above.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Does Mr Griffiths-Jones know?’ Edward asked.
‘Yes, I told him this morning, as soon as I received the order.’
Edward wondered if this was Basil Thoroughgood ‘pulling strings’ or just a coincidence.
David Griffiths-Jones’ cell was by no means luxurious but Edward guessed it was considerably more commodious than that in which an ordinary prisoner would find himself. It had a metal bed,
a washbasin beside it, a simple wooden armchair with a lamp behind it and a threadbare carpet. On a little wooden shelf half a dozen books were stacked. Griffiths-Jones was reading when they
entered and Edward saw that he now wore glasses. As he rose to greet them, he took them off and laid them on the washstand with the book – which Edward saw was Das Kapital .
Griffiths-Jones was the only communist he had ever heard of who had actually read it. Despite having to wear glasses, David was still a young man and very good-looking. He was tall, blond, though
Edward convinced himself, rather spitefully, that his hair was thinning. His eyes were striking – blue and piercing. He was a little thinner than when Edward had last seen him six months
before and, unsurprisingly, he looked strained and tired.
Verity kissed him on the cheek and for a moment he held her in an embrace which showed real affection. Then he turned to Edward.
‘I’m afraid, Corinth, Verity has wasted your time. I tried to dissuade her from . . . from getting you here but you know how obstinate she is.’
‘But he’s already achieved something,’ Verity blurted out. ‘He saw a Foreign Office man in London and now we have got more time to get you out of here.’
Edward broke in hurriedly: ‘Verity, you’re jumping the gun . . .’Realising how unfortunate this sounded, he pressed on: ‘I mean, I have no idea if there’s any
connection. Basil Thoroughgood – he’s an FO acquaintance of mine in London, David, – promised to do what he could but who knows what that means in practice.’
Griffiths-Jones was silent for a moment and then said, ‘Look, Verity, since you have brought Corinth to see me – and no doubt bullied him just like you bullied me – ’ he
smiled to take the sting out of his words, ‘I think you had better leave us alone to talk. Why don’t you go back to José’s office.’
‘Can I come and see you before we leave?’ she inquired meekly.
‘Of course.’ He signalled to the guard who was standing outside the cell to escort Verity back to the governor’s office and, when she had gone, motioned Edward to sit in the
chair.
‘I’ll sit on the bed. No, really,’ he said, seeing Edward about to refuse. ‘I’m quite comfortable on the bed. In any case, if you don’t mind, I might pace
around a bit. I have exercise periods but it’s never enough. In fact it’s what I miss most about this place. But, of course, it won’t be for long.’
Edward thought it wisest not to offer conventional protestations. ‘Look, David – I hope I may call you David?’
‘Be my guest,’ the other said ironically. ‘There is an intimacy engendered in meeting in a condemned cell which it would be idiotic to deny.’
‘First of all, I apologise for coming here. I knew you would not want to see me and I told Verity so but, as you said, she won’t take no for an answer. She knows we don’t get
on, for obvious reasons, and I told her you might think I had come to . . .’
‘To gloat? No, oddly enough, I didn’t think you would come for that reason but I’m almost certain there is nothing you can do . . . in the time available.’
‘You think there is something I could do.’
‘There might be,’ Griffiths-Jones said grudgingly.
‘Well, tell me, for God’s sake!’
‘You see, Corinth, the thing is, I didn’t kill Tilney.’
‘I didn’t think you . . .’
‘No, hold on a moment. I’m sure you do think I did it and maybe I could have. I certainly feel like doing it
‘Does Mr Griffiths-Jones know?’ Edward asked.
‘Yes, I told him this morning, as soon as I received the order.’
Edward wondered if this was Basil Thoroughgood ‘pulling strings’ or just a coincidence.
David Griffiths-Jones’ cell was by no means luxurious but Edward guessed it was considerably more commodious than that in which an ordinary prisoner would find himself. It had a metal bed,
a washbasin beside it, a simple wooden armchair with a lamp behind it and a threadbare carpet. On a little wooden shelf half a dozen books were stacked. Griffiths-Jones was reading when they
entered and Edward saw that he now wore glasses. As he rose to greet them, he took them off and laid them on the washstand with the book – which Edward saw was Das Kapital .
Griffiths-Jones was the only communist he had ever heard of who had actually read it. Despite having to wear glasses, David was still a young man and very good-looking. He was tall, blond, though
Edward convinced himself, rather spitefully, that his hair was thinning. His eyes were striking – blue and piercing. He was a little thinner than when Edward had last seen him six months
before and, unsurprisingly, he looked strained and tired.
Verity kissed him on the cheek and for a moment he held her in an embrace which showed real affection. Then he turned to Edward.
‘I’m afraid, Corinth, Verity has wasted your time. I tried to dissuade her from . . . from getting you here but you know how obstinate she is.’
‘But he’s already achieved something,’ Verity blurted out. ‘He saw a Foreign Office man in London and now we have got more time to get you out of here.’
Edward broke in hurriedly: ‘Verity, you’re jumping the gun . . .’Realising how unfortunate this sounded, he pressed on: ‘I mean, I have no idea if there’s any
connection. Basil Thoroughgood – he’s an FO acquaintance of mine in London, David, – promised to do what he could but who knows what that means in practice.’
Griffiths-Jones was silent for a moment and then said, ‘Look, Verity, since you have brought Corinth to see me – and no doubt bullied him just like you bullied me – ’ he
smiled to take the sting out of his words, ‘I think you had better leave us alone to talk. Why don’t you go back to José’s office.’
‘Can I come and see you before we leave?’ she inquired meekly.
‘Of course.’ He signalled to the guard who was standing outside the cell to escort Verity back to the governor’s office and, when she had gone, motioned Edward to sit in the
chair.
‘I’ll sit on the bed. No, really,’ he said, seeing Edward about to refuse. ‘I’m quite comfortable on the bed. In any case, if you don’t mind, I might pace
around a bit. I have exercise periods but it’s never enough. In fact it’s what I miss most about this place. But, of course, it won’t be for long.’
Edward thought it wisest not to offer conventional protestations. ‘Look, David – I hope I may call you David?’
‘Be my guest,’ the other said ironically. ‘There is an intimacy engendered in meeting in a condemned cell which it would be idiotic to deny.’
‘First of all, I apologise for coming here. I knew you would not want to see me and I told Verity so but, as you said, she won’t take no for an answer. She knows we don’t get
on, for obvious reasons, and I told her you might think I had come to . . .’
‘To gloat? No, oddly enough, I didn’t think you would come for that reason but I’m almost certain there is nothing you can do . . . in the time available.’
‘You think there is something I could do.’
‘There might be,’ Griffiths-Jones said grudgingly.
‘Well, tell me, for God’s sake!’
‘You see, Corinth, the thing is, I didn’t kill Tilney.’
‘I didn’t think you . . .’
‘No, hold on a moment. I’m sure you do think I did it and maybe I could have. I certainly feel like doing it
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