“Just come into the waiting-room for a moment. There are one or two formalities to fulfil.”
“Is my passport not in order?” the Indian asked.
“Perfectly.”
Chandra hesitated, but then followed the official to the door of the waiting-room. Félix opened it and stood aside.
“Entrez.”
Chandra went in and the two detectives stood up. He must have suspected at once that they were police-officers and realised that he had fallen into a trap.
“Sit down,” said Félix. “I have one or two questions to put to you.”
“It is hot in here,” he said, and in point of fact they had a little stove there that kept the place like an oven. “I will take off my coat if you permit.”
“Certainly,” said Félix graciously.
He took off his coat, apparently with some effort, and he turned to put it on a chair, and then before they realised what had happened they were startled to see him stagger and fall heavily to the ground. While taking off his coat Chandra had managed to swallow the contents of a bottle that was still clasped in his hand. Ashenden put his nose to it. There was a very distinct odour of almonds.
For a little while they looked at the man who lay on the floor. Félix was apologetic.
“Will they be very angry?” he asked nervously.
“I don’t see that it was your fault,” said Ashenden. “Anyhow, he can do no more harm. For my part I am just as glad he killed himself. The notion of his being executed did not make me very comfortable.”
In a few minutes the doctor arrived and pronounced life extinct.
“Prussic acid,” he said to Ashenden.
Ashenden nodded.
“I will go and see Madame Lazzari,” he said. “If she wants to stay a day or two longer I shall let her. But if she wants to go tonight of course she can. Will you give the agents at the station instructions to let her pass?”
“I shall be at the station myself,” said Félix.
Ashenden once more climbed the hill. It was night now, a cold, bright night with an unclouded sky and the sight of the new moon, a white shining thread, made him turn three times the money in his pocket. When he entered the hotel he was seized on a sudden with distaste for its cold banality. It smelt of cabbage and boiled mutton. On the walls of the hall were coloured posters of railway companies advertising Grenoble, Carcassonne and the bathing places of Normandy. He went upstairs and after a brief knock opened the door of Giulia Lazzari’s room. She was sitting in front of her dressing-table, looking at herself in the glass, just idly or despairingly, apparently doing nothing, and it was in this that she saw Ashenden as he came in. Her face changed suddenly as she caught sight of his and she sprang up so vehemently that the chair fell over.
“What is it? Why are you so white?” she cried.
She turned round and stared at him and her features were gradually twisted to a look of horror.
“Il est pris,” she gasped.
“Il est mort,” said Ashenden.
“Dead! He took the poison. He had the time for that. He’s escaped you after all.”
“What do you mean? How did you know about the poison?”
“He always carried it with him. He said that the English should never take him alive.”
Ashenden reflected for an instant. She had kept that secret well. He supposed the possibility of such a thing should have occurred to him. How was he to anticipate these melodramatic devices?
“Well, now you are free. You can go wherever you like and no obstacle shall be put in your way. Here are your ticket and your passport and here is the money that was in your possession when you were arrested. Do you wish to see Chandra?”
She started.
“No, no.”
“There is no need. I thought you might care to.”
She did not weep. Ashenden supposed that she had exhausted all her emotion. She seemed apathetic.
“A telegram will be sent tonight to the Spanish frontier to instruct the authorities to put no difficulties in your way. If you will take my advice you will get out of France as soon as you can.”
She said nothing, and since Ashenden had no more to say he made ready to go.
“I am sorry that I have had to show myself so hard to you. I am glad to think that now the worst of your troubles are over and I hope that time will assuage the grief that I know you must feel for the death of your friend.”
Ashenden gave her a little bow and turned to the door. But she stopped him.
“One little moment,” she said. “There is one thing I should like to ask. I think you have some heart.”
“Whatever I can do for you, you may be sure I will.”
“What are they going to do with his things?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
Then she said something that confounded Ashenden. It was the last thing he expected.
“He had a wristwatch that I gave him last Christmas. It cost twelve pounds. Can I have it back?”
IX
Gustav
When Ashenden, given charge of a number of spies working from Switzerland, was first sent there, R., wishing him to see the sort of reports that he would be required to obtain, handed him the communications, a sheaf of typewritten documents, of a man known in the secret service as Gustav.
“He’s the best fellow we’ve got,” said R. “His information is always very full and circumstantial. I want you to give his reports your very best attention. Of course Gustav is a clever little chap, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get just as good reports from the other agents. It’s merely a question of explaining exactly what we want.”
Gustav, who lived at Basle, represented a Swiss firm with branches at Frankfort, Mannheim and Cologne, and by virtue
