“I’d just like to have some working idea of what I’m getting into. Stebelson, I take it, is your agent?”
“Yes.”
He looked hard at me then, and he went on looking, and it was hard to say whether he was waiting for me to speak or whether he was making up his mind about something. I decided for the latter, and waited. After a moment or two he took the cigar from his mouth and laid it gently on a silver tray. Then he smiled and a tiny miracle happened. He was no longer grotesque. It was a heartening smile that I’d have taken odds could be trusted from Paris to Timbuktu. Perhaps he sensed the moment of confidence in me, perhaps he knew all about the effect of that smile on people ... anyway, he spoke.
He said, “Before you came, Mr Carver, I had made up my mind to lie to you. Not because I wanted to use you to accomplish anything illegal for me ... but simply because this matter is of great importance to me and many other people. Quite simply I was going to give you some story ... fabricated of course ... that would satisfy you and ensure that you continued in my service. However, I have now changed my mind.”
“In the last three minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I got the smile again.
“When you leave here, Mr Carver, you know my name. You can make inquiries about me and you will know what kind of man I am. One of the factors which have made me what I am is an ability to judge men quickly. You have been judged.”
I liked the way he said it. Somehow it made me feel good. I liked the way he spoke, too, in his soft, gently modulated English, no mother tongue obviously, but for him something not to be abused.
“And what does the judgement mean, Mr Malacod? That I get the truth? Or that you are going to ask me to work for you in the dark and rely on your good faith?”
“The truth,” he said, picking up his cigar, “cannot be told yet. But I have no wish to deal in lies. So, I am going to ask you to work for me and be content with the knowledge that, when you know the truth, as you will eventually, you will concede that I am a man of good faith.”
I smiled. “It’s a lot to ask. Faith in human nature wears very thin in my profession.”
“In all professions. But this is the way I would prefer it to be between us. You can make your own terms about payment. After all, faith should be rewarded.” He smiled, but it was a different one this time, worldly, acknowledging that people have to eat, drink and pay bills. “And in return, all I ask is that you follow Mrs Vadarci and this girl, Katerina. Just follow them, and report their movements to me?”
“Who is this Mrs Vadarci?”
“Someone who intends to use Katerina Saxmann – though the girl doesn’t know this at the moment. What I want to know is how and where.”
“And you just want me to follow them?”
“Yes. Eventually, they will settle down somewhere. And I can tell you that it will be somewhere remote. Not the kind of place where visitors will be welcomed.”
“I’m sure you want this done discreetly – but Katerina knows me. If I follow her around she’s going to say something about it to Mrs Vadarci.”
His smile was the worldly one again.
“I think not – if you handle her correctly. She’s an unusual girl. An expert in using people, I understand. You shouldn’t find it difficult to come to some arrangement with her. A financial one if necessary. All I insist on is that Mrs Vadarci doesn’t know she’s being followed. Well?” He lobbed the last word at me, and I knew that I was going to get no more from him.
I heard the notebook pages flip behind me and knew that she was making a record of the conversation. What was I to do? I had trusted people before and it had usually finished by increasing my overdraft. But there was something about this tiny figure with its domed head and matchstick arms, about the smile, and the soft voice, that impressed me, rang the hidden bell inside which signals only when genuine contact is made.
Like a fool, charmed, ensnared, I said, “All right, I accept the terms.”
He nodded, and said, “Good. And thank you for your confidence in me.”
I said, “What about the details? Reporting to you and so on? I’ve a feeling I shall be travelling around.”
“Quite, Mr Carver. And naturally, you don’t want to be encumbered with administrative details. Madame Latour-Mesmin will accompany you and handle all your reports, and deal with all your travel and hotel arrangements. From now on you may call on her for any duties you consider necessary.”
I turned then and looked at her. Latour-Mesmin. It was a hell of a name. She looked up briefly from her notebook. It was one of those long oval faces with big brown eyes that most of the time say nothing in a kind of dumb spaniel way, an attractive face, but without a great deal of life in it, though I got the feeling that at some time there had been a great deal of life there until she had decided against it.
“But I may not want her with me all the time,” I said.
“Then, you tell her where to stay, what to do until you do want her. She’s entirely at your disposal, and will send your reports either to me or to Herr Stebelson.”
And that was that. I walked back down the corridor behind her, wondering just how far out of my depth I was. She pressed the lift push and, as we waited, I said, “I can’t go around saying Latour-Mesmin. It sounds like a bottle of Burgundy. What comes in front of it?”
“Vérité,” she said.
“We
