The Spy Who Came in from the Cold

there.

They were beginning to know him elsewhere too, the gray shambling figure from the Mansions. Not a wasted word did he speak, not a friend, neither man, woman nor beast, did he have. They guessed he was in trouble, run away from his wife like as not. He never knew the price of anything, never remembered it when he was told. He patted all his pockets whenever he looked for change, he never remembered to bring a basket, always buying shopping bags. They didn't like him in the Street, but they were almost sorry for him. They thought he was dirty, too, the way he didn't shave weekends and his shirts all grubby. A Mrs. McCaird from Sudbury Avenue cleaned for him for a week, but having never received a civil word from him withdrew her labor. She was an important source of information in the Street, where tradesmen told one another what they needed to know in case he asked for credit. Mrs. McCaird's advice was against credit. Leamas never had a letter, she said, and they agreed that that was serious. He'd no pictures and only a few books; she thought one of the books was dirty but couldn't be sure because it was in foreign writing. It was her opinion he had a bit to live on, and that that bit was running out. She knew he drew Benefit on Thursdays. Bayswater was warned, and needed no second warning. They heard from Mrs. McCaird that he drank like a fish: this was confirmed by the bartender. Bartenders and charwomen are not in the way of accommodating their clients with credit, but their information is treasured by those who are.

4 Liz

Finally he took the job in the library. The Labour Exchange put him on to it each Thursday morning as he drew his unemployment benefit, and he'd always turned it down.

'It's not really your cup of tea,' Mr. Pitt said, 'but the pay's fair and the work's easy for an educated man.'

'What sort of library?' Leamas asked.

'It's the Bayswater Library for Psychic Research. It's an endowment. They've got thousands of volumes, all sorts, and they've been left a whole lot more. They want another helper.'

He took his dole and the slip of paper. 'They're an odd lot,' Mr. Pitt added, 'but then you're not a stayer anyway, are you? I think it's time you gave them a try, don't you?'

It was odd about Pitt. Leamas was certain he'd seen him before somewhere. At the Circus, during the war.

The library was like a church hall, and very cold. The black oil stoves at either end made it smell of paraffin. In the middle of the room was a cubicle like a witness box and inside it sat Miss Crail, the librarian.

It had never occurred to Leamas that he might have to work for a woman. No one at the Labour Exchange had said anything about that.

'I'm the new help,' he said; 'my name's Leamas.'

Miss Crail looked up sharply from her card index, as if she had heard a rude word. 'Help? What do you mean, help?'

'Assistant. From the Labour Exchange. Mr. Pitt.' He pushed across the counter a form with his particulars entered in a sloping hand. She picked it up and studied it.

'You are Mr. Leamas.' This was not a question, but the first stage of a laborious fact-finding investigation. 'And you are from the Labour Exchange.'

'No. I was sent by the Exchange. They told me you needed an assistant.'

'I see.' A wooden smile.

At that moment the telephone rang: she lifted the receiver and began arguing with somebody, fiercely. Leamas guessed they argued all the time; there were no preliminaries. Her voice just rose a key and she began arguing about some tickets for a concert. He listened for a minute or two and then drifted toward the bookshelves. He noticed a girl in one of the alcoves, standing on a ladder sorting large volumes.

'I'm the new man,' he said, 'my name's Leamas.'

She came down from the ladder and shook his hand a little formally.

'I'm Liz Gold. How d'you do. Have you met Miss Crail?'

'Yes, but she's on the phone at the moment.'

'Arguing with her mother I expect. What are you going to do?'

'I don't know. Work.'

'We're marking at the moment; Miss Crail's started a new index.'

She was a tall girl, ungainly, with a long waist and long legs. She wore flat, ballet type shoes to reduce her height. Her face, like her body, had large components which seemed to hesitate between plainness and beauty. Leamas guessed she was twenty-two or three, and Jewish.

'It's just a question of checking that all the books are on the shelves. This is the reference bit, you see. When you've checked, you pencil in the new reference and mark it off on the index.'

'What happens then?'

'Only Miss Crail's allowed to ink in the reference. It's the rule.'

'Whose rule?'

'Miss Crail's. Why don't you start on the archaeology?'

Leamas nodded and together they walked to the next alcove where a shoe box full of cards lay on the floor.

'Have you done this kind of thing before?' she asked.

'No.' He stopped and picked up a handful of cards and shuffled through them. 'Mr. Pitt sent me. From the Exchange.' He put the cards back.

'Is Miss Crail the only person who can ink the cards, too?' Leamas inquired. 'Yes.'

She left him there, and after a moment's hesitation he took out a book and looked at the flyleaf. It was called Archaeological Discoveries in Asia Minor. Volume Four. They only seemed to have Volume Four.

It was one o'clock and Leamas was very hungry, so he walked over to where Liz Gold was sorting and said, 'What happens about lunch?'

'Oh, I bring sandwiches.' She looked a little embarrassed. 'You can have some of mine if that would help. There's no café for miles.'

Leamas shook his head.

'I'll go out, thanks. Got some shopping to do.' She watched him push his way through the swing doors.

It was half past two when he came back. He smelled of whisky. He had one shopping bag full of vegetables and another containing groceries. He put them down in a corner of the alcove and wearily began again on the archaeology books. He'd been' marking for about ten minutes when he became aware that Miss Crail was watching him.

'Mister Leamas.'

He was halfway up the ladder, so he looked down over his shoulder and said, 'Yes?'

'Do you know where these shopping bags come from?'

'They're mine.'

'I see. They are yours.' Leamas waited. 'I regret,' she continued at last, 'that we do not allow it, bringing shopping into the library.'

'Where else can I put it? There's nowhere else I can put it.'

'Not in the library,' she replied. Leamas ignored her, and returned his attention to the archaeology section.

'If you only took the normal lunch break,' Miss Crail continued, 'you would not have time to go shopping anyway. Neither of us does, Miss Gold or myself; we do not have time to shop.'

'Why don't you take an extra half hour?' Leamas asked. 'You'd have time then. If you're pushed you can work another half hour in the evening. If you're pressed.'

She stayed for some moments, just watching him and obviously thinking of something to say. Finally she announced: 'I shall discuss it with Mr. Ironside,' and went away.