THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM ThE COLD by Le Carre, John

It was odd about Pitt. Leamas was certain he’d seen him before somewhere. At the Circus, during the war.

The library was like a church hall, and very cold. The black oil stoves at either end made it smell of paraffin. In the middle of the room was a cubicle like a witness box and inside it sat Miss Crail, the librarian.

It had never occurred to Leamas that he might have to work for a woman. No one at the Labour Exchange had said anything about that.

“I’m the new help,” he said; “my name’s Leamas.”

Miss Crail looked up sharply from her card index, as if she had heard a rude word. “Help? What do you mean, help?”

“Assistant. From the Labour Exchange. Mr. Pitt.” He pushed across the counter a form with his particulars entered in a sloping hand. She picked it up and studied it.

“You are Mr. Leamas.” This was not a question, but the first stage of a laborious fact-finding investigation. “And you are from the Labour Exchange.”

“No. I was sent by the Exchange. They told me you needed an assistant.”

“I see.” A wooden smile.

At that moment the telephone rang: she lifted the receiver and began arguing with somebody, fiercely. Leamas guessed they argued all the time; there were no preliminaries. Her voice just rose a key and she began arguing about some tickets for a concert. He listened for a minute or two and then drifted toward the bookshelves. He noticed a girl in one of the alcoves, standing on a ladder sorting large volumes.

“I’m the new man,” he said, “my name’s Leamas.”

She came down from the ladder and shook his hand a little formally.

“I’m Liz Gold. How d’you do. Have you met Miss Crail?”

“Yes, but she’s on the phone at the moment.”

“Arguing with her mother I expect. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Work.”

“We’re marking at the moment; Miss Crail’s started a new index.”

She was a tall girl, ungainly, with a long waist and long legs. She wore flat, ballet type shoes to reduce her height. Her face, like her body, had large components which seemed to hesitate between plainness and beauty. Leamas guessed she was twenty-two or three, and Jewish.

“It’s just a question of checking that all the books are m the shelves. This is the reference bit, you see. When you’ve checked, you pencil in the new reference and mark it off on the index.”

“What happens then?”

“Only Miss Crail’s allowed to ink in the reference. It’s the rule.”

“Whose rule?”

“Miss Crail’s. Why don’t you start on the archaeology?”

Leamas nodded and together they walked to the next alcove where a shoe box full of cards lay on the floor.

“Have you done this kind of thing before?” she asked.

“No.” He stopped and picked up a handful of cards and shuffled through them. “Mr. Pitt sent me. From the Exchange.” He put the cards back.

“Is Miss Crail the only person who can ink the cards, too?” Leamas inquired.

“Yes.”

She left him there, and after a moment’s hesitation he took out a book and looked at the flyleaf. It was called _Archaeological Discoveries in Asia Minor. Volume Four_. They only seemed to have Volume Four.

It was one o’clock and Leamas was very hungry, so he walked over to where Liz Gold was sorting and said, “What happens about lunch?”

“Oh, I bring sandwiches.” She looked a little embarrassed. “You can have some of mine if that would help. There’s no café for miles.”

Leamas shook his head.

“I’ll go out, thanks. Got some shopping to do.” She watched him push his way through the swing doors.

It was half past two when he came back. He smelled of whisky. He had one shopping bag full of vegetables and another containing groceries. He put them down in a corner of the alcove and wearily began again on the archaeology books. He’d been’ marking for about ten minutes when he became aware that Miss Crail was watching him.

“_Mister_ Leamas.”

He was halfway up the ladder, so he looked down over his shoulder and said, “Yes?”

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