Background to Danger by Eric Ambler Read Free Book Online

which Austrians are so strangely proud. Then, as, after crossing a narrow steel bridge over the river, he made his way towards the landing-stages—the “port” of Linz—the streets became narrow and squalid. A solitary policeman of whom he inquired the way looked suspicious and directed him down a series of dark and deserted alleyways. He came at last to a short street of old houses. About half-way down it, a dimly lit box sign announced that rooms with two beds were to be had at the Hotel Josef for five
schillings
. He was twenty minutes late; but he had arrived.
    The entrance to the Hotel Josef was not imposing. Two worn stone steps led up to a narrow door. The top half of this was of frosted glass from which the words “Hotel Josef,” in black paint, had begun to peel. A glimmer of light showed through the glass. Kenton pushed the door open and walked in.
    He found himself in a narrow passage. On the left was a small counter set in a shallow alcove and labelled
“AUSKUNFT.”
On the right a letter and key rack hung on the wall. The fact that most of the keys were in their places seemed to indicate that the Hotel Josef was not doing a roaring trade.
    There was no one behind the counter and he stood for a moment or two looking for some means of attracting attention. Then he heard the sound of somebody snoring close at hand. It seemed to be coming from along the passage and he moved forward, a little uncertainly, to investigate.
    Two or three steps brought him to a room leading into the passage. The door was half open and he looked in. A candle, burnt down and guttering in a pool of wax, cast a flickering light on a man wearing an apron and carpet slippers, stretched full length on a red plush sofa. This, Kenton assumed, was the night porter.
    The man grunted and stirred in his sleep as Kenton rapped on the door. The second knock woke him and, rubbing his eyes, he raised himself to a sitting posture on the sofa.
    “Herrn Sachs?”
asked Kenton.
    The man rose unsteadily to his feet and moved towards Kenton. Reaching the door, he leaned heavily against the wall and, throwing back his head, regarded the journalist through half-closed eyes. He smelt strongly of stale wine and Kenton saw that he was drunk.
    “Was ist’s?”
he demanded thickly.
    “Herrn Sachs, bitte.”
    The man digested this information for a moment, then looked up again inquiringly.
    “Herr Sachs?”
    “Jawohl,”
said Kenton impatiently.
    The night porter breathed heavily for a moment or two, moistened his lips and looked at Kenton a little more intelligently.
    “Wen darf ich melden?”
    “Herr Kenton.”
    “Herr Kenton! Ach ja! man erwartet Sie. Wollen Sie bitte hinaufgehen?”
    The porter prepared to return to his sofa. Kenton, it seemed, was expected to guess the room number.
    “Auf Zimmer nummer …?”
he said encouragingly.
    The man sat on the edge of the sofa and blinked at Kenton irritably.
    “Zimmer fünfundzwanzig, dritter Stock,”
he said and, with a heavy sigh, lay back on the sofa. As Kenton started to climb the stairs to the third floor, he heard the snoring begin again.
    Once out of range of the passage light, the stairs were in pitch darkness and, having failed to find any switches, Kenton had to keep striking matches to light his way.
    The house had obviously never been intended to serve as an hotel. The proprietor’s efforts to create the greatest possible number of rooms, by means of extensive partitioning, had turned the place into a maze of small corridors in which doors were set at unexpected angles and culs-de-sac abounded. When he reached the third floor it took him several minutes and many matches to find Room No. 25.
    He knocked and the door swung ajar with a slight creak.
    Except for a shaft of light from a source he could not see, the place was in darkness. It appeared to be a small sitting-room. He listened, but could hear no sound of movements. He called Sachs’s name softly; but there was no response, and he