‘That depends on the necessities of the situation.’
‘And in this situation?’
‘Give me back the file, Mr Linton, and I will not have to search you.’
‘For the hundredth time, I do not have it!’
‘For the fourth time, actually,’ he corrected. ‘Do not exaggerate.’
Heavy footsteps approached. They needed a few seconds to break through my concentration, and it was the same with Mr Ambrose. We were glaring at each other with such intensity that at first we didn’t notice the giant bearded figure who had appeared in the doorway.
Finally, Mr Ambrose wrenched his gaze away from me.
‘Yes?’ he asked.
Karim shook his weighty turban and beard, as well as the head that was squeezed in between. ‘Nothing, Sahib.’
At which Mr Ambrose’s gaze returned to me with double intensity.
‘You know what that means, Mister Linton?’
‘What?’ I snapped. ‘And don't call me Mister!’
‘It means that I have no choice but to search you.’
‘No!’ I crossed my arms. He wasn’t going to touch me! Not ever!
Well, not that I really would have minded so much. But if I would ever let him take a closer look at my underwear, it would not be to search it for some stupid paper, thank you very much! I mean, every girl has to have some self-respect.
Self-respect? my inner feminist screamed at me. Under what circumstances do you think him taking a look at your underwear would be all right with your self-respect? Have you forgotten that you despise men in whatever form they come?
‘Karim?’ Mr Ambrose said, darkly. ‘I’m going to take care of this. Close the safe door and lock us in. Open it only when I call again.’
My eyes widened. I rushed towards the door, but before I could reach it the huge Mohammedan had slammed it shut and plunged us into utter darkness.
*~*~**~*~*
‘Ouch!’
‘Ng!’
‘Let go!’
‘Stop wriggling you…’
Slap!
The noise echoed quite loudly in the dark, hollow room. There were a few seconds of silence, then I heard Mr Ambrose’s calm voice - calm in the way a volcano was calm before the explosion.
‘Karim? Karim, open the door again.’
Slowly, the door slid open, admitting a brilliant ray of sunlight that cut through the darkness like a red hot knife through butter. It fell on Mr Ambrose’s face, which also was pretty much red hot, at least in the places where my hand had made contact with his cheek.
‘You,’ he said decidedly, his jaw taut, ‘are either as guilty as the devil himself or have more morals than apparent at first sight.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘What is that supposed to mean, “more than apparent at first sight”?’
‘It is supposed to mean more morals than one would expect from a girl who runs around dressed in men’s clothes!’
‘Hey, this was your idea, remember?’
‘An idea I thought no sane individual would take seriously.’
‘Well, I have, and now I’m here. So what are you going to do with me?’
His threatening sea-coloured eyes fixed on my face again.
‘I must search you, Mr Linton. It is useless to resist.’
The fellow had just intended to undress me and he was still calling me ‘Mister’? This was unbelievable!
‘Why should I steal your stupid file?’ I shouted. ‘I don't even know what’s in it!’
‘You could have been put up to it.’
‘By whom?’
‘By one of the men who want me ruined and dead.’
He said that so coldly, so calmly, that it cut right through my anger. I looked closer and saw that behind his granite façade, emotions were boiling inside him. He was just too stubborn to admit it.
‘What’s so important about that file?’ I asked, softly. Well, relatively softly, anyway.
‘If you took it, you already know,’ was his response. ‘And if you didn’t, I will not tell you.’
‘Why not?’
‘I do not have to explain myself to you!’
‘So what now?’ I asked again.
‘I could tie you down to search you,’ he threatened.
‘You could try.’ My hands came up defensively again. Unconsciously, Mr Ambrose’s hand went to his cheek, and I had to grin. Was I crazy? It was still a very real possibility that I would end up face-down in the Thames today, and here I was, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
But I just couldn’t help being excited! This was the first half-way thrilling thing to have happened in my massively mundane life.
Mr Ambrose noticed my grin. Just before he turned to his turban-wearing henchman, I thought I could see a faint scowl on his face. What? I had elicited a facial expression from Mr Granite Face? Surely not!