Epitaph for a Spy Read Online Free Page B

course.”
    “Take it and examine it very closely. I want to know if you find anything curious about it.”
    I took it and did as I was told. I tried the shutter, the viewfinder, and the distance meter; I took out the lens and undid the back; I peered in every nook and cranny of the instrument. Finally I put it back in the case.
    “I don’t see anything curious about it. It is just as I left it.”
    He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a piece of folded paper. He held it up.
    “This, Vadassy, we found in your pocketbook. Have a look.”
    I took the paper and opened it. Then I looked at him.
    “Well, what about it?” I said defensively. “This is merely the insurance policy on the camera. As you reminded me, it is an expensive instrument. I paid a few francs to insure myself against its loss or,” I added pointedly, “theft.”
    He took the paper from me with a patient sigh.
    “It is lucky for you,” he said, “that French justice takes care of imbeciles as well as criminals. This insurance policy indemnifies Josef Vadassy against the loss of the Zeiss IkonContax camera, serial number F/64523/2. Please look at the serial number on the camera you have there.”
    I looked. The serial number was different.
    “Then,” I exclaimed excitedly, “this isn’t my camera. Why were my photographs on that negative?”
    “Because, my dear imbecile, it was not the films that were changed, but the cameras. This camera is a standard production and widely used. You used this camera with the Toulon exposures already made to photograph your stupid lizards. You even noticed that the number of the exposure was different from that in your own camera. Then you removed the film and took it to the chemist. He saw these ten photographs, saw, as any fool would see, what they were, and brought them to the police. Now, imbecile, do you see?”
    I did.
    “So,” I said, “when you so generously proclaimed your faith in my innocence you were perfectly well aware of it. In view of that I should like to know what right you have to keep me under arrest like this.”
    He wiped the top of his head with his handkerchief and surveyed me from beneath lowered lids.
    “Your arrest is no affair of mine. I can do nothing. The Commissaire is annoyed with you, as this evidence has spoiled his charge sheet; but he has agreed, in the interests of justice, to strike out three of the charges. Only one remains.”
    “What is that?”
    “You were in possession of photographs calculated to endanger the safety of the Republic. That is a serious offense. It remains, unless,” he added significantly, “unless means canbe found to strike it out also. I shall naturally intercede with the Commissaire on your behalf, but I am afraid that unless I can offer some good reason for this irregular step the charge will go forward. It would mean deportation at the very least.” My brain went as cold as ice.
    “You mean,” I said steadily, “that if I do not agree to co-operate, as you call it, this ridiculous charge will be pressed?”
    He did not answer. He was lighting his fourth cigarette. When he had finished he let it hang lightly between his loose lips. He blew smoke past it and gazed contemplatively at the blank wall as though it were a painting and he was an art dealer wondering whether to bid.
    “The cameras,” he said thoughtfully, “could have been changed for one of three reasons. Someone might have wished to do you an injury. Someone might have wished to get rid of the photographs in a hurry. Or it could have been done accidentally. The first hypothesis, I think, we can dismiss. It is too elaborate. There was no guarantee that (a) you would take the film to be developed and that (b) the chemist would go to the police. The second hypothesis is unreal. The photographs were valuable and the possibility of retrieving them remote. Besides, they were safe enough inside the camera. No, I think it was accidental. The cameras are of an identical pattern