That was true enough. Ashenden had decided that it would be useless to attempt to make any arrangement with Caypor. Though doubtless he would have no feeling about betraying his employers he could certainly not be trusted. His wife’s influence was too strong. Besides, notwithstanding what he had from time to time told Ashenden, he was in his heart convinced that the Central Powers must win the war, and he meant to be on the winning side. Well, then Caypor must be laid by the heels, but how he was to effect that Ashenden had no notion. Suddenly he heard a voice.
“There you are. We’ve been wondering where you had hidden yourself.”
He looked round and saw the Caypors strolling towards him. They were walking hand in hand.
“So this is what has kept you so quiet,” said Caypor as his eyes fell on the view. “What a spot!”
Mrs. Caypor clasped her hands.
“Ach Gott, wie schön!” she cried. “Wie schön. When I look at that blue lake and those snowy mountains I feel inclined, like Goethe’s Faust, to cry to the passing moment: tarry.”
“This is better than being in England with the excursions and alarums of war, isn’t it?” said Caypor.
“Much,” said Ashenden.
“By the way, did you have any difficulty in getting out?”
“No, not the smallest.”
“I’m told they make rather a nuisance of themselves at the frontier nowadays.”
“I came through without the smallest difficulty. I don’t fancy they bother much about the English. I thought the examination of passports was quite perfunctory.”
A fleeting glance passed between Caypor and his wife. Ashenden wondered what it meant. It would be strange if Caypor’s thoughts were occupied with the chances of a journey to England at the very moment when he was himself reflecting on its possibility. In a little while Mrs. Caypor suggested that they had better be starting back and they wandered together in the shade of trees down the mountain paths.
Ashenden was watchful. He could do nothing (and his inactivity irked him) but wait with his eyes open to seize the opportunity that might present itself. A couple of days later an incident occurred that made him certain something was in the wind. In the course of his morning lesson Mrs. Caypor remarked:
“My husband has gone to Geneva today. He had some business to do there.”
“Oh,” said Ashenden, “will he be gone long?”
“No, only two days.”
It is not everyone who can tell a lie and Ashenden had the feeling, he hardly knew why, that Mrs. Caypor was telling one then. Her manner perhaps was not quite as indifferent as you would have expected when she was mentioning a fact that could be of no interest to Ashenden. It flashed across his mind that Caypor had been summoned to Berne to see the redoubtable head of the German secret service. When he had the chance he said casually to the waitress:
“A little less work for you to do, Fräulein. I hear that Herr Caypor has gone to Berne.”
“Yes. But he’ll be back tomorrow.”
That proved nothing, but it was something to go upon. Ashenden knew in Lucerne a Swiss who was willing on emergency to do odd jobs and, looking him up, asked him to take a letter to Berne. It might be possible to pick up Caypor and trace his movements. Next day Caypor appeared once more with his wife at the dinner-table, but merely nodded to Ashenden and afterwards both went straight upstairs. They looked troubled. Caypor, as a rule so animated, walked with bowed shoulders and looked neither to the right nor to the left. Next morning Ashenden received a reply to his letter: Caypor had seen Major von P. It was possible to guess what the Major had said to him. Ashenden well knew how rough he could be; he was a hard man and a brutal, clever and unscrupulous, and he was not accustomed to mince his words. They were tired of paying Caypor a salary to sit still in Lucerne and do nothing; the time was come for him to go to England. Guesswork? Of course it was guesswork, but in that trade it mostly was; you had to deduce the animal from its jawbone. Ashenden knew from Gustav that the Germans wanted to send someone to England. He drew a long breath; if Caypor went he would have to get busy.
When Mrs. Caypor came in to give him his lesson she was dull and listless. She looked tired and her mouth was set obstinately. It occurred to Ashenden that the Caypors had spent most of the night talking. He wished he knew what they had said. Did she urge him to go or did she try to dissuade him? Ashenden watched them again at luncheon. Something was the matter, for they hardly spoke to one another and as a rule they found plenty to talk about. They left the room early, but when Ashenden went out he saw Caypor sitting in the hall by himself.
“Hulloa,” he cried jovially, but surely the effort was patent, “how are you getting on? I’ve been to Geneva.”
“So I heard,” said Ashenden.
“Come and have your coffee with me. My poor wife’s got a headache. I told her she’d better go and lie down.” In his shifty green eyes was an expression that Ashenden could not read. “The fact is, she’s rather worried, poor dear; I’m thinking of going to England.”
Ashenden’s heart gave a sudden leap against his ribs, but his face remained impassive:
“Oh, are you going for long? We shall miss you.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m fed up with doing nothing. The war looks as though it were going on for years and I can’t sit here indefinitely. Besides, I can’t afford it, I’ve got to earn my living. I may have a German wife, but I am an Englishman, hang it
