8

Youd better have another drink, he added.

And then I began to laugh. They both surveyed me in sheepish silence.

My dear good Zaleshoff, I spluttered at last, you really mustnt play these lunatic jokes.

My intention had been to annoy him and I succeeded. He reddened. Its not a joke, Marlow.

Isnt it? Then my own temper got the better of me. I stopped laughing. If it isnt a joke, what the devil is it?

He made a very obvious effort to keep calm. If you will allow me to explain

Explain! explain! My voice rose. Youve done nothing else but explain. Now you let me do a little explaining. Im an engineer and Im in Milan for a specific purpose. I have a job to do and I propose to do it. I am not interested in any proposition that is not aimed at promoting the interests of my company. Is that absolutely clear? Because if it isnt clear, I must thank you for a very pleasant dinner and go.

Zaleshoff was sitting with a face like a thundercloud. As I finished, he drew a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. But his sister forestalled him.

Just a minute, Andreas. She turned to me. Mr. Marlow, she said coolly, someone once said that the English were the best hated race on the worlds surface. I am beginning to understand what was meant by that. Of all the stupid, smug, short-sighted, complacent, obstinate, asinine

Tamara!

She flushed. Be quiet, Andreas. I havent finished. You, Mr. Marlow, come here knowing nothing about anything except, presumably, your business as an engineer. That I can understand. But that you should refuse even to listen to what someone has to tell you about the world outside your own tiny mind, I cannot understand. Havent you a spark of vulgar curiosity in you?

I got to my feet. I think I had better go.

She went and stood with her back to the door. Oh, no you dont, youre going to listen to my brother.

Let him go, Tamara, Zaleshoff said quietly. It doesnt matter. Well do without him.

For a moment I stood there irresolute. I was feeling embarrassed, foolish and very slightly ashamed. After all, I had refused to listen. Besides, Zaleshoffs last sentence had touched me on the raw. Well do without him. It was the sort of thing you said to children to shame them into doing what they did not want to do. Unaccountably, it was having that effect on me. I have since wondered whether that had perhaps been Zaleshoffs precise intention. His was a curious, deceptive mind. He had a way of exploiting the standard emotional counters that was highly disconcerting. You could never be quite sure whether his acting was studied or not and, if it was, whether for emphasis or concealment. Now, however, I told myself that I was indeed being childish, that the best thing I could do would be to carry out my declared intention and go. But I still stood there.

The girl moved away from the door. Well, Mr. Marlow, she said challengingly.

I sat down again with a sigh and a shrug. I dont know what this is all about, I said shortly, but Ill have that other drink if its going.

Zaleshoff nodded. Sure. Without another word, without even a hint of surprise, he got up and poured out two drinks. The girl came over to me.

Im very sorry, she said humbly; that was rude of me. You must think were very curious hosts.

I did think so, but I grinned. Thats all right. Im afraid Ive got rather a bad temper.

Zaleshoff handed me my glass. Its a wonder that some good man hasnt shot her before this.

Probably, she retorted calmly, because most good men dont carry guns. She examined me curiously. Why didnt you throw something at me just now, Mr. Marlow?

Because, said her brother sharply, there wasnt anything handy. Now, for goodness sake, Tamara, get on with your sewing. Are you married, Marlow?

No. Engaged. Shes a doctor in England.

He raised his eyebrows. I dont want to appear inquisitive, but is there any particular reason why you should have taken this job here?

Yes. I got caught in what is politely called a trade recession. I couldnt get a job worth having in England. My savings were nearly all gone. I was feeling desperate one day, and I accepted an offer from Spartacus.

I see. Then I suppose you wouldnt object to Vagas two thousand lire a month if I could give you a good enough reason for taking it?

I hesitated. Frankly, Zaleshoff, I dont think theres a good enough reason in existence. At this very moment Im telling myself that Im a damn fool to sit here listening to you when I might be catching up on some of the sleep I missed last night. But Im curious. I cant believe that youre such a half-wit as to spend an hour putting me off Vagas offer so thoroughly if you really wanted me to accept it.

I wasnt putting you off. I was giving you the facts.

The distinction is too much for me. Im not quite crazy, you know. Do you suppose I want to share that poor devil Fernings fate?

