hands. Perhaps something can be arranged ...?'
'Perhaps,' Vandam said thoughtfully.
'Let us drink coffee together.'
Vandam nodded. Aristopoulos led him into the back room. The shelves here were well laden with bottles and tins, most of them imported. Vandam noticed Russian caviar, American canned ham and English jam. Aristopoulos poured thick strong coffee into tiny cups. He was smiling again.
Aristopoulos said: These little problems can always be worked out between friends.'
They drank coffee.
Aristopoulos said: 'Perhaps, as a gesture of friendship, I could offer you something from my store. I have a little stock of French wine-'
'No, no-'
'I can usually find some Scotch whiskey when everyone else in Cairo has run out-'
'I'm not interested in that kind of arrangement,' Vandam said impatiently.
'Oh!' said Aristopoulos. He had become quite convinced that Vandam was seeking a bribe.
'I want to find Wolff,' Vandam continued. 'I need to know where he is living now. You said he was a regular customer?'
'What sort of stuff does he buy?'
'Much champagne. Also some caviar. Coffee, quite a lot. Foreign liquor.
Pickled walnuts, garlic sausage, brandied apricots . . .'
'Hm.' Vandam drank in this incidental information greedily. What kind of a spy spent his funds on imported delicacies? Answer: one who was not very serious. But Wolff was serious. It was a question of style. Vandam said: 'I was wondering how soon he is likely to come back.' 'As soon as he runs out of champagne.'
'All right. When he does, I must find out where he lives.'
'But, sir, if he again refuses to allow me to deliver ...?'
'That's what I've been thinking about. I'm going to give you an assistant.'
Aristopoulos did not like that idea. 'I want to help you, sir, but my business is private-'
'You've got no choice,' Vandam said. 'It's help me, or go to jail.'
'But to have an English officer working here in my shop- f,
'Oh, it won't be an English officer.' He would stick out like a sore thumb, Vandam thought, and probably scare Wolff away as well. Vandam smiled. 'I think I know the ideal person for the job.'
That evening after dinner Vandam went to Elene's apartment, carrying a huge bunch of flowers, feeling foolish.
She lived in a graceful, spacious old apartment house near the Place de l'Opera. A Nubian concierge directed Vandam to the third floor. He climbed the curving marble staircase which occupied the center of the building and knocked on the door of 3A.
She was not expecting him, and it occurred to him suddenly that she might be entertaining a man friend.
He waited impatiently in the corridor, wondering what she would be like in her own home. This was the first time he had been here. Perhaps she was out. Surely she had plenty to do in the evenings-The door opened.
She was wearing a yellow cotton dress with a full skirt, rather simple but almost thin enough to see through. The color looked very pretty against her light-brown skin. She gazed at him blankly for a moment, then recognized him and gave her impish smile.
She said: 'Well, hello!'
'Good evening.'
She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. 'Come in.'
He went inside and she closed the door.
'I wasn't expecting the kiss,' he said.
'All part of the act. Let me relieve you of your disguise.'
He gave her the flowers. He had the feeling he was being teased.
'Go in there while I put these in water,' she said.
He followed her pointing finger into the living room and looked around. The room was comfortable to the point of sensuality. It was decorated in pink and gold and furnished with deep soft seats and a table of pale oak. It was a corner room with windows on two sides, and now the evening sun shone in and made everything glow slightly. There was a thick rug of brown fur on the floor that looked like bearskin.
Vandam bent down and touched it: it was genuine. He had a sudden, vivid picture of Elene lying on the rug, naked and writhing. He blinked and looked elsewhere. On the seat beside him was a book which she had, presumably, been reading when he knocked. He picked up the book and sat on the seat. It was warm from her body. The book was called Istanbul Train. It looked like cloak-and-dagger stuff. On the wall opposite him was a rather modern-looking painting of a society ball: all the ladies were in gorgeous formal gowns and all the men were naked. Vandam went and sat on the couch beneath the painting so that he would not have to look at it. He thought it peculiar.
