I didn’t believe a word he said. He just liked talking. But the conversation was cut off by the entry of Duchêne and Paulet. It had taken them two hours to wrap up their negotiations with Freeman and Pelegrina.
Mr Peter Brown of Wimbledon was dismissed. On a tray Francois Paulet had a couple of bottles of beer, a glass and a plate of sandwiches. He put them down by me and—he’d been a waiter once at the Principi di Piemonte—he opened a bottle adroitly and poured a glass of beer for me. Over his big de Gaulle nose, his close-set eyes twinkled and he smiled.
‘You see how I look after an old friend?’
‘If the sandwiches are cheese and tomato you can take ’em back.’
‘Pâte.’
Duchêne went to the Roman picture and stared disapprovingly at it, ignoring me.
‘Hardly in your class, is it, Duchêne? Not phoney enough. Like those antique coins and all that herd-returning-at-cowdust crap, straight from the Encyclopaedia Britannica. I shouldn’t have thought you would have made an elementary mistake like that.’
He turned and said severely, ‘I didn’t. It was some fool in the Central Bureau who has never done an hour’s field work in his life. But they insist that they should provide the background and cover stories.’
‘He’ll be shot, of course?’
‘Probably. You wish to eat first, or talk business at the same time?’
Mouth full of sandwich, I said, ‘Carry on.’
He adjusted his big horn-rimmed spectacles, lit himself one of his Swiss cigar jobs, rolled it comfortably into the left corner of his mouth and said, ‘May I say first of all that you have nothing to worry about. Actually we are very grateful to you.’
‘So you should be. You used me to make contact with Freeman and Pelegrina—and I was fool enough not to know what was happening. But I still think you have something to worry about. By tomorrow morning anyone left in this house is going to be sitting on dynamite. Manston may have been a bit slow off the mark for once, but he’ll be here.’
‘I know all about Manston.’
‘I’ll bet you do.’
‘This house will be empty by four o’clock this afternoon. Everyone except you will be moving to another and much more secure hiding place.’
‘And me?’ I finished the first glass of beer and Paulet poured me another.
‘You like the pate?’
‘Excellent.’ I looked at Duchêne. ‘Well?’
‘You are going back to London.’
‘Good. I’ll be glad to wash my hands of the whole affair.’
‘Hardly. Though eventually you will.’
‘I knew there would be a catch.’
‘Please don’t think we have used you without any intention of rewarding you. All you have to do is follow your instructions—simple ones—and in six months’ time five thousand pounds will be deposited for you in any bank you like to nominate in any country.’
‘I don’t think I want your kind of money. And believe me, that’s right out of character.’
‘You are free to refuse it.’
‘But not free to disobey my instructions?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what they are.’
‘You go back to London, to your office, to your home—and you wait for a telephone call or some communication arranging a meeting with someone who will identify himself as Saraband Two.’ I groaned. ‘I’ll bet that name was made up by your Central Bureau too.’
He nodded sympathetically.
Paulet said, ‘It is always the same. The people who sit in offices, they are incurable romantics, no? We who live in the smoke of battle have a more elemental approach.’
I cocked an eye at him. ‘Your approach seemed just clumsy to me. But I must say I took it for real. The world’s full of clumsy people. By the way, when did you strangle our friend with the London-Scottish tie?’
‘The evening before you came. He was one of Manston’s men and I did not want him to have the various bits of information lying about the cottage. It was a highly regrettable thing to have to do.’
‘But you gritted your teeth, said “pour la patrie”—or whatever the Slav equivalent is—and did it.’
Paulet looked at the stern-faced Duchêne. ‘He jokes, always, Monsieur Carvay; he jokes. I like him so much for that.’
As he finished he whipped out his right hand, hit me on the side of the face and knocked me from the chair.
As I picked myself up he said very sincerely, ‘There was nothing personal in that. Monsieur Duchêne just wants you to realize that this is a serious matter.’
‘As indeed it is,’ said Duchêne. ‘And please, I wish to have no more references made to my government. Not that I am admitting that you are right as to which one it is.’
‘So I go back to London, wait for a call from Saraband Two, and then do exactly as I’m told.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And what happens if I go back and refuse to play ball? I could go right to Manston’s boss and tell him everything.’
‘You are referring to Mr Sutcliffe?’
‘Yes.’ There was no surprise in me. The intelligence services of all countries kept directories and dossiers of the top boys on each side. I wondered sometimes why they didn’t all meet once a year for a jolly reunion dinner on some neutral ground like Switzerland or San Marino. They were all inhuman bastards, anyway, and if I could have known the date and place of the next meeting I’d have put a bomb under the table and cleaned the world up a little.
‘You will make no approach to anyone, nor tell anyone anything until you have spoken to Saraband Two. When you have met—you will do exactly as you are told.’
‘And you think I’ll do this—just because you tell me to? You’re crazy. Paulet, tell him he’s crazy. You know me—only wild horses can make me do anything I don’t want to do, and it takes a lot of them, big, fat percherons weighing two and a half tons each.’
Paulet shook his head. ‘They are splendid horses, but
