The Midnight Visitor — Story

Ausable did not match any description of a secret agent that Fowler had ever encountered. Walking behind him down the damp, musty corridor of the gloomy French hotel, Fowler felt a growing sense of disappointment. The room they were heading to was small, on the sixth and topmost floor — hardly the setting for a dramatic adventure. Ausable was, for one thing, very fat. And then there was his accent: though he could speak French and German tolerably, he had never entirely shed the American accent he had carried from Boston to Paris twenty years earlier. Irony

"You are disappointed," Ausable said, wheezing slightly over his shoulder. "You imagined mysterious figures in the night, the crack of pistols, drugs in the wine. Instead you have spent a dull evening at a French music hall with a fat man who, rather than receiving messages from dark-eyed beauties, got only a prosaic telephone call arranging this appointment." He chuckled as he unlocked his door and stood back to let his guest enter. "But take heart," he added, "you will shortly see a document — an important document — that may well affect the course of history." Irony

He switched on the light. And there, halfway across the room, stood a man — slender, slightly shorter than average, with sharp features that recalled the pointed, crafty look of a fox. He held a small automatic pistol. Ausable blinked several times. "Max," he wheezed, "you gave me quite a start. I thought you were in Berlin. What on earth are you doing in my room?" Imagery

"The report," Max murmured smoothly. "The report about the new missiles, which is being delivered to you tonight. I thought I would relieve you of it. It will be safer in my hands." Ausable lowered himself heavily into an armchair. "I'm going to have serious words with the management this time," he said, his tone more irritable than frightened. "This is the second occasion this month that someone has entered my room through that wretched balcony." Fowler's eyes moved instinctively to the single window — it showed only the solid darkness of the night pressing against the glass. Imagery

"Balcony?" Max said, his voice rising slightly. "I used a passkey. I had no idea there was a balcony. That might have saved me some bother." Ausable looked irritated rather than grateful for the information. "It is not my balcony," he said with exaggerated patience. "This room was once part of a larger suite. The adjoining room used to be the sitting room, and it had the balcony, which now runs beneath my window. You can reach it from the empty room two doors down. Someone used it last month. The management promised to close it off, but obviously has not." He glanced at Fowler with a look that seemed to explain the situation as a tiresome domestic inconvenience. Irony

Max gestured with the pistol, directing both men to sit. "We have approximately half an hour to wait, I think," he said. "Thirty-one minutes," Ausable corrected gloomily. "The appointment was for twelve-thirty. I'd very much like to know how you found out about the report, Max." Max smiled thinly. "And we would like to know how your people obtained it in the first place. But no harm has been done — I shall have it back tonight. What is that? Who is at the door?" Irony

There was a sharp knock. Fowler flinched. Ausable simply smiled. "That will be the police," he said with quiet satisfaction. "I felt that such an important document deserved additional protection, so I arranged for them to look in and confirm all was well." Max pressed his lips together. The knock was repeated, more firmly. "What will you do, Max?" Ausable asked, almost gently. "If I don't answer, they will let themselves in — the door is unlocked — and they will not hesitate to shoot." Irony

Max's expression hardened with fury. He backed swiftly towards the window, swung one leg over the sill, and reached for the frame to steady himself. "Send them away!" he hissed. "I'll wait on the balcony. Send them away or I'll shoot!" The knocking grew louder. "Mr Ausable! Mr Ausable!" Keeping his gun trained on Ausable and his guest, Max pushed himself clear of the frame — and dropped. He screamed once, sharply, as he fell. The door opened. A waiter stood there with a tray holding a bottle and two glasses. "The drinks you ordered for your return, sir," he said pleasantly, set the tray on the table, uncorked the bottle, and left. Irony

Fowler, white-faced, stared after the waiter. "But the police..." he stammered. "There were no police," Ausable said, with a faint sigh. "Only Henry, whom I had ordered drinks from earlier." "But won't Max come back from the balcony?" Fowler began. "No," said Ausable. "He will not return. You see, my young friend — there is no balcony." Irony