"This is your parcel, isn't it? You left it on the seat. Why didn't you stop when I called you?"

Tall, with rather curly brown hair; orange tie and pale green shirt; a little bit petulant, a little bit of a pansy, thought Leamas. Could be a schoolmaster, cxLondon School of Economics and runs a suburban drama club. Weak-eyed.

"You can put it back," said Leamas. "I don't want it."

The man colored. "You can't just leave it there," he said, "it's litter."

"I b.l.o.o.d.y well can," Leamas replied. "Somebody will find a use for it." He was going to move on, but the stranger was still standing in front of him, holding the parcel in both arms as if it were a baby. "Get out of the light," said Leamas. "Do you mind?"

"Look here," said the stranger, and his voice had risen a key, "I was trying to do you a favor; why do you have to be so d.a.m.ned rude?"

"If you're so anxious to do me a favor," Leamas replied, "why have you been following me for the last half hour?"

He's pretty good, thought Leamas. He hasn't flinched but he must be shaken rigid.

"I thought you were somebody I once knew in Berlin, if you must know."

"So you followed me for half an hour?"

Leamas' voice was heavy with sarcasm, his brown eyes never left the other's face.

"Nothing like half an hour. I caught sight of you in Marble Arch and I thought you were Alec Leamas, a man I borrowed some money from. I used to be in the BBC in Berlin and there was this man I borrowed some money from. I've had a bad conscience about it ever since and that's why I followed you. I wanted to be sure."

Leamas went on looking at him, not speaking, and thought he wasn't all that good but he was good enough. His story was scarcely plausible-that didn't matter. The point was that he'd produced a new one and stuck to it after Leamas had wrecked what promised to be a cla.s.sic approach.

"I'm Leamas," he said at last. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

He said his name was Ashe, with an "E" he added quickly, and Leamas knew he was lying. He pretended not to be quite sure that Leamas really was Leamas so over lunch they opened the parcel and looked at the National Insurance card like, thought Leamas, a couple of sissies looking at a dirty postcard. Ashe ordered lunch with just a fraction too little regard for expense, and they drank some Fraukenwein to remind them of the old days. Leamas began by insisting he couldn't remember Ashe, and Ashe said he was surprised. He said it in the sort of tone that suggested he was hurt. They met at a party, he said, which Derek Williams gave in his flat off the Ku-damm (he got that right), and all the press boys had been there; surely Alec remembered that? No, Leamas did not. Well surely he remembered Derek Williams from the _Observer_, that _nice_ man who gave such lovely pizza parties? Learnas had a lousy memory for names, after all they were talking about '54; a lot of water had flown under the bridge since then. . . . Ashe remembered (his Christian name was William, by-the-bye, most people called him Bill), Ashe remembered _vividly_. They'd been drinking stingers, brandy and creme de menthe, and were all rather tiddly, and Derek had provided some really gorgeous girls, half the cabaret from the Malkasten, _surely_ Alec remembered now? Leamas thought it was probably coming back to him, if Bill would go on a bit.

Bill did go on, ad-lib no doubt, but he did it well, playing up the s.e.x side a little, how they'd finished up in a night club with three of these girls; Alec, a chap from the political adviser's office and Bifi, and Bill had been so embarra.s.sed because he hadn't any money on him and Alec had paid, and Bifi had wanted to take a girl home and Alec had lent him another tenner-- "Christ," said Leamas, "I remember now, of course I do."

"I _knew_ you would," said Ashe happily, nodding at Leamas over his gla.s.s. "Look, do let's have the other half, this is _such_ fun."

Ashe was typical of that strata of mankind which conducts its human relationships according to a principle of challenge and response. Where there was softness, he would advance; where he found resistance, retreat. Having himself no particular opinions or tastes, he relied upon whatever conformed with those of his companion. He was as ready to drink tea at Fortnum's as beer at the Prospect of Whitby; he would listen to military music in St. James's Park or jazz in a Compton Street cellar; his voice would tremble with sympathy when he spoke of Sharpeville, or with indignation at the growth of Britain's colored population. To Leamas this observably pa.s.sive role was repellent; it brought out the bully in him, so that he would lead the other gently into a position where he was committed, and then himself withdraw, so that Ashe was constantly scampering back from some cul-de-sac into which Leamas had enticed him. There were moments that afternoon when Leamas was so brazenly perverse that Ashe would have been justified in terminating their conversation--especially since he was paying; but he did not. The little sad man with spectacles who sat alone at the neighboring table, deep in a book on the manufacture of ball bearings, might have deduced, bad he been listening, that Leamas was indulging a s.a.d.i.s.tic nature--or perhaps (if he had been a man of particular subtlety) that Leamas was proving to his own satisfaction that only a man with a strong ulterior motive would put up with that kind of treatment.

