Nothing Is the Number When You Die by Fleming Joan;

Author:Fleming, Joan;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2019-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

7

... and so, Landrake my dear, I must beg you to have the airport watched for the return of this Sheytan Arnika. I will repay you for the money it will cost you. If he returns it will be for the purpose of killing Tamara to keep her silent. The Turkish pashas, wishing to rid themselves of inconvenient persons, would send them to friends with a note saying: on receipt of this please throw bearer in boiling oil. I modify this however: the Bosphorus will do.

I hope you will understand the telegram I have sent off at once because, as soon as the Sheytan finds that the address I have given him for Jason is a fiction, he may fly to Istanbul at once and I trust you will already, as I write this, have someone on the watch.

As sure as the storks fly back to Eyup so will Arnika return to my city to destroy my beloved. Ah, my friend, this is no life for a middle-aged philosopher, I feel bewildered and inept but circumstances can make the man and I am learning rapidly, almost as quickly as my English improves!

Nuri

Tamara, my beloved,

Mashallah! how I need to see you again, to touch you, to be with you; it is six days since I saw you and already I wonder if you are but a moon-woman, made of moonlight, insubstantial as a dream; you are my heart-beats, my breath and my life itself, yet my arms are empty; food for the soul alone is, I have suddenly discovered, not enough. Murram fi, the Arabic for I am in love; ridiculous symbols for the glory in which I have walked for the past week.

Your Nuri

For a short time I had two guns; I hope you will keep yours always beside you ready for use.

Next morning, determined to find Probation Officer Smith, he waited for an hour and a half outside the Magistrate’s Court. At last he saw her, with a sulky-looking boy, walking towards him. “May I speak to you a moment?”

“Yes, Mr. Iskirlak?” She smiled pleasantly but kept an eye on the boy. “Can I help you?”

She could help him; please could she tell him the address of Ronda’s Oxmarm? She laughed: “Someone’s been pulling your leg,” she said. “If you mean Oxford landlady she doesn’t quite come into that category though in fact she does let rooms, but not to undergraduates.” Quickly she scribbled an address on an old envelope, wished him luck and hurried into the building with the sulky boy.

Nuri bey walked down a road under the railway bridge and, as he walked, went through less and less distinguished surroundings. He found the house and rang the bell. The woman who answered the door might as well have had a notice hung round her neck saying: “Slattern, international type.” She told him that Ronda had left her house some time ago. He said he knew that but could he have a few words with her. She said

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