Gustav assumed a look of indignation.
“I do not understand you. Do you mean to suggest that I am in the service of the Germans? I give you my word of honour … I will not allow my straightforwardness to be impugned.”
“You would not be the only one to take money from both sides and provide information of value to neither.”
“Do you pretend that my information is of no value? Why then have you given me more bonuses than any other agent has received? The Colonel has repeatedly expressed the highest satisfaction with my services.”
It was Ashenden’s turn now to be cordial.
“Come, come, my dear fellow, do not try to ride the high horse. You do not wish to show me your passport and I will not insist. You are not under the impression that we leave the statements of our agents without corroboration or that we are so foolish as not to keep track of their movements? Even the best of jokes cannot bear an indefinite repetition. I am in peacetime a humorist by profession and I tell you that from bitter experience.” Now Ashenden thought the moment had arrived to attempt his bluff; he knew something of the excellent but difficult game of poker. “We have information that you have not been to Germany now, nor since you were engaged by us, but have sat here quietly in Basle, and all your reports are merely due to your fertile imagination.”
Gustav looked at Ashenden and saw a face expressive of nothing but tolerance and good humour. A smile slowly broke on his lips and he gave his shoulders a little shrug.
“Did you think I was such a fool as to risk my life for fifty pounds a month? I love my wife.”
Ashenden laughed outright.
“I congratulate you. It is not everyone who can flatter himself that he has made a fool of our secret service for a year.”
“I had the chance of earning money without any difficulty. My firm stopped sending me into Germany at the beginning of the war, but I learned what I could from the other travellers. I kept my ears open in restaurants and beer-cellars, and I read the German papers. I got a lot of amusement out of sending you reports and letters.”
“I don’t wonder,” said Ashenden.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. What can we do? You are not under the impression that we shall continue to pay you a salary?”
“No, I cannot expect that.”
“By the way, if it is not indiscreet, may I ask if you have been playing the same game with the Germans?”
“Oh, no,” Gustav cried vehemently. “How can you think it? My sympathies are absolutely pro-ally. My heart is entirely with you.”
“Well, why not?” asked Ashenden. “The Germans have all the money in the world and there is no reason why you should not get some of it. We could give you information from time to time that the Germans would be prepared to pay for.”
Gustav drummed his fingers on the table. He took up a sheet of the now useless report.
“The Germans are dangerous people to meddle with.”
“You are a very intelligent man. And after all, even if your salary is stopped, you can always earn a bonus by bringing us news that can be useful to us. But it will have to be substantiated; in future we pay only by results.”
“I will think of it.”
For a moment or two Ashenden left Gustav to his reflections. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke he had inhaled fade into the air. He thought too.
“Is there anything particular you want to know?” asked Gustav suddenly.
Ashenden smiled.
“It would be worth a couple of thousand Swiss francs to you if you could tell me what the Germans are doing with a spy of theirs in Lucerne. He is an Englishman and his name is Grantley Caypor.”
“I have heard the name,” said Gustav. He paused a moment. “How long are you staying here?”
“As long as necessary. I will take a room at the hotel and let you know the number. If you have anything to say to me you can be sure of finding me in my room at nine every morning and at seven every night.”
“I should not risk coming to the hotel. But I can write.”
“Very well.”
Ashenden rose to go and Gustav accompanied him to the door.
“We part without ill-feeling then?” he asked.
“Of course. Your reports will remain in our archives as models of what a report should be.”
Ashenden spent two or three days visiting Basle. It did not much amuse him. He passed a good deal of time in the bookshops turning over the pages of books that would have been worth reading if life were a thousand years long. Once he saw Gustav in the street. On the fourth morning a letter was brought up with his coffee. The envelope was that of a commercial firm unknown to him and inside it was a typewritten sheet. There was no address and no signature. Ashenden wondered if Gustav was aware that a typewriter could betray its owner as certainly as a handwriting. Having twice carefully read the letter, he held the paper up to the light to see the watermark (he had no reason for doing this except that the sleuths of detective novels always did it), then struck a match and watched it burn. He scrunched up the charred fragments in his hand.
He got up, for he had taken advantage of his situation to breakfast in bed, packed his bag and took the next train to Berne. From there he was able to send a code telegram to R. His instructions were given to him verbally two days later, in the bedroom of his hotel at an hour when no one was likely to be seen walking along a corridor, and within twenty-four hours, though by a circuitous route, he arrived at Lucerne.
X
The Traitor
Having taken a room at the hotel at
