“That Indian fellow must be a rather remarkable chap,” he said.
“He’s got brains, of course.”
“One can’t help being impressed by a man who had the courage to take on almost single-handed the whole British power in India.”
“I wouldn’t get sentimental about him if I were you. He’s nothing but a dangerous criminal.”
“I don’t suppose he’d use bombs if he could command a few batteries and half a dozen battalions. He uses what weapons he can. You can hardly blame him for that. After all, he’s aiming at nothing for himself, is he? He’s aiming at freedom for his country. On the face of it it looks as though he were justified in his actions.”
But R. had no notion of what Ashenden was talking.
“That’s very farfetched and morbid,” he said. “We can’t go into all that. Our job is to get him and when we’ve got him to shoot him.”
“Of course. He’s declared war and he must take his chance. I shall carry out your instructions, that’s what I’m here for, but I see no harm in realising that there’s something to be admired and respected in him.”
R. was once more the cool and astute judge of his fellows.
“I’ve not yet made up my mind whether the best men for this kind of job are those who do it with passion or those who keep their heads. Some of them are filled with hatred for the people we’re up against and when we down them it gives them a sort of satisfaction like satisfying a personal grudge. Of course they’re very keen on their work. You’re different, aren’t you? You look at it like a game of chess and you don’t seem to have any feeling one way or the other. I can’t quite make it out. Of course for some sort of jobs it’s just what one wants.”
Ashenden did not answer. He called for the bill and walked back with R. to the hotel.
VIII
Giulia Lazzari
The train started at eight. When he had disposed of his bag Ashenden walked along the platform. He found the carriage in which Giulia Lazzari was, but she sat in a corner, looking away from the light, so that he could not see her face. She was in charge of two detectives who had taken her over from English police at Boulogne. One of them worked with Ashenden on the French side of the Lake Geneva, and as Ashenden came up he nodded to him.
“I’ve asked the lady if she will dine in the restaurant-car, but she prefers to have dinner in the carriage, so I’ve ordered a basket. Is that quite correct?”
“Quite,” said Ashenden.
“My companion and I will go into the diner in turn so that she will not remain alone.”
“That is very considerate of you. I will come along when we’ve started and have a chat with her.”
“She’s not disposed to be very talkative,” said the detective.
“One could hardly expect it,” replied Ashenden.
He walked on to get his ticket for the second service and then returned to his own carriage. Giulia Lazzari was just finishing her meal when he went back to her. From a glance at the basket he judged that she had not eaten with too poor an appetite. The detective who was guarding her opened the door when Ashenden appeared and at Ashenden’s suggestion left them alone.
Giulia Lazzari gave him a sullen look.
“I hope you’ve had what you wanted for dinner,” he said as he sat down in front of her.
She bowed slightly, but did not speak. He took out his case.
“Will you have a cigarette?”
She gave him a glance, seemed to hesitate, and then, still without a word, took one. He struck a match, and lighting it, looked at her. He was surprised. For some reason he had expected her to be fair, perhaps from some notion that an Oriental would be more likely to fall for a blonde; but she was almost swarthy. Her hair was hidden by a close-fitting hat, but her eyes were coal-black. She was far from young, she might have been thirty-five, and her skin was lined and sallow. She had at the moment no makeup on and she looked haggard. There was nothing beautiful about her but her magnificent eyes. She was big, and Ashenden thought she must be too big to dance gracefully; it might be that in Spanish costume she was a bold and flaunting figure, but there in the train, shabbily dressed, there was nothing to explain the Indian’s infatuation. She gave Ashenden a long, appraising stare. She wondered evidently what sort of man he was. She blew a cloud of smoke through her nostrils and gave it a glance, then looked back at Ashenden. He could see that her sullenness was only a mask, she was nervous and frightened. She spoke in French with an Italian accent.
“Who are you?”
“My name would mean nothing to you, madame. I am going to Thonon. I have taken a room for you at the Hôtel de la Place. It is the only one open now. I think you will find it quite comfortable.”
“Ah, it is you the Colonel spoke to me of. You are my jailer.”
“Only as a matter of form. I shall not intrude upon you.”
“All the same you are my jailer.”
“I hope not for very long. I have in my pocket your passport with all the formalities completed to permit you to go to Spain.”
She threw herself back into the corner of the carriage. White, with those great black eyes, in the poor light, her face was suddenly a mask of despair.
“It’s infamous. Oh, I think I could die happy if I could only kill that old Colonel. He has no heart. I’m so unhappy.”
“I am afraid you have got yourself into a very unfortunate situation. Did you not know that espionage
