'Let me hear that again,' said Bret. His voice was hard and unyielding.

'You heard what I said, Bret. If Stinnes goes into London Debriefing Centre in the way I want him to go there – relaxed and cooperative – he'll sing. I'm telling you that there might be people, not a thousand miles from here, who are not musically inclined.'

'It's worth thinking about, Bret,' said Frank. I had voiced what Frank had already said to me in Berlin. He looked at me and gave an almost imperceptible wink.

'You're not including me?' Bret said.

'I don't know, Bret. Talk it over with your analyst. I only deal in facts.'

'No one is trying to muzzle you, wise guy,' said Bret. He was talking directly to me now, as if there was no one else in the room.

'You could have fooled me, Bret. The way I was hearing it, I'd handled the Stinnes enrolment with fumbling incompetence. People are throwing money at him, without even keeping me informed. I'd begun to think that perhaps I was not doing this exactly the way you wanted it done.'

'Don't talk to me like that,' said Bret.

'You listen to me, Bret old buddy,' I said. 'I'll talk to you any way I choose to talk. Because I'm the file officer on the Stinnes investigation. And, just in case you've forgotten, we have an old-fashioned system in this department; once an agent is assigned to a file he has full powers of decision. And he continues with his task until he closes the file or hands it over. Either way he does it of his own volition. Now you put me here in the hot seat and rig this kangaroo court to intimidate me. But I've been over there where intimidation is done by experts. So you don't frighten me, Bret. You don't frighten me at all. And if this pantomime was staged to make me abandon the Stinnes file it's been a waste of time. I'll get Stinnes. And he'll come back here and talk like a rescued castaway.'

They were embarrassed at my outburst. The lower ranks must not complain. That was something any decent school taught a chap in his first term. Frank coughed, Morgan tipped his head back to look at the ceiling, Tiptree stroked his hair, and Dicky had all his fingers arrayed along the edge of the table, selecting one to make a meal from.

'But if anyone present thinks the Stinnes file should be taken away from me, now is the time to stand up and say so.' I waited. Bret looked at me and smiled derisively. No one spoke.

I stood up and said, 'Then I'll take it as unanimously agreed that I remain file officer. And now I'm leaving you gentlemen to write up the minutes of this meeting any way you like, but don't ask me to sign them. If you want me during the next few minutes I'll be with the D-G. I'm exercising my rights under another old-fashioned rule of this department; the right to report directly to the Director-General on matters of vital concern to the service.'

Bret started to get to his feet. I said, 'Don't see me out, Bret. And don't try to head me off from seeing the old man. I made the appointment this morning and he's waiting for me right now.'

I'd got as far as the door before Bret recovered himself enough to think of a rejoinder. 'You'd better get Stinnes,' he said. 'You screw up on Stinnes and I'll have you working as a file clerk in Registry.'

'Why not?' I said. 'I've always wanted to read through the senior staffs personal files.'

I took a deep breath when I got out in the corridor. I'd come out of the belly of the whale, but there was still a rough sea.

The meeting with the D-G was the sort of civilized formality that any meeting with him always was. I wasn't, of course, reporting anything of vital concern to the service. I was just imposing on the D-G's goodwill in order to say hello to him. I always tried to have an important appointment to escape to when I suspected that a meeting would go on too long.

His room was dim and smelted of leather chairs and dusty books that were piled upon them. The D-G sat by the window behind a small desk crowded with family photos, files, trays of paperwork and long-forgotten cups of tea. It was like entering some old Egyptian tomb to chat with an affable mummy.

'Of course I remember you,' said the D-G. 'Your father, Silas Gaunt, was Controller (Europe) when I first came here.'

'No, Silas Gaunt is a distant relative but only by marriage,' I said. 'My father was Colonel Samson; Berlin Resident when Silas was Controller (Europe).'

The D-G nodded vaguely. 'Controller (Europe), the Iberian Desk… such ridiculous titles. I've always thought we sound like people running the overseas service of the BBC.' He gave a little chuckle. It was a joke he'd made many times before. 'And everything is going well, is it?'

The D-G didn't look like a man who would like to hear that anything was going less than well. I had the feeling that if I implied that all was not going well, the D-G would throw himself through the window without pausing to open it. I suppose everyone had the same protective feeling when talking with the D-G. That's no doubt why the department was something of a shambles. 'Yes, sir,' I said. 'Everything is going very well.' A brave man, that Bernard Samson, and truthful to a fault.

'I like to keep in touch with what's happening,' said the D-G. 'That's why I sent for you.'

'Yes, sir,' I said.

'The wretched doctor won't let me drink at all. But it doesn't look as if you're enjoying that lemon tea. Why don't you go and pour yourself a decent drink from my cupboard. What was that you said?'

'Thank you, sir.'

'I've all the time in the world,' said the D-G. 'I'd love to hear what's happening in Washington these days.'

'I've been in Berlin, sir. I work on the German Desk.'

'No matter, no matter. Tell me what's happening in Berlin. What did you say your name was again?'

'Samson, sir. Bernard Samson.'

He looked at me for a long time. 'Samson, yes, of course. You've had this frightful problem about your wife.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Mr Harrington explained your difficulties to me. Did he tell you we're hoping to get some supplementary payment for you?'

'Yes, sir. That would be most helpful.'

'Don't worry about the children. They'll come to no harm, I guarantee it.' The D-G smiled. 'Promise, now. You'll stop worrying about the children.'

'Yes, sir. I promise.'

'Samson. Yes, of course. I've always had a knack for remembering names,' he said.

After leaving the D-G's office I went into the toilet and found myself sharing a hot-air drier with Frank Harrington.

'Feeling better now, Bernard?' he said humorously.

'Better than I was before? Or better than the people at that meeting of Bret's?'

'Oh, you left us in no doubt about that, my dear fellow. You made your superiority more than clear to everyone present. What did you do to the D-G, ask him for his resignation?' He saw me look round and added. 'It's quite all right; there's no one else here.'

'I said what needed saying,' I said defensively.

'And you said it very well. Bret went home to change his underpants.'

'That will be the day,' I said.

'You underestimate the effect of your passionate outbursts, Bernard. Bret has only himself to blame. Your little dig about a kangaroo court went home. Bret was distressed; he even told us he was distressed. He spent ten minutes singing your praises to convince us all that it wasn't anything of the kind. But, Bernard, you're inclined to the overkill.'

'Is that a warning, Frank?'

'Advice, Bernard. Advice.'

'To guard my tongue?'

'Not at all. I always enjoy your tantrums except when I'm on the receiving end of them. I enjoyed seeing you scare them half to death in there.'

'Scare them?'

'Of course. They know how easily you can make a fool of them. Bret still hasn't forgotten that joke you made about his visit to Berlin last year.'