NIGHT OF TEN---LA NOCHE DEL 10

THE NIGHT OF TEN--La Noche del 10

The climate was really unstable ,and the wind,which had all but stopped for a few hours, had veered suddenly to the North. I didn't know what it presaged , but I suspected it was not anything good.

Acute concern crept across my face as I watched the screen from outside the RetroVision store window. "Police are still baffled as the cause of the Newark Bay Railway Disaster remains unsolved and also about the identity of the criminal if it was a sabotage .

I was preparing myself to surrender to complete rest to avert an absolute breakdown of my health .I had to give myself a complete change of scene & air. Thus, in the early Spring I found myself in a small cottage near the Newark Bay .

Brian was a black man who worked as a guide . I had met him on the street on my first day in this Old City area . He had politely introduced himself out of the blue and spent a whole day insisting he keep me company until he finally won me over with his charm and became my friend in that alien land .

As I opened the folder of my daily morning newspaper , the top-half portion of the International Herald Tribune showed the sight of a ghastly sight of an indistinct picture of a railway smash of some kind, carriages on a bridge that ended abruptly over a stretch of water, with boats beneath , and I realized that it was a shocking train disaster - the reporter saying that a loaded luxury commuters' train at Elizabeth , New Jersey , had plunged out over an opened span of the bridge into the waters of the cold Newark Bay . There were only dozens of passengers all of whom have died and all the dead bodies have been recovered . Above all, the train was carrying something 'very important' . This made my naturally curious mind more curious towards this particular case, even though it seemed to be of very large dimension .

I was restless to inquire into the case . But I was posted at a different city away from New Jersey .

And on the whole my company boss Herr Wilhelm did well. He was cautious, and he had the benefit of the still greater caution and larger experience of Herr Gerhardt, the second partner in the firm.

Patents and the laws which regulate them are queer things to have to do with. No one who has not had personal experience of the complications that arise could believe how far these spread and how entangled they become. Great acuteness as well as caution is called for if you would guide your patent bark safely to port - and perhaps more than anything, a power of holding your tongue. I was no chatterbox, nor,when on a mission of importance, did I go about looking as if I were bursting with secrets, which is, in my opinion, almost as dangerous as revealing them. No one, to meet me on the journeys which it often fell to my lot to undertake, would have guessed that I had anything on my mind but an easy-going young fellow's natural interest in his surroundings, though many a time I have stayed awake through a whole night of railway travel if at all doubtful about my fellow-passengers,or not dared to go to sleep in a hotel without a ready-loaded revolver by my pillow. For now and then - though not through me - our secrets did ooze out. And if, as has happened, they were secrets connected with Government orders or contracts, there was, or but for the exertion of the greatest energy and tact on the part of my superiors, there would have been, to put it plainly, the devil to pay.

One morning - it was nearing the end of November - I was sent for to Herr Wilhelm's private room. There I found Herr Gerhardt before a table spread with papers covered with figures and calculations, and sheets of beautifully executed diagrams.

"Mr. Dev," said Herr Wilhelm,"you will take the super luxury express through Boston --- on the whole it is the best route, especially at this season. By travelling all night you will catch the boat there, and arrive in New Jersey so as to have a good night's rest, and be clear-headed for work the next morning."

I bowed in agreement, but ventured to make a suggestion.

"If, as I infer, the matter is one of great importance," I said,"would it not be well for me to start sooner? I can - yes," throwing a rapid survey over the work I had before me for the next two days - I can be ready tonight."

Herr Wilhelm looked at Herr Gerhardt. Herr Gerhardt shook his head.

Suddenly his mood changed ."No," he replied, "tomorrow it must be," and then he proceeded to explain to me why.

Suffice it to say, the whole concerned a patent - that of a very remarkable and wonderful invention, which it was hoped and believed the Government of both countries would take up. But to secure this being done in a thoroughly satisfactory manner it was necessary that our firm should go about it in concert with an German house of first-rate standing. To this house - the firm of Messrs Berliner Hathaway ---- I was to be sent with full explanations. And the next half-hour or more passed in my superiors going minutely into the details, so as to satisfy themselves that I understood. The mastering of the whole was not difficult, for I was well-grounded technically; and like many of the best things the idea was essentially simple, and the diagrams were perfect. When the explanations were over, and my instructions duly noted, he began to gather together the various sheets, which were all numbered. But, to my surprise, Herr Gerhardt, looking over me, withdrew two of the most important diagrams, without which the others were valueless, because inexplicable.

"Stay," he said; "these two,mister, must be kept separate.These we send today, by Express Post, direct to our client The Streisands Inc.They will receive them a day before they see you, and with them a letter announcing your arrival."

I headed for my destination .

I found myself entering the station at a run just as - yes, a train was actually beginning to move! I dashed, baggage and all, into a compartment; it was empty, and it was a luxury one, precisely similar to the one he had occupied before; it might have been the very same one. The train gradually increased its speed, but for the first few moments, while still in the station and passing through its immediate entourage, another strange thing struck me - the extraordinary silence and lifelessness of all about. Not one human being did I see, no porter watching our departure with the faithful though stolid interest always to be seen on the porter's visage. I might have been alone in the train - it might have had a freight of the dead, and been itself propelled by some supernatural agency, so noiselessly, so gloomily did it proceed.

I reached New Jersey safely and after taking that night's rest , I headed for the disaster site .

