'No,' I said, but I thought that was pretty rich since I'd already got the gist of it from Daphne. Daphne was a wife with no reason to be friendly to him, while Gloria Kent was a vetted employee who was handling the sensitive day-to-day papers that Bret wasn't seeing.

'Bret doesn't realize he's under suspicion. It's essential that he doesn't get wind of it. If he fled the country too, it would look damned bad.'

'Will he face an enquiry?' I asked.

'The old man's dithering.'

'Hell, Dicky, someone should talk to the old man. It can't go on Like this. I don't know what evidence there is against Bret, but he's got to be given a chance to answer for his actions. We shouldn't be discussing his fate when the poor sod has been shunted off so that he can't find out what's going on.'

'It's not exactly like that,' said Dicky.

'What is it like then?' I asked. 'How would you like it if it was me telling Bret that you were jake?'

'You know that's ridiculous,' said Dicky.

'I don't know anything of the kind,' I said. Dicky's face changed. 'No, no, no… I didn't mean you might be a KGB agent. I mean it's not ridiculous to suppose you might be a suspect.'

'I hope you're not going to make a fuss about this,' said Dicky. 'I was in two minds whether to tell you. Perhaps it was an error of judgement.'

'Dicky, it's only fair to the Department and everyone who works here that any uncertainty about Bret be resolved as quickly as possible.'

'Maybe Internal Security need time to collect more evidence.'

'Internal Security always need time to collect more evidence. It's in the nature of the job. But if that's the problem, then Bret should be given leave of absence.'

'Let's assume he's guilty – he'll run.'

'Let's assume he's not guilty – he must have a chance to prepare some sort of defence.'

Dicky now thought I was being very difficult. He moved his lips as he always did when he was agitated. 'Don't get excited, Bernard. I thought you'd be pleased.'

'Pleased to hear you tell me that Bret is a KGB mole?'

'No, of course not that. But I thought you'd be relieved to hear that the real culprit has been uncovered at last.'

'The real culprit?'

'You've been under suspicion. You must have realized that you haven't had a completely clear card ever since Fiona went over to them.'

'You told me that was all past history,' I said. I was being difficult. I knew he'd only told me that to be encouraging.

'Can't you see that if Bret is the one they've been looking for, it will put you in the clear?'

'You talk in riddles, Dicky. What do you mean "the one, they've been looking for"? I wasn't aware they were looking for anyone.'

'An accomplice.'

'I still don't get it,' I said.

'Then you are being deliberately obtuse. If Fiona had an accomplice in the Department, then Bret would be the most natural person for that role. Right?'

'Why wouldn't I be the most natural?'

Dicky slapped his thigh in a gesture of frustrated anger. 'Good God, Bernard, every time anyone suggests that, you bite their head off.'

'If not me, then why Bret?'

Dicky pulled a face and wobbled his head about. 'They were very close, Bernard. Bret and your wife – they were very close. I don't have to tell you the way it was.'

'Would you like to enlarge on that?'

'Don't get touchy. I'm not suggesting that there was anything less than decorous in the relationship, but Bret and Fiona were good friends. I know how comical that sounds in the context of the Department and the way some people talk about each other, but they were friends. They had a lot in common; their background was comparable. I remember one evening Bret was having dinner at your place. Fiona was talking about her childhood… they shared memories of places and people.'

'Bret is old enough to be Fiona's father.'

'I'm not denying that.'

'How could they share memories?'

'Of places, Bernard. Places and things and facts that only people like them know. Hunting, shooting, and fishing… you know. Bret's father loved horses, and so does your father-in-law. Fiona and Bret both learned to ride and to ski before they could walk. They both instinctively know a good horse from a bad one, good snow from bad snow, fresh foie gras from tinned, a good servant from a bad one… the rich are different, Bernard.'

I didn't answer. There was nothing to say. Dicky was right, they had had a lot in common. I'd always been frightened of losing her to Bret. My fears were never centred on other younger, more attractive men; always I saw Bret as my rival. Ever since the day I first met her – or at least from the time I went to Bret and suggested that we employ her – I'd feared the attraction that he would have for her. Had that, in some way, brought about the very outcome I most feared? Was it something in my attitude to Bret and to Fiona that provided them with an undefinable thing in common? Was it some factor absent in me that they recognized in each other and shared so happily?

'You see what I mean?' said Dicky, when I hadn't spoken for a long time. 'If there was an accomplice, Bret must be the prime suspect.'

'One per cent motivation and ninety-nine per cent opportunity,' I said, without really intending to say it aloud.

'What's that?' said Dicky.

'One per cent motivation and ninety-nine per cent opportunity. That's what George Kosinski says crime is.'

'I knew I'd heard it before,' said Dicky. 'Tessa says that, but she said it about sex.'

'Maybe they're both right,' I said.

Dicky reached out to touch my shoulder. 'Don't torture yourself about Fiona. There was nothing between her and Bret.'

'I don't care if there was,' I said.

Our conversation seemed to have ended and yet Dicky didn't depart. He fiddled with the typewriter. Finally he said, 'One day I was with Bret. We were in Kiel. Do you know it?'

'I've been there,' I said.

'It's a strange place. Bombed to hell in the war, everything rebuilt after the war ended. New buildings and not the sort that are likely to win prizes for architectural imagination. There's a main street that runs right along the waterfront, remember?'

'Only just.' I tried to guess what was coming, but I couldn't.

'One side of the street consists of department stores and offices and the other side is big seagoing ships. It's unreal, like a stage set, especially at night when the ships are all lit up. I suppose back before it was bombed it was narrow alleys and waterfront bars. Now there are strip-joints and discos, but they're in the new buildings – it's got an atmosphere about as sexy as Fulham High Street.'

'They were after the shipyards,' I said.

'Who were?'

'The bombers. It's where they made the U-boats. Kiel. Half the town worked in the shipyards.'

'I don't know anything about that,' said Dicky. 'All I remember is that Bret had arranged to meet a contact there. We went into the bar about eleven at night, but the place was almost empty. It was elaborately furnished – red velvet and carpet on the floor – but it was empty except for a few regular customers and a line of hostesses and the bartender. I never found out if the nightlife in Kiel starts later than that or doesn't exist at all.'

'It's a beautiful place in summer.'

'That's what Bret said. He knows Kiel. There's a big yachting event there every summer – Kiel Week – and Bret tries not to miss it. He showed me the pictures at the yacht club. There were big yachts with brightly coloured spinnakers billowing. Girls in bikinis. Kieler Woche – maybe I'll take my boat there one year. But this time it was my luck to be there in the dead of winter and I've never been so cold in all my life.'

What was all this leading up to, I wondered. 'Why were you and Bret doing it? Don't we have people there? Couldn't the Hamburg office have handled it?'