‘What did you do to him so that he’d spill the beans?’ I blurted out as soon as the metal door had closed behind us. ‘And who was it that ordered him to spy on you? And why should anybody want to spy on you anyway?’
Mr Ambrose had already started up the corridor again. He didn’t turn around or, God forbid, stop to let me catch up.
‘Mind your own business, Mr Linton!’
‘I work for you, so your business is my business. What’s the point of someone spying on you?’
‘It is commonly referred to as “industrial espionage”,’ he called. Blast! That way of his to talk into the opposite direction of where you were standing was really annoying. ‘It means the stealing of secrets of one businessman by another businessman.’
‘What’s that good for?’
‘It’s not only nation states that seek to discover each other’s secrets. Secrets mean faster development and more money. Always remember: Knowledge is power is time is money!’
I frowned. Something seemed to be wrong with that sentence. ‘I thought it’s “knowledge is power” and “time is money”.’
‘I combined the two to save time.’
‘Oh.’
I lapsed into silence again for a moment. But then I remembered.
‘Wait! That wasn’t my only question. I had others! You were trying to distract me.’
‘Oh yes. Karim’s innovative torture methods.’
That hadn’t been the question at the top of my list, and I was about to tell him that actually I was more interested in the name of his mysterious enemy, but then… this was something I was pretty interested to hear, too.
‘Tell her, Karim,’ Mr Ambrose commanded.
Good God! Did he just use a feminine pronoun to refer to me? Whoever is behind all this, hearing their name must really have gotten to him!
‘Tell her?’ The bearded mountain’s eyes bugged. ‘Sahib! You do not mean that!’
‘Have I ever given an order that I have not meant?’
‘No, Sahib, but…’
‘Have I ever fallen into the habit of joking or making other kinds of remarks that were not of a serious and literal nature?’
‘I must admit, Sahib, no, but in this case…’
‘Tell he- I mean, tell him!’
Karim lowered his head.
‘As you wish, Sahib.’
With a few longer strides of his massive legs he had caught up to me and was marching next to me. I looked sideways. His face was trying for impassivity, but I could see the wrath of seven hells burning under the surface.
‘After I failed in my attempt with the Chinese water torture,’ he said in a voice that was supposed to be detached, ‘it came to me in a divine stroke of inspiration that a less classical approach might be more effective. So I stripped Simmons of all his clothes, including his undergarments, and threatened that if he would not divulge his information, I would drug him, dress him in a pink French ballet dancer’s costume, and tie him to the fountain in Trafalgar Square for the crowd to discover in the morning.’
There were a few seconds of silence.
‘He didn’t seem to believe me at first. That’s when I went out and bought a costume. I brought it back and showed it to him… and that broke him.’
There were a few more seconds of silence.
‘A… ballet costume?’ I finally asked.
‘Yes. Pink, with a short silk skirt and golden lace trimmings.’
‘I see.’
Cautiously, I looked sideways again and could see Karim’s hand at his belt, gripping the hilt of his scimitar. His eyes found mine. ‘Come on,’ they seemed to say. ‘Laugh. Come on. I’m the one with the huge sabre. Laugh, and we'll see if you’re still laughing when I have separated your head from your body.’
‘Um… a very interesting method indeed,’ I managed. I was fighting an epic battle to keep a straight face. Let me tell you, Waterloo was nothing to it. I might have lost it after all, just like Napoleon, the poor chap, if a more serious thought had not invaded my mind, providing much needed reinforcements.
‘You distracted me!’ I exclaimed. ‘Again!’
‘I?’ Karim’s stare changed from threatening abrupt death to confusion. ‘I didn’t…’
‘Not you! You!’ I pointed at Mr Ambrose. He couldn’t see it though, because he was still walking briskly ahead of us, his back to me.
‘You’ve done it twice now! I want my first question answered! I want to know that name! Who was spying on you, damn you?’
He didn’t stop, didn’t answer. Just held up one admonishing finger in an abrupt movement. What the blooming hell… Oh, right. Be courteous. Be respectful.
‘Who was spying on you, Sir?’ I asked, my voice sweeter than a pot full of honey.
He didn’t even glance around.
‘Can’t tell you that.’
‘Why the dickens not? Um… Sir?’
‘It is for your own good, believe me.’
Oh, of course I believe you. Why would I ever doubt a word that comes out of your mouth?
‘Who is he? Who is this chap who’s hiring people to spy on you?’
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.’