The wreckage have been lifted up and kept in the nearby field .I jumped for the sidescreen of one compartment, hooked my fingers over the sill; hauled myself up with some difficulty and wriggled my way into the driver's cabin, flashing my torch around. Out of the five compartments the train was carrying , only the engine driver's cabin and the pantry could be barely recognisable after the accident ---even in a mangled form . I entered inside the mangled pantry. There was a big refrigerator, with a small hinged table in front of it, and at the far end , under the window , a hinged box covered over what might have been a heating unit or sink or both.

But there was something so gloomy and unsociable, so queer and almost weird about the whole aspect and feeling of the place, that a sort of irritable resignation took possession of me.

Across the narrow passage I found what I was looking for almost immediately even though I had not had pretty good idea where to look . The thin metal at the top right-hand corner of the compartment was bent almost an inch out of true . Now that I had time to spare it more than a fleeting glance it was abundantly clear to me that the wrenching away of the face-plate did not even begin to account for the damage that had been done .

Gradually, ever so gradually,in infuriating slow-motion process, thoughts were beginning to click into place in my numbed mind. I straightened , walked forward into the cabin and stumbled on something . I shone my torch on the object and it was a dead man. As I had noticed , he appeared to be completely unmarked , and I don't know whether it was some unconscious process of logical reasoning or some strange instinct enough to see the black 'bullet hole' in the middle of the spine .My mouth was suddenly dry, and my heart was thudding heavily in my chest.

I lowered the policeman's jacket, pulled it down into position , turned away and walked slowly towards the rear of the wrecked cabin . And there I found another policemen-- with a deadly head injury , completely still, propped up stiffly in a corner, as stiffly as he would remain there for heaven only knew how many frozen centuries to come .Surprisingly, there was not a single metal projection in the entire wall,nothing that could possibly account for the wound in the back the jacket was fastened by a central button. I undid it, saw nothing except a curious thin leather strap running across the chest, undid a shirt button , and there it was, the same deadly hole , the same evidence of point-blank firing staining the whiteness of the singlet. But in this case the powder marks were concentrated on the upper part of the ring, showing that the pistol had been directed in a slightly downward angle. I eased him forward,and there , less like a 'bullet hole' in the jacket than an inconsequential rip one might easily overlook, was the point of exit . Heaven knows that I was in no mental frame of mind at the moment, anyway, to figure anything out . I was like an automation. I felt nothing at the time, not even horror at the hideous thought that the policeman's neck might well have been cold-bloodedly broken after death to conceal its true cause . If ever there was a time when my thoughts should have been racing it was then , but the plain truth is that they were not . My mind was sluggish, but even so I knew that this time I could not be wrong about what had happened to the two police personnel who might have come for some inspection of the ill-fated carriage .

The leather strap accross the dead man's chest led to a felt-covered holster under the arm .I took out the little dark snub-nosed automatic, pressed the release switch and shook the magazine out from the base of the grip. It was an eight-shot clip,full. I replaced it and shoved the gun into the inside pocket of my overcoat .

I made a desperate effort. Cold as it was, the beads of perspiration stood out upon my forehead as I forced myself along. And by degrees the nightmare feeling was beginning to clear off.

It was just at that moment that I heard the sharp metallic sound coming from the front of the dark, mangled and deserted carriage . For may be five seconds, may be ten, I stood there without moving , as rigid and motionless as the dead policemen by my side with a bent right arm .

What, then, were we doing here, and what was 'here'? Had there been an accident - some unforeseen necessity for stopping? At that moment a curious sound, from some yards' distance only it seemed to come, caught my ear. It was croaking, cackling! - the sound of my momentary mental unconsciousness, towards which I immediately felt an instinctive aversion. I looked out of the wrecked window - there was that refreshment room just opposite, dimly lighted, like everything else, and in the doorway, as if just entering, was a figure which I felt pretty sure was that of a person .

Looking back on it, I can only think that my brain had been half-numbed from too long exposure to the cold, that the shock of the discovery of the two savagely murdered policemen had upon me more than I would admit even to myself, and that the morgue-like atmosphere of that chill metal tomb had affected my normally un-imaginative mind to a degree quite unprecedented in my experience . Or may be the nameless dreads that can in a moment send the adrenalin pumping crazily into the bloodstream .However it was, I had only one thought in mind at that moment, but an unreasoning blood-freezing certainty : that one of the dead policemen had somehow risen from his seat and was walking back towards me . Even yet I can remember the frenzy of my wild, frantic hope that it was not the Inspector.

Heaven only knows how long might have sat there, petrified in this superstitious horror, had the sound from the front not repeated itself . But again I heard it, the same metallic scraping sound as tangled wreckage of the deck, and as the touch of an electric switch can turn a room from pitch darkness to the brightness of daylight, so this second sound served to recall me , in an instant ,from pitch darkness to the brightness of daylight, so this second sound served to recall me, in an instant, from the thrall of superstition and panic to the world of reality and reason, and I dropped swiftly on my knees behind the high padded back of the seat in front of me, for what little shelter it offered. My heart was still was still pounding , the hairs still on the back of my neck, but I was a going concern again, my mind beginning to race under the impetus invariably provided by the need for self-preservation .

A person who had killed two times to achieve his or her ends ---and protect the secret would not hesitate to kill a third . And the killer knew his or her secret was no longer a secret , not while I lived ! he or she need not hesitate to use the gun : apart from the fact that the North wind would carry the crack of a pistol-shot away from the cabin .

