Little Ifrit

All right, so I did it. So what? He was my employer, after all, and he could order me to do anything he wanted. The fact that I was fuming and fantasizing about choking him didn't really count as an excuse to shirk my duties.

By the light of the small gas lamp Mr Ambrose had given me, I started to sort files.

Soon I found that, while the work itself was deathly boring, being positioned in the safe room had unexpected advantages. Once I had pushed open the door, which Mr Ambrose had shut, I could hear everything that was going on in my office - which was quite a lot, let me tell you.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Enter,' Mr Ambrose's curt voice called.

‘Mr Ambrose? Good morning, Sir,' a quiet, respectful voice said in answer. Several pairs of feet shuffled into my office. Apparently it had been selected as official HQ for the thief hunt. ‘I came as soon as you called. What is the matter? Karim didn't say.'

‘Warren.' No ‘good morning' from Mr Stoneface Ambrose of course, and certainly no ‘How nice to see you.' He got right to the point. ‘Have you seen Simmons?'

‘Simmons, Sir? I thought you gave me to understand that he suddenly gave up his post.'

‘He did. And he took something of mine along with him, it appears.'

There was a short, heavy silence. It wasn't hard for me to imagine the merciless ice in Mr Ambrose's eyes right then. Just from the feel of the air I got the impression that the people in my office experienced a twinge of pity for Simmons.

‘I see. What can we do, Sir?'

‘First answer my question, Warren. Have you seen him since he left?'

‘No, Sir.'

‘Has he come back to pick up his belongings?'

‘I can send someone and check, Sir.'

‘Do that. Now.'

Footsteps hurried off. There were a few more minutes of silence, which nobody made even the slightest attempt to fill. Apparently Mr Ambrose didn't think much of small talk. What a surprise.

The moment the footsteps returned he asked: ‘And?'

‘His things are gone,' said a third voice. ‘I asked Mr Garfield down at the lockers, and he said that Simmons took them with him on the same day he disappeared.'

‘That settles it,' declared Mr Ambrose. ‘He's the thief. He has been planning this.'

‘It appears so, Sir,' agreed the man called Warren. ‘May I ask what was stolen?'

‘No.'

What was this? No? Just like that? No? Mr Ambrose didn't even trust his own people? Well, I shouldn't be surprised that I was stuck in here sorting files then, instead of being out there where the real work was being done.

‘You are looking for a folder with the inscription "S39XX300",' Mr Ambrose told them, icily. ‘That is all you need to know.'

‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.'

‘First you will search this office. I have some urgent business and will leave you to it. If you have any questions, ask Karim.'

‘Yes, Sir.'

His footsteps receded, and the noises from the other room indicated that Mr Warren and his cronies had begun their search. I returned my attention to my work.

Quite a good idea, it appeared: I had been so distracted that I hadn't noticed I had tried to stuff a bunch of files into the open mouth of some wooden African totem. Hurriedly I removed them and started looking for their proper container.

For the next few minutes I busied with the files. Then I suddenly heard footsteps approaching the door of the safe. Yet before I could panic and begin to wonder what they wanted with me, I heard Karim's voice.

‘Not in there, Warren.'

‘But Mr Ambrose said to search everywhere.'

‘Everywhere in this office. Not in the safe. There is…' Karim's voice dropped to a whisper as he explained something to Warren. I didn't exactly hear everything, but I thought I caught the word ‘Ifrit'.

‘Really?' Warren whispered. ‘Are you sure?'

‘I saw it with my own eyes,' Karim assured him.

‘Right in there? In the safe room?'

‘Indeed. So you see you had better not…'

‘Of course! I'll steer clear of it, don"t you worry.'

For the following few minutes my fantasies changed from strangling Mr Ambrose to braining Karim with a wooden African totem. In the end I suppose the difference didn't much matter. Men! They were all the same.

During the following hours I worked ceaselessly, clearing up the mess my dear master had left behind. He wouldn't have an excuse to accuse me of slacking, oh no! The task actually wasn't as hard as I had feared. All the folders strewn over the floor were numbered. Since I had already fully grasped the sorting system, and the one here in the safe was simply an extension of that in my office, I got on quickly, and orderly rows of boxes grew on the shelves.

