'Dicky is frightened that Bret will get the German Desk,' I said.

'Stuhlpolonaise,' said Werner.

'Exactly. Musical chairs.' Werner's use of the German word called to mind the prim formality and the slow rhythm of the promenading couples that exactly described London Central's dance when some big reshuffle was due. 'And Bret has sent Dicky marching four thousand miles away from the only chair, and Dicky wants to get back to London before the music stops.'

'But he doesn't want to return without news of a great success,' said Werner.

'You see that, do you?' I said admiringly. Werner didn't miss much. 'Yes, Bret has contrived a quandary that alarms even Dicky. If he waits here long enough to land Stinnes, Bret will be the man who congratulates him and sends him off on another assignment. On the other hand, if Dicky rushes back there without a conclusion to the Stinnes operation, someone is going to say that Dicky is not up to the job.'

'But you're both going back,' said Werner. He looked round the crowded lounge. Outside, the apron was empty and the regular afternoon rainstorm was in full fury. There was not much evidence that anyone was going anywhere.

'I'm now the file officer. Dicky is writing a report that will explain the way in which he has brought the Stinnes operation to the brink of a successful conclusion before handing everything over to me.'

'He is a crafty little bastard,' said Werner.

'Now tell me something I don't know,'

'And, if Stinnes doesn't come over, Dicky will say you messed it up.'

'Go to the top of the class, Werner. You're really getting the hang of it.'

'But I think there's only a slight chance that we'll get Stinnes over.'

'Why?' I agreed with Werner but I wanted to hear his views.

'He's still frightened, for one thing. If Stinnes really trusted you, he wouldn't tell you to send a negative signal to London. He'd let you tell London anything you liked.'

'Don't tell Dicky I told you about the compromised signal traffic,' I said. 'He'll say it's a breach of security.'

'It is a breach of security,' said Werner. 'Strictly speaking I shouldn't be told that sort of top-grade item unless it's directly concerned with my work.'

'My God, Werner. Am I glad you don't have the German Desk in London. I think you'd shop me if you thought I was breaking security.'

'Maybe I would,' said Werner complacently. I grabbed him by the throat and pretended to throttle him. It was a spectacle that interested one of the nuns enough for her to nudge her companion and nod towards me. I gave them both a sinister scowl and Werner put his tongue out and rolled his eyes.

After I'd released Werner and let him drink some more of that awful coffee, I said, 'You said Stinnes knows I'm kosher on account of interrogating me.'

'That could be a double ploy,' said Werner. 'If you were really working for Moscow, then you would be quite happy to let yourself get arrested in East Berlin. Then you'd be perfectly placed to trap Stinnes.'

'But Stinnes isn't important enough for Moscow to play out that sort of operetta.'

'Stinnes probably thinks he is important enough. It's human, isn't it? We all think we are important enough for anything.'

Werner could be exasperating. 'That's what Hollywood calls "moronic logic", Werner. It's the sort of nit-picking insanity that can't be faulted but is only too obviously stupid.'

'So explain why it's stupid.'

I took a deep breath and said, 'Because if Moscow had a well-placed agent in London whose identity was so closely guarded that Stinnes could not possibly suspect him, then Moscow would not bring him to Berlin and get him arrested just so as to get the confidence of Stinnes so that months later in Mexico City he could be enticed into agreeing to a defection plan. I mean… ask yourself, Werner.'

He smiled self-consciously. 'You're right, Bernie. But Stinnes will continue to be suspicious, you mark my words.'

'Sure, but he'll be suspicious of London and whether those tricky desk men will keep their promises. He won't be worrying if I'm a KGB plant. A man like Stinnes can probably recognize a KGB operator at one hundred paces just as we can recognize one of our people.'

'Talking of recognizing one of our own at one hundred paces, Dicky is heading this way,' said Werner. 'Is the man with him SIS?'

Dicky Cruyer was still wearing his Hollywood clothes; today it was blue striped seersucker trousers, sea-island cotton sports shirt and patent-leather Gucci shoes. He was carrying a small leather pouch that was not, Dicky said, a handbag, or anything like one.

Dicky had his friend from the embassy in tow. They'd been at Balliol together and they made no secret of their intense rivalry. Despite their being the same age, Henry Tiptree looked younger than Dicky. Perhaps this was because of the small and rather sparse moustache that he was growing, or his thin neck, bony chin and the awkward figure he cut in his Hong Kong tropical suit and the tightly knotted old school tie.

Dicky told me how his friend Henry had been made Counsellor at the very early age of thirty-eight and was now working hard to reach Grade 3. But the diplomatic service is littered with brilliant Counsellors of all ages, and a large proportion of them get shunted off to the Institute for Strategic Studies or given a fellowship at Oxford, where they could write a lot of twaddle about Soviet aims and intentions in East Europe, while people like me and Werner actually dealt with them.

'Henry has arranged everything about the baggage,' said Dicky.

There was nothing to arrange about my baggage,' I said. 'I checked it through when we first got here.'

Dicky ignored my retort and said, 'It will go air freight. But because we have first-class tickets they'll put it on the same plane we're on.'

'And which plane is that?' I asked.

Henry looked at his watch and said, 'They say it's coming in now.'

'You don't believe that, do you?' said Dicky. 'Ye gods, these airline buggers tell lies more glibly than even the diplomatic service.'

'Haw haw,' said Henry dutifully. 'But I think this time it's probably true. There are lots of delays at this time of year but eventually they come lumbering in. Three hours is about par for the course. That's why I thought I'd better be here to see you off.' Henry pronounced it 'orrf', he had that sort of ripe English accent that he'd need for becoming an ambassador.

'Plus the fact that you had to be here because it's bag day,' said Dicky. Henry smiled.

Werner said, 'Bag day?'

'The courier with the diplomatic bag is coming in on this plane,' I explained.

'Even so, your presence is much appreciated, Henry,' Dicky told him. 'I'll make sure the Prune Minister's Private Secretary hears about the cooperation you gave us.' They both laughed at Dicky's little joke but there was a promise of some undefined help when the opportunity came. Balliol men were like that; or so Dicky always said.

I could see that Werner was eyeing Henry with interest, trying to decide whether he was actually employed by the SIS within the embassy staff. It seemed possible. I winked at Werner. He grinned as he realized that I'd known what was in his mind. But we untutored men were like that; or so I always said.

'Dicky says that you're the man who holds the department together,' said Henry.

'It's not easy,' I said.

Dicky, who had expected me to deny that I held the department together, said, 'Henry loaned us the car.'

'Thanks, Henry,' I said.

'I don't know how you managed with that damned air-conditioning not working,' said Henry. 'But I suspect you chaps are going to charge full Hertz rates on your expenses, eh?'

'Not Dicky,' I said.

'Haw haw,' said Henry.

Dicky changed the subject hurriedly. 'Strawberries and freshly caught salmon,' said Dicky. 'This is the time to be in England, Henry. You can keep the land of tacos and refried beans.'