The Other Side of Silence

I nodded. “It’s not because I care what happens to Hebel. I wish him as much ill as can befall any man. And there was certainly a time when I’d have cheerfully murdered him without a second thought. It’s that I care about what happens to me rather more than him. I have no wish to add an eleventh volume to that ten-volume apologia pro vita sua I was telling you about before. Besides, you have no way of knowing what elaborate precautions a man like that has already taken with his life. He almost expects to be murdered. I daresay he has already sent a local lawyer an envelope that is to be opened in the event of his sudden death while he’s down here in Cap Ferrat.”

“That’s a disturbing thought.”

“It’s certainly what I would do in his handmade English brogues.”

“Yes, Robin noticed them, too. It’s just too awful to be blackmailed by a chap who goes to the same shoemaker as oneself. At least Louis Legrand looked like what he was: a cheap little hustler. Apparently, this fellow looks like a successful businessman.”

Maugham lit a cigarette and his eyes turned melancholy.

“Pity,” he said with a touch of sardonic amusement. “That we can’t kill him, I mean. I should like to have helped commit one truly criminal act in my life. Especially now that I am so highly regarded. It would have amused me greatly if I’d been able to attend the royal wedding while planning a murder.”

“There’s nothing to stop you killing him,” I said.

“Even when I was in the service in Russia and I had to carry a revolver I was never much of a shot. And my eyesight is not up to much. So I’d be sure to miss. Unless it was a critic I was shooting at. I’m damned sure I could hit Harold Hobson, the theater critic, with no problem at all.”

“Then one of your friends. Your butler, if he’s as handy with a gun as he is with the gin. Or Robin, perhaps.”

“If one had a revolver, one might almost suggest it to him,” said Maugham. “But I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to get such a thing.”

“Guns are easily obtained,” I said. “It’s the guts to use one in cold blood that are harder to find.”

“I suppose so.” Maugham thought for a moment. “Robin could do it, I think. Kill Hebel, I mean. I’m certain he killed people during the war. Your people. He was mentioned in dispatches, you know. But on second thought he’d certainly botch something like a murder and leave a crucial piece of evidence behind: one of those monogrammed gold cuff links, perhaps. Or more likely his fucking business card. In many ways Robin is very unworldly. My fault, really. I’ve insulated him from the real world for pretty much all his life.”

“Then you’d best not ask him in case he feels obliged to say yes.”

“I think you’re probably right.”

“What happens now? Did Hebel explain if I’m supposed to make contact with him? Or if he’ll make contact with me? And what about the money? Do you have that ready for him?”

“The cash is in my safe downstairs. And he said he would leave a note for you, explaining where and when he wants the money paid. The sooner the better, one imagines.”

TEN