“I’m fed up with them. I’m fed up with Tolstoy, I’m fed up with Turgenev and Dostoevsky, I’m fed up with Chekhov. I’m fed up with the Intelligentsia. I hanker after people who know their mind from one minute to another, who mean what they say an hour after they’ve said it, whose word you can rely on; I’m sick of fine phrases, and oratory and attitudinising.”
Ashenden, bitten by the prevailing ill, was about to make a speech when he was interrupted by a rattle as of peas on a drum. In the city, so strangely silent, it sounded abrupt and odd.
“What’s that?” asked Mr. Harrington.
“Rifle firing. On the other side of the river, I should think.”
Mr. Harrington gave a funny little look. He laughed, but his face was a trifle pale; he did not like it, and Ashenden did not blame him.
“I think it’s high time I got out. I shouldn’t so much mind for myself, but I’ve got a wife and children to think of. I haven’t had a letter from Mrs. Harrington for so long I’m a bit worried.” He paused an instant. “I’d like you to know Mrs. Harrington, she’s a very wonderful woman. She’s the best wife a man ever had. Until I came here I’d not been separated from her for more than three days since we were married.”
Anastasia Alexandrovna came back and told them that she had found the address.
“It’s about forty minutes’ walk from here and if you’ll come now I’ll go with you,” she said.
“I’m ready.”
“You’d better look out,” said Ashenden. “I don’t believe the streets are very healthy today.”
Anastasia Alexandrovna looked at Mr. Harrington.
“I must have my washing, Delilah,” he said. “I should never rest in peace if I left it behind me and Mrs. Harrington would never let me hear the last of it.”
“Come on then.”
They set out and Ashenden went on with the dreary business of translating into a very complicated code the shattering news he had to give. It was a long message, and then he had to ask for instructions upon his own movements. It was a mechanical job and yet it was one in which you could not allow your attention to wander. The mistake of a single figure might make a whole sentence incomprehensible.
Suddenly his door was burst open and Anastasia Alexandrovna flung into the room. She had lost her hat and was dishevelled. She was panting. Her eyes were starting out of her head and she was obviously in a state of great excitement.
“Where’s Mr. Harrington?” she cried. “Isn’t he here?”
“No.”
“Is he in his bedroom?”
“I don’t know. Why, what’s the matter? We’ll go and look if you like. Why didn’t you bring him along with you?”
They walked down the passage and knocked at Mr. Harrington’s door; there was no answer; they tried the handle; the door was locked.
“He’s not there.”
They went back to Ashenden’s room. Anastasia Alexandrovna sank into a chair.
“Give me a glass of water, will you? I’m out of breath. I’ve been running.”
She drank the water Ashenden poured out for her. She gave a sudden sob.
“I hope he’s all right. I should never forgive myself if he was hurt. I was hoping he would have got here before me. He got his washing all right. We found the place. There was only an old woman there and they didn’t want to let us take it, but we insisted. Mr. Harrington was furious because it hadn’t been touched. It was exactly as he had sent it. They’d promised it last night and it was still in the bundle that Mr. Harrington had made himself. I said that was Russia and Mr. Harrington said he preferred coloured people. I’d led him by side streets because I thought it was better, and we started to come back again. We passed at the top of a street and at the bottom of it I saw a little crowd. There was a man addressing them.
“ ‘Let’s go and hear what he’s saying,’ I said.
“I could see they were arguing. It looked exciting. I wanted to know what was happening.
“ ‘Come along, Delilah,’ he said. ‘Let us mind our own business.’
“ ‘You go back to the hotel and do your packing. I’m going to see the fun,’ I said.
“I ran down the street and he followed me. There were about two or three hundred people there and a student was addressing them. There were some working men and they were shouting at him. I love a row and I edged my way into the crowd. Suddenly we heard the sound of shots and before you could realise what was happening two armoured cars came dashing down the street. There were soldiers in them and they were firing as they went. I don’t know why. For fun, I suppose, or because they were drunk. We all scattered like a lot of rabbits. We just ran for our lives. I lost Mr. Harrington. I can’t make out why he isn’t here. Do you think something has happened to him?”
Ashenden was silent for a while.
“We’d better go out and look for him,” he said. “I don’t know why the devil he couldn’t leave his washing.”
“I understand, I understand so well.”
“That’s a comfort,” said Ashenden irritably. “Let’s go.”
He put on his hat and coat, and they walked downstairs. The hotel seemed strangely empty. They went out into the street. There was hardly anyone to be seen. They walked along. The trams were not running and the silence in the great city was uncanny. The shops were closed. It was quite startling when a motorcar dashed by at breakneck speed. The people they passed looked frightened and downcast. When they had to go through a main thoroughfare they hastened their steps. A lot of people were there and they stood about irresolutely as though they did not know what to do next. Reservists in their shabby grey were walking down the middle of the