Finally, the door to my office opened and I heard his unmistakable voice.

‘Are you done, Warren?'

‘Nearly, Mr Ambrose.'

‘As soon as you're done here, prepare your men for a little trip, by which I do not mean a stroll in the park. Do we understand each other?'

‘Yes, Mr Ambrose.'

‘Very well. I shall join you in a minute, as soon as I've seen how my little Ifrit is doing.'

‘Your what, Sir?'

‘Forget what I said, Warren.'

‘Yessir!'

His littleIfrit? I supposed I should have been outraged, him calling me names and all, but for some strange reason I felt warm inside. Maybe because of my flaming wings, who knew?

Mr Ambrose had obviously not intended for me to hear his words. Quickly and quietly I closed the door to the safe room, just as he had left it, and retreated to a corner, a demure little smile on my face as I looked around the room. All right, maybe the smile wasn't totally demure. Maybe it was even a little bit self-satisfied. So what?

The door was pushed open and Mr Ambrose entered. ‘I will be leaving on the search soon,' he began. ‘So sorry that you are occupied and can't come with us. How many hours do you think you will still need to finish your…'

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the safe-room, his voice trailed off.

‘You were saying?' I inquired sweetly.

Slowly, Mr Ambrose's gaze wandered over the long rows of impeccably ordered boxes on the shelves of the safe room. He bent to examine the floor, maybe in the hope that he could find a stray piece of paper still lying somewhere, or at least a few flecks of dust.

When he finally straightened again, his eyes fixed on me.

‘You are finished?'

‘Yes. Why?' I fluttered my eyelashes at him. ‘Were you by any chance expecting me to take longer?'

‘No,' he lied smoothly. ‘In fact I was expecting you to be finished long ago. Don't be so lazy again, or I will have to reduce your wages.'

‘Well, well.' I glared at him, even though for some strange reason, inside I wasn't feeling angry. Somehow I knew he was only putting on a show, and I was dancing in triumph. ‘You had better stop or you'll drown me in compliments for my work.'

‘Don't be afraid,' he assured me. ‘That will never, ever happen.'

I could readily believe it.

‘Mr Ambrose?' The man called Warren appeared at the door to the safe room. He was an average-looking fellow with a thin moustache and a high forehead. Spotting me, he looked at me curiously for a second. Then his gaze returned to our master. ‘We're ready to go, Sir.'

‘I see.' Mr Ambrose's voice was as cool as could be. ‘Warren, I think you haven't met before?' He indicated me. ‘This…' he swallowed as if he had to get something unpleasant down his throat. ‘This is Mr Linton. My new… private secretary.'

‘I see. A pleasure to meet you, Mr Linton.' Warren extended his hand to me. As if in a dream, I took it and shook it.

‘Likewise,' I heard myself say.

He has admitted it! He has admitted to another person that I work for him!

‘Enough pleasantries,' Mr Ambrose cut short our pleasantries. Abruptly he whirled to the door. ‘We have a thief to catch.' With two long strides he was outside and out of sight. ‘Come!' We heard his commanding voice from outside. ‘Both of you!'

I was still so thrilled by his admission that it took me a few seconds to register his words.

‘W-what?' I managed. ‘Me, too?'

‘Are you deaf? Get a move on, Mr Linton!'

I jumped up so fast you might have thought a scorpion had stung me. Following Mr Ambrose out of the safe, I saw that he had crossed my office and was standing at the connecting door to his own. He thrust it open and we followed him inside the large, bare and empty room.

A room which was no longer bare and empty. I had been mistaken, thinking that my office was the thief hunter HQ. It had just been a temporary space until things were set up in here.

People were standing all around: men with nondescript faces, in nondescript clothes. On the desk lay a gigantic map, larger than any I had seen before, even in the British Museum. It detailed not the world, but, to judge from the web of jagged lines, some vast city in fine detail.

Immediately I knew what it had to be. A map of London. A map for the hunters.

What in heaven's name could have been stolen that Mr Ambrose was so desperate to discover? And why wouldn't he tell anyone what it was? Why wouldn't he tell me?

