Read Page 62

Simmons opened his mouth.

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Mr Ambrose warned. And there it was - that cool tone of superiority in his voice that solely belonged to old aristocracy. How come I had never noticed it before?Advertisement

With great effort, Simmons swallowed. His eyes darted to Mr Ambrose, and away again.

‘D-do what?’

‘You were going to call out.’

‘Mr Ambrose, I never…’

‘Do you remember what I said would happen to you if I heard one more lie from your lips?’

The thin blonde man paled and took a step backwards.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir, please…’

With a few bold steps, Mr Ambrose stood in front of the quivering Simmons. He looked cold, hard, and implacable - a lord or even a king sitting in judgement over his traitorous subject. I didn’t want to be in my predecessor’s shoes right now.

‘The file, Simmons. Where is it?’

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The intensity in his voice… again, curiosity welled up in me as to the contents of that damned file. Maybe, if I asked Mr Ambrose again…

The other said nothing, but just continued to quiver where he stood.

‘Where is the file, Simmons?’

No answer.

‘For the last time - where is the file?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice had gotten colder as he spoke and now sounded sharp and dangerous as an iceberg. ‘You will give it to me, or… or… or maybe you cannot.’ His dark eyes widened a little. ‘The money on your bed… You have already been paid for your theft! You haven’t got the file anymore. It is…’

Simmons dashed forward and tried to push past Mr Ambrose. He grabbed the ex-secretary’s arm and Simmons whirled around. His hand disappeared under his tailcoat for a moment and reappeared holding a short but wickedly sharp-looking sword.[27]

I think I gave a shout or scream or something, I didn’t really know. Everything happened in a blur of motion. The blade of Simmons' sword came up and would have stabbed Mr Ambrose in the gut, but then it smashed against something I couldn’t see, and a metallic sound rang out over the rooftops.

Mr Ambrose sprang back, holding his cane defensively in front of him. His wooden cane? But then what had made that metallic sound?

Gripping its lower part with the left hand, Mr Ambrose pulled at the hilt of his cane with the right, and a slim blade shot out of the hollow wood. He raised it in a defensive position and waited.

Simmons came at him, giving a loud screech that sounded hardly human. Their blades met with a clang. Mr Ambrose held him in that position, blade to blade

‘You’re finished, Simmons,’ he said, voice still perfectly cool.

‘Really?’ Simmons grunted. ‘What makes you think you’ll beat me?’

‘He does.’ Mr Ambrose nodded to something behind Simmons.

Before the ex-secretary could turn around, Karim stepped up behind him and let the pommel of his sabre come down on his head with a resounding thud. Simmons crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

‘Simmons, Simmons.’ Mr Ambrose shook his head and looked down at the groaning man. ‘You really are a simpleton.’ Bending down, he pried the sword from Simmons' hand. ‘That petty stash of money we found in your room - you should have asked three times as much. Considering the trouble you’re in now, it would only have been appropriate.’

Grabbing Simmons by the neck he hauled him to his feet and more or less hurled the man at Karim, who caught him and delivered another blow to his head that knocked him clean unconscious.

‘Let’s go,’ Mr Ambrose said. ‘We’re finished here.’

The unconscious ex-secretary slung over one shoulder, Karim strode to the staircase entrance that Simmons had been heading for. Apparently, he and the other men had come up this way and had made preparations for coming down again, for when we had climbed down the stairs and left the building, a coach was waiting for us. Not a cab this time, but a real, large coach, with one of those discreetly-dressed men, of which Warren seemed to have an infinite supply, sitting on the box.

The coach was parked directly in front of the entrance, so nobody could see us as we climbed inside. I glanced at Mr Ambrose. Or was he more than just a mister? Images whirled through my head… A noble crest… A suitcase full of money… Flashing swords…

You should have asked three times as much.

Heavens above. What could be worth that much money? What would be worth the risk of betraying this man?

‘What an extravagant vehicle,’ I remarked, trying to dispel my dark thoughts. ‘I’m quite surprised that you would use something as expensive as this.’

‘I did a cost-benefit analysis,’ he replied, drily, pointing to Simmons limp body. ‘And I decided the benefit of not getting thrown into prison for abduction was worth the cost of a coach.’

‘Very wise, Sir.’

‘Agreed, Mr Linton. Pull down the blinds.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘You could at least say please.’

‘I could, if I wanted to. Now pull down the blinds.’

The coach had dark blinds on all windows. Once they were pulled down, the interior was quite sinister. It brought back what I had seen on the roof - or at least what I had thought I had seen. Had Mr Ambrose really pulled a sword on Simmons? What kind of man was he to carry a concealed weapon in his cane? What kind of man was he to deny a noble title?

The same questions, over and over again.

No. That wasn’t quite true. There was one new question I had, and one I didn’t feel quite so apprehensive about voicing.

‘What was all that about?’ I wanted to know. ‘That chasing him over the rooftops. Why didn’t we just grab him there in the room?’

Mr Ambrose didn’t look at me. Instead, he kept his dark eyes fixed on the unconscious Simmons. But he replied, in his usual curt tone: ‘To make things easier for us.’

‘I don't understand. How is having to chase him over the rooftops making things easier for us?’

Apparently not in the mood to give lengthy explanations, Mr Ambrose waved to his hired henchmen.

Warren cleared his throat. ‘It’s easier because if we had brought him out through the hotel’s front entrance, or tried to drag him out of the window by force, he would have screamed for help. The guests or hotel staff would have heard and called the police. This way, he attempted to flee, believing that there was still a chance to make a quiet escape. We caught him without anyone being able to interfere.’ pqdm.com