Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,322

business, eh? And no worry about English money, either. Now, Monsieur…’ He pointed to the counter. ‘What would you like?’

*~*~**~*~*

Five minutes later, I sat at one of the little tables, chewing contentedly and sipping a cup of tea. The birds were singing, children were playing - at a safe distance -, the sky was blue, and for the first time in days I felt really content and relaxed. I was about half-finished with my meal, when the calm was disturbed by a cool voice at my ear.

‘I thought,’ he said, every syllable studded with shards of ice, ‘I told you to gather significant information.’

‘I have,’ I said, pointing to the crescent-shaped object in my hand, half of which I had already devoured. ‘For example, I found out that the French are fantastic bakers. They have invented this thing called a “chocolate croissant”, which is a kind of crescent shaped bun with chocolate mousse inside, and it tastes simply divine. Do you want to try?’

‘It appears,’ he said, his tone climbing a few more steps down on the thermometer, ‘that you and I have very different ideas of what constitutes significant information, Mr Linton.’

‘Probably, Sir.’

‘Unfortunately, I myself have not been able to ascertain anything useful about the island. People seemed not very inclined to engage in a conversation with me.’

‘In spite of your manner being so warm and friendly? Fancy that.’

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Be silent!’

‘As you wish, Sir.’ I took another bite of my croissant. ‘Hm… Something useful like… maybe the fact that there is a ferry service down at the harbour on the other side of the island? Would you consider that useful?’

His eyes darkened. ‘How do you know that?’

I took another bite of my croissant and licked a bit of chocolate mousse off my thumb. Then, I jerked it over my shoulder at the smiling man with the pointy moustache, who was just now selling a piece of cake to a young lady in blue.

‘My friend over there mentioned it. It’s amazing what people tell you once you’ve bought a cup of tea and a chocolate croissant - for which you will have to pay, by the way. Did you know, for instance, that there is an abandoned salt mine up in the mountains? None of the locals or tourists dare to go there, because it’s supposed to be haunted. They know it’s haunted, because now and again, they see strange lights up there at night, and because the few people who did go up there, never came back.’

‘Indeed, Mr Linton?’

I licked another bit of chocolate mousse off my finger. Somehow, I managed to suppress a grin. ‘Yes, indeed, Sir.’

Raising his hand, Mr Ambrose stroked his chiselled chin thoughtfully. His gaze wandered to the mountains rising in the centre of the island. ‘Well, in that case, I think we'll have a look at this mine. I would like to meet a few of these ghosts.’

‘Can I have another chocolate croissant, first?’

‘Mr Linton!’

‘Coming, Sir! I’m coming!’

Mine and Yours

It only took me one look over the bush to be certain we were in the right place. Quickly, I ducked down again and whispered: ‘That’s it! Lord Dalgliesh is here!’

‘How do you know?’ Mr Ambrose enquired, not looking at me, but staring through a gap in the foliage at the man standing at the entrance to the abandoned mine. ‘That’s not Dalgliesh! I don't see him anywhere.’

‘Yes, but the guard at the entrance…!’

‘He’s wearing a French uniform. He’s not one of Dalgliesh’s men.’

‘Oh yes, he is! That’s just it! I recognized him the moment I saw him. He was one of the men on the ship, one of those who were on deck when I climbed aboard.’

Immediately, Mr Ambrose’s eyes turned sharper, more focused. They seemed to drill into the man who was standing at the entrance to the old mine, right in front of a worm-eaten old sign that said: Danger! Ne pas entrer!

‘Hm. Well, if I can forge a uniform, then so can Dalgliesh. He might not even need to. Maybe he is actually in league with the French. They cannot like the idea of a canal at Suez under the control of an Englishman any more than he does.’

I stared at him, incredulously.

‘You… you actually think he’d consider treason?’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

There was a moment of silence while I tried to digest that piece of information.

‘All right,’ his voice finally cut through the silence, cold and controlled. ‘There are two possibilities. Either this guard is genuine, in which