"Kyle, Duncan - Terror's Cradle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kyle Duncan)

'No.' He managed a smile. 'It was useful?'

'I don't think so,' I said. 'Sorry about the pressure. I felt I had to look.'

Morelius smiled. "Now it is over, I do not worry. I would like to help. If there is anything . . .'

I nodded. 'I'll ask. Thanks.'

'You tell Mr Scown we wish to help, please.'

'I'll tell him.'

'Where will you go now?'

I had no idea. 'Back to the hotel, I suppose.'

"We will send you by car,' Morelius said. He got up and opened the door. 'You will have spoken to Mr Marasov?'

I turned to look at him. 'Who?'

He looked surprised. 'You did not know? Mr Marasov came here with Miss Hay. He is a press attache, I think anyway, at the Soviet Embassy in Stockholm.'

'What,' I asked, 'was he doing?'

'Miss Hay said he was helping her with some translation.'

"Was he, now?' I thought about that. 'Did they leave together?'

'Yes. In our car.'

"Where did they go?'

'To the Scanda Hotel. The police know this. They asked the driver.'

I asked the driver myself on the way back into Gothenburg and he confirmed it. He'd taken Alsa and the Russian to the Scanda and when he dropped them, they both went inside.

'What were they talking about?'

He shrugged. 'I not listen. My English . -. .'

'You heard nothing?'

'No. Once he say he is sorry. I hear that.'

I wondered what he'd been sorry about, but there was no mileage in it. He could have been sorry about dropping cigarette ash.

I thanked the driver, watched the Volvo move away, and wandered into the Scanda's lobby. At least I now knew what to do next I was heading for the lift and my bugged telephone when the porter called my name and hurried over.

'A visitor asks to see you, sir.'