I began to feel as if there was an evil spirit haunting me. I could only hope that the splendid lock to the bag had defied all curiosity, but I felt in a fever to be alone again, and able to satisfy myself that nothing had been tampered with. The thought recalled my wandering faculties. How long had he been asleep? I drew out my watch. Heavens! It was close upon the first hour the morning. I sprang up, collected my things, and dashed out of the 'Restauration'. If I had not paid for my coffee before, I certainly did not pay for it then. Besides my haste, there was another reason for this - there was no one to pay to! Not a creature was to be seen in the room or at the door as I passed out - always excepting the still unseen and unknown dangerous person .

Then something snapped inside my mind and I was all of a sudden a fighting mad. Perhaps it was the inevitable reaction from my panic-stricken fear of a moment ago, and perhaps, too, it had no little to do with the realisation that I , too, had a gun. I brought it out from my pocket, transferred the torch to my left hand, jumped up, pressed the torch button and started running down.It was proof enough of my partial inexperience in this murderous game of hide-and-seek that it was not until I was almost at the door at the forward end that i remembered how easy it would have been for anyone to shoot me at point-blank range as I passed. But there was no one there and as I plunged through the door, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark muffled figure, no more than a featureless silhoutte in the none too powerful beam of my torch, wriggling out through the smashed sidescreen of the cabin .

I brought up my automatic---the thought that I could be indicted on a murder charge for killing a fleeing person, no matter how criminal a person, never entered my mind----and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. And I plainly heard the thud of feet hitting the ground.

Cursing my stupidity, and again oblivious of the perfect target I was presenting, i leaned far out of the window. Again I was lucky , again I had another brief sight of the figure, this time scurrying round the tip of the right flank before vanishing into the darkness.

Two seconds later was on the ground myself. I landed awkardly but picked myself up at once and skirted round the wreckage, pounding after the fleeing figure with all speed I cold muster in the hampering bulkiness of my fur and overcoat.But It was not too late yet. The wind had been blowing almost directly in my face as I had been running : all I could do was walk back . I turned , took one step, then two, then halted in my tracks.
Where could the attack come from -----downwind, so that I could se nothing, or upwind , so that I could hear nothing? Downwind , I decided-- one could move as silently as on a tar-macadam road.

Five minutes passed and nothing happened . So well-adjusted now were my eyes to the darkness, so well-attuned my ears to the area's mournful symphony of sound, that I would have sworn that had there been anyone there to be seen or heard, I would have seen or heard them.
For once, that night , I did not panic. I knew that panic would have been the end of me. I could not even begin to guess what the tremendously high stakes must be in this murderous game that this incredibly ruthless and deceptive person was playing, but I swore to myself that I was not going to be one of the pawns that were going to be brushed off the table . I stood still, and took stock. And it was just my evil luck that it should fall so heavily that night. The wind was northerly or had been, but in that fickle climate there was no knowing what minute it might be back or veer.

I trudged along the road - there were lamps, though very feeble ones; but by their light he saw that the tall man who had been in the wrecked compartment just a few moments ago was still a few steps ahead of me. It made me feel slightly nervous, and I looked round furtively once or twice; the last time I did so I was not to be seen, and I hoped he had gone some other way.

Dawn was not yet breaking, but there was in one direction a faint suggestion of something of the kind not far off. Otherwise all was dark. I stumbled along as best as I could, helped in reality, by the ugly yellow glimmer of the woebegone street, or road lamps. And it was not far to the station, though somehow it seemed farther than when I came; and somehow, too, it seemed to have grown steep, though I could not remember having noticed any slope the other way on my arrival. A nightmare-like sensation began to oppress me. I felt as if my luggage was growing momentarily heavier and heavier, as if I should never reach the station; and to this was joined the agonising terror of missing the train.

I ran all the way back to my cottage. I was vaguely surprised to see one shadow still moving in the lamp-lit screen. The young girl was still in the far corner, working on the gas-stove and was rubbing her hands above the flame.

"Cold,Miss?" I inquired solicitously. At least, I had meant it to sound that way, but even to myself my voice sounded hoarse and strained.

"And why shouldn't I be, Sir?" Alexandra told,"I've just spent the last few minutes or so out there ."

"Doing what?"

"I went out to bring coffee." For the first time Alexandra showed some spirit. "What's wrong in that?"

What was there peculiar about that coffee? Or was it something peculiar about my own condition that caused it to have the unusual effect she now experienced? Feeling of irresistible drowsiness creeping over her - mental, or moral may say, as well as physical. For when one part of me feebly resisted the first onslaught of sleep, something seemed to reply: "Oh, nonsense! you have several hours before you. You are all right. No one can touch them without awaking you."

"Nothing,"I said shortly. Takes you a damned long time to pour a cup of coffee. I thought savagely.

As I stripped off my leather gloves and washed my blistering hands in disinfectant, I saw Alexandra's eyes widen at the sight of my hands. but she said nothing : may be she knew I was not in the mood for condolences.
Messaging my cold face, I walked away into the bedroom, nodding to Alexandra. She joined me immediately.

"Somebody just tried to murder me out there." I said without preamble.

"Murder you !"Alexandra stared at me for a long moment, then her eyes narrowed. "I'll believe anything in this lot."

"Meaning?"

"What happened to you, Sir?" she asked quietly.