‘Gather round.' Mr Ambrose took up his position at the desk and gestured for Karim, Warren and me to do likewise. The two dozen or so men whom Warren had brought with him posted themselves at either entrance to the room.

Some of the men, including Warren but excluding Mr Ambrose, took out cigars and lit them. Not used to the smell, I wrinkled my nose - but I would have to get used to this if I really intended to work among men.

‘We have to come up with a strategy to track Simmons,' Mr Ambrose said. ‘Suggestions, gentlemen.'

And ladies, I thought, but didn't say it. Instead I said: ‘Well… maybe we should start by thinking about motive. Why did he steal the file?'

‘Because he wanted it, obviously,' said Mr Ambrose. ‘I should perhaps have clarified: Intelligent suggestions.'

‘That is not what I meant,' I snapped. ‘I meant… what does the file contain? Why exactly did he want it for himself?'

‘None of you are to know what the file contains, Mr Linton. Nor do I see that it is in any way necessary.'

‘It is necessary if we want to know where he will go next and what he will do,' I persisted. God, he really had trust issues. ‘For example - if it simply is a folder containing banknotes, he'll just flee the city. If it is some important document, he might try to sell it. If it is a letter from one of your secret lady friends, he will try to blackmail you.'

Mr Warren almost swallowed his cigar. Slowly, Mr Ambrose, who had been staring down at the table, looked up at me and fixed me with his cold gaze. I tried my best to meet his eyes without flinching.

‘Well, I can guarantee you, Mr Linton, that it is not a letter from one of my secret lady friends. They would not waste their time writing letters to me they know I would not read.'

Now it was my turn to stare. Was he being serious? Did he really have a secret lady friend or, God forbid, several? For heaven's sake, I had been trying to make a joke!

Perhaps not the best of ideas where he was concerned.

‘Well,' I said as steadily as possible, ‘that leaves two of the possibilities I have outlined. Which is it?'

He remained silent.

‘Just a general indication,' I coaxed. ‘Come on. You have got to give us something.'

Warren cleared his throat, taking this opportunity to rid himself of the bitten off pieces of his cigar that were still stuck there.

‘I think I must agree with Mr Linton, Sir. Without any idea of what the document in question is, we have little hope of catching the thief.'

Mr Ambrose stayed silent for one moment longer - then he nodded curtly.

‘Number two,' he stated.

I frowned. What was he talking about? ‘Excuse me?'

‘Number two,' he repeated. ‘The second possibility you outlined. There are no banknotes in the file. It is an important document.' Taking a deep breath, he added: ‘More important than you can imagine.'

‘Now we're getting somewhere,' I sighed.

‘Can he sell it to anyone, Sir?' Warren inquired.

‘Only to the right people. And by right I do not mean "right" as in "right and honourable". I mean people with limitless cash and little conscience.'

I almost said, ‘Oh, you mean people like yourself?' But I held my tongue. My natural tendency to bad manners was not well placed here if I wanted to keep my job.

‘These people,' I asked, ‘are they here in London, or could they be anywhere in the country?'

‘Theoretically, they could be anywhere. But it is most likely that they would be here. This is the centre of the British Empire, the power-hub for a fifth of the earth's surface - the best place to transact any kind of business, whether legitimate or otherwise.'

‘But we had better make sure, hadn't we?' I said with a sweet smile. ‘Somebody told me once it's better to always verify.'

Mr Ambrose gave me another one of his cold stares. ‘That must have been a very wise person.' Turning, he nodded to Karim. ‘Go, take a few of the men and check Euston station. I want a description of all the passengers who left in the last few days and don't care how you get it. If there's anyone there who fits Simmons' description - find him, grab him, hold him. I do not care if it should happen to be the Prime Minister.'

‘Is Simmons easy to recognize?' I asked as Karim marched out of the room with seven henchmen at his heels.

Mr Ambrose nodded grimly. ‘Oh yes. That is the one piece of good luck in this mess. He's tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow. If anyone saw him, they'll remember him.'

‘He might have altered his appearance,' I pointed out doubtfully.

Beside me, Warren nodded. ‘That's very likely, Sir.'

‘No, it isn't. He's always been a vain fellow. Clever, but with a too good an opinion of himself and his looks. No doubt he thinks we have no hope of catching up to him.'