I do not suppose anything of the sort. But theres no reason why you should share his fate.

Thats precisely what I m thinking. You, I gather, have something up your sleeve.

No. I just want to put a situation to you.

Fire away.

Do you ever read newspapers?

As little as possible, these days. Why?

Have you ever heard of a little thing called the Rome-Berlin axis?

Who hasnt?

Have you ever looked at what it means on a map?

I cant say Ive bothered to.

You should. Its interesting. A solid, strategic unit from the Frisian Islands in the North to the toe of Italy in the South. The toe is waiting to kick Great Britain in the pants. The head is there to gobble up whats left. The Rome-Berlin axis is one of the most effective principles of European power-politics that has ever been stated. It gave Italy and Germany a free hand in Spain. It changed Austria from an independent state to a memory. It made England launch the most gigantic peace-time armament-making drive the world has ever seen. It cocked the biggest snook yet at the League of Nations idea. It deprived France of her little Entente allies. Its frightened the rest of Europe so badly that it lives now in a permanent state of jitters. Even the United States have become uneasy. The world is slowly beginning to turn on the Rome-Berlin axis and already the strain is telling. Somethings got to snap, somethings going to snap; and if its not the Rome-Berlin axis, its going to be you and me. The statesmen of the so-called democracies, France and England, are busting themselves in their efforts to make it the axis that goes first. And they look like failing. Things are moving too quickly for them. They try to buy off Italy and fail. They try again. They cant hit out for fear of hurting themselves. Theyre out of their depths and they know it. Theyre as mixed as my metaphors. Theyre confused and confounded. And meanwhile we drift nearer and nearer to war. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are getting ready to go; and, Marlow, if those boys ride out again across Europe, you can say good-bye to all your dreams. Itll be a war thatll make the world safe for everything except mankind. A government will be formed with King Typhus at the head of a parliament of corpse-fed rats.

He paused for a moment. I dare say youre wondering where all this is leading. Ill tell you. Its leading to a question-this question. If someone told you that by taking a certain course you could make a very, very small, but very, very positive, contribution towards putting a kink in that axis weve been talking about, what would you say?

Id say that he had a bee in his bonnet.

He grinned. Hm, yes. You probably would say that. But supposing that he hadnt got a bee in his bonnet, supposing he was talking good hard sense, and supposing he could prove it. What would you do then?

I fidgeted. Im not very fond of these beautifully simple parables, Zaleshoff. Vagas has a weakness for them, too. Lets get down to cases.

Just what I was going to do. He put his hand in his pocket. You wanted the dope; heres the first bit. Its the card from that file in my office, card number V. 18. Take a look at it.

His hand came out with the card folded in two.

The picture of Vagas was obviously a photostat of a photograph taken some years before. There was more hair on top of the head and the sides were cropped. The skin of the face was tighter. He wore a high tubular stiff collar with a broad, flat tie. Below the photostat was pasted a square of typewritten paper.

Johann Luitpold Vagas (I read) born Dresden 1889. Heidelberg. Army 1909. 6th Bavarian Cavalry. Berlin 1913. War Ministry. 1917 Iron Cross and Star of Leopold. 1918 refugee to Belgrade. Yugo-Slav citizenship 1922. 1924 Yugo-Slav agent for Cator amp; Bliss Ltd. of London. Returned Germany 1933. Returned Belgrade 1934. Rome 1936. Milan 1937. See S. 22, J. 15, P. 207, C. 64, F. 326.

I looked up. Well, whats it all about?

Zaleshoff frowned. Does nothing there strike you?

I read the card again. Well, he appears to have been agent for a British steel firm.

Yes, he sold guns to the Yugo-Slav government; but thats not what I mean.

Then what do you mean?

He was a German officer. In nineteen-eighteen when the revolution broke out he skipped to Belgrade and later took up Yugo-Slav citizenship. But -he stabbed the air with his forefinger-in nineteen-thirty-three he returned to Germany. Note the date-nineteen-thirty-three. What happened in nineteen-thirty-three in Germany?

Hitler came into power.

Precisely. Germany went Nazi, so he returned.

And left again the next year. What about it?