I told her, and watched her face tighten till the mouth was a thin white line in the dark face. She knew what it meant to be lost in the wilderness of cold darkness.

"The murderous, cold-blooded devil,"she said softly."We'll have to nail the killer, Sir. We'll have to , or god only knows who's next on that kiler's list.But won't we have to have proof or something? We can't just......"

"I'm going to get that," I said. The bitter anger still dominated my mind to the exclusion of all else.

"Two killers,"Alexandra stunned me with her conclusion,"two ruthless merciless kilers who would surely kill again, at the drop of a hat, as the needs of the moment demanded."

"You may be right, of course, Alexandra," I forced myself to speak calmly, matter-of-factly. "It was blind of me, I should have known. But remember that there might have been a bigger gang involved if it was a sabotage or had been caused ."

She looked in astonishment. She must have thought me either mad or just awaking from a fit of intoxication - only she flatter me I did not look as if the latter were the case.

I remembered how the bullets had passed clear through the policemen.
"I did know , but I could not add one and one. They were killed by different guns--- the one by a heavy carrying weapon, like an old Colt or a Luger, the other by a less powerful, a lighter weapon, like something a woman might have used. "

I broke off abruptly. A woman's gun! Why not? It could have been a woman that had followed me out earlier in the evening.

As Alexandra turned to me , I saw tears brimming over in her eyes. She took my hands and pleaded,"Don't leave me alone." She sobbed, "Don't leave me alone."

And the answer seemed simplicity itself. Why did a strange thrill of misgiving go through me? Was it something in the look that had passed between us? Perhaps so. In any case, strange to say, the inconsistency between our having received no papers and yet looking for my arrival at the hour accompanying the documents, and accosting me by name, did not strike me till some hours later.

She threw off what I believed to be my ridiculous mistrust,
and it was not difficult to do so in my extreme annoyance.

For the first time in those few hours I acted sensibly---- I closed my mouth tightly and kept it that way. I just sat there silently watching her staring straight ahead , her fists clenched and tears rolling down her cheeks, and when she crumpled and buried her face in my hands and I embraced her, she made no resistance , just looked up at me , crushed her face into the caribou fur and cried as if her heart was breaking : and I suppose it was.

The emotions are no respecters of the niceties, the proprieties and decencies of this life, and , just then, I was clearly aware that her was stirred as they had not been since that dreadful day, two years ago, when her long-time fiance, a groom-in-waiting, had been killed at point-blank range by his ex-girlfriend and this poor Alexandra had given up her studies , began to distrust the people of her own sex, returned to her first great love, travelling, and taken to wandering wherever work, new surroundings and an opportunity to forget the past had presented themselves. Women are generally of weaker sex and Alexandra did not like the idea or a sight of a woman with a gun in her hand. I suppose , too, that the moment a man hears that a girl had not been able to forget that her fiance had died in the hands of another girl is the last moment that man should begin to fall in love with her. Why, when I gazed down at that small dark head pressed so deeply into the fur of my coat, I should have felt my heart turn over I did not know. For all her wonderful bluish eyes she had no pretensions to beauty and I knew nothing whatsoever about her. Perhaps it was pity for her past loss, for having so exposed her to danger of my deadly amateurish profession . I was not married but mature enough to know that teh heart has its own reasons which even the acutest mind could not begin to suspect.

By and by the sobbing subsided and she straightened.She was trembling violently, so I put my arms round her and held her tightly until she calmed down, took her to bed and made her to go to sleep, gently caressing her dark hairs with my fingers.

But I knew that in her innermost soul, Alexandra had been constantly on the lookout for her dearest fiance's killer---that woman who ruined her dream in the early of her life and who was now a fugitive in the eyes of the law . The moment she scented the idea of a woman killer , Alexandra became aware of her job at an instant.

"I do not doubt your zeal and discretion, my good Alexandra," I said,"but in this case we must take even extra precautions. I had not meant to tell you, fearing to add to the certain amount of nervousness and strain unavoidable in such a case, but still, perhaps it is best that you should know that we have reason for some special anxiety. It has been hinted to us that some breath of this" - and I tapped the papers - "has reached those who are always on the watch for such things. We cannot be too careful."

She awoke at last, and that with a start, almost a jerk. Something had awakened her - a sound - and as it was repeated to my now aroused ears he new that she had heard it before, off and on, during my sleep. It was extraordinary .

One will scarcely credit that I actually and for the third time fell asleep. Some occult influence was at work upon me throughout those dark hours, I am positively certain. And with the daylight it was dispelled. For when I again awoke I felt for the first time since leaving home completely and normally myself, fresh and vigorous, all my faculties at their best.

But, nevertheless, my first sensation was a start of amazement, almost of terror. The compartment was nearly full! There were at least five or six travellers besides myself, very respectable, ordinary-looking folk, with nothing in the least alarming about them. Yet it was with a gasp of extraordinary relief that he found my precious bag in the corner beside me, where he had carefully placed it. It was concealed from view. No one,I felt assured, could have touched it without awaking me.

It was broad and bright daylight. How long had I slept?

The next day as I was walking down the road, going towards that wreckage site ,I saw the usual crowd of pushy working girls of Hispanic origin already hanging just outside the cafe in the blazing afternoon sun, trying to woo the tourists. I downed the rest of the mojito and the ice water in a beat and briskly walked out, turning the corner to avoid any encounters. Soon the mojito and the sun hit me and I began having random thoughts while wandering the already familiar streets and alleys of the Old City area . I blamed the absence of machismo in my upbringing for my reluctance to indulge in the oldest profession. On a more mindless note, I wondered if one could actually fry eggs, sunny side up, on the sidewalk.

