Now Ashenden knew what it was that he saw in Caypor’s eyes. Fear. It gave him a nasty turn. Caypor didn’t want to go to England, he wanted to stay safely in Switzerland; Ashenden knew now what the major had said to him when he went to see him in Berne. He had got to go or lose his salary. What was it that his wife had said when he told her what had happened? He had wanted her to press him to stay, but, it was plain, she hadn’t done that; perhaps he had not dared tell her how frightened he was; to her he had always been gay, bold, adventurous and devil-may-care; and now, the prisoner of his own lies, he had not found it in him to confess himself the mean and sneaking coward he was.
“Are you going to take your wife with you?” asked Ashenden.
“No, she’ll stay here.”
It had been arranged very neatly. Mrs. Caypor would receive his letters and forward the information they contained to Berne.
“I’ve been out of England so long that I don’t quite know how to set about getting war-work. What would you do in my place?”
“I don’t know; what sort of work are you thinking of?”
“Well, you know, I imagine I could do the same thing as you did. I wonder if there’s anyone in the Censorship Department that you could give me a letter of introduction to.”
It was only by a miracle that Ashenden saved himself from showing by a smothered cry or by a broken gesture how startled he was; but not by Caypor’s request, by what had just dawned upon him. What an idiot he had been! He had been disturbed by the thought that he was wasting his time at Lucerne, he was doing nothing, and though in fact, as it turned out, Caypor was going to England it was due to no cleverness of his. He could take to himself no credit for the result. And now he saw that he had been put in Lucerne, told how to describe himself and given the proper information, so that what actually had occurred should occur. It would be a wonderful thing for the German secret service to get an agent into the Censorship Department; and by a happy accident there was Grantley Caypor, the very man for the job, on friendly terms with someone who had worked there. What a bit of luck! Major von P. was a man of culture and, rubbing his hands, he must surely have murmured: stultum facit fortuna quem vult perdere. It was a trap of that devilish R. and the grim major at Berne had fallen into it. Ashenden had done his work just by sitting still and doing nothing. He almost laughed as he thought what a fool R. had made of him.
“I was on very good terms with the chief of my department, I could give you a note to him if you liked.”
“That would be just the thing.”
“But of course I must give the facts. I must say I’ve met you here and only known you a fortnight.”
“Of course. But you’ll say what else you can for me, won’t you?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I don’t know yet if I can get a visa. I’m told they’re rather fussy.”
“I don’t see why. I shall be very sick if they refuse me one when I want to go back.”
“I’ll go and see how my wife is getting on,” said Caypor suddenly, getting up. “When will you let me have that letter?”
“Whenever you like. Are you going at once?”
“As soon as possible.”
Caypor left him. Ashenden waited in the hall for a quarter of an hour so that there should appear in him no sign of hurry. Then he went upstairs and prepared various communications. In one he informed R. that Caypor was going to England; in another he made arrangements through Berne that wherever Caypor applied for a visa it should be granted to him without question; and these he despatched forthwith. When he went down to dinner he handed Caypor a cordial letter of introduction.
Next day but one Caypor left Lucerne.
Ashenden waited. He continued to have his hour’s lesson with Mrs. Caypor and under her conscientious tuition began now to speak German with ease. They talked of Goethe and Winckelmann, of art and life and travel. Fritzi sat quietly by her chair.
“He misses his master,” she said, pulling his ears. “He only really cares for him, he suffers me only as belonging to him.”
After his lesson Ashenden went every morning to Cook’s to ask for his letters. It was here that all communications were addressed to him. He could not move till he received instructions, but R. could be trusted not to leave him idle long; and meanwhile there was nothing for him to do but have patience. Presently he received a letter from the consul in Geneva to say that Caypor had there applied for his visa and had set out for France. Having read this Ashenden went on for a little stroll by the lake and on his way back happened to see Mrs. Caypor coming out of Cook’s office. He guessed that she was having her letters addressed there too. He went up to her.
“Have you had news of Herr Caypor?” he asked her.
“No,” she said. “I suppose I could hardly expect to yet.”
He walked along by her side. She was disappointed, but not yet anxious; she knew how irregular at that time was the post. But next day during the lesson he could not but see that she was impatient to have
