Page 218 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Ow!Merde!”
“So, how are we going to do this?” I asked my dear husband who, unsurprisingly, had stayed quiet thus far. Fixing my eyes on the man on the ground, I gifted him with a smile. “I’m sure you know various…methods?”
There was a long moment of silence. Then…
“I do indeed. For now, though…” Next to a cabinet in the corner, there stood a chair. Mr Ambrose grabbed hold of it and sat down, one leg crossed deceptively leisurely over the other. His eyes glittered in the shadows, like ice crystals on a blade. “Let’s talk.”
“Just talk?” The man whose name we still didn’t know snorted. “You think you can get me to open my mouth so easily?”
Reaching back, Mr Ambrose grabbed hold of one of the cabinet doors and pulled it open in one swift motion. This revealed an interior filled with screws, blades, and various other torture implements.
“Yes. I do.”
The Frenchman blanched.
“First…” My dear husband leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “What is your name?”
All we got in answer was…silence.
Behind the prisoner, unseen by him, I smirked. Oh my. Our guest wanted to give us the silent treatment? ToMr Rikkard Ambrose? This was going to be hilarious.
I pulled up a chair for myself and sat down, determined to enjoy the show.
Mr Ambrose returned his full attention to his prisoner, pinning him to the spot with his icy gaze.
“What. Is. Your. Name?”
Again, no answer.
“You think you can resist?” Mr Ambrose’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “That I cannot get the truth out of you?”
The Frenchman gave him an arrogant smirk. “I have been tortured before. Unless you break me,Monsieur, what can you do? How could you possibly get information out of me?”
In answer, Mr Ambrose simply leaned forward, reached into the man’s pocket and plucked out a handkerchief. Amonogrammedhandkerchief. The bound man’s eyes widened. Utterly ignoring him, Mr Ambrose unfolded the handkerchief and studied it for a moment.
“So, Mister…FDM? Would you be inclined to share more information?”
The Frenchman clamped his lips together.
Mr Ambrose didn’t bother asking any more questions. He just turned towards the door and clapped his hands. A moment later, a man with a forgettable face dressed in simple grey clothes appeared in the doorway.
“Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?”
“Send telegrams to my agents at all English and French ports. Have them enquire after anyone on the various passenger lists with a French name and the initials FDM. Inform the port officials that I would appreciate their cooperation. And if theydon’tcooperate…”
He let his voice trail off, his meaning clear.
“Yes, Sir! Right away, Mr Ambrose, Sir!”
Then Mr Ambrose turned back to the pale man on the floor, giving him a long, calm, almost friendly look.
I had never seen anything so scary.
“Now, shall we continue?”
Things proceeded apace. I had to admit, sometimes I had wondered how Mr Ambrose had risen from nothing to a man who possessed astronomical wealth. But if this was how he conducted his business negotiations, I understood. I understood, and I felt pity for anyone who had ever gotten in his way.
Well…
