but his lips moved soundlessly, and the Count went on, his every word now a cold and deadly menace. 'My instructions will be obeyed and obeyed implicitly, and you will be held directly responsible for any failure, however unavoidable that failure. That, my friend, or the Black Sea Canal.'
'I'll do anything, anything!' The manager was begging now, in a state of piteous terror, and he had to clutch the desk to steady himself. 'Anything, comrade. I swear it!'
'You will have your last chance.' The Count nodded towards Reynolds. 'One of my men. Sufficiently like the spy we are after, in build and appearance, to pass muster, and we have disguised him a little. A shadowed corner of your lounge, say, an incautious approach, and the contact is ours. The contact will sing to us, as all men sing to the AVO, and then the spy himself will be ours also.'
Reynolds stared at the Count, only the years of professional training keeping his face expressionless, and wondered if there was any limit to this man's effrontery. But in that same insolent audacity, Reynolds knew, the best hope of safety lay.
'However, all that is no concern of yours,. the Count continued. 'These are your instructions. A room for my friend here -- let us call him, for the sake of convenience, say, Mr. Rakosi -- the best you have, with a private bathroom, fire-escape, short-wave radio receiver, telephone, alarm clock, duplicates of all master-keys in the hotel and absolute privacy. No switchboard operator eavesdropping on Mr. Rakosi's room telephone -- as you are probably aware, my dear manager, we have devices that tell us instantly when a line is being monitored. No chambermaid, no floor waiters, no electricians, plumbers or any other tradesmen to go near his room. All meals will be taken up by yourself. Unless Mr. Rakosi chooses to show himself, he doesn't exist. No one knows he exists, even you have never seen him, you haven't even seen me. All that is clearly understood?'
'Yes, of course, of course.' The manager was grasping frantically,at this straw of a last chance. 'Everything will be exactly as you say, comrade, exactly. You have my word.' 'You may yet live to mulct a few thousand more guests,' the Count said contemptuously. 'Warn that oaf of a porter not to talk, and show us this room immediately.'
Five minutes later they were alone. Reynolds' room was not large, but comfortably furnished, complete with radio and telephone and a fire-escape conveniently placed outside the adjoining bathroom. The Count glanced round approvingly. 'You'll be comfortable here for a few days, two or three anyway. Not more, it's too dangerous. The manager won't talk, but you'll always find some frightened fool or mercenary informer who will.'
'And then?'
'You'll have to become somebody else. A few hours' sleep then I go to see a friend of mine who specialises in such things.' The Count thoughtfully rubbed a blue and bristly chin. 'A German, I think will be best for you, preferably from the Ruhr -- Dortmund, Essen or thereabouts. Much more convincing than your Austrian, I assure you. East-west contraband trade is becoming so big that the deals are now being handled by the principals themselves, and the Swiss and Austrian middlemen who used to handle these transactions are having a thin time of it. Very rare birds now, and hence an object of suspicion. You can be a supplier of, let us say, aluminium and copper goods. I'll get you a book on it.'
'These, of course, are banned goods?'
'Naturally, my dear fellow. There, are hundreds of banned goods, absolutely proscribed by the governments of the west, but a Niagara of the stuff flows across the iron curtain every year -- £100,000,000 worth, £200,000,000 -- no one knows.'
'Good lord!' Reynolds was astonished, but recovered quickly. 'And 111 contribute my quota to the flow?'
'Easiest thing imaginable, my boy. Your stuff is sent to Hamburg or some other free port under false stencils and manifest: these are changed inside the
'I'll do anything, anything!' The manager was begging now, in a state of piteous terror, and he had to clutch the desk to steady himself. 'Anything, comrade. I swear it!'
'You will have your last chance.' The Count nodded towards Reynolds. 'One of my men. Sufficiently like the spy we are after, in build and appearance, to pass muster, and we have disguised him a little. A shadowed corner of your lounge, say, an incautious approach, and the contact is ours. The contact will sing to us, as all men sing to the AVO, and then the spy himself will be ours also.'
Reynolds stared at the Count, only the years of professional training keeping his face expressionless, and wondered if there was any limit to this man's effrontery. But in that same insolent audacity, Reynolds knew, the best hope of safety lay.
'However, all that is no concern of yours,. the Count continued. 'These are your instructions. A room for my friend here -- let us call him, for the sake of convenience, say, Mr. Rakosi -- the best you have, with a private bathroom, fire-escape, short-wave radio receiver, telephone, alarm clock, duplicates of all master-keys in the hotel and absolute privacy. No switchboard operator eavesdropping on Mr. Rakosi's room telephone -- as you are probably aware, my dear manager, we have devices that tell us instantly when a line is being monitored. No chambermaid, no floor waiters, no electricians, plumbers or any other tradesmen to go near his room. All meals will be taken up by yourself. Unless Mr. Rakosi chooses to show himself, he doesn't exist. No one knows he exists, even you have never seen him, you haven't even seen me. All that is clearly understood?'
'Yes, of course, of course.' The manager was grasping frantically,at this straw of a last chance. 'Everything will be exactly as you say, comrade, exactly. You have my word.' 'You may yet live to mulct a few thousand more guests,' the Count said contemptuously. 'Warn that oaf of a porter not to talk, and show us this room immediately.'
Five minutes later they were alone. Reynolds' room was not large, but comfortably furnished, complete with radio and telephone and a fire-escape conveniently placed outside the adjoining bathroom. The Count glanced round approvingly. 'You'll be comfortable here for a few days, two or three anyway. Not more, it's too dangerous. The manager won't talk, but you'll always find some frightened fool or mercenary informer who will.'
'And then?'
'You'll have to become somebody else. A few hours' sleep then I go to see a friend of mine who specialises in such things.' The Count thoughtfully rubbed a blue and bristly chin. 'A German, I think will be best for you, preferably from the Ruhr -- Dortmund, Essen or thereabouts. Much more convincing than your Austrian, I assure you. East-west contraband trade is becoming so big that the deals are now being handled by the principals themselves, and the Swiss and Austrian middlemen who used to handle these transactions are having a thin time of it. Very rare birds now, and hence an object of suspicion. You can be a supplier of, let us say, aluminium and copper goods. I'll get you a book on it.'
'These, of course, are banned goods?'
'Naturally, my dear fellow. There, are hundreds of banned goods, absolutely proscribed by the governments of the west, but a Niagara of the stuff flows across the iron curtain every year -- £100,000,000 worth, £200,000,000 -- no one knows.'
'Good lord!' Reynolds was astonished, but recovered quickly. 'And 111 contribute my quota to the flow?'
'Easiest thing imaginable, my boy. Your stuff is sent to Hamburg or some other free port under false stencils and manifest: these are changed inside the
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