“It was espionage made easy. Of course I didn’t care a damn about her, it was him I was after. Well, as soon as I’d got the goods on her I arrested her. I had enough evidence to convict a regiment of spies.”
R. put his hands in his pockets and his pale lips twisted to a smile that was almost a grimace.
“Holloway’s not a very cheerful place, you know.”
“I imagine no prison is,” remarked Ashenden.
“I left her to stew in her own juice for a week before I went to see her. She was in a very pretty state of nerves by then. The wardress told me she’d been in violent hysterics most of the time. I must say she looked like the devil.”
“Is she handsome?”
“You’ll see for yourself. She’s not my type. I daresay she’s better when she’s made up and that kind of thing. I talked to her like a Dutch uncle. I put the fear of God into her. I told her she’d get ten years. I think I scared her, I know I tried to. Of course she denied everything, but the proofs were there, I assured her she hadn’t got a chance. I spent three hours with her. She went all to pieces and at last she confessed everything. Then I told her that I’d let her go scot-free if she’d get Chandra to come to France. She absolutely refused, she said she’d rather die; she was very hysterical and tiresome, but I let her rave. I told her to think it over and said I’d see her in a day or two and we’d have another talk about it. In point of fact I left her for a week. She’d evidently had time to reflect, because when I came again she asked me quite calmly what it was exactly that I proposed. She’d been in gaol a fortnight then and I expect she’d had about enough of it. I put it to her as plainly as I could and she accepted.”
“I don’t think I quite understand,” said Ashenden.
“Don’t you? I should have thought it was clear to the meanest intelligence. If she can get Chandra to cross the Swiss frontier and come into France she’s to go free, either to Spain or to South America, with her passage paid.”
“And how the devil is she to get Chandra to do that?”
“He’s madly in love with her. He’s longing to see her. His letters are almost crazy. She’s written to him to say that she can’t get a visa to Holland (I told you she was to join him there when her tour was over), but she can get one for Switzerland. That’s a neutral country and he’s safe there. He jumped at the chance. They’ve arranged to meet at Lausanne.”
“Yes.”
“When he reaches Lausanne he’ll get a letter from her to say that the French authorities won’t let her cross the frontier and that she’s going to Thonon, which is just on the other side of the lake from Lausanne, in France, and she’s going to ask him to come there.”
“What makes you think he will?”
R. paused for an instant. He looked at Ashenden with a pleasant expression.
“She must make him if she doesn’t want to go to penal servitude for ten years.”
“I see.”
“She’s arriving from England this evening in custody and I should like you to take her down to Thonon by the night train.”
“Me?” said Ashenden.
“Yes, I thought it the sort of job you could manage very well. Presumably you know more about human nature than most people. It’ll be a pleasant change for you to spend a week or two at Thonon. I believe it’s a pretty little place, fashionable too—in peacetime. You might take the baths there.”
“And what do you expect me to do when I get the lady down to Thonon?”
“I leave you a free hand. I’ve made a few notes that may be useful to you. I’ll read them to you, shall I?”
Ashenden listened attentively. R.’s plan was simple and explicit. Ashenden could not but feel unwilling admiration for the brain that had so neatly devised it.
Presently R. suggested that they should have luncheon and he asked Ashenden to take him to some place where they could see smart people. It amused Ashenden to see R. so sharp, sure of himself and alert in his office, seized as he walked into the restaurant with shyness. He talked a little too loud in order to show that he was at his ease and made himself somewhat unnecessarily at home. You saw in his manner the shabby and commonplace life he had led till the hazards of war raised him to a position of consequence. He was glad to be in that fashionable restaurant cheek by jowl with persons who bore great or distinguished names, but he felt like a schoolboy in his first top-hat, and he quailed before the steely eye of the maitre d’hôtel. His quick glance darted here and there and his sallow face beamed with a self-satisfaction of which he was slightly ashamed. Ashenden drew his attention to an ugly woman in black, with a lovely figure, wearing a long row of pearls.
“That is Madame de Brides. She is the mistress of the Grand Duke Theodore. She’s probably one of the most influential women in Europe, she’s certainly one of the cleverest.”
R.’s clever eyes rested on her and he flushed a little.
“By George, this is life,” he said.
Ashenden watched him curiously. Luxury is dangerous to people who have never known it and to whom its temptations are held out too suddenly. R., that shrewd, cynical man, was captivated by the vulgar glamour and the shoddy brilliance of the scene before him. Just as the advantage of culture is that it enables you to talk nonsense with distinction, so the habit of luxury allows you to regard its frills and furbelows with a proper contumely.
But when they had eaten their luncheon and were drinking their coffee Ashenden,
