might be specially helpful to Andrews if I could find out. Why not go to the Faroni works now?

  Observing that the German was still having his hair cut I left the shop rapidly and was lucky enough to see a taxi. I got in and in a moment we were skimming through the streets. A glance through the back window showed no one following. I might just be free, but to be sure I leaned forward and gave the driver instructions to take a roundabout way, choosing his own way through the back streets of the industrial district.

  He gave a sidelong stare but did as he was told. When we turned in at the gates of the factory I thought the double manoeuvre had been successful. There was certainly no car in sight.

  The gates were not guarded and we drove on until where the floes of broken glass began.

  “Wait here,” I said, and crunched across to the houses. Some of the sheds were still smouldering and very little had been done to clean ap the debris of the night.

  I knocked on the door of the house with drawn blinds, waited, knocked again and then saw the secretary with the bandaged head coming across the garden towards me.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You will remember me. Catania of the Admiralty Staff. I have been instructed to call and make one or two inquiries.”

  He fidgeted with the bandage. “ Oh, very well. Come in.”

  He opened the door and led the way into a room on the right. The sun filtered in through the fine cracks in the venetian blind.

  “Ferocchi is my name. I can only give you a few minutes.”

  “Chiefly I want to know if the conference has been cancelled or postponed.”

  “You should know that. The Admiralty was informed this morning that it was postponed for one week.”

  I frowned. “I am sorry. I have been out of touch since early this morning. Am I to understand, then, that the results of Professor Brayda’s researches are not lost after all?”

  Ferocchi hesitated. “So far nothing useful has been found. The laboratory is burned out. But the conference will be held to review other matters. It was not convened solely for one purpose.”

  “Of course. Of course. Can you tell me whether Dr von Riehl will attend the conference next week?”

  “No. Dr von Riehl is returning to Germany to-morrow.”

  “Thank you. I’ll not trouble you further. You must be very tired.”

  “War is a tiring business,” said Ferocchi.

  I moved to go. “ There is one thing: it is a purely personal matter but I could not help noticing and resenting Dr von Riehl’s attitude towards you. He seemed to think you doubted his word.”

  “Oh, that,” Ferocchi closed his
eyes. “One becomes used to arrogance … But last night—I have worked for Professor Brayda for three years. I am no scientist, but I am convinced he was not talking nonsense after we carried him upstairs.”

  “Then …”

  “Oh, who am I to say?” He shrugged. “This is just a personal opinion and I must ask you not to pass it on …”

  “Of course.”

  “I do not feel that the Herr Doktor will break his heart if nothing is ever found. In wartime there is patriotism to add to professional jealousy. I thini Dr von Riehl knows what Professor Brayda succeeded in doing, and I think he is taking the knowledge home with him to Germany.”

  “But Germany is our ally!”

  “And how long before she is something mart? The Herr Doktor is making sure and putting Germany first.”

  “If you have been with the professor so much,” I said, “ even though you are not a scientist, have you not gathered what he hoped to do?”

  Ferocchi looked at me suspiciously. “ He was working on a blister gas and experimenting with its effect on rats. He was startled and somewhat alarmed by the results. That is all I can tell you.

  “Thank you. I gathered that was so from what he said just before he died. I also got the impression that he was not wandering in his mind until immediately before the end.”

  “He had a very clear mind,” said Ferocchi. “ It would be the last part to succumb.”

  I walked back to the taxi and got in.

  “Piazza del Duomo,” I said. There was no sign of the men who had been following me. I was free again.

  Meeting the secretary had been a lucky chance. I had quite a lot to tell Andrews. Perhaps I could tell him and then leave the country. The thought of peaceful work in the, at present, peaceful English countryside was like a healing balm to frayed nerves.

  Yet, for a person conditioned all his life to intellectual rather than physical activity, I had not done so badly. Acting on my own initiative here, I had discovered a lot.

  I peered out of tne back window. A tram car, a donkey cart, a large black limousine. No sign of the other taxi. This part of Milan was unfamiliar. I realised that the driver thought his earlier instructions still applied and was making a devious way back.