In the midst of my lightheaded rambling I caught sight of a stunningly beautiful young girl . It seemed as if she was following me . She wore a loose floral mini dress with shoulder straps and flip-flops. She had a delicate, slim figure with beautiful curves and smooth dusky skin. She looked graceful, not at all like a working girl.

Casually adjusting my pace, I began to keep her in sight. She turned a couple of corners and paused by a storefront where she sensed my gaze from a distance. Her eyes avoided me and for a moment she frowned in pride.

Later she walked into a medical shop and I sat a distance away on the shady side of the street and lit a cigarillo, concentrating on not inhaling. As I blew the second puff of smoke, Brian showed up,riding.

That day, as usual, he was offering me a deal, $100 for a box of cigars .

" Right now I want to meet that morena." I said, pointing out the exotic young girl just as she left the shop and began walking away. He shadowed his eyes with his palm and said:

"I know her."

"No shit.She was probably following me ."

"What the hell are you talking about ? Her name is Jennifer. She's from my neighborhood. Wait here I'll go get her for you." He was about to jump on his bike but I held him back.

"Oh no. Not like this. I don't think she would like to meet me right now. Do you really know her?"

"Yes. I know where she lives. She lives with her mother."

"What's she like? Does she go out?"

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-one or so. Old enough."

"Do you think she would like to meet me?"

"Sure. If you want I'll invite her to have dinner
with us."

"Be my guest. You're a real wonderman."

Brian had taken me to Casa de Margarita,a nice guesthouse .

The wonderman had also introduced me to Butragueno's restaurant where I would dine and hang out almost every night. The cozy restaurant was inside a fourth floor apartment . I used to sit on its small balcony overlooking the street and read my book over Chop Suey and beer. The old proprietor, a retired armyman-turned- restauranteur, would often keep me company recounting his memoirs.

That night Brian delivered the box of cigars to my room and walked me to Butragueno's where, to my pleasant surprise, the enchanting Jennifer joined.

She was wearing the same dress she wore that day. Up close she was even more radiant and captivating than when I had seen her from a distance. Her ample, cascading black hair flowed onto her shiny bare shoulders.

The greatest Florence Nightingale truly said :"Beautiful objects and brilliancy of colour are actual means of recovery."

She was shy, pensive and reserved and barely said a word all night but she seemed to know that she was the special person on a special occasion.

That night after Mr. Butragueno closed the restaurant, we all walked by the breezy and moonlit drive and I got to have a few words with her.

"Would you like to see me tomorrow?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said shyly with her eyes downcast.

"Can I call you?"

"No."

When they were a dozen or so steps away, Brian made a wide turn on his bike towards me.

"I think she likes you." He said.

Over the next few nights I held court at Butragueno's where they all came to dinner and I got to see more of Jennifer . She was a woman of many blushes and very few words. I could never guess what she was thinking. She would not eat much and would quietly ask for her dish to be bagged to go. Little by little however, she seemed to get comfortable with the fact that I wanted to be close and intimate with her. The second night she sat next to me. She was wearing a hint of red lipstick.

I appreciated her , saying, "Your fragile beauty and submissiveness fits the role well --- like a SUNDECK with BARBECUE pits."

The following day, I took Jennifer to a Mexican restaurant. She loved her fortune cookie but kept her fortune without showing it to anyone. She put her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. I felt preciously touched and kept still. That night we took a slow walk on the drive and when we passed a dark stretch she suddenly stopped, held my hand and whispered into my ear that she could go with me to a guesthouse she had prior contact.

At the guesthouse, we tiptoed to the room so as not to disturb anybody .

"Have you heard about the Newark Bay Railway disaster ?" I asked her .

"Ya,I've.But It's beyond my life's interest and jurisdiction to inquire about its cause and go into its depth."

I did also tell her and fully explain everything about the danger I faced while investigating the Newark Bay Railway disaster .

"I don't doubt your readiness to fight . But it would be by no such honestly brutal means as open robbery that you should be outwitted." She continued," Make friends readily with no one while in this land,sweetheart yet avoid the appearance of keeping yourself aloof. You understand?"

I whispered into her ears ,"On your first night undressing should be the last thing on your mind."

She disappeared in the bathroom and took her time in the shower. When she reappeared she was naked. She left the bathroom door slightly ajar with its light on and swiftly turned off the other light and came to bed. I looked at her silhouette . Silently she cuddled up next to me and rested her head on my chest for a while. I felt her warm silky touch for the first time. I held her for a bit and slowly began kissing her forehead, shoulder and lips. I touched her back and thighs .

"Enjoy, baby," I said gruffly as I kneeled on the floor . My hands were on her haunches , pulling her hips against that of mine , to let her know how much I wanted her . She quivered when I entered her and we made love. She was quiet and tender at first but suddenly she became passionate.

Jennifer was full of surprises. After our intense lovemaking she quickly put her dresses back on, turned on the light and spent some time quietly examining my naked body and my genitalia with the curiosity of a little girl who had just undressed her doll for the first time. When I left the bathroom, she had opened a can of beer from the mini refrigerator, lit one of my cigars and, as if I was not there, begun going through my things that were strewn around the room. She found my open backpack in the closet and carefully went through all its pockets and compartments. I did not have much to hide. As I lay in bed watching her she found my passport and stared at my picture and my name for some time. Then she found my wallet and carefully examined my bit of cash, travellers' cheques .

