Background to Danger by Eric Ambler Read Free Book Online Page A

repeated the name in a louder tone. Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
    The light was coming through a communicating-door from a single naked lamp in the bedroom. From where he stood, he could see that the bedclothes were turned back ready for the occupant. But of Herr Sachs there was no sign.
    He stepped back into the corridor and waited for two or three minutes. Then he lit a cigarette, but after a few puffs crushed it out. The Hotel Josef was getting on his nerves.He went back into the sitting-room and stood facing the light. He called once again without result and went to the bedroom door.
    The next instant he stood stockstill. Into the small area of floor that had come into view beyond the bed protruded a man’s foot.
    His spine crawled. With an effort he remained motionless. Then he edged forward, slightly increasing his field of vision. A second later he stepped into the bedroom.
    The man was half lying, half kneeling in a pool of blood that was still creeping slowly along the cracks in the pinewood boards. The knees were drawn up. The hands were clasped tightly on the handle of the knife that had been driven hard into the right side just below the rib case. He had been in his shirt sleeves when he had fallen. On the floor beside him his jacket lay with the lining ripped out.
    Kenton glanced quickly round the room.
    On the floor the other side of the bed were the remains of the composition suitcase, ransacked and slashed all over with a knife. Then his eyes returned to the body.
    He took one step forward. The slight movement was enough. With scarcely a sound it rolled over on to its back.
    The brown eyes were no longer luminous. This time Herr Sachs had waited and smiled too long. This time he had been too late to strike.

4

HOTEL JOSEF
    T HERE are persons who can, like undertakers, adopt a matter-of-fact attitude towards dead bodies; who can touch and move them, close the eyes. Kenton was not one of those. He had been in Spain during the worst months of the civil war and had seen many, too many, corpses. But in a battle area, among buildings wrecked by gun fire and streets strewn with the pitiful debris of war, dead men (and women) were a part of the scene—shapeless patches of dark colour against the vaster destruction about them.
    In the silence of Room 25 in the Hotel Josef, however, death was no longer incidental. Here it was grotesque. Kenton found that he wanted to be sick and forced himself to look away.He knew that, useless though it might appear, he ought to find out if Sachs were still alive, and if he were, to go for a doctor. As he stood trying to overcome his nausea, he could hear the watch ticking on his wrist. It seemed that he had been there for ages. Then, carefully avoiding the blood, he went down on his knees beside the body.
    He had read of such things, but could not remember the exact procedure. He had an idea that a “faint fluttering of the heart” was the thing to look for, but the mechanics of detecting it was another matter. It was, he knew, useless for him to attempt to feel the pulse. He had always found it extremely difficult to locate even his own. Perhaps he should undo Sachs’ grimy shirt and rest his hand over the heart. He gritted his teeth and started on the waistcoat. Then he noticed that his fingers were slipping on the buttons and realised that he had got blood on his fingers. He stood up quickly. The perspiration was running from his forehead. He stumbled over Sachs’ torn suitcase to the wash-basin, poured some water and rinsed his hands. Then he looked once again at the body. Suddenly he felt himself losing control. He must give the alarm, call the police, anything. This was no affair of his. He must get out as quickly as possible. He walked rapidly through the sitting-room into the darkness of the corridor.
    With Sachs’ remains out of sight, however, he felt his self-possession returning. Outside the door, he stopped and began to think.
    What exactly was