Just this. Vagas went to Germany a Yugo-Slav. He returned a German. From nineteen-thirty-four to nineteen-thirty-six Vagas was the principal German secret agent in Belgrade. It was a cinch for them. Here was a patriotic but expatriated German officer with a Yugo-Slav passport and well in with the Belgrade War Ministry by virtue of his position as an armament salesman. What more could you want? The German Secret Service have always been tightwads, and I dare say the fact that he was drawing a fat commission from Cator amp; Bliss and didnt want anything except the honour of serving his country was an additional attraction. Besides, an unpaid agent is always a sounder bet than a guy who may pass on unreliable information to justify his wages.

Yes, I see. But if he was so keen on the honour of serving the Nazis, whats he doing here now working for the Yugo-Slav Government?

Zaleshoff lounged back luxuriously on the divan. There now, thats fine! He smiled seraphically. Were getting right to the heart of the matter. What, indeed? He leaned forward. Ill tell you. The answer is-nothing. Hes not working for the Yugo-Slav Government. Hes working for the Nazis.

He told me

Theres a good old-fashioned word for what he told you-boloney. Listen. On October the nineteenth, nineteen-thirty-six, the Italian Foreign Minister, Ciano, met the German Foreign Minister, von Neurath, in Munich. At that meeting the Rome-Berlin axis was forged. A fortnight later Mussolini hailed the Rome-Berlin axis publicly in a speech in the Piazza del Duomo just round the corner. The crowd sang Deutschland uber alles and the Horst Wessel song at the top of their voices. The blackshirts and brownshirts whooped it up together. Italy and Germany swore eternal friendship. He paused impressively. A fortnight later Vagas packed his suitcases and moved into Italy.

He sipped at his whisky. Have you ever watched a cat and a dog lie down on the same floor, Marlow? Maybe theyve been brought up together, maybe theyre used to one another, maybe theyve got the same interest in a common owner. But theyre never entirely at their ease. The cat is always watchful, the dog self-conscious. They can never quite forget that there is such a thing as a cat-and-dog fight. Theres an undercurrent of mutual suspicion between them that they can never quite forget. So it was with the Nazis and the Fascisti. Theyd come to an agreement over Austria. Theyd agreed on parallel action in Spain. Theyd agreed to boycott Geneva. Theyd agreed to present a united front to the Western powers. But Johann Luitpold Vagas was sent into Italy. The dog was keeping one eye open, just in case.

Dont the Italians know hes really a German agent?

They certainly do not. How should they know? He wouldnt be the first German officer to take service with another country. I only found out by accident. After all, the guy has got a Yugo-Slav passport, and that beautiful fiction about his being a Yugo-Slav agent has been handled very cleverly. No, if they ever arrest Vagas, itll be for espionage on behalf of Yugo-Slavia. And that suits the German Foreign Ministry. It would be embarrassing for all concerned if an important German spy were to be caught on Italian soil.

But what does Vagas do?

Zaleshoff emitted an exasperated sigh. What does he do? Listen, Marlow, if an Englishman came to you to-morrow and swore black and blue that Spartacus were going bankrupt next month, what would you do? You might believe or disbelieve him, but youd write to a friend in England and ask him to check up on the situation for you. Thats Vagas job-checking up. If the Italians tell their Nazi boy friends that theyre building two hundred and fifty new-type bombing planes this year, Uncle Vagas gets busy and checks up to make sure that it isnt five hundred and fifty. Dictators who cant even trust their own subordinates out of their sight arent likely to trust each other very far. And, the way things are going at the moment, that mutual distrust is deepening. Its the one weak spot in the Rome-Berlin axis, and its because of that weak spot that Im sitting here talking to you.

I was wondering why it was, I murmured.

Then now you know. He projected his jaw at me aggressively. The point is that things are not what they were between Italy and Germany. Austria is gone. The Reichswehr is on the Brenner Pass. Mussolini is scared of that fact, and because hes scared hes dangerous-to Germany. The Nazis are on their guard. Vagas is working overtime.

I still dont see what this has to do with me.

The girl looked up from her sewing. My brothers very fond of the sound of his own voice.