"No pictures?" She asked.

"Sorry, I did not bring any."

Then she turned the light off, snuggled next to me in bed .
When I woke up, Jennifer has vanished by then . Through the small window high above my bed another cold and dark day in New Jersey poured in.

That day I took a cab to the beach and stared at the blue sky and the low clouds on the horizon. At night I stayed in and read. When I went to bed the unchanged sheets had her scent. I left the house in despair of losing her without any reason . I started for my own cottage.

Was it all a dream, or a prophetic vision of warning? Or was it in any sense true? Had I , in some inexplicable way, left left own town earlier than being intended, and really travelled in a slow train?
Or had the girl with a beauty, for her own nefarious purposes, mesmerised or hypnotised me, and to some extent succeeded?

The experience I had gone through left me a wiser man. Now a flash of lurid light seemed to have transformed everything.

The next afternoon, on Alexandra's insistence, I took her to the spot of the disaster and entered into the wreckage. We checked all the details . A car screeched to halt in the distance and as I looked outside through the cabin window, I could not find clearly what was going to happen as it was already evening . A tall person came down from the car's driver's seat and walked round to the mangled cabin , pushing his searchlight slightly to one side. I could not see if there was any other person sitting in the car.
It was already darkness. We could not see his face clearly , but the tip of his gun barrel could be seen , protruding menacingly into the searchlight's beam.

"The end of the line, Mr.Dev. You and your little friend will please come out and drop your rifle.

I was surprised to hear the unknown person calling me by my name.There was nothing else for it. Stiffly , numbly, I came out , took a couple of very slow steps towards him, stopped as his pistol steadied unwaveringly on my chest and dropped my rifle on the ground.

"You're wasting your time. Both of you off.

"It's my legs. I think they are sleeping or frozen in the bitter cold.

"Come out! he repeated sharply, "May be a bullet or two in one of your legs will help, he said unemotionally, to get the feeling back.

I did not know whether he meant it or not. I did not think so---gratuitous violence might not be in the character for this man, who was supposed to be a professional killer.

"I'd snuff you and your accomplice like a candle.

"No! I said, savagely, the words carrying clearly in a sudden lull in the wind.

"Lay a finger on my woman, and I'll get you and break your neck like a rotten carrot even if you empty the entire magazine into me.

I looked at him as he crunched there like a great cat, boots digging into the cold ground, fists clenched, ready for the challenge with an explosive leap that would take him across that tiny space in a split second of time.
It was then that it happened, with the stunning speed and inevitabllity that violent tragedy, viewed in retrospect, always seems to possess. I thought perhaps that it was some calculated plan, a last-minute desperate effort to save me that made Alexandra act as she did .

As she passed by the man she tumbled, he put up an arm , not to help her but to ward her off, and before he realized what was happening --- it must have been the last quarter from which he expected any show of violence or resistance--- she kicked out blindly and knocked the gun out of his hand to land on the ground beneath. He sprang after it like a cat-the speed was unnecessary, the low growl of warning from an armed accomplice of the man put paid to any ideas I might have had of taking advantage of the situation-picked up the gun and whirled round, the gun lining up on Alexandra, his eyes narrowed to slits against the light, his face twisted, the lips drawn far back over the teeth.

"Alexandra! asked a female voice .

A woman ! lurking behind the car, was the nearest to her, and her voice high-pitched.

"Look out, you bloody young lady !

That lady also plunged forward to catch the gun by pushing Alexandra to one side, but I do not think her boss even saw him coming out : he was mad with fury and nothing on earth was going to stop him pressing the trigger . The lady lunged at her, a six-inch butterfly knife held high above her head in a classic stabbing position, a crazed, blood thirsty grin with tiny droplets of spittle flying from it was on her contorted face. " DIE BITCH DI............" she screamed .

I tried to focus my eyes again and for a moment I caught a good sight of her from afar as she was illuminated by approaching searchlights.

It was Jennifer !

I was in total shock .Beautiful objects and brilliancy of colour are actual means of recovery.......

"Well ... It's true you just arrived here ..." Jennifer yelled . glancing at me .

Suddenly, loud gunfire erupted from behind and I found Alexandra's face sprayed with blood and chunks of organs and bones caused by Jennifer's exploded abdomen . Alexandra continued to scream as I found her, wearing a belted coat--- was lying on the ground. She was stirring, and as I put my hands under her arms to help her up, she screamed in sudden pain. I changed my grip and lifted her gently.

"My shoulder. Her voice was low and husky. "It's very sore.

Easing back the blouse at the neck and closing it again , I whispered,Your clavicle - the collar bone is gone. Just sit there and hold your left arm in your right hand¦¦...yes, so. I'll strap you up later. You won't feel a thing, I promise you.

"A woman, I told you, Sir."

She smiled at me, half-timidly, half-gratefully, and said nothing more. I stared at her, glanced down at the dead girl at my feet then gazed unseeingly after the rapidly receding headlights of the car, until it had faded and vanished into the cold darkness of the befalling night.Suddenly a rich baritone brought us back to the scene again as the man in black emerged from behind, a smoking berretta in one hand.

"That Jennifer was a fool.

