I turned to walk back to my flat and, as I did so, a black saloon pulled into the kerb and a hand beckoned to me out of the rear window. It was raincoat.
I went over. He gave me a tired smile.
“It’s late,” he said, “but he wants to talk to you.”
I said, “I don’t do business at this time of night. Besides I’ve left a saucepan of milk on for my bedtime cocoa.”
“I’ll send a man up to turn it off.”
“Nice of you. He can do the washing up as well.”
We drove off towards Westminster and, as we took the roundabout at the foot of Lambeth Bridge, he said, “You’ve got lipstick on your chin.”
CHAPTER FOUR
HE SHALL HAVE A NEW MASTER
I’d been there before once – with Manston. They don’t ask you to call at their office. Sometimes I think they are not quite sure where their offices are. It was a flat in Covent Garden, and I even knew his name, or at least the one that was listed with his telephone number. Raincoat did not come up with me. He stayed outside, yawning in the back of the car, and I was let in by his manservant. I did not know his name, but he was a snob like Wilkins. He had no time for me because he knew at once that I was not “regular” like old raincoat.
He, Sutcliffe, was lying back in an armchair, a floppy old corduroy dressing-gown wrapped loosely around him, and his feet were up on a small stool. He was a fat little number, a humpty-dumpty man, except that one look at his face and eyes told you he was never going to fall. He lay back smoking a cigar. From his dress trousers and white waistcoat it was not hard to guess that he’d just come back from some intimate dinner in the Whitehall area where they had settled the fate of nations over the port, not wasting too much time on it, so that they could get quickly on to the real business of discussing England’s chances in the next Test series. But that did not mean that I underestimated his kind. For real ruthlessness the true blood line runs through Eton, Balliol and Whitehall on one side, and Wellington, Sandhurst, and the Brigade on the other.
He gave me a warm smile and waved at the sideboard and I went and fixed myself a drink.
“Cigar?”
I shook my head and lit a cigarette. I had a kind of “mute from malice” feeling that I knew would take a little time to go.
He said, less warmly, “Sit down and don’t fidget, Carver.”
I said, “I’m allergic to red tape. There must be a piece in this room somewhere.”
He smiled and said, “Is your passport up to date?”
I said, “It always is.”
He said, “Got a current visa for Yugoslavia?”
I said, “No.”
He said, “Apply for one tomorrow. Cost you fifteen bob, I think. Or maybe it’s seven-and-sixpence.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. But it’s not an order.”
“When do I get those?”
“You don’t. You’re a private citizen, running a private business. This is a free country.”
I looked at him over the rim of my glass. He looked absolutely sincere, and I said, “That’s what we fought the Hundred Years War for, and a few others. But when I apply for the renewal of my licence or what-have-you things could be awkward. The police will develop a habit of picking me up week after week for doing twenty-eight in a thirty-mile limit. It could be hard for an honest man to make a living. I might have to give it all up and get a job.”
He chuckled. Then he said, “You should have taken Manston’s advice and come in with us.”
“No thank you.”
“Then you can’t blame us for using you now and then. A man of your talents. We’ll raise your fee this time.”
“I’d rather go home.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “You stay.”
There was no arguing against that. I had tried it on my first visit here and it had not worked. I did not try this time.
“Just brief me.”
He stood, and went and helped himself to a glass of water, but in passing he took my glass and helped me to whisky.
“Hans Stebelson and Katerina Saxmann. We have a quite passionate interest in them.”
I liked that. I wondered whether he knew that I had a quite passionate interest in one of them. I decided that he did.
“Where do I come in?”
“Very soon Hans Stebelson is going to extend his commission to you. I don’t think you know it, but he has picked you for a special assignment. That shows good sense on his part. He couldn’t have found a better man.”
“Compliment?”
“No, fact. You’re intelligent and not easily fooled. Also, the less sterling side of your character has been nicely assessed by him. You’ve got an itch for money—”
“Who hasn’t?”
“And you can’t resist a pretty face and a pair of well-turned buttocks.”
“Thank the Lord.”
“And you’re as stubborn as a mule when you’re crossed.”
“It’s a great character reference. I’ll have it typed and you can sign it.”
He rearranged his feet on the stool and stared up at one of the modern paintings. Without looking at me, he said, “You’ll accept his assignment, give him good service, and you’ll keep in touch with us and pass everything back to us.”
“Two masters?”
“And two lots of fees, and two lots of expenses. You should do well out of it. Just so long, Carver, as you don’t get any ideas of your own for further financial advancement. Plenty of men have had their arms broken while trying to put too much in their wallets.”
“Don’t I get anything, not even part of a fairy story to cut my teeth on? At least you
