Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

‘Indeed, Sir,’ I said, blinking up at him tearfully, ‘that would be most kind.’

The receptionist went back behind the counter and picked up the big book in which all the guests signed their names. ‘If you would be so kind as to give me the man’s name, Miss?’

Yes, if you would be so kind as to do a handstand and a few pirouettes for me! God, can none of you ever say anything really different? Men! All the same!

‘His name is Mr Simmons. But I doubt he would have used his real name to sign into your book. He knows he is being sought and will probably make use of an alias.’

‘How ingenious!’ the receptionist exclaimed. ‘I would never have thought of that. But then how will we determine if he is here?’

Well, the same way I did it in the last twenty-five hotels, you dolt!

‘I can give you his description,’ I offered, having to restrain myself to keep from yawning. This was getting old. ‘My sister has told me exactly what he looks like. He has quite a distinctive appearance.’

‘Then please do.’ The receptionist nodded eagerly. ‘I see all the people who check into our hotel, and it is part of my job to have a good memory for faces. I will certainly be able to tell you whether he is here.’

Yes, yes, of course you will… Now can you stop blabbering so we can get on with this?

‘Oh, I am so relieved.’ I put a trembling hand over my heart. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Sir. The man I am looking for is tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow.’

Again I had to suppress a yawn. Here we go again.

A grim smile spread over the receptionist’s face.

‘Miss, I believe you have caught your villain! A man of just such a description is indeed staying under our roof at this very moment!’

The Thief

My sleepiness vanished in an instant.

‘A-are you sure?’ I stuttered, this time not having to fake my feelings.

I was floored. My plan had worked! It had actually worked! Of course I never doubted it would, in a theoretical, philosophical, let’s-think-this-problem-through way, but to have it actually succeed - that was something else.

‘Yes, quite sure, Miss. He’s in room forty-five on the third floor.’

‘Um… thank you.’

Suddenly, I realized that now I was going to have to go out and tell Mr Ambrose that I had found Simmons. All this time I had been so obsessed with finding the thief, with proving to my employer that I actually could be of some use, that I hadn’t thought about what might happen when we finally did catch him.

Now we had. And I was going to have to go out and tell that to Mr Ambrose, a man who didn’t seem overly shy about taking the law and everything else he could into his own hands.

I looked down at my own hands. Soon, I realized, I might have blood on them.

But then, if you thought about it, it was a thief’s blood. And who knew, I might even get a raise out of it.

Before I could think better of it, I left the hotel and opened the cab door.

‘We have him,’ I said.

All of them turned and stared at me as if I had just announced that the Duke of Wellington was a French pussycat.[25]

‘You… you mean to say Simmons is in there? In this hotel?’ Warren asked.

I rolled my eyes. ‘No, he’s in Siberia. Yes of course I meant he’s in this hotel! What else do you think I’m talking about?’

‘Well, that’s… That’s quite impressive. Congratulations.’

Karim held up a hand.