Ruing his fate of losing his right-hand 'lady Terminator', he was now in a vengeful mood. He ordered us to kneel down on the ground . Both Alexandra and I had to oblige because his gun was pointing at us, while he was moving backward. Alexandra leaned across and tapped me on the shoulder with something held in her hand. I reached up and silently took it from her.

"The killer's wallet, she said softly.Fell from his pocket when I knocked him down. He didn't see it go, but I did --- sat on top of it.

His gun was still pointing at us , while he was now nearer to his car.I stripped off my gloves , opened the blue-coloured wallet and tried to examine its contents in the dim light. The wallet provided us with that last proof of the thoroughness, the meticulous care with which the man had been carrying out his job : The 'D.A.' stamped on the hand-tooled morocco, the visiting cards with the inscribed 'Demetrius Albertini' above the name and address of the now blacklisted J.Paul Getty Museum, and the leather-backed fold of American Express cheques, each one already signed 'D. Albertini' in its top left-hand corner, would have carried complete conviction.
And , too late, the wallet also presented us, obliquely but beyond all doubt, with the reason for many things, especially the purpose of the crashing of the carriage to the explanation of why I had been attacked the last night : inside the bill-fold compartment was the newspaper cutting which I read very slowly, below the minimal decibel level, just in a whispering note , with infinite chagrin.

The account was brief, that it concerned the dreadful disaster in Elizabeth, New Jersey, where the small luxury commuters' train had plunged through an opened span of the bridge into the waters of Newark Bay. I already knew from the quick glance I had at the cutting. But, as I had also gathered that the luxury train was carrying the prized 'EUPHRONIOS KRATER'.
This was a follow-up to the original story that goes like this :
Acquisition of the Euphroniosa krater in 1972 sparked a media frenzy in both the US and Italy.
In their decade-long investigation of the illicit antiquities trade, Italian authorities have amassed the strongest evidence to date that the most prized ancient Greek vase in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art was looted.
The Euphronios krater, described as one of the finest antiquities ever ,obtained by the Met, was being transported to another city for restoration works.
Italian prosecutors believe they have the proof, according to previously undisclosed court records.
The records include excerpts from the handwritten memoir of Robert E.Hecht Jr., the American dealer who sold the krater, a terracotta bowl, to the Met in 1972.
In his memoir, seized during a raid of his Paris apartment in 2001,Hecht tells a very different story. Instead of buying the krater from a reputable dealer with a documented ownership history, he says he purchased it in 1971 from an Italian dealer, Giacomo Medici, who was convicted last year of trafficking in looted art. Medici turned up one morning at Hecht's apartment in Rome and showed him a Polaroid photograph of a krater signed by Euphronios, a master vase painter of ancient Greece, the memoir says. Within an hour, Hecht writes, the two men flew to Milan and caught a train north to Lugano, Switzerland, where Medici had the bowl in a
safe-deposit box. Hecht says he offered Medici 1.5 million Swiss francs -
about $380,000 at the time - for the krater on the spot, making a cash down payment of about $40,000. He then headed straight to Zurich, Switzerland, he writes,where he left the krater with a restorer before heading back to Rome to go on a family ski trip. In this account, he makes no reference to documentation establishing that the object had been legally excavated and exported from Italy. The Italians' new evidence about the krater's origins emerged at a time of heightened controversy over the ethics of antiquities acquisitions, with Italy,
Greece and other source countries pressing claims for the return of rare items they say were illegally removed.

Hecht and Marion True, the former antiquities curator of the J. Paul Getty Museum in southern California, are now facing trial in Rome for allegedly trafficking in looted art. Medici was convicted last year in the same case and is appealing a 10-year prison sentence. Italy is also demanding the return of 42 objects from the Getty. This J. Paul Getty Museum is acused of dealing in stolen antiquities.

Among the other new evidence cited by the Italians is a sworn deposition by True before an Italian prosecutor. In the document, also obtained by the Times, she said Met antiquities curator Dietrich von Bothmer showed her
an aerial photograph and pointed to the exact tomb in a heavily looted necropolis north of Rome where the krater had been excavated.

Italian officials said in Rome in interviews in 2005 that two men from Cerveteri, site of the ancient necropolis, have told them that they helped illegally remove the krater from a tomb in 1971.

Probably Mr. Albertini wanted to take illegal possession of the vase. It was still unclear whether Mr. Albertini was traveling by the same ill-fated luxury train that met with the disaster and now at a distance behind us or he intercepted it in the middle himself or with the help of his accomplices to cause the accident. If he was really in the train, how could he survived the disaster while all the others had died . If not, then he and his gang must have manipulated the tracks and the bridge so as to crash the train . But I was sure that the vase was still inside the wreckage of the train and has not been fallen in the hands of Albertini . The attack on me the night before the previous night was its proof .

Chilly - , that it was - very chilly; but as my faculties returned I remembered my precious bag, and forgot all else in a momentary terror that it had been taken from me. No; there it was my elbow had been pressed against it as he slept. But how was this? The time was not in motion. We were standing in a deserted looking place, with no cheerful noise or bustle; only with a sort of sleepy 'night duty', surly air. I looked at my watch. Barely midnight! Of course, not the Junction. We were not due there till four o'clock in the morning or so.

And Yes. One thing I did not disclose to Alexandra . That I had shared bed with that 'Jennifer' . That night Jennifer checked my passport and other documents . Probably she was set after us to know the secret information about me and about what I was investigating in this particular case. I silently blamed myself for putting Alexandra into the hands of this dangerous Jennifer .

