When I showed little inclination to do this, she marched upstairs to get the clothes she'd left there and, over her shoulder, said, 'If I miss my train at Waterloo you'll have to drive me all the way to Epsom, Mr Samson. And that's a miserable drive at this time of night. And my parents always wait up to see who I've been with. I hate to make them angry.'

'Okay, Gloria,' I said. 'You talked me round.' I didn't relish facing the wrath of a Hungarian dentist in the small hours of the morning.

I took her to Waterloo Station in time to catch her train and I returned to my lonely bed.

It was only next morning that I discovered that she'd used the scissors from the bathroom cupboard to cut all my underpants in two. And it was only when daylight came that I could see that she'd written 'You are a bastard Mr Samson' in lipstick on the bedroom window. I spent ages removing the lipstick marks, and hiding my pieces of underwear, before Mrs Dias the cleaning lady arrived. I was not in a hurry to repeat that experience with Gloria. It seemed as if there might be something of deep psychological significance about the retribution she'd wreaked upon my linen for what seemed to me a harmless little joke.

12

'That bloody Werner has been seeing Stinnes,' said Dicky. He was pacing up and down chewing at the nail of his little finger. It was a sign that he was agitated. He was often agitated lately. Sometimes I wondered that Dicky had any nails left.

'So I hear,' I said calmly.

'Ah,' said Dicky. 'I thought so. Have you been going behind my back again?'

I salaamed; a low bow in a gesture of placation, 'Oh, master. I hear this only from Harrington sahib.'

'Cut out the clowning,' said Dicky. He sat down behind his huge rosewood table. He didn't have a real desk in his office; just a few fine pieces of antique furniture including this rosewood table that he used as a desk, a Charles Eames chair for him to sprawl in, and a couple of easy chairs for visitors. It was big room with two windows facing across the park. At one time he'd shared this room with his secretary, but once he'd annexed the office next door for her he spread himself.

'No one tells me anything,' said Dicky. He was sitting on his hard little chair, legs and knees pressed together and arms folded tight across his chest. It was an illustration from a textbook that tells you how to deal with sulking children. 'Bret's determined to take over my job. Now I suppose he's going to cut off all my communications with my stations.'

'Werner Volkmann doesn't officially work for the department. You wouldn't give him any money in Mexico City. You remember I asked you, and you said over your dead body.'

'He's got no right to have meetings with Stinnes without keeping me informed.'

'He can't have had many meetings in Berlin,' I said. 'He's only been back there five minutes.'

'He should have asked permission,' said Dicky.

'Werner doesn't owe us anything; we owe him.'

'Who owes him?' said Dicky con tenuously.

'The department owes him. Werner located Stinnes for us and then you wouldn't okay a payment. What can you expect?'

'So your pal Werner is out to teach us a lesson. Is that his game?'

I sank down deep in Dicky's Charles Eames armchair; it was very relaxing. Little wonder Dicky never got any work done. 'Werner is one of those strange people who like to work in intelligence. He makes a good living from his banking activities but he wants to work for us. You put Werner back on the payroll and he'd be the most enthusiastic agent on your books. Give him a little money and even his wife would start getting interested.'

'She's mercenary. That Zena is very mercenary.'

So even Dicky had noticed. 'Yes, she is,' I said. 'But if they both are seeing Stinnes, my advice is to keep her sweet.'

Dicky grunted and continued biting his nail.

'Zena keeps her ears and eyes open. And Stinnes seems to like her. She might be able to guess what's in his mind before anyone else does.'

Dicky pouted. He was always like this about approving extra payments to any field agents. Normally I would have arranged any discussion about money for some day when Dicky was in one of the upward phases of his manic lifestyle. 'If Werner Volkmann makes a complete cock-up of everything, and he's not on the payroll, I can disown him,' explained Dicky, who tackled every task by deciding how he'd extricate himself from it if disaster ensued.

'I'll take personal responsibility for him,' I said.

Dicky brightened at the idea of that. 'That might be a way of doing it,' he said. The wall behind Dicky was almost completely covered with framed photos of Dicky smiling and shaking hands with important people. This form of self-advertisement, more usually found in the offices of extrovert American film producers, was considered bad form when Dicky first began his collection. But Dicky had made it into a prank, a droll collegiate form of fun, so that now he was able to have his joke and eat it too. One of the photos showed Dicky in Calcutta, while on a tour with Sir Henry Clevemore, the Director-General. It was a large colour photo in a gold frame. The two men were standing in front of a stall displaying crude lithographic posters. By looking closely you could recognize portraits of John Lennon, Napoleon, Marilyn Monroe, Lenin and John F. Kennedy. Somehow I always thought of Dicky as that young man in the photo, smiling at his boss amid a galaxy of successful people. 'I've told Berlin that I want Werner over here immediately. He'll be on the morning plane. I've sent a car to the airport so he will be here about three. We'll sit him down and find out what the hell it's all about. Okay, Bernard?'

'I hope you'll start off by offering him a proper contract,' I said.

'He's not your employee. He can just tell you to get stuffed and phone his lawyer.'

Dicky bit his lip. 'We've just been through all that. You said you'd take responsibility for him.'

'Then let me offer him a proper contract,' I said. Dicky looked doubtful. I said, 'Distancing yourself from Werner in case everything goes wrong might be sound reasoning. But don't distance yourself from him so far that he's out of sight. Don't distance yourself so far from Werner that you'll get no credit if everything goes well.'

Dicky took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. 'I'm getting a cold,' he said woefully. 'It's coming back here after the hot weather in Mexico.'

I nodded. I recognized the signs. When Dicky displayed the symptoms of the common cold it was usually because he was expecting some work he couldn't handle, or questions he didn't want to answer. 'Let me see Werner,' I said. 'Let me draft a contract. Don't bring him up here to the office. Tell me what you want him to do and I'll keep you in touch with him. Run him through me. Then you'll have the best of both worlds.'

'Very well,' said Dicky. He blew his nose again, trying to conceal his relief behind his big white handkerchief.

'But I'll need money,' I said. 'Not a handful of small change; ten grand at least, Dicky.'

'Ten grand?'

'It's only money, Dicky.'

'You're irresponsible, Bernard. Two thousand maybe, not ten.'

'It's not your money, Dicky.'

'That's just the sort of thing I'd expect you to say,' said Dicky. 'You think the department has money to burn.'

'Money is a part of our armoury,' I said. 'It's what we use to do our job. We can conserve the department's money by sitting on our arses and staring into space.'

'I knew you'd have an answer,' said Dicky.

I nodded. I knew it was an answer which Dicky would be noting down for future use the next time the cashier's office queried Dicky's profligate expense accounts.

'Very well then, ten thousand. On account, mind you. I shall want every penny of it accounted for.'