The Dog Who Came in from the Cold by Alexander McCall Smith

sensitive commercial and military information. I can’t really say much more than that.”
    William shrugged. “I suppose I don’t really need to know.” He was keen
not
to know, in fact; some information, he thought, was best left well alone.
    But Sebastian had more to tell him. “We’ve obtained the flat next door to them and put one of our people in it. A woman. Often women are less the objects of suspicion than men. As far as they’re concerned she’s just the neighbour—a harmless, middle-aged woman, who likes dogs.” He paused. “Which is what the head Russian likes too. He’s called Anatoly, and he’s talked to our woman on a number of occasions. He told her that he had a dog until about eight months ago, when it died. He said it was a Pimlico terrier.” He stopped, and looked at William. “He said that he could never bring himself to have another breed. It would have to be a Pimlico terrier. And yet there were so few of them around …”
    William held his breath. He glanced down at Freddie de la Hay, who was, of course, a Pimlico terrier. Freddie gazed back up at him with mild curiosity. He had given up on the hope of finding a squirrel and was now vaguely thinking of going home, where he might be given something to eat.
    “You will no doubt see where this is going,” said Sebastian.
    William was not sure. “Well, Freddie’s—”
    Sebastian did not let him finish. “Exactly,” he said. “So our woman said that as it happened she was just about to get a Pimlico terrier, although she was worried about having to put him in kennels when she went off to Swansea to visit her sister, who was not very well.”
    Sebastian watched William’s expression as the story unfolded. By now, he thought, it would be obvious what MI6 had in mind, and he was sure that William would pick it up.
    He was right. William gasped.
    “Yes,” said Sebastian. “Exactly.”
    “Exactly what?”
    Sebastian smiled. “Well, I assumed that you had worked out what we had in mind, which is to borrow Freddie de la Hay for a while—a couple of months perhaps.”
    “And?”
    “And get the Russian to look after him for a few days now and then.”
    “And put a transmitter on his collar?”
    Sebastian inclined his head, as if to bestow praise. “Exactly,” he said.
    William grimaced. It was
very
annoying when somebody said “exactly” all the time. When he was fourteen there had been a boy at school who had said
d’accord
to virtually everything anybody said to him. Eventually, William had punched him, quite hard, breaking his nose in the process, which was something he had regretted downthe years, and still did. He knew that one should not punch people who annoyed one, although there was a case for it at times, a seemingly irresistible case. He wanted to punch this man, this enigmatic Sebastian Duck—if that was his real name—but he knew that he could not.
Wine Merchant Punches Duck in Royal Park
 … that was how his son, Eddie, with his annoying habit of talking in headlines, would put it. No, he could never do it.
Wine Merchant Shows Restraint in Meeting with Spy
. So he simply said, “Oh, well,” and Sebastian Duck, interpreting this as agreement, nodded and said, “Exactly.”
    But there was no agreement—at least not yet. “I’ll need time to think about it,” William said. “Can you give me a telephone number? I’ll get back to you.”
    Sebastian Duck nodded, and took a card out of his pocket with a telephone number printed on it. “Here,” he said. “Don’t pass it on, though.”
    Oh really, thought William. You people are ridiculous. He grunted.
    “Exactly,” said Duck. “I’m pleased you understand.”

21. Recycled Sandwiches
    A FTER HIS MEETING with Sebastian Duck, William walked all the way back to Corduroy Mansions. He wanted to give Freddie the exercise—even though only a small part of the walk would be through the park—and he wanted, too, some time to think. William had always found