The Last Two Weeks of Georges Rivac by Geoffrey Household

would take them a week to check and they’d only find that he was run over by a bus in Lille.’
    â€˜At least I can get you a hearing, Miss—Mrs Fanshawe. Discreetly. Only last week I was dining with the Chief Constable.’
    â€˜I don’t think you should. You see, another man has died too.’
    â€˜You mean—well, you and Georges were involved?’
    â€˜We were witnesses. And we don’t want to talk. Not yet.’
    â€˜When will you talk?’
    â€˜When you find the right person to listen.’
    â€˜In my position I cannot afford to be compromised, Mrs Fanshawe.’
    â€˜But you know so many people. You’re in—what was it Georges said? Oh, yes—the corridors of power.’
    Georges had actually said that Paul liked to think he was, but clearly she was on target.
    â€˜Near them perhaps,’ he answered complacently. ‘Whom do you want me to approach?’
    â€˜I don’t know. People who are interested in the military strength of the Warsaw Pact.’
    â€˜The Ministry of Defence. But forgive me—they have professionals reporting on that sort of thing.’
    â€˜I know. But sometimes an amateur, without wanting it at all, can give them more than they dream.’
    Paul Longwill’s manner changed completely. It was as if he had suddenly got her into perspective and appreciated her problem. He began to speak from experience without any of his tiresome affectations.
    â€˜Security. I don’t know anything much about it, but I can tell you what I have noticed. Where secrecy is vitally important, security is often overdone. Let’s say I’m working on something that mustn’t get out. Think of me at the centre of a circle and round the circumference I have placed my personal barbed wire—guards, diversions, prohibitions—to prevent a leak. Very effective. But suppose somebody like you or Georges wants to come in with valuable information? Way blocked. No thoroughfare. If security is to prevent anything going out, it must also prevent anyone coming in.’
    Zia was impressed. The man’s pretence of worldly wisdom seemed to be merely an unnecessary decoration on the real thing.
    â€˜Mr Longwill, you are so wise.’
    â€˜Kind of you, but I doubt it. I can find my way through some wire fences but not that one.’
    â€˜Perhaps you could if you were to go and see Herbert Spring yourself.’
    â€˜I will for your sake, if you can give me something simple and sane to tell him.’
    â€˜You told Georges that Bridge Holdings had interests in Prague, so they must have an agent there. Ask Mr Spring if the agent knew Karel Kren of Intertatry and if he ever gave him the name of Bridge Holdings. If Spring answers that he doesn’t know, then someone should go to Prague and talk to the agent. It would be very dangerous to write or telephone. And leave me out of it altogether! Explain that you were brought up with Georges and you’re doing it for him. You don’t know of my existence. He’ll talk to you about me and tell you that I’m an adventuress and a crook. But he liked Georges.’
    â€˜You’ll be here for a few days more and all right?’
    â€˜I’ll be here till I know what has happened to Georges.’
    â€˜Good! I’ll pass the word round that the general has asked me to look after you.’
    â€˜At Eton together?’
    â€˜Do you want to walk home?’
    â€˜If you’ll walk with me.’
    â€˜Zia, you are adorable. Count on me!’
    He dropped her at the White Hart and drove away after a genial and squirely word with the proprietor. Zia made for the lounge which provided for RESIDENTS ONLY four comfortable chairs and a table with its own serving hatch. A man standing at the bar politely intercepted her and asked:
    â€˜Mrs Fanshawe?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    He was wrinkled by the sun with grey stubble on a rugged, badly-shaven face and black,