0 0 0 0 0

Time check 2200 .

The killer had, by that time, walked up to his car and opening its door, went inside .
There came the sudden click, abnormally loud and I stretched my length on the ground, picked my rifle up in my hands and had the rifle raised to my shoulder. And then, suddenly, the car had come clearly into sight, speeding up , probably trying to mow down us. And just twenty yards ! I could never miss at this point-blank range, even with a moving target .

But I had gambled, and I had lost. The car was already on the far side, even at its nearest point of approach it would still be three hundred yards away which I could not guess in the darkness.

Mr. Albertini must have been desperate, desperate to the point of madness, for no sane man would have taken the fearful risks of driving the car through sloping surfaces. Or could it be that he just did not know the suicidial dangers involved?

After a few seconds I was convinced he did not . I tried fleetingly, frantically, to get inside his cold and criminal mind, to try to understand his conception of us. Did he think that we thought, like him, that the krater was all important, that human life was cheap and readily expendable ? If he did, and guessing the quality of my marksmanship with a rifle, would he not be convinced that he would be shot down as soon as he had stepped out?

But the time for thought, had there ever been such a time, was past. I was on my way, plunging out into the open across the narrow thirty-yard stretch that led into the first of the fissures. The first shell came out of my gun and smashed through the hood of the old car and the second into the engine with all the metallic clamour. But still the vintage black beauty rolled on . I went on firing in a line, indiscriminately and aimlessly, but I missed the tyres. I was about half-way across when I heard the engine change gear. And then, when I was just less than a hundred yards away and after a lull in my firing --- the engine stopped as abruptly as if the ignition had been switched off. There was no mistaking the high-pitched screech of those worn brakes..

Then, abruptly, the door on the driver's side burst open---Mr. Albertini came out into the open. I ran down towards him and flung myself completely on top of the killer and started butting him savagely in the face with the top of my already emptied-out rifle and Albertini, trapped in the narrow space, could find no room to make use of his much greater strength. I stared down at the outspread stillness of the man, his face empty of all expressions.

It might have been a flash of fear, of realization that he had come to the end of his road that I saw in Albertini's eyes, but I could never swear to it, the turn of his head, the sudden headlong dash for the shelter by the side, five yards away, were so swift that I could be certain of nothing . But swift as he was , I was even swifter: I caught Albertini before he had covered three yards and we both crashed together, clawing, punching and kicking in the grim desperate silence of men who know that the winner's prize is his life.

He is evidently in the same hole as myself. What in Heaven's name are we waiting here for?

Neither of us had allowed each other to regain our feet since the struggle had begun, and still we rolled over and over first he on top , now me. My hands were clubbing and hammering the life out of Albertini . Then I remembered he was fully prepared to kill Alexandra with as little compunction as he would snuff out the life of a fly.

Suddenly, I was underneath , one arm crooked round Albertini's neck while the other delivered a murderous serious of short-arm jabs, each one drawing a grunting gasp of agony from a white-faced Albertini : finally , goaded into supreme effort by panic and fear, he managed to break loose and hurled himself not towards the high ground where safety lay, but for the shelter of the steep rocks , where nobody would never know safety again . I , cat-like as ever , was only feet behind him, moving so fast.

But, his body skidded violently first to one side then the other, finally making a complete half-circle and sliding backward down the steep rock , following the slope . And then came a long quavering moan of agony, cut off as abruptly as it had begun. And suddenly there was only silence. But then, I shall never know how I survived all the crazy chances I took on my mad headlong run down that steep slope, unable to stop, pounding my sliding way alongside where the slip of either foot would have been my death. But Albertini slipped , felled and the next moment had disappeared from my sight. Already trying all I could to brake myself , I flung myself flat on the cold ground to stop myself, I caught a glimpse of Albertini and as I peered down through the two-foot wide gap between the rocks , I felt faint : the crevices narrowing as it went down to not much more than two feet, ended about 15 feet down in a solid shelf of rock, a ledge sculpted by years of weathering of the rocks .

Albertini was still on his feet, shaky. I could see, but seemingly unharmed --- it had been a short drop. Albertini , flattened lips drawn back over his teeth, was staring up at me.

"A rope, Mister ! he said softly. "Get me a rope. I beg you. "

"Very well, I said calmly. My mind felt preternaturally clear. I knew his life hung on a fraying thread.

Meanwhile, Alexandra had already brought a large and heavy rope from inside the wreckage . I un-wound the rope thrown by her.

"Here it comes.

He reached up both hands to catch the falling rope. The heavy rope fell on him like a plummeting stone . With the tangle of the rope and the narrowness of the crevices he had no chance to get clear and he crashed further on to the ledge , now just holding a tip of the cliff with his hands.

"Throw me a rope.

He could see death's hand reaching out to touch him as it was inevitable that it was impossible to cling to a cliff for more than a few minutes . I thought of the trail of death Albertini had left behind him, of how close to the brink of death he had brought to the girl now trembling in the crook of my wounded arm. I stepped back without a word and walked slowly up the rock to meet the officer-in-charge who had come in hurriedly , probably informed by Alexandra on the wireless sensing the impending danger ahead of us .

But the old man smiled condescendingly, though with a touch of
superciliousness. It was very well done. He waved his hand.

"I should be glad to be free from the responsibility of the charge, but I dare not let these out of my own hands till the agreement is formally signed," I told the officer .

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