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 tears with my sleeve before he could see them. ‘I didn’t take your file! I didn’t! I…’
I blinked up at him, breathing heavily. What was he going to do now? Call his henchmen and have me killed?
To my surprise I saw him not where he had been a moment ago. He had retreated a few steps. The ice had gone out of his eyes, and he was standing in a slightly awkward position, his hands tugged into the pockets of his waistcoat as if he didn’t know what to do with them.
‘Um… here,’ he muttered. Pulling one of his hands out of the pocket, he handed me a clean white linen handkerchief.
‘You just threatened to kill me and now you’re offering me a handkerchief?’ I asked, tearfully.
He shrugged, and the awkwardness vanished as he fixed me with his eyes again. ‘I can hardly question you further while you are… leaking like this. It is noisy and messy. Put an end to it. Now!’
Taking the handkerchief, I blew my nose in a noisy and not very ladylike manner. Then I held it out to him.
‘Here.’
He shook his head.
‘You don't want it back?’
‘Are you mad?’ he demanded. ‘Of course I do! That thing cost three shillings and tuppence! I would simply be very obliged if you washed it before giving it back, though.’
‘Oh… err… of course I will.’ I paused. ‘If you don't kill me, that is,’ I added, as an afterthought.
‘Oh, that.’ He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Mr Ambrose, uncomfortable? What was this?
Finally he waved deprecatingly. ‘I have thought of a better way. A way I can determine whether you are guilty or innocent.’
‘Well, I’m very glad to hear it.’
‘I imagine so.’ Straightening into his usual erect pose again, Mr Ambrose clapped his hand. ‘Karim!’
He hadn’t even called very loudly, and there was a locked door in the way. There was no way the big bearded fellow could have heard him.