Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,71

everywhere on the floor. Standing before the shelves containing the boxes, Mr Ambrose was thoroughly busy dismantling and examining every part of every file box he could find, and once he was done with them, throwing them over his shoulder onto the floor. He was like a ravenous animal burrowing through the carcass of a deer. The only difference was: while a ravenous animal might have found what it needed to still its hunger in a carcass, he appeared to come up blank.

‘It must be here,’ he muttered. ‘It must be!’

‘What must be here?’ I asked. He completely ignored me. By Jove,[22] what a surprise!

Why did I even bother to ask? I knew what he was looking for, didn’t I? File S39XX300. But what was so bloody important about that file?

‘It must be here. It must be.’ He didn’t say it angrily as such - but the determination in his words was like iron. Hundreds of files, which before had been in impeccable order, now lay scattered all over the metal floor of the safe, and still he continued his wild hunt.

I stood mute at the door and watched him. Even had I known how to help, I wouldn’t have dared get in his way. It took him about half an hour to turn the orderly file boxes into a monumental mess. Finally, the very last file was in his hand. He looked at the number and let it drop to the floor with a clatter.

He stood like that for a moment, rock-still.

Then he whirled around. The look in his dark eyes made me retreat a step.

‘You!’ he hissed, coldly. He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. I knew it was an accusation. My breathing sped up.

Dear God! He suspected me of stealing the file! Me! Sweet little me!

What was he going to do? Call the police? Looking into his eyes, somehow I doubted that. I remembered Karim and the huge sabre, and my heart sped up some more.

‘Where is it?’ he asked.

‘Th-the file? I d-don't know.’

In two steps, he was in front of me. Hell’s whiskers! I hadn’t noticed how tall he was before. He was towering over me.

Why the hell was I so nervous? What could he do to me, anyway?

Well… looked pretty sharp the last time you saw it, don’t you think?

He wouldn’t harm me, would he?

‘Tell me what you have done with the file,’ he said in his usual cold, hard voice, ‘or you will learn how to swim face down in the Thames tonight.’

All right… that answered my question pretty succinctly. My whole body felt cold all of a sudden. Darn! Was he being serious?

I looked into his eyes.

Yes, he was. Absolutely serious.

‘You… you wouldn’t dare!’ I managed to whisper.

‘Really?’ Raising his hand, he counted dispassionately: ‘Firstly, nobody knows you are really here. You do not exist, Mr Victor Linton.’

His lips didn’t curve into a derisive smile, but even without that I could hear the cold venom he put into my invented name.

‘Nobody will care if you vanish, and nobody will connect your disappearance to the death of some young poor lady found drowned in the Thames,’ he continued.

He extended a second finger. ‘Secondly, I have very discreet associates. It would be a marvel if your body was even found.’

Another finger. He caught my gaze with his, and held it. ‘Thirdly, look at me. Look into my eyes and then tell me again I would not dare to get rid of you.’

Well, at least I now knew one thing. He was no industrialist who had made his fortune by producing tin cans or porcelain figurines. He was something else entirely.

‘Where,’ he asked in a voice so low I almost didn’t catch it, ‘is the file. Last chance, Mr Linton.’

‘I… I…’ Dammit, what was happening to me? I could feel my whole body beginning to shake, and my eyes felt strange. They felt as if they were… wet.

Oh no! No, no, no and no again! I was not going to cry like some little girl! Not in front of him. Not now. I was going to be brave and prove to him that I was just as good as any man and… and…

I started to cry.

I admit it, all right? I started to cry.

‘I… I don't know,’ I sniffled, lowering my head and searching desperately for a handkerchief. But these were my uncle’s trousers, and he never went out, so there were no handkerchiefs in his pockets. Hurriedly, I tried to wipe away the