“Caypor’s clever.”
“Well, be cleverer, damn your eyes.”
Ashenden made up his mind that he would take no steps to make Caypor’s acquaintance, but allow the first advances to be made by him. If he was being pressed for results it must surely occur to him that it would be worth while to get into conversation with an Englishman who was employed in the Censorship Department. Ashenden was prepared with a supply of information that it could not in the least benefit the Central Powers to possess. With a false name and a false passport he had little to fear that Caypor would guess that he was a British agent.
Ashenden did not have to wait long. Next day he was sitting in the doorway of the hotel, drinking a cup of coffee and already half asleep after a substantial Mittagessen, when the Caypors came out of the dining-room. Mrs. Caypor went upstairs and Caypor released his dog. The dog bounded along and in a friendly fashion leaped up against Ashenden.
“Come here, Fritzi,” cried Caypor, and then to Ashenden: “I’m so sorry. But he’s quite gentle.”
“Oh, that’s all right. He won’t hurt me.”
Caypor stopped at the doorway.
“He’s a bull-terrier. You don’t often see them on the Continent.” He seemed while he spoke to be taking Ashenden’s measure; he called to the maid: “A coffee, please, Fräulein. You’ve just arrived, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I came yesterday.”
“Really? I didn’t see you in the dining-room last night. Are you making a stay?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been ill and I’ve come here to recuperate.”
The maid came with the coffee and seeing Caypor talking to Ashenden put the tray on the table at which he was sitting. Caypor gave a laugh of faint embarrassment.
“I don’t want to force myself upon you. I don’t know why the maid put my coffee on your table.”
“Please sit down,” said Ashenden.
“It’s very good of you. I’ve lived so long on the Continent that I’m always forgetting that my countrymen are apt to look upon it as confounded cheek if you talk to them. Are you English, by the way, or American?”
“English,” said Ashenden.
Ashenden was by nature a very shy person, and he had in vain tried to cure himself of a failing that at his age was unseemly, but on occasion he knew how to make effective use of it. He explained now in a hesitating and awkward manner the facts that he had the day before told the landlady and that he was convinced she had already passed on to Caypor.
“You couldn’t have come to a better place than Lucerne. It’s an oasis of peace in this war-weary world. When you’re here you might almost forget that there is such a thing as a war going on. That is why I’ve come here. I’m a journalist by profession.”
“I couldn’t help wondering if you wrote,” said Ashenden, with an eagerly timid smile.
It was clear that he had not learnt that “oasis of peace in a war-weary world” at the shipping-office.
“You see, I married a German lady,” said Caypor gravely.
“Oh, really?”
“I don’t think anyone could be more patriotic than I am. I’m English through and through and I don’t mind telling you that in my opinion the British Empire is the greatest instrument for good that the world has ever seen, but having a German wife I naturally see a good deal of the reverse of the medal. You don’t have to tell me that the Germans have faults, but frankly I’m not prepared to admit that they’re devils incarnate. At the beginning of the war my poor wife had a very rough time in England and I for one couldn’t have blamed her if she’d felt rather bitter about it. Everyone thought she was a spy. It’ll make you laugh when you know her. She’s the typical German Hausfrau who cares for nothing but her house and her husband and our only child Fritzi.” Caypor fondled his dog and gave a little laugh. “Yes, Fritzi, you are our child, aren’t you? Naturally it made my position very awkward. I was connected with some very important papers, and my editors weren’t quite comfortable about it. Well, to cut a long story short, I thought the most dignified course was to resign and come to a neutral country till the storm blew over. My wife and I never discuss the war, though I’m bound to tell you that it’s more on my account than hers; she’s much more tolerant than I am and she’s more willing to look upon this terrible business from my point of view than I am from hers.”
“That is strange,” said Ashenden. “As a rule women are so much more rabid than men.”
“My wife is a very remarkable person. I should like to introduce you to her. By the way, I don’t know if you know my name. Grantley Caypor.”
“My name is Somerville,” said Ashenden.
He told him then of the work he had been doing in the Censorship Department, and he fancied that into Caypor’s eyes came a certain intentness. Presently he told him that he was looking for someone to give him conversation-lessons in German so that he might rub up his rusty knowledge of the language; and as he spoke a notion flashed across his mind: he gave Caypor a look and saw that the same notion had come to him. It had occurred to them at the same instant that it would be a very good plan for Ashenden’s teacher to be Mrs. Caypor.
“I asked our landlady if she could find me someone and she said she thought she could. I must ask her again. It ought not to be very hard to find a man who is prepared to come and talk German to me for an hour a day.”
“I wouldn’t take anyone on the landlady’s recommendation,” said Caypor. “After all you want someone with a good North-German accent and she only talks Swiss. I’ll ask my wife if she knows
