looked up rather sharply at this. Even I shook my head in a deprecating manner.
They paid my bill, and we drove amicably to London, reaching Hammersmith after dark. Then came the inevitable plunge into melodrama. I was invited with unnecessary sternness - conventional probably - into the back of a closed van from which I could see nothing. The minor civil servant drove away the car in which we had come. He did not shake my hand. My experience of English communists leads me to believe that they would form a most unsatisfactory fifth column.
Where we drove I have not the slightest idea - certainly well out of London, for after we were clear of traffic we had a fairly uninterrupted run of some twenty minutes. I was hurried straight from the van into the back door of a country house. I had only a glimpse of a stableyard before I was firmly directed - my companion being behind me - through the stone-flagged passages of the basement and into a very comfortable suite of bed-sitting-room and bathroom. There were books. A London evening paper was laid out, neatly folded. A cold supper was on the table with all the necessary drinks. It looked as if I had only to press the bell for anything I wanted. So I could, the comrade informed me; but he alone would answer it.
When I was formally called in the morning and the curtains drawn back, I saw that my room might once have been the servants’ hall. The window was barred and looked out on to a narrow, sunk yard on the far side of which was a thick privet hedge with more greenery beyond. This made the room very dark, though no worse than in many a hotel. My attendant advised me not to use artificial fight in daytime. I could be sure, he said, that no one was allowed on the other side of the shrubbery, nor could anyone see through it; but it was as well to be on the safe side. He was much more cordial. My behaviour must have met with approval in high quarters.
Chris Emmassin’s letter showed me that the game was going as I wanted - provided that the pace did not become too fast for me to keep control of developments. I had been right to assume that, with a changed regime feeling its feet, it might be some time before all the vested interests of the Russian secret services could be sorted out. Even in my limited experience of Hitler’s cloak-and-dagger during the war I noticed that the more secret organizations there were, the less each one knew of what another was doing. As an old member of the communist party, presumptions must be all in my favour. No one would ever admit that all trace of me had been lost. Therefore it had not been lost. Therefore I must have been employed by somebody. But by whom they could not tell until I should be interviewed - which God forbid! - on such a high level that I had to answer.
I kept up an appearance of being confident and grateful; but conversation was not encouraged. The meals were admirable, and the choice varied. The kitchen must have been working for a number of more important persons than myself. I fear that the concealing of a notorious secret agent in the basement was a gross breach of diplomatic privileges.
On the second day, after breakfast, my gentleman’s gentleman turned himself disconcertingly into policeman.
‘My orders are that you must let your hair grow,’ he said.
I refused. I very badly needed my bald head and facial decorations whenever I should be on my own again. But he was adamant.
‘I see what they mean,’ I told him. ‘If I am recognizable as Howard-Wolferstan, I shall be entirely in their hands. But I’ve got no great faith in the organization on this side. If they slip up and I am arrested as Howard-Wolferstan, where are we then? You report what I say and cable for instructions.’
He went out without a word; and his unknown boss must indeed have passed on my comment by cable or wireless, since I heard no more for a couple of days. It delighted me that the matter of
They paid my bill, and we drove amicably to London, reaching Hammersmith after dark. Then came the inevitable plunge into melodrama. I was invited with unnecessary sternness - conventional probably - into the back of a closed van from which I could see nothing. The minor civil servant drove away the car in which we had come. He did not shake my hand. My experience of English communists leads me to believe that they would form a most unsatisfactory fifth column.
Where we drove I have not the slightest idea - certainly well out of London, for after we were clear of traffic we had a fairly uninterrupted run of some twenty minutes. I was hurried straight from the van into the back door of a country house. I had only a glimpse of a stableyard before I was firmly directed - my companion being behind me - through the stone-flagged passages of the basement and into a very comfortable suite of bed-sitting-room and bathroom. There were books. A London evening paper was laid out, neatly folded. A cold supper was on the table with all the necessary drinks. It looked as if I had only to press the bell for anything I wanted. So I could, the comrade informed me; but he alone would answer it.
When I was formally called in the morning and the curtains drawn back, I saw that my room might once have been the servants’ hall. The window was barred and looked out on to a narrow, sunk yard on the far side of which was a thick privet hedge with more greenery beyond. This made the room very dark, though no worse than in many a hotel. My attendant advised me not to use artificial fight in daytime. I could be sure, he said, that no one was allowed on the other side of the shrubbery, nor could anyone see through it; but it was as well to be on the safe side. He was much more cordial. My behaviour must have met with approval in high quarters.
Chris Emmassin’s letter showed me that the game was going as I wanted - provided that the pace did not become too fast for me to keep control of developments. I had been right to assume that, with a changed regime feeling its feet, it might be some time before all the vested interests of the Russian secret services could be sorted out. Even in my limited experience of Hitler’s cloak-and-dagger during the war I noticed that the more secret organizations there were, the less each one knew of what another was doing. As an old member of the communist party, presumptions must be all in my favour. No one would ever admit that all trace of me had been lost. Therefore it had not been lost. Therefore I must have been employed by somebody. But by whom they could not tell until I should be interviewed - which God forbid! - on such a high level that I had to answer.
I kept up an appearance of being confident and grateful; but conversation was not encouraged. The meals were admirable, and the choice varied. The kitchen must have been working for a number of more important persons than myself. I fear that the concealing of a notorious secret agent in the basement was a gross breach of diplomatic privileges.
On the second day, after breakfast, my gentleman’s gentleman turned himself disconcertingly into policeman.
‘My orders are that you must let your hair grow,’ he said.
I refused. I very badly needed my bald head and facial decorations whenever I should be on my own again. But he was adamant.
‘I see what they mean,’ I told him. ‘If I am recognizable as Howard-Wolferstan, I shall be entirely in their hands. But I’ve got no great faith in the organization on this side. If they slip up and I am arrested as Howard-Wolferstan, where are we then? You report what I say and cable for instructions.’
He went out without a word; and his unknown boss must indeed have passed on my comment by cable or wireless, since I heard no more for a couple of days. It delighted me that the matter of
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