So fond, snarled Zaleshoff, that Im going to tell him a little story. He turned to me again. When I was at school in Chicago, Marlow, there were two big boys named Joe and Ted who used to bully us little kids. It went on for months. We got pretty sick of it. We tried ambushing them and they beat up a whole lot of us. Then one day we had an idea. There was one kid who used to follow Joe about like a shadow. His name was Augustus, if you can imagine that. We used to call him Augie. He was a snivelling little rat, this Augie. Hed been bullied by Joe, and to protect himself hed taken to cleaning Joes boots and running errands for him. Joe let him. Then Augie took to working off his private hates by getting Joe to beat up the other kids for him. Joe was only too ready to oblige. Augie became a kind of protege of Joes. Wherever Joe and Ted went he used to tag along behind. It used to make us mad until we got our idea. One day two of us waited for Augie near the city dump at the end of the street. We said wed got something funny to tell him. We said that we heard Ted say that Joe was nothing but a yellow rat who wouldnt dare to let out a squeak if he, Ted, challenged him. Then we beat up Augie a little and waited for results. We didnt have to wait long. Augie ran straightaway to spill the beans to Joe. After school that day Joe and Ted got together. Naturally, Ted denied that hed said anything about Joe. Joe said that Ted must be too yellow to repeat it to his face. Then they began. Joe finished up in hospital with three stitches in his scalp where Ted had hit him with a brick. Ted had a beating from Joes father. What do you think of that? he concluded triumphantly, and stared hard at me.

I was wilfully dense. Very nice. But whats the moral?

He looked slightly crestfallen. Dont you see? He drew a deep breath. Ill put it plainer. Supposing Vagas obtained information concerning Italys activities that surprised him very much, information that she wouldnt like the Nazis to have. Vagas would tell the Nazis and then, you see

Yes, I see. It would put that kink that you were talking about in the Rome-Berlin axis. But theres just one thing you seem to forget. The Nazis are not as simple as Joe. Theyd find out in five minutes that it was just ballyhoo.

He tapped my knee triumphantly. But, my good friend, if it wasnt just ballyhoo, if it were true

True!

He grinned. The cat and the dog!

Well, what is this precious information? I did not really believe that he had any.

Do you remember that, some time ago, Mussolini made one of his blood-and-thunder speeches on the subject of Italian defence. I know hes always making them about something, but this one was a little more specific than usual. It was a speech aimed at making you British shiver in your shoes. He referred in particular to the power of the Italian air force, and made a special point of six secret Italian aerodromes that had been built for war use. Naturally, the German General Staff was interested. Shortly afterwards, the German and the Italian Staffs had conversations and drew up fresh plans for common action in the event of French support for Czechoslovakia. Those secret aerodromes were mentioned. The Italian General Staff was obliging. It gave the Germans full particulars. The aerodromes were near the French and Swiss frontiers. The Germans went away satisfied. But -he wagged his finger slowly-the fact of the matter is that at least three of those secret aerodromes are in the Trentino near what used to be the Austrian frontier, and the Germans dont know it!

Very interesting.

Now, he went on persuasively, the question is how to get that information to Vagas in such a way as to leave no doubt about its being accepted as true. Thats where

I know, I interjected; thats where I come in.

Exactly and

Theres nothing doing, Zaleshoff.

But just

Absolutely nothing doing, I repeated firmly. Im

Yes, yes, he put in testily; youre an engineer and youre here on business, and youre not going to get yourself into the sort of spot Ferning got into. I know. But wait a minute. He became eager. Theres no question of youre getting into a spot. The only thing is to avoid any actual meeting with Vagas. As long as the Ovra dont see that youre in touch with him youre all right. You can telephone him and arrange to communicate through the poste restante with assumed names. He wont mind that. Itll please him. If he thinks youre scared but dead set on the money, hell also think that youll be easier to deal with when it comes to putting the screw on. As for Spartacus, you neednt give Vagas the real dope, you can cook up anything. He wont bother to check it. Then if he should turn nasty over anything and write to Pelcher, youll be quite O.K. All you have to do is to send Vagas three letters. The firstll be a cooked Spartacus report on the past months activities. Hell want that. When hes got it hell increase his demands. Right. Your next report in a months time will contain some additional dope, among it an item about the delivery of three special hydraulic lifts for aircraft. The third report will give news of consignments of ammunition bound for the same places. Just enough for him to be able to piece the story together for himself. For doing just that, Marlow, you get six thousand lire from Vagas and -he looked me in the eyes-another six thousand from me.