‘And do we, Sir?' Warren wanted to know. ‘Assuming he has not left the city - and I for my part think it likely that he is still here - how are we going to find one man hidden in a labyrinth of a city among three million people?'

‘The task is not as impossible as you might think, Warren.' Mr Ambrose tapped the map on the table. ‘Most of those three million people are working-class folk. I doubt very much Simmons would hide out in one of their miserable little sheds. Oh no. He did this for money, and he would want to live in style.'

In quick succession he pointed out various buildings on the map, marking them with pushpins.

‘These are the best hotels in town. I do not approve of such frivolous behaviour as betting, but if I did, I would bet my top hat that he is staying in one of them under some alias.'

‘Just… staying in a hotel?' I asked, incredulously. ‘Isn't he afraid of the police?'

‘He knows my affairs,' was the curt reply. ‘He knows I cannot involve the police in this. The results would be…'

His voice trailed off into nothingness. We all waited with bated breath, but not a word came. So the results would be too terrible to speak aloud, would they? What in heaven's name could be in this infernal file?

‘The police are not an option,' Mr Ambrose eventually continued, ‘so Simmons feels confident and secure.' For a moment, lightning flashed in his dark eyes. ‘Very soon he will learn of his mistake.'

‘This is all very well, but these are over a hundred hotels,' I pointed out. ‘How are we to find out in which one he is staying?'

‘I can take care of half,' said Mr Ambrose. Without further explanation, he strode to the pneumatic tube at the wall, wrote a message in his meticulous handwriting, and pulled the lever. Shortly after, the answer came. He checked it and returned to the desk.

‘You can cross these-' pointing to about half of the hotels on the map, ‘-off the list.'

‘How on earth can you check the guest lists of more than fifty hotels with just one message?' I demanded.

He fixed me with his dark glare.

‘Because I own them.'

‘You own fifty per cent of all the hotels in London?'

‘No. I own seventy per cent of all the hotels in London. But the remaining twenty per cent are too expensive even for an escaped criminal with a bag full of ready cash to afford.'

Of course. I should have guessed.

‘Well,' I asked sweetly, gesturing to the remaining hotels on the map, ‘do you plan on buying the rest of them to make things easier for us?'

‘That would not be making things easier, Mr Linton. Unfortunately, such things take time - time which we do not have.'

‘You could always bribe someone in the hotels,' I suggested, raising an eyebrow. ‘You have enough cash, don"t you? And you don't seem to be above bending the law a little.'

The room went deadly quiet.

Before I knew it, Mr Ambrose was at my side, and his hard hand was gripping my arm. Slowly, he leaned down towards my ear until I could feel his breath there, tickling me in a delicious threat.

‘I am perfectly well aware that you are no real lady, Mr Linton. There is no need to prove the fact further by impugning my honour in front of my associates. I will let you be a part of this only if you can behave yourself properly. For a start, when you speak to me, you will show me proper respect. You are to address me as "Mister Ambrose" or "Sir". Is that clear?'

I smiled at him as sweetly as I could manage.

‘Sir! Yes, Sir, Mister Ambrose, Sir!'

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but he didn't say anything. He just stepped back and looked down at the map again.

‘So how do we deal with the remaining hotels and determine whether or not he is there?'

‘We could simply ask,' suggested one of Warren's men. But Warren shook his head.

‘No, Jim. We could if we knew the alias Simmons is using; that wouldn't appear too suspicious. But we can't if we only know his description.'

I nodded. ‘That's right. I mean… How do you think a receptionist is going to react if you come marching into his hotel demanding to know if a man with long blonde hair is staying there, without offering any explanation as to why you're looking for him. He would throw you out.'

‘He would not throw me out,' stated Mr Ambrose darkly.

‘Err… probably, Sir. But he wouldn't answer the question either, would he?'

He shot me a look that was a shade darker than the one before.

‘Do you have a better idea?'

Suddenly I smiled. Inspiration had struck. Yes!

‘Actually,' I told him, ‘I do. I know exactly how we can find him. Or more precisely, how I can. It'll be easy. I just need a beautiful dress and a sack full of onions.'