He held up his hand. “Please! What I was about to say had nothing to do with your salary. But it is of interest to you to preserve this association. For one very good reason. My principals in Belgrade have intimated that they might see fit, should you prove obstinate in this matter, to send a letter to Mr. Pelcher in England with photostat copies of your enclosures to me of three weeks ago. I cannot help thinking that that would prove a little embarrassing for you.”
I drew a deep breath. “So that’s it! Blackmail, eh!”
“Not at all,” he returned easily, “merely a reminder of the mutual confidence that must exist between business associates. There is no question of our asking anything more from you than you are able to give us without trouble or risk to yourself. In return, we keep our part of the bargain by paying you three thousand lire a month. It is all quite simple and reasonable.”
I was silent for a moment. When at last I spoke it was with the obvious intention of salving what was left of my dignity.
“Very well,” I said, “I see that I have no choice but to agree. But let me tell you this, General. If I did not believe that you were acting on instructions you had no part in, not even a revolver would prevent me expressing myself very forcibly.”
He smiled; not, I thought, without a hint of triumph.
“My dear fellow, we are all of us at the mercy of blockheads. We can only accept the inevitable with the best possible grace. There are no bad feelings between us, I hope.”
“Oh no. No bad feelings.”
“Then let us shake hands on it.”
We shook hands. He opened the door and got out.
“My wife asked me to give you her kind regards, Mr. Marlow.”
“Please thank her.”
“By all means. I shall look forward to your report within the next fifteen days. You understand, I think, what is required.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Then, a rivederci.”
“Good night.”
He went, leaving a faint odour of Chypre behind him. I watched him turn his car round and drive off in the direction of Milan. After a while, I followed him slowly. I ought, I know, to be feeling pleased with myself. But I was not: for, such are the frailties of human logic, I felt that, had my report to Vagas been genuine and had I had no ulterior motives whatever, my behaviour that evening would have been precisely the same.
Some ten minutes later I pulled up outside the caffe at which I had left Zaleshoff and Tamara.
The table before which they were sitting was littered with empty coffee cups. He watched me steadily as I walked towards them and sat down in the vacant chair. Then:
“O.K.?”
“O.K.,” I said, “but I think I’d like a brandy with my coffee. It’s been a tiring day.”
The two plain-clothes men, looking tired and very cold, were sitting in the caffe opposite the Parigi when at last I got back. They had the self-contained air of men who have been quarrelling.
A fortnight later “N. Marinetti” posted his second report to “J. L. Venezetti.”
The part that referred to Spartacus, I had supplied. The rest was Zaleshoff’s. It had taken him some time to compose. Most of it consisted of nondescript facts about the work in progress in the factories of three big customers. According to Zaleshoff, who supplied them, these facts had been known to every intelligence department in Europe for the past three months. They would, he declared, supply a stodgy but confidence- promoting background to the really important items. Just how he had come into possession of them I did not trouble to inquire. To do so would, I knew, have been a waste of time.
The important items were singularly unimpressive. There were two of them. One referred in the vaguest terms to three special hydraulic aircraft lifts and to the fact that they had been designed at the request of a municipal authority in the Trentino. The other was a bald statement to the effect that the same municipal authority had retained a well-known Italian civil engineer, named Bochini, as a consultant, and that this engineer was no longer working for the Italian Air Ministry. I had looked at the report a little despondently.
“It looks pretty feeble to me, Zaleshoff.”
He had chuckled. “Don’t you worry. It’s dynamite. You see what happens when he gets it. He’ll react all right.”
Vagas did react. Two days after I had despatched the report I collected his letter from the poste restante. In addition to the three thousand lire there was a letter:
Dear Sir,
Your report received. I enclose 3,000 lire as arranged. There are two points mentioned in your report about which I should like further details as soon as possible. The points in question are those relating to the hydraulic lifts and to the retention of the engineer Bochini. The details I require are as follows:
1. What arrangements have been made for paying for these lifts? Is it the Italian Government who is paying? What form of credit facilities have been extended by the manufacturers? You might approach the subject by saying that you have heard on good authority that the municipality in question is in financial difficulties.
2. Who designed the lifts? On what date are they being delivered?
3. Has Bochini had anything to do with the order for the lifts?
I realise that to secure this information quickly you will have to re-visit Torino. Please do so as soon as you possibly can. I am prepared to pay a bonus of 5,000 lire over and above the present arrangement for this information.
Yours faithfully,
J. L. Venezetti.
Zaleshoff crowed when I showed it to him.
“What did I tell you?” he demanded triumphantly.
“I don’t understand it.”
“It’s perfectly simple. For purposes of secrecy the Italian Air Ministry have issued their orders for the equipment for these three aerodromes through this municipality. Officially, the municipality will take delivery. Actually it will be the Air Ministry. This guy Bochini is their head man on the subject of underground aerodrome construction. Vagas got the idea immediately. I knew he would. But it’s too important a thing for him to make mistakes about. He wants confirmation.”
“But how am I going to get this information?”
“You needn’t worry. I’ve got it already. We’ll wait a couple of weeks before we deliver, just to make it look all right. Then we’ll be sitting pretty.”
Four days previously my spirits had been raised considerably by the discovery that I was no longer under surveillance, that the plain-clothes men had been withdrawn. Now, Zaleshoff’s enthusiasm completed the cure. That night the three of us ate at a more expensive place than usual. I ordered a bottle of Asti Spumante. We drank to the confusion of Vagas, and Zaleshoff and I took it in turns to dance with Tamara. Looking back on that evening now, I can still recapture the feeling I had of sitting in the sun after a particularly unpleasant storm has passed. We were very gay. But now our gaiety seems more than a little pathetic. I have, these days, a mistrust of celebrations that amounts to a superstition. I can never quite forget the grim spectre of anti-climax that lurks in the ante- room.
The following day I replied to Vagas’ letter, assured him that I would do my best to obtain the information he wanted, and settled down to the work of the office.
Thanks chiefly to Umberto’s efforts, the work had begun to assume more reasonable proportions. Bellinetti, I was almost relieved to find, was spending less and less time at his desk and more and more in the caffe. His manner towards me was jauntily cordial. I imagine that he thought that the new broom had worn down and that the dust was settling once again into the old corners. I did not bother to disillusion him. Things were going smoothly. Fitch, in one of his weekly memoranda, had made a jocular reference to the growing efficiency of the Milan office. I almost regretted my decision to resign at the end of the month-almost, but not quite.
That week I wrote to Claire and received a reply from her. I also wrote to Hallett asking him to let me know if he heard of a job going that might suit me. I was, I said with perfect truth, anxious to return to England. With
