on the table, Mr. Marlow. You may remember that when we originally discussed this arrangement at my house, a figure of two thousand lire a month was mentioned.”
“Naturally I remember.”
“Subsequently, I mentioned another figure, three thousand lire a month, which was the figure finally agreed upon.”
I uttered a non-committal “Yes.” I was puzzled. This was nothing like any of the gambits I had anticipated.
He tapped my knee. “What I did not tell you at the time, Mr. Marlow, was this. That it was entirely upon my own responsibility that I increased the figure from two to three thousand lire.”
I said, “I see.” But I didn’t see. I was extremely confused. I began to wonder if Zaleshoff had perhaps made a mistake or taken too much for granted in supposing that Vagas’ object in seeking this meeting was blackmail. After a pause, he went on.
“You will understand my feelings in the matter, Mr. Marlow. I was anxious to secure your collaboration. It seemed to me that, in acting as I did, I was representing my country’s interests to the best of my ability.” There was the reproachful tone of the upright man unjustly accused in his voice as he continued. “Judge then of my chagrin, Mr. Marlow, I might almost say of my disgust”-he lingered over the word-“when I was advised several days ago that my principals in Belgrade could not agree to the arrangement I had made.”
“Yes, of course.” Now, I thought that I understood. Zaleshoff had been wrong. This was nothing more nor less than an attempt to go back on a bargain.
He sighed heavily. “I don’t think I need tell you, Mr. Marlow, that I was annoyed. I got into touch immediately with Belgrade and protested vigorously. I put it to them as an affair of honour. But to no purpose. They were adamant.” He became confidential. “Between ourselves, Mr. Marlow, I have very little patience with these permanent officials who sit in Government offices. They are invariably intransigent, narrow in outlook and absurdly parsimonious. I am only a simple soldier, a simple soldier anxious to do his duty as he sees it, but I can assure you, Mr. Marlow, that there are times when I feel my loyalty sorely tried.”
His voice was vibrant with insincerity. The air of manly protest was vitiated somewhat by the wafts of Chypre liberated from his person by the emphatic movements of his arms. He seemed to be expecting me to make some comment, but I waited in grim silence.
“Mr. Marlow,” he continued heavily, “I have been instructed by my principals in Belgrade to make certain proposals to you. Needless to say, I disagree entirely with the spirit of them. But you will realise that I have to obey orders. The proposals concern the arrangement whereby you are employed as an agent of the Yugo-Slav Government.”
I jumped. The phrase was a new one. “Employed as an agent of the Yugo-Slav Government.” Substitute “German” for “Yugo-Slav” and you had the situation in a nutshell. I didn’t like the sound of it a bit. And from his silence, I gathered that he was allowing the phrase to sink in.
“I suppose,” I said coldly, “that you wish me to agree to accepting a revision of the terms of our arrangement on the basis of the figure originally mentioned.” I shrugged. “Well, if you wish to go back on the bargain, there is, I suppose, nothing I can do about it. But I must say that I cannot see how you can expect me under the circumstances to feel this mutual confidence on which you place so much emphasis. That, General, is all I have to say. If you wish me to do so, I will return three thousand lire out of the five thousand you gave me. Or I can regard it as payment in advance.”
I was feeling relieved, but I was also feeling slightly disappointed. Zaleshoff had obviously placed far too much faith in his own deductions. The fact that Vagas had adopted one set of tactics as far as Ferning had been concerned was no guarantee that he would adopt the same tactics with me. Perhaps, I flattered myself, he had judged me to be a little too strong-minded. Well, in any case, the sooner this interview was over and I could get to bed, the better. But I was to receive an unpleasant shock.
The General coughed. “I am afraid, Mr. Marlow,” he said gently, “that the situation is not quite as simple as that. Inflexible they may be, but I can assure you that my principals are not in the habit of going back on a bargain, a financial arrangement, even though they cannot altogether agree to the terms of it. No, their proposals are of a different nature.”
“I don’t see…”
“One moment, Mr. Marlow!” The same peremptory, military quality that I had remarked before had crept into his voice again. “As a salaried agent of my Government, you are naturally bound, as I am, to take and obey instructions. The proposal is that, as you are receiving a salary in excess of that specified for the work you are doing, you should regularise the position by carrying out certain additional duties.”
“That was not part of the bargain,” I snapped.
“A bargain is a bargain, Mr. Marlow, only as long as it is useful to both parties to it.”
This was German Real Politik with a vengeance.
“What do you mean by additional duties?” I demanded.
“Your business,” he said coldly, “takes you into a number of important Italian heavy engineering works. You are required to incorporate in your future reports not only details of Spartacus activities but also details of the activities of the factories you visit. It will not be difficult. You have probably a retentive memory and you are a trained engineer. We wish to know principally what is being made and its destination. Any other particulars that your intelligence tells you are relevant will also be welcomed. Information you can pick up in conversation with works managers and technicians will be particularly valuable. You should have no difficulty in fulfilling our requirements. That is all.”
For a moment I said nothing. I felt that I had nothing to say. I stared ahead. Two cars roared down the autostrada towards and past us. The sound of their engines died away. I wondered if their occupants had noticed us. But what was there to notice about two men sitting smoking in a car drawn up by the side of the road? Nothing. I felt that there ought to be something, some external evidence of the fantastic nature of what was being said within. When at last I spoke it was to utter one of the feeblest remarks of which I have ever been guilty.
“But that,” I said, “would make me a spy.”
His reply was delivered in tones of infinite contempt.
“My dear Mr. Marlow,” he said deliberately, “you already are a spy.” He paused. Then: “I shall expect your first report within the next two weeks.”
He made as if to get out of the car. Suddenly, I came to my senses. My anger was very nearly genuine.
“Are you mad, General?”
With his hand on the door latch, he looked round. “I would remind you that you are addressing a superior, Mr. Marlow!”
“Superior be damned!” I snarled. “As you were good enough to remind me just now, signor Vagas, a bargain is a bargain only as long as it is useful to both parties to it. Excellent! What I am going to do, signor Vagas, is to go straight back to my hotel now, put your five thousand lire in an envelope and post it back to you to-night. As for your precious report, you can ask Mussolini for it. You’re just as likely to get it from him as you are from me. And you can tell your principals that they have my permission to take running jumps at themselves.”
“I’m afraid you’re being a little foolish, Mr. Marlow.” His voice was as dangerous a sound as I have heard. It very nearly reduced me to silence, but not quite.
“Foolish?” I repeated ironically. “Listen to me. If you’re not out of this car in thirty seconds, you’ll go out on your neck.”
He adjusted his monocle carefully. “I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Marlow, that I have a revolver in my pocket which I shall not hesitate to use if necessary.” I did my best to look slightly cowed. It was not difficult. When he went on his tone was conciliatory. “Now listen to me for a moment, Mr. Marlow. I can, to a certain extent, appreciate your annoyance, but I can assure you that I am only carrying out my instructions.”
I contrived to let this fiction appear to mollify me somewhat.
“That may be. I cannot believe that you would for one moment imagine that I might agree to this-this preposterous suggestion.”
“It is not a suggestion,” he returned quietly; “it is an order.” And then, as I opened my mouth to speak: “Please listen to me before you say any more. You seem to think that the maintenance of friendly relations between us is no longer of personal interest to you. Allow me to correct that impression.”
“If you think that a few dirty lire…”
