Landau but he was too late.
‘Johnny,’ said Landau, boiling over. ‘This is Moscow, right? Moscow, Russia, pal . If I stopped to consider who had a surveillance function and who didn’t, I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning and I wouldn’t get into it at night. The birds in the trees are wired for all I know.’
Yet again Johnny was at his telegrams. ‘You say that Yekaterina Borisovna Orlova referred to the adjoining stand of Abercrombie & Blair as having been empty on the previous day, correct?’
‘I do say so, yes.’
‘But you didn’t see her the day before? Is that also correct?’
‘It is.’
‘You also say that you have an eye for a pretty lady.’
‘I do, thank you, and may it long remain vigilant.’
‘Don’t you think you should have noticed her then?’
‘I do sometimes miss one,’ Landau confessed, colouring again. ‘If my back is turned, if I am bent over a desk or relieving myself in the toilet, it is possible my attention may flag for a moment.’
But Johnny’s nervelessness was acquiring its own authority. ‘You have relatives in Poland, do you not, Mr. Landau?’ The ‘pal’ had evidently done its work, for listening to the tape I noticed he had dropped it.
‘I do.’
‘Do you not have an elder sister highly placed in the Polish administration?’
‘My sister works in the Polish Health Ministry as a hospital inspector. She is not highly placed and she is past retiring age.’
‘Have you at any time directly or indirectly been the witting target of pressure or blackmail by Communist bloc agencies or third parties acting in their behalf?’
Landau turned to Ned. ‘A what target? My English isn’t very good, I’m afraid.’
‘Conscious,’ said Ned with a warning smile. ‘Aware. Knowing.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Landau.
‘In your travels to Eastern bloc countries, have you been intimate with women of those countries?’
‘I’ve been to bed with some. I haven’t been intimate.’
Like a naughty schoolboy Walter let out a squeak of choked laughter, lifting his shoulders to his neck and cupping his hand over his dreadful teeth. But Johnny soldiered doggedly on: ‘Mr. Landau, have you ever prior to this time had contacts with any intelligence agency of any hostile or friendly country anywhere?’
‘Negative.’
‘Have you ever sold information to any person of whatever status or profession – newspaper, enquiry agency, police, military – for any purpose, however innocuous?’
‘Negative.’
‘And you are not and never have been a member of a Communist party or any peace organisation or group sympathetic to its aims?’
‘I’m a British subject,’ Landau retorted, thrusting out his little Polish jaw.
‘And you have no idea, however vague, however mistily formed, of the overall message contained in the material you handled?’
‘I didn’t handle it. I passed it on.’
‘But you read it along the way.’
‘What I could, I read. Some. Then I gave up. As I told you.’
‘Why?’
‘From a sense of decency, if you want to know. Something which I begin to suspect you are not troubled by.’
But Johnny, far from blushing, was digging patiently in his file. He drew out an envelope and from the envelope a pack of postcard-size photographs which he dealt on to the table like playing-cards. Some were fuzzy, all were grainy. A few had foreground obstructions. They showed women coming down the steps of a bleak office building, some in groups, some singly. Some carried perhaps-bags, some had their heads down and carried nothing. And Landau remembered hearing that it was Moscow practice for ladies slipping out for lunchtime shopping to stuff whatever they needed into their pockets and leave their handbags lying on their desks in order to show the world they had only gone down the corridor.
‘This one,’ said Landau suddenly, pointing with his forefinger.
Johnny played another of his courtroom tricks. He was really too intelligent for
‘Johnny,’ said Landau, boiling over. ‘This is Moscow, right? Moscow, Russia, pal . If I stopped to consider who had a surveillance function and who didn’t, I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning and I wouldn’t get into it at night. The birds in the trees are wired for all I know.’
Yet again Johnny was at his telegrams. ‘You say that Yekaterina Borisovna Orlova referred to the adjoining stand of Abercrombie & Blair as having been empty on the previous day, correct?’
‘I do say so, yes.’
‘But you didn’t see her the day before? Is that also correct?’
‘It is.’
‘You also say that you have an eye for a pretty lady.’
‘I do, thank you, and may it long remain vigilant.’
‘Don’t you think you should have noticed her then?’
‘I do sometimes miss one,’ Landau confessed, colouring again. ‘If my back is turned, if I am bent over a desk or relieving myself in the toilet, it is possible my attention may flag for a moment.’
But Johnny’s nervelessness was acquiring its own authority. ‘You have relatives in Poland, do you not, Mr. Landau?’ The ‘pal’ had evidently done its work, for listening to the tape I noticed he had dropped it.
‘I do.’
‘Do you not have an elder sister highly placed in the Polish administration?’
‘My sister works in the Polish Health Ministry as a hospital inspector. She is not highly placed and she is past retiring age.’
‘Have you at any time directly or indirectly been the witting target of pressure or blackmail by Communist bloc agencies or third parties acting in their behalf?’
Landau turned to Ned. ‘A what target? My English isn’t very good, I’m afraid.’
‘Conscious,’ said Ned with a warning smile. ‘Aware. Knowing.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Landau.
‘In your travels to Eastern bloc countries, have you been intimate with women of those countries?’
‘I’ve been to bed with some. I haven’t been intimate.’
Like a naughty schoolboy Walter let out a squeak of choked laughter, lifting his shoulders to his neck and cupping his hand over his dreadful teeth. But Johnny soldiered doggedly on: ‘Mr. Landau, have you ever prior to this time had contacts with any intelligence agency of any hostile or friendly country anywhere?’
‘Negative.’
‘Have you ever sold information to any person of whatever status or profession – newspaper, enquiry agency, police, military – for any purpose, however innocuous?’
‘Negative.’
‘And you are not and never have been a member of a Communist party or any peace organisation or group sympathetic to its aims?’
‘I’m a British subject,’ Landau retorted, thrusting out his little Polish jaw.
‘And you have no idea, however vague, however mistily formed, of the overall message contained in the material you handled?’
‘I didn’t handle it. I passed it on.’
‘But you read it along the way.’
‘What I could, I read. Some. Then I gave up. As I told you.’
‘Why?’
‘From a sense of decency, if you want to know. Something which I begin to suspect you are not troubled by.’
But Johnny, far from blushing, was digging patiently in his file. He drew out an envelope and from the envelope a pack of postcard-size photographs which he dealt on to the table like playing-cards. Some were fuzzy, all were grainy. A few had foreground obstructions. They showed women coming down the steps of a bleak office building, some in groups, some singly. Some carried perhaps-bags, some had their heads down and carried nothing. And Landau remembered hearing that it was Moscow practice for ladies slipping out for lunchtime shopping to stuff whatever they needed into their pockets and leave their handbags lying on their desks in order to show the world they had only gone down the corridor.
‘This one,’ said Landau suddenly, pointing with his forefinger.
Johnny played another of his courtroom tricks. He was really too intelligent for
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