It was nearly four o'clock before they ordered the bill, and Leamas tried to insist on paying his half. Ashe wouldn't hear of it, paid the bill and took out his checkbook in order to settle his debt to Leamas.

"Twenty of the best," he said, and filled in the date on the check form.

Then he looked up at Leaxnas, all wide-eyed and accommodating. "I say, a check is all right with you, isn't it?"

Coloring a little, Leamas replied, "I haven't got a bank at the moment--only just back from abroad, something I've got to fix up. Better give me a check and I'll cash it at your bank."

"My dear chap, I wouldn't _dream_ of it! You'd have to go to Rotherhithe to cash this one!" Leamas shrugged and Ashe laughed, and they agreed to meet at the same place on the following day, at one o'clock, when Ashe would have the money in cash.

Ashe took a cab at the corner of Compton Street, and Leamas waved at it until it was out of sight. When it was gone, he looked at his watch. It was four o'clock. He'guessed he was still being followed, so he walked down to Fleet Street and had a cup of coffee in the Black and White. He looked at bookshops, read the evening papers displayed in the show windows of newspaper offices, and then quite suddenly, as if. the thought had occurred to him at tho last minute, he jumped on a bus. The bus went to Ludgate Hill, where it was held up in a traffic jam near a tube station; he dismounted and caught a tube. He bought a sixpenny ticket, stood In the end car and got off at the next station. He caught another train to Euston, trekked back to Charing Cross. It was nine o'clock when he reached the station and it had turned rather cold. There was a van waiting in the forecourt; the driver was fast asleep.

Leamas glanced at the number, went over and called through the window, "Are you from Clements?"

The driver woke up with a start and asked, "Mr. Thomas?"

"No," replied Leamas. "Thomas couldn't come. I'm Amies from Hounslow." - "Hop in, Mr. Amies," the driver replied, and opened the door. They drove West, toward the King's Road. The driver knew the way.

Control opened the door.

"George Smiley's out," he said. "I've borrowed his house. Come in." Not until Leamas was inside and the front door closed, did Control put on the hail light.

"I was followed till lunchtime," Leamas said. They went into the little drawing room. There were books everywhere. It was a pretty room; tall, with eighteenthcentury moldings, long windows and a good fireplace. "They picked me up this morning. A man called Ashe." He lit a cigarette. "A pansy. We're meeting again tomorrow."

Control listened carefully to Leamas' story, stage by stage, from the day he hit Ford the grocer to his encounter that morning with Ashe.

"How did you find prison?" Control inquired. He might have been asking whether Leamas had enjoyed his holiday. "I am sorry we couldn't improve conditions for you, provide little extra comforts, but that would never have done."

"Of course not"

"One must be consistent At every turn one must be consistent. Besides, it would be wrong to break the spell. I understand you were ill. I am sorry. What was the trouble?"

"Just fever."

"How long were you in bed?"

"About ten days."

"How very distressing; and n.o.body to look after you, of course."

There was a very long silence.

"You know she's in the Party, don't you?" Control asked quietly.

"Yes," Leamas replied. Another silence. "I don't want her brought into this."

"Why should she be?" Control asked sharply and for a moment, just for a moment, Leamas thought he had penetrated the veneer of academic detachment. "Who suggested she should be?"

"No one," Leamas replied. "I'm just making the point. I know how these things go--all offensive operations. They have by-products, take sudden turns in unexpected directions. You think you've caught one fish and you find you've caught another. I want her kept clear of it."

"Oh quite, quite."

"Who's that man in the Labour Exchange--Pitt? Wasn't he in the Circus during the war?"

"I know no one of that name. Pitt, did you say?"

"Yes."

"No, the name means nothing to me. In the Labour Exchange?"

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake," Leamas muttered audibly.

"I'm sorry," said Control, getting up, "I'm neglecting my duties as deputy host. Would you care for a drink?"

"No. I want to get away tonight, Control. Go down to the country and get some exercise. Is the House open?"

"I've arranged a car," he said. "What time do you see Ashe tomorrow-one o'clock?"

"Yes."

"I'll ring Haldane and tell him you want some squash. You'd better see a doctor, too. AbOUt that fever."

"I don't need a doctor."

"Just as you like."

Control gave himself a whisky and began looking idly at the books in Smiley's stielf.

"Why isn't Smiley here?" Leamas asked.

"He doesn't like the operation," Control replied indifferently. "He finds it distasteful. He sees the necessity but he wants no part in it. His fever," Control added with a whimsical smile, "is recurrent."

