The Light of Day Read Online Free PDF Page B

about blackmail? I said insurance. This is a seven-thousand-dollar Lincoln, Arthur. Do you know what it's worth now in Turkey?'
    'Fourteen thousand.'
    'Well, then, isn't it obvious? Supposing you drove it into the first garage you came to and sold it.'
    'It wouldn't be so easy.'
    'Arthur, you took a hell of a risk tonight for just three hundred dollars. For fourteen thousand you'd do pretty well anything, now, wouldn't you? Be your age! As it is, I don't have to worry, and my friend doesn't have to worry. As soon as I know the car's delivered, that little confession'll be torn up and the cheques'll go back in my pocket.'
    I was silent. I didn't believe a word he was saying and he knew it. He didn't care. He was watching me, enjoying himself. 'All right,' I said finally, "but there are just one or two questions I'd like to ask.'
    He nodded. 'Sure there are. Only that's the one condition there is on the job, Arthur—no questions.'
    I would have been surprised if he said anything else. 'Very well. When do I start?'
    ‘Tomorrow. How long does it take you to drive to Salonika?'
    'About six or seven hours.'
    ‘Let's see. Tomorrow's Tuesday. If you start about noon you can spend the night there. Then Wednesday night in Edirne. You should make Istanbul Thursday afternoon. That'll be okay.' He thought for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what you do. In the morning, you pack an overnight bag and come here by cab or streetcar. Be downstairs at ten.'
    'Where do I pick up the car?'
    'I'll show you in the morning.'
    ‘Whatever you say.'
    He unbolted the door. 'Good deal. Now take your junk and beat it. I have to get some sleep.'
    I put my belongings back in my pockets and went to the door.
    'Hey!’
    As I turned, something'hit me in the chest and then fell at my feet.
    'You've forgotten your pass-key,' he said.
    I picked it up and left. I didn't say good-night or any» thing. He didn't notice. He was finishing his drink.
    The worst thing at school was being caned. There was a ritual about it. The master who had lost his temper with you would stop ranting, or, if it was one of the quiet ones, stop clenching his teeth, and say: Take a note to the Headmaster.' That meant you were for it. The note was always the same. Request permission to punish, followed by his initials; but he would always fold it twice before he gave it to you. You were not supposed to read it. I don't know why, perhaps because they didn't like having to ask for permission.
    Well, then you had to go and find The Bristle. Sometimes, of course, he would be in bis study; but more often he would be taking the sixth form in trigonometry or Latin. That meant you had to go in and stand there until he decided to notice you. You would have to wait five or ten minutes sometimes; it depended on the mood he was in. He was a tall, thick man with a lot of black hair on the backs of his hands, and a purple face. He spoke very fast while he was teaching, and after a while little flecks of white stuff would gather at the corners of his mouth. When he was in a good mood, he would break off almost as soon as you came in and start making jokes. 'Ah, the good Simpson, or perhaps we should say the insufficiently good Simpson, what can we do for you?' Whatever he said, the sixth form always rocked with laughter, because the more they laughed the longer he would go on wasting time. 'And how have you transgressed, Simpson, how have you transgressed? Please tell us.' You always had to say what you'd done or not done—bad homework, lying, nicking ink pellets—and you had to be truthful, in case he asked the master later. When he had made some more jokes, he initiated the note and you went. Before that 'Enchantment’ business I think he rather-liked me, because I pretended not to be able to help laughing at his jokes even though I was going to be caned. When he was in a bad mood he used to call you 'sir', which I always thought a bit stupid. "Well, sir, what is this for? Cribbing under the desk? A