We went up in a private lift to a flat at the top of the building. I was taken into a large sitting-room and through a long run of window I had half Paris lying at my feet. There were a couple of Picassos on the back wall behind me, a sideboard that looked like the tomb of Napoleon to my right, a gilt-legged sofa to my left on which the Empress Josephine had, maybe, curled up comfortably, and under my feet a selection of Persian rugs which most millionaires would have hung on the walls.
Stebelson went to the tomb and fetched me a large brandy while I watched the traffic rat-race up to the Arc de Triomphe. Stebelson had been very quiet and went on that way. But there was no long awkwardness between us for Herr Malacod came in almost at once.
He was dressed for some official government function, I guessed: dark blue knee breeches, white tie, and a red ribbon with some order dangling on it making a broad diagonal across his chest. He looked about knee high to a young grasshopper and I watched him with the same fascination which had taken me at our first meeting ... the domed head, matchstick arms, powder-white face, hooked nose, and the turned down bracket of a mouth with a huge cigar stuck in it. He smiled a greeting at me, and the same tiny miracle happened again, making me ready to put all my trust and faith in him.
He went to the sideboard, stretched up to it, and filled himself a glass of Vichy water.
I sat on the edge of the sofa and he moved the window so that the evening light behind him put his face in shadow.
He said to me, “Are you a member of the British Secret Service?”
I was not altogether surprised at the question.
I said, “No. But I have worked for them on a temporary basis in the past. As a matter of fact, they have been in touch with me over this job. They seem interested in it.”
“No doubt. And what have you passed to them?” The smile came again, “It’s all right. I know you must have. I’m well aware of the kind of pressure they can bring.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I’ve known it myself in the past. If I trusted them completely I should not be employing you. Expediency is the only god they acknowledge: What did you pass to them?”
“Everything I handed to you. Mademoiselle Latour-Mesmin will have reported to you what happened in Yugoslavia.”
He nodded and sipped the Vichy.
At this stage, I thought I might have trouble explaining to him my contact with Lancing. But if it did concern him he wasn’t showing it. Maybe it suited him just then not to embarrass me.
He said, “You know where the Komira has gone?”
I nodded. “Venice. One could have presumed that from Lancing’s notes. But also I’ve had a telegram from there sent by Katerina to my old Paris address. She knows I’m following Mrs Vadarci, and I took the liberty of hinting to her that there might be a substantial payment for her if she helped me to keep on the trail. I hope I did right?”
He nodded.
Somewhere behind me I heard Stebelson help himself to a drink.
I said, “I don’t think she’s likely to pass that information on to Mrs Vadarci, though. In fact I’m sure of it.”
“Why?”
“Because until she knows exactly what Mrs Vadarci intends for her she is giving nothing away. She wants to see what her role is. At the moment – though perhaps she doesn’t know it – I think there’s another candidate in Lottie Bemans.”
He nodded again then, but not the miracle smile. Just a slightly worn businessman’s smile. Then, to my surprise, he said, “They are both candidates for marriage. To the young man you saw on the Komira. Both have been carefully chosen, but I think Katerina will be given the honours. But I am not particularly interested in that. I want to know where she is eventually taken.”
“It will be the same place as the lead packing-case. I’m beginning to have dreams about this case.”
“Weren’t your British friends forthcoming about that?”
“No. And they said nothing of marriage candidates. But then they don’t answer questions. They ask them. What is in the case? Do you know?”
He gave me a little old gnome look, and said, “Never mind what is in it. I want to know where it is going. I want it – and I’ve got to have it within the next three weeks.”
It was the same spiel as Manston had given me.
“The fate of nations? Armageddon?”
The joke died somewhere between us, shrivelling to the ground like a dead leaf.
He said coldly, “Go to Venice. Find out where the case goes. I’m sure you will. I have complete trust in you.” He moved towards the door.
“And the A. Party?”
He paused by the door. “You can drive me, Stebelson.” Then to me, he said, “You were taking Miss Latour-Mesmin out to dinner tonight. I suggest you have it here. I only use this flat for changing when I have an official evening appointment. I think until you leave for Venice tomorrow, it would be better for you to avoid public places as much as possible.”
“Thank you.”
He opened the door and let Stebelson go through.
I caught him with his hand still on the door with the big question which had been in my mind all the time like a piece of gravel under the heel.
I said, “Why don’t you co-operate with the British over this? If I read the signs, you, they and a few others are all after the same thing.”
“Quite. But when we get it, then expediency will dictate what is done with it. And I am a Jew, Mr Carver. Expediency – with other races – usually works against us. Goodnight.”
I got up and helped myself to another brandy and, as I did so, Vérité came in
