Knight Without Armour by James Hilton

all. Oh yes, and I can swim and fence,
and I’m a bit of a geologist in my spare time. It doesn’t really
sound the sort of thing to impress an employment agency, does it?”
    “Do you fancy an outdoor life?”
    “I don’t mind, provided it isn’t just merely physical
work. It may sound conceited, but I rather want something where I have to use
a small amount of brains. Yet I wouldn’t care for a job at a desk all
the time. I’m afraid I’m talking as though I were likely to be
given any choice in the matter.”
    “What about danger—personal danger? Would that be a
disadvantage?”
    “I’d hate the army, if that’s what you mean.”
    “No, that isn’t what I mean. I meant some kind of job where
you had occasionally to take risks—pretty big risks, in their
way—playing for high stakes— that sort of thing.”
    “I’m afraid your description doesn’t help me to imagine
such a job, but as a guess I should say it would suit me very
well.”
    Stanfield laughed. “I can’t be more explicit. How about the
money?”
    “Oh well, I’d like enough to live on and a little bit more.
But isn’t it rather absurd to be talking in this way, since I shall be
very lucky to get any sort of job at all?”
    “On the contrary, it’s just possible—yes, it is just
possible that I might be able to put you in the way of the kind of job you
say you would like. And here in Petersburg, too.”
    “You forget that I have to leave. My police permit expires on
Tuesday.”
    “No, I don’t forget that at all. I am remembering it most
carefully.”
    “I don’t follow.”
    “Let me explain. But first, I must pledge you to the strictest
secrecy. Whether or not you and I can come to terms, you must give me that
assurance.”
    “I do, of course.”
    “Good. Then listen.”
    Briefly, Stanfield’s suggestion was that A.J. should become attached
to the British Secret Service. That sounded simple enough, but an examination
of all that it implied revealed a network of complication and detail.
Stanfield, relying on A.J.’s promise of secrecy, was as frank as he
needed to be, but no more so. British diplomacy, he explained, had its own
reasons for wishing to know the precise strength and significance of the
revolutionary movement in Russia. It was impossible to obtain reliable
information from official channels, whether British or Russian; the only
sources were devious and underground. “Supposing, for instance, you
decided to help us, you would have to join one of the revolutionary
societies, identify yourself with the cause, gain the confidence of its
leaders, and judge for yourself how much the whole thing counts. I think
you’ll agree with me that such a job calls for brains and might well
involve considerable personal risks.”
    “I should be a spy, in fact?”
    “In a way, yes, but you would not be betraying anybody. You would
merely make your confidential reports to our headquarters—you would not
be working either for or against the revolutionaries themselves. We take no
sides, of course—we merely want to know what is really
happening.”
    “I see. And the danger would be that the revolutionaries would find
me out and think I was betraying them to the Russian police?”
    “The danger, my friend, would be twofold, and I’m not going to
try to minimise it in the least. There would be, of course, the danger you
mention, but there would be the even greater danger that the Russian police
would take you for a genuine revolutionary and deal with you accordingly. And
you know what ‘accordingly’ means.”
    “But in that case I suppose I should have to tell them the real
truth?”
    “Not at all—that is just what you would not have to do. You
would have to keep up your pretence and accept whatever punishment they gave
you. If you did tell them the truth, the British authorities would
merely arch their eyebrows with great loftiness and disown you. I want you to
be quite