Nightwork

'What you're telling me,' I said harshly, 'is that you ran my stake up thirty-six thousand dollars. Goody for you, Fabian; you're in the chips and you can give me back the seventy and we'll shake hands and have a drink on it and we're both on our way.'

He shook his head sadly. 'It isn't quite as simple as that, I'm afraid.'

'Don't abuse my patience, man. You either have the money or you don't. And you'd better have it.'

He stood up. 'I believe we both could use another drink,' he said. I glowered at him as he went over to the sideboard. Having refrained from killing him when I had the chance, any lesser threats had depreciated greatly in value. It also occurred to me as I watched his well-tailored back (not my clothes, but from any one of two or three other bags he probably traveled with at all times) that it might all be a lie, a cock-and-bull story to keep me tamped down until somebody - a maid, Lily Abbott, a friend, came into the room. There would be nothing to stop him then from accusing me of annoying him, dunning him for a loan, trying to sell him dirty postcards, anything, and having me thrown out of the hotel. As he gave me my drink, I said, 'If you're lying to me, Fabian, the next time I see you I'm going to be carrying a gun.' I had no idea, of course, of how you went about getting a gun in France. And the only guns I had ever fired were .22 rifles at shooting galleries at town fairs.

'I wish you would believe me,' Fabian said as he sat down again with his drink, after pouring soda into it with a steady hand. 'I have plans for us two that will require mutual trust.'

'Plans?' I felt childishly manipulated, cunningly outmaneuvered by this man who had lived by his wits for nearly thirty years and whose hand could be so steady just a few minutes after he had escaped violent death. 'Okay, go on,' I said. 'You're thirty-six thousand dollars richer than you were three weeks ago and you say it isn't simple to give me back the money you owe me. Why not?'

'For one thing, I have made certain investments.' Like what?'

'Before I go into detail,' Fabian said, 'let me outline in general what sort of a plan I'd like to suggest.' He took a long sip of his drink, then cleared his throat. 'I suppose you have some right to be angry at what I've done...'

I made a small, choking noise, which he ignored. 'But in the long run,' he said, 'I have every reason to believe you'll be deeply grateful.' I started to interrupt, but he waved me to silence. 'I know that seventy thousand dollars in one lump seems like quite a bit of money. Especially to a young man like you, who, I can guess, was never particularly prosperous.'

'What are you driving at, Fabian?' I could not get over the feeling that moment by moment a web was being spun around me and that, in a very short time, I would be unable to move, or even utter a sound.

The voice went on, gentle, almost-British, confident, persuasive. 'How long would it last you? A year, two years. Three years, at the most. As soon as you surfaced, you would be the prey of conniving men and rapacious women. I take it that you have very little experience, if any, in handling large sums of money. Just the primitive - and if I may permit myself a small criticism - the fairly careless way in which you attempted to transfer your hoard from the States to Europe is plain evidence of that....'

I certainly was in no position to contradict him about my ineptitude, so I remained silent.

'I, on the other hand,' he went on, thoughtfully twirling the ice in his glass and looking me frankly and directly in the eye, 'have been handling considerable sums for nearly thirty years. Where you, in three years, say, would be stranded, penniless, in some backwater of Europe - I take it that you don't think it would be healthy to return to America...?' He looked at me quizzically. 'Go on,' I said.

'I, with any luck, given this start, would not be surprised if I wound up with well over a million...'

'Dollars?'

Pounds,' he said.

'I must admit,' I said, 'I admire your nerve. Still, what would that have to do with me?'

'We would be partners,' he said calmly. 'I would handle the ... uh ... investments and we would share the profits fifty-fifty. Starting, I would like to say with the check of Mr Sloane and the contribution of the handsome young Greek. Could anything be fairer than that?'

I made myself think hard. The low, polite voice was hypnotizing me. 'So - in exchange for my seventy thousand dollars, I'd get half of thirty-six?'

'Minus certain expenses,' he said.

'Like what?'

'Hotels, travel, entertainment. That sort of thing.'

I looked around at the room full of flowers. Ts there anything left?'

'Quite a bit.' He put his hand up again. 'Please hear me out. To be more than fair - after one year, you would be permitted to withdraw your original seventy thousand dollars, if you so desired.'

'What if during the year you lost the whole thing.'