I looked from one to the other. The girl, her head bent over the hem of the blouse she was making, was apparently unaware that we were there; but I saw that the needle had stopped moving and that her fingers were poised delicately like those of a woman in a Dutch painting. Zaleshoff had suddenly busied himself with the lighting of a cigarette.

I cleared my throat loudly. I think, Zaleshoff, I said evenly, that the time has come for you to explain just what personal interest you have in this business. Where do you come in? In other words, whats your game?

He looked with well-simulated surprise. My game? I have no game. An expression of disarming sincerity, of rugged candour, appeared suddenly on his face. Put me down, Marlow, as a simple American with a little more money than I need-he repeated this-more money than I need. Thats the plain truth of it, I guess. Im a simple American who hates war. But I want to do something more than hate. His voice vibrated with evangelical feeling. I want to help make the peace we all want in a more practical way than just by talking. The world is in a bad way, Marlow. What it needs is good management. Im a business man, Marlow, a pretty successful one, though I say it myself. This little old world wants running on business lines. Im a doer, Marlow, not a thinker. Thinkings not going to get us any place. We need the co-operation of practical men. Thats why Im appealing to you, Marlow. Youre a practical man. We men of goodwill have just got to get together, roll up our sleeves and get something done, eh? He beamed at me, a benevolent Babbitt with a parcel of real-estate to unload.

It was nauseating, it was grotesque. I stared at him, speechless. At last I got to my feet.

Well, well. Im afraid its rather late. I shall have to be going. I went across the room and picked up my overcoat. They watched me in silence. Zaleshoffs beam had eased into a scowl. I put my overcoat on and went towards the door. Thanks again, I said, for a very good dinner.

Just a minute. It was Zaleshoff, a very hard-voiced Zaleshoff.

What is it?

Im waiting for an answer from you.

I turned round. Yes, of course. I was forgetting. I put my hand into my overcoat pocket and drew out a small parcel that was in it. I had purchased this parcel that afternoon. Now I planked it down on the table.

Whats that? demanded Zaleshoff suspiciously.

I opened the door.

Its the cake of soap I owe you, I said carefully. Luckily, I was able to get one in the shape of a lemon. I nodded genially. Good night to you both.

Not a muscle of Zaleshoffs face moved. He just stood there looking at me, a curious expression in his eyes. The girl shrugged and returned to her sewing. I went.

The entrance to Zaleshoffs place was in a short alleyway at the side of the shop. It was very dark in the alleyway. The man standing on the far side of the street did not see me immediately; but as I stepped into the light I saw him turn away quickly and stare into a shop window.

I turned in the direction of the Parigi. A little way down I stopped and lighted a cigarette. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that he was following me. It was not, however, Bellinetti. This man was taller. I did not look back again but walked straight on to the hotel. If what Zaleshoff had said were true, the best possible thing I could do was to behave as naturally as possible. I had nothing to hide and did not intend to have anything to hide. If the secret police wished to waste their time following me, that was their lookout.

All the same, it was an uncomfortable feeling. I felt myself walking a little stiffly and self-consciously. I began to think of the story Zaleshoff had told me about Fernings death. In my minds eye I saw him walking along a street as I was now walking. He must have heard the car coming before it hit him: and in that final second those anxious eyes, that flat, plump jowl must have been distorted with terror. I thought of his bald head. It must have bobbed absurdly as he went down. But it was all, I told myself, a product of Zaleshoffs imagination. Such things didnt happen. Then a stray car swinging out of a side street in front of me made me jump badly. I felt myself break out into a sweat. It was all I could do to prevent myself from running. I was heartily thankful when I reached the hotel.

The clerk beckoned to me from his desk.

There is a letter for you, Signore. And a gentleman is waiting to see you. He was told that you might be late, but he wished to wait. He was shown into the writing-room where it is warm.

I took the letter. Who is it?

I was not on duty when he arrived, Signore. He left no name.

All right, thanks.

I went into the writing-room.

Sitting comfortably near a radiator and reading a paper was Vagas.