"He didn't exactly receive me with open arms."

"Quite. He wants no part in it. But he told you about Mundt; gave you the background?"

"Yes."

"Mundt is a very _hard_ man," Control reflected. "We should never forget that And a good intelligence officer."

"Does Smiley know the reason for the operation? The special interest?"

Control nodded and took a sip of whisky.

"And he still doesn't like it?"

"It isn't a question of moralities. He is like the surgeon who has grown tired of blood. He is content that others should operate."

"Tell me," Leamas continued, "how are you so certain this will get us where we want? How do you know the East Germans are on to it--not the Czechs or the Russians?"

"Rest a.s.sured," Control said a little pompously, "that that has been taken care of."

As they got to the door, Control put his hand lightly on Leamas' shoulder.

"This is your last job," he said. "Then you can come in from the cold. About that girl--do you want anything done about her, money or anything?"

"When it's over. I'll take care of it myself then."

"Quite. It would be very insecure to do anything now."

"I just want her left alone," Leamas repeated with emphasis. "I just don't want her to be messed about. I don't want her to have a file or anything. I want her forgotten."

He nodded to Control and slipped out into the night air. Into the cold.

* * 7 * Kiever

On the following day, Leamas arrived twenty minutes late for his lunch with Ashe, and smelled of whisky. Ashe's pleasure on catching sight of Leamas was, however, undiminished. He claimed that he had himself only that moment arrived, he'd been a little late getting to the bank. He handed Leamas an envelope.

"Singles," said Ashe. "I hope that's all right?"

"Thanks," Leamas replied, "let's have a drink." He hadn't shaved and his collar was filthy. He called the waiter and ordered drinks, a large whisky for himself and a pink gin for Ashe. When the drinks came, Leamas' hand trembled as he poured the soda into the gla.s.s, almost slopping it over the side.

They lunched well, with a lot to drink, and Ashe did most of the work. As Leamas had expected he first talked about himself, an old trick but not a bad one.

"To be quite frank, I've got on to rather a good thing recently," said Ashe, "free-lancing English features for the foreign press. After Berlin I made rather a mess of things at first--the Corporation wouldn't renew the contract and I took a job running a dreary toffee-shop weekly about hobbies for the over-sixties. Can you _imagine_ anything more frightful? That went under in the first printing strike--I can't tell you how relieved I was. Then I went to live with my mama in Cheltenham for a time--she runs an antique shop, does very nicely thank you, as a matter of fact. Then I got a letter from an old friend, Sam Kiever his name is actually, who was starting up a new agency for small features on English life specially slanted for foreign papers. You know the sort of thing--six hundred words on Morris dancing. Sam had a new gimmick, though; he sold the stuff already translated and do you know, it makes a h.e.l.l of a difference. One always imagines anyone can pay a translator or do it themselves, but if you're looking for a half column in-fill for your foreign features you don't _want_ to waste time and money on translation. Sam's gambit was to get in touch with the editors direct--he traipsed round Europe like a gypsy, poor thing, but it's paid hands _down_."

Ashe paused, waiting for Leamas to accept the invitation to speak about himself, but Leamas ignored it. He just nodded dully and said, "b.l.o.o.d.y good." Ashe had wanted to order wine, but Leamas said he'd stick to whisky, and by the time the coffee came he'd had four large ones. He seemed to be in bad shape; he had the drunkard's habit of ducking his mouth toward the rim of his gla.s.s just before he drank, as if his hand might fail him and the drink escape.

Ashe fell silent for a moment.

"You don't know Sam, do you?" he asked.

"Sam?"

A note of irritation entered Ashe's voice.

"Sam Kiever, my boss. The chap I was telling you about."

"Was he in Berlin too?"

"No. He knows Germany well, but he's never lived in Berlin. He did a bit of deviling in Bonn, free-lance stuff. You might have met him. He's a dear."

"Don't think so." A pause.

"What do you do these days, old chap?" asked Ashe.

Leamas shrugged. "I'm on the shelf," he rephed, and grinned a little stupidly. "Out of the bag and on the shelf."

"I forget what you were doing in Berlin. Weren't you one of the mysterious cold warriors?"

My G.o.d, thought Learnas, you're stepping things up a bit. Leamas hesitated, then colored and said sayagely, "Office boy for the b.l.o.o.d.y Yanks, like the rest of us."

"You know," said Ashe, as if he had been turning the idea over for some time, "you ought to meet Sam. You'd like him," and then, all of a bother, "I say, Alec--I don't even know where to get hold of you!"

"You can't," Leamas replied listlessly.

"I don't get you, old chap. Where are you staying?"