The Swiss Spy Read Online Free Page A

to Trafalgar Square where he
caught the number 12 bus and headed west. He needed some time to think and
what, he thought, could be a more pleasant place to do that from than the top
deck of a London bus?
    He stayed on the bus until Notting Hill Gate then
walked over to Kensington Park Road, taking care as he did so to ensure he was
not being followed. He was about to walk, but a number 52 bus came along and he
decided to hop on. He stayed on the bus until it was halfway down Ladbroke
Grove. He waited a full five minutes at the bus stop to ensure his tail was
clear then headed north-west to where the grandeur of Holland Park petered out
to a series of plain and forgettable buildings. He passed a grocery shop with a
long and excited queue outside it and briefly wondered whether he should join
it, as one did these days, but a glance at his watch made him realise he needed
to hurry.
    Edgar paused outside a small alley, allowed an
elderly lady to be pulled past him by a pair of yapping terriers then entered
the alley. At the end of it he pressed a bell and a large iron gate swung open.
He was now in a small courtyard: a policeman saluted and unlocked a door and
from there Edgar descended three flights of stairs before finding himself in
what was, to all intents and purposes, a small police station.
     
    ***
     
    Minutes
later he was sitting in a stuffy windowless room in the basement with a police
inspector. ‘What I would like to know is what his general mood is like: what he
does; how he behaves; what he says – that kind of thing, Inspector Hill. I’m
sure you know the score.’
    The inspector removed a notebook from the top pocket
of his uniform jacket and flicked through a few pages.
    ‘Let’s see then… in a pretty bad mood when he
arrived here on Monday night, shouting the odds, insisting he had a right to a
lawyer. Shut up once he’d had something to eat. Next day he was on again about
a lawyer. We kept him in his cell until Wednesday afternoon when he was brought
in here and I read him the riot act: told him that under emergency regulations
he had no right to a lawyer. He asked for a copy of those regulations and I
told him it was in the post, which didn’t seem to reassure him. Thursday: he’s
still making a fuss so we bring in a couple of the plainclothes boys as you
suggested and that does the trick. They tell him he’s being done for conspiracy
to commit fraud and that if he pleads guilty and is terribly lucky with the
judge he may get away with five years. Otherwise, he can double it.’
    ‘And how did he take that?’
    ‘Very much as we would have hoped: a few tears
before bedtime. He begged to be able to send a telegram to his mother; told
anyone who’d listen that there had been a terrible misunderstanding and he’d
happily donate the money to charity.’
    ‘And I presume you then did as I asked?’
    ‘Of course: plainclothes boys returned on Friday
morning and he provides us with a neat statement, confessing all. I have it
here.’
    From a drawer in the desk between him and Edgar the
inspector produced three closely typed sheets of paper, each signed with something
of a flourish. Edgar carefully read then re-read the statement.
    ‘Signed on Friday 18 th August, good: and
since then?’
    ‘We allowed him to stew over the weekend. Other than
being brought to this room and into the corridor outside his cell for exercise
a couple of times a day, he’s been locked in his cell all day. He hasn’t seen
daylight in a week. Even so…’
    ‘You’re hesitating, Hill.’
    ‘It’s just I would have expected someone like him to
be even more affected by his ordeal. According to the guards he doesn’t sleep
well, and he’s unquestionably shaken and has signed the confession, but he has
a resolve about him I wouldn’t have expected. When he was first brought here he
was a nervous character: quite jumpy. But I warn you Edgar, there’s a certain
steel about him.’
    ‘We’ll see, shall we? Anyway, well