And Thereby Hangs a Tale

Arnold decided to have a word with the porter. Dennis was the fount of all knowledge when it came to what took place in Arcadia Mansions and was certain to know all about the man. When the lift doors opened, Arnold stood back to allow the new resident to get out first. He waited until the man had left the building before strolling across to join Dennis at the reception desk.

“What do we know about him?” asked Arnold, nodding at the man as he disappeared into a black cab.

“Not a lot,” admitted Dennis. “He’s taken a short-term lease and says he won’t be with us for long. But he did warn me that he’d be having visitors from time to time.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Arnold. “Any idea where he comes from, or what he does for a living?”

“Not a clue,” said Dennis. “But he certainly didn’t get that tan holidaying in the South of France.”

“That’s for sure,” said Arnold, laughing. “Don’t misunderstand me, Dennis, I’m not prejudiced. I’ve always liked Mr. Zebari from the other end of my corridor. Keeps himself to himself, always respectful.”

“That’s true,” said Dennis. “But then you must remember that Mr. Zebari is a radiologist.” Not that he was altogether sure what a radiologist was.

“Well, I must get a move on,” said Arnold. “Can’t afford to be late for work. Now that I’m going to be manager, I have to set an example to the junior staff. Keep your ear to the ground, Dennis,” he added, touching the side of his nose with a forefinger. “Although our masters have decided it’s not politically correct, I have to tell you I don’t like the look of him.”

The porter gave a slight nod as Arnold pushed through the swing doors and headed off in the direction of the bank.

The next time Arnold came across the new resident was a few days later; he was returning from work when he saw him chatting to a young man dressed from head to toe in leather and sitting astride a motorbike. The moment the two of them spotted Arnold, the young man pulled down his visor, revved up, and shot away. Arnold hurried into the building, relieved to find Dennis sitting behind the reception desk.

“Those two look a bit dodgy to me,” said Arnold.

“Not half as dodgy as some of the other young men who’ve been visiting him at all hours of the night and day. There are times when I can’t be su

re if this is Albert Embankment or the Khyber Pass.”

“I know what you mean,” said Arnold as the lift door opened and Mr. Zebari stepped out.

“Good evening, Mr. Zebari,” said Dennis with a smile. “On night duty again?”

“Afraid so, Dennis. No rest for the wicked when you work for the NHS,” he added as he left the building.

“A real gentleman, that Mr. Zebari,” said Dennis. “Sent my wife a bunch of flowers on her birthday.”

It was a couple of weeks later, after arriving home late from work, that Arnold spotted the motorbike again. It was parked up against the railing but there was no sign of its owner. Arnold walked into the building, to find a couple of young men chatting loudly in a tongue he didn’t recognize. They headed toward the lift, so he held back, as he had no desire to join them.

Dennis waited until the lift door had closed before saying, “No prizes for guessing who they’re visiting. God knows what they get up to behind closed doors.”

“I have my suspicions,” said Arnold, “but I’m not going to say anything until I’ve got proof.”

When he got out of the lift at the fourth floor, Arnold could hear raised voices coming from the apartment opposite his. Noticing that the door was slightly ajar, he slowed down and casually glanced inside.

A man was lying flat on his back on the floor, his arms and legs pinned down by the two men he’d seen getting into the lift, while the youth he’d spotted on the motorbike was holding a kitchen knife above the man’s head. All round the room were large blown-up photographs of the devastation caused by the 7/7 bus and tube bombings that had recently appeared on the front pages of every national newspaper. The moment the youth spotted Arnold staring at him, he walked quickly across the room and closed the door.

For a moment, Arnold just stood there shaking, unsure what to do next. Should he run downstairs and tell Dennis what he’d witnessed, or make a dash for the relative safety of his apartment and call the police?

Hearing what sounded like a roar of laughter coming from inside the apartment, Arnold ran across to his front door, fumbled for his keys and attempted to push his office Yale into the lock, while continually looking over his shoulder. When he eventually found the right key, he was so nervous he tried to force it in upside down and ended up dropping it on the floor. He picked it up and managed to open the door with his third attempt.

Once Arnold was inside he quickly double-bolted the door and put the safety chain in place, although he still didn’t feel safe. When he’d caught his breath, he dragged the largest chair in the room across the floor and rammed it up against the door, then collapsed into it, trembling, as he tried to think what he should do next.

He thought again about phoning the police, but then became fearful that the man would discover who had reported him and the kitchen knife would end up hovering above his head. And when the police raided the building, a fight might break out in the corridor. How many innocent people would become involved? Mr. Zebari would surely open his door to find out what was going on and come face to face with the terrorists. It was a risk Arnold wasn’t willing to take.

Several minutes passed, and as he could hear nothing happening outside, Arnold nipped across to the sideboard and shakily poured himself a large whiskey. He drank it down in two gulps, then poured himself another before slumping back into the chair, clinging onto the bottle. He took another gulp of whiskey, more than he usually drank in a week, but his heart was still pounding. He sat there, his shirt saturated with sweat, terrified to move, until the sun had disappeared behind the highest building. He took another swig, and then another, until he finally passed out.

Arnold couldn’t be sure how many hours he’d slept, but he woke with a start when the clickety-clack of the first tube could be heard rumbling below him. He saw the empty bottle of whiskey lying on the floor by his feet and tried to sober up. In the cold, clear light of morning, he knew exactly what his mother would expect him to do.

When the time came for him to leave for work, he tentatively pulled the heavy chair back a few inches, then placed an ear against the door. Were the men standing outside in the corridor waiting for him to come out? He unlocked the door without making the slightest sound and slowly removed the safety chain. He waited for some time before gingerly opening the door an inch, and then another inch, before peeping into the corridor. He was greeted by silence and no sign of anyone.

Arnold took off his shoes, stepped out into the corridor, closed the door quietly behind him, and tiptoed slowly toward the lift, never once taking his eyes off the door on the other side of the corridor. There was no sound coming from inside, and he wondered if they’d panicked and made a run for it. He jabbed at the lift button several times, and it seemed to take forever before the doors finally slid open. He jumped inside and pressed G, but even when the doors had closed, he didn’t feel safe. By the time the lift reached the ground floor he’d put his shoes back on and tied the laces. When the doors slid open he ran out of the building, not even looking in Dennis’s direction when he said, “Good morning.” He didn’t stop running until he had reached the bank. Arnold opened the front door with the correct key and quickly stepped inside, setting off the alarm. It was the first time he’d had to turn it off.