The Light of Day by Eric Ambler

on top, the wheels, everywhere.'
    There was a knock on the door and the customs inspector came back. He put a sheet of paper down in front of the Commandant. The Commandant read it and his face suddenly tightened. He looked up again at me.
    'You say you searched everywhere in the car?'
    ‘Yes, sir. Everywhere.'
    'Did you search inside the doors?'
    'Well, no, sir. They are sealed. I would have damaged…’
    He said something quickly in Turkish. Suddenly, the security man locked an arm round my neck and ran his free hand over my pockets. Then he shoved me down violently on to a chair.
    I stared at the Commandant dumbly.
    'Inside the doors there are—' he referred to the paper in his hand—'twelve tear-gas grenades, twelve concussion grenades, twelve smoke grenades, six gas respirators, six Parabellum pistols, and one hundred and twenty rounds of nine-millimetre pistol ammunition.' He put the paper down and stood up. ‘You are under arrest.'
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
    The post had no facilities for housing prisoners, and I was put in the lavatory under guard while the Commandant reported my arrest to headquarters and awaited orders. The lavatory was only a few yards from his office, and during the next twenty minutes the telephone there rang four times. I could hear the rumble of his voice when he answered. The tone of it became more respectful with each call.
    I was uncertain whether I should allow myself to be encouraged by this or not. Police behaviour is always difficult to anticipate, even when you know a country well. Sometimes Higher Authority is more responsive to a reasonable explanation of the misunderstanding, and more disposed to accept a dignified expression of regret for inconvenience caused, than some self-important or sadistic minor official who is out to make the most of the occasion. On the other hand, the Higher Authority has more power to abuse, and, if it comes to the simple matter of a bribe, bigger ideas about his nuisance value. I must admit, though, that what I was mainly concerned about at that point was the kind of physical treatment I would receive. Of course, every police authority, high or low, considers its behaviour 'correct’ on all occasions; but in my experience (although I have only really been arrested ten or twelve times in my whole life) the word 'correct' can mean almost anything from hot meals brought in from a near-by restaurant and plenty of cigarettes, to tight-handcuffing in the cell and a knee in the groin if you dare to complain. My previous encounters with the Turkish police had been uncomfortable only in the sense that they had been inconvenient andi humiliating; but then the matters in dispute had been of a more or less technical nature. I had to face the fact that 'being in possession of arms, explosives and other offensive weapons, attempting to smuggle them into the Turkish Republic, carrying concealed fire-arms and illegal entry without valid identification papers' were rather more serious charges. My complete and absolute innocence of them would take time to establish, and a lot of quite unpleasant things could happen in the interim.
    The possibility that my innocence might not be established was something that, realist though I am, I was not just then prepared to contemplate.
    After the fourth telephone call, the Commandant came out of his office, gave some order to the security man, who had been waiting in the passage, and then came into the lavatory.
    'You are being sent at once to the garrison jail in Edirne,’ he said.
    'And the car I was driving, sir?'
    He hesitated. 'I have no orders about that yet. No doubt it will be wanted as evidence.'
    Direct communication with Higher Authority seemed to have sapped a little of his earlier self-confidence. I decided to have one more shot at bluffing my way out. 'I must remind you, sir,' I said loudly, that I have already protested formally to you against my detention here. I repeat that protest. The car and its