'Good God, Bernard,' said Frank. 'You do try my patience at times.'

'Do I, Frank? I don't mean to; I'm sorry.'

'What the hell were you doing at Lüneburg?'

'A meeting,' I said.

'An agent?'

'You know better than to ask me that, Frank,' I said.

'There's the very deuce of a fuss in London. One of your chaps was murdered.'

'Who was that?'

'MacKenzie. A probationer. He worked for you sometimes, I understand.'

'I know him,' I said.

'What do you know about his death?'

'What you've told me.'

'No more than that?'

'Is this a formal inquiry?'

'Of course not, Bernard. But it's not the right moment to conceal evidence either.'

'If it was the right moment, would you tell me so, Frank?'

'I'm trying to help, Bernard. When you go back to London you'll walk into more pointed questions than these.'

'For instance?'

'Don't you care about this poor boy?'

'I do care. I care very much. What would I have to do to convince you about that?' I said.

'You don't have to convince me about anything, Bernard. I've always stood behind you. Since your father died I've considered myself in loco parentis, and I've hoped that you would come to me if in trouble in the same way that you'd have gone to your father.'

Was this what Frank had been so keen to talk to me about. I couldn't decide. And now I turned the heat on to Frank. 'Is Henry Tiptree one of your people, Frank?' I kept my voice very casual.

'Tiptree? The chap staying at Frau Hennig's?' He touched his stubble moustache reflectively.

Frank was virtually the only person I knew who called Lisl 'Frau Hennig' and it took me a moment to respond to his question. 'Yes. That's the one,' I said.

I'd caught Frank on the hop. He reached into a drawer of his desk and found a packet of pipe tobacco. He took his time in tearing the wrapper open and sniffing at the contents to see how fresh it had stayed in his drawer. 'What did Tiptree say he's doing?'

'He gave me a lot of hogwash. Bur I think he^rs from Internal Security.'

Frank became rather nervous. He stuffed tobacco into the bowl of his pipe carelessly enough to spill a lot on the otherwise very tidy desk-top. 'You're right, Bernard. I'm glad you tumbled to him. I wanted to tip you the wink but the signals from London were strictly for me only. The D-G told me not to tell anyone, but now that you've guessed I might as well admit it…'

'What's his game, Frank?'

'He's an ambitious young diplomat who wants to have some cloak-and-dagger experience.'

'In Internal Security?'

'Don't sound so incredulous. That's where they put such people. We don't want them at the sharp end, do we, Bernard?'

'And why did Internal Security send him here?'

'Internal Security never tell us lesser mortals what they are doing, or why they're doing it, Bernard. I'm sure he guesses that anything he tells me is liable to get back to you.'

'And why should that matter?'

'Let me rephrase that.' Frank forced a grin on to his reluctant face. 'I meant that anything he told me is liable to get back to any member of the Berlin staff.'

'Is that bastard investigating me?' I said.

'Now don't get excited, Bernard. No one knows what he's doing. Internal Security are a law unto themselves, you know that. But even if he is poking his nose into your affairs, you've no cause to be surprised. We all get investigated from time to time. And you have…'

'I have a wife who defected. Is that what you were going to say, Frank?'

'It's not what I was going to say but, now that you've brought it into the conversation, it is a factor that Internal Security is bound to find relevant.'

I didn't answer. At least I had Frank on the defensive. It was better than him giving me a hard time about MacKenzie. Now that his pipe was filled with tobacco I gave him enough time to light up. 'Yes, you're sure to have them breathing down your neck for a little while. But these things eventually blow over. The service is fair-minded, Bernard. You must admit that.' He sucked at his pipe in short rapid breaths that made the tobacco flare. 'Do you know of even one case of a departmental employee being victimized?'

'I don't know of one,' I said, 'for the very good reason that the lid is kept tightly clamped upon such things.'

'Couldn't have chaps writing letters to The Times about it, could we?' said Frank. He smiled but I looked at him blankly, and watched him as he held the matchbox over the bowl of his pipe to increase the draft. I never knew whether he was so very bad at getting his pipe lit, or whether he deliberately let it go out between puffs, to give him something to do while thinking up answers to awkward questions.

'I might not need back-up on the Stinnes business, Frank,' I said, choosing my words carefully. 'I might want to handle it well away from the city, maybe not in Germany anywhere.'

Frank recognized the remark for what it was; a departmental way of telling him to go to hell. Official notice that I was going to keep the Stinnes operation well away from him and all his doings. 'It's your show, lad,' said Frank. 'How is it going?'

'Did you know that London have offered Stinnes a cash payment?'

Only his eyes moved. He looked up from his pipe but held it to his mouth and continued to fuss with it. 'No. At least not officially.'

'But you did hear?'

'The D-G told me that there might be a payment made. The old man always tells me if such things happen here on my patch. Just by way of courtesy.'

'Is the D-G taking a personal interest?'

'He is indeed.' An artful little grin. 'That's why so many of our colleagues are giving it such close attention.'

'Including you?'

'I came into the service with Sir Henry Clevemore. We trained together – although he was rather older than me – and we've become close friends. But Sir Henry is the Director-General, and I'm just the poor old Berlin Resident. He doesn't forget that, Bernard, and I make sure that I never forget it either.' This was Frank's way of reminding me that I was too damned insubordinate. 'Yes. If Sir Henry is taking a close personal interest in any particular enterprise, I also take an interest in it. He's no fool.'

'The last time I saw him he was in bad shape.'

'Sick?' said Frank, as if hearing that suggestion for the first time.

'Not just sick, Frank. When I spoke to him he was rambling.'

'Are you suggesting that the old man's non compos mentis?'

'He's completely fruit-cake, Frank. You must know that if you've seen him lately.'

'Eccentric, yes,' said Frank cautiously.

'He's one of the most powerful men in Britain, Frank. Let's not quibble about terminology.'

'I wouldn't like to think you're encouraging anyone to think the D-G is in anything but vigorous mental and physical health,' said Frank. 'He's been under a heavy strain. When the time is ripe he'll go, of course. But we're all very keen that it should not look like a response to the government's request.'

'Are the government asking for his head?'

'There are people in the Cabinet who'd like someone else sitting in the D-G's chair,' said Frank.

'You mean some particular someone else?'

'They'll put a politician in there if they get a chance,' said Frank. 'Virtually every government since the war has cherished the idea of having a "reliable" man running us. Not just the socialists; the Tories also have their nominees. For all I know, the Liberals and Social Democrats have ideas about it too.'

'Is it a job you'd like?'

'Me?'

'Don't say you've never thought about it.'

'Berlin Resident to D-G would be a giant step for man.'

'We all know that you came back here to straighten out a mess. Had you stayed in London you could have been the old man's deputy by now.'