Death on The Syria
‘Don’t move,’ said Peterson.
Peterson came into the cabin and shut the door. Salahadin stood still in front of the bed.
‘Who arc you?’ asked Peterson. ‘And what arc you doing in my cabin?’
Salahadin thought quickly. He had to say something. ‘Borkman sent me,’ he said. ‘I have a message for you.’ ‘You’re telling lies,’ said Peterson. ‘There’s something on the bed. Stand back.’
Salahadin moved back and Peterson saw the open box. ‘So, you’ve found the Black Cat,’ said Peterson. ‘You’re a member of the Red Hand Gang.’
Peterson opened the door and looked out into the corridor. It was empty.
‘Put your hands behind your back and come out of the cabin,’ said Peterson. Then walk slowly up the stairs to the top deck.’
Salahadin came out of the cabin and Peterson followed him.
Salahadin walked slowly up the stairs.
When they reached the top deck, Peterson spoke again. ‘Walk over to the rail.’
There was a rail round the side of the ship. Over the rail was the sea.
The Syria had now passed through the Corinth Canal and the ship was rolling from side to side.
Salahadin walked slowly forward towards the funnel. ‘Stop,’ said Peterson. ‘Turn round.’
Salahadin turned and looked at Peterson.
‘Now, tell me the truth,’ said Peterson. ‘Who are you?’