The Spy Who Came in From The Cold

Leamas had his hands in his pockets and he left them there, and stood, looking back over his shoulder at the man in the mackintosh. The man hesitated, evidently expecting Leamas to come to him or give some sign of interest, but Leamas gave none. Instead, he shrugged and continued along the footpath. He heard another shout and ignored it, and he knew the man was coming after him. He heard the footsteps on the gravel, half running, approaching rapidly, and then a voice, a little breathless, a little aggravated:

“Here you–I say!” and then he had drawn level, so that Leamas stopped, turned and looked at him.

“Yes?”

“This is your parcel, isn’t it? You left it on the seat. Why didn’t you stop when I called you?”

Tall, with rather curly brown hair; orange tie and pale green shirt; a little bit petulant, a little bit of a pansy, thought Leamas. Could be a schoolmaster, cxLondon School of Economics and runs a suburban drama club. Weak-eyed.

“You can put it back,” said Leamas. “I don’t want it.”

The man colored. “You can’t just leave it there,” he said, “it’s litter.”

“I bloody well can,” Leamas replied. “Somebody will find a use for it.” He was going to move on, but the stranger was still standing in front of him, holding the parcel in both arms as if it were a baby. “Get out of the light,” said Leamas. “Do you mind?”

“Look here,” said the stranger, and his voice had risen a key, “I was trying to do you a favor; why do you have to be so damned rude?”

“If you’re so anxious to do me a favor,” Leamas replied, “why have you been following me for the last half hour?”

He’s pretty good, thought Leamas. He hasn’t flinched but he must be shaken rigid.

“I thought you were somebody I once knew in Berlin, if you must know.”

“So you followed me for half an hour?”

Leamas’ voice was heavy with sarcasm, his brown eyes never left the other’s face.

“Nothing like half an hour. I caught sight of you in Marble Arch and I thought you were Alec Leamas, a man I borrowed some money from. I used to be in the BBC in Berlin and there was this man I borrowed some money from. I’ve had a bad conscience about it ever since and that’s why I followed you. I wanted to be sure.”

Leamas went on looking at him, not speaking, and thought he wasn’t all that good but he was good enough. His story was scarcely plausible-that didn’t matter. The point was that he’d produced a new one and stuck to it after Leamas had wrecked what promised to be a classic approach.

“I’m Leamas,” he said at last. “Who the hell are you?”

He said his name was Ashe, with an “E” he added quickly, and Leamas knew he was lying. He pretended not to be quite sure that Leamas really was Leamas so over lunch they opened the parcel and looked at the National Insurance card like, thought Leamas, a couple of sissies looking at a dirty postcard. Ashe ordered lunch with just a fraction too little regard for expense, and they drank some Fraukenwein to remind them of the old days. Leamas began by insisting he couldn’t remember Ashe, and Ashe said he was surprised. He said it in the sort of tone that suggested he was hurt. They met at a party, he said, which Derek Williams gave in his flat off the Ku-damm (he got that right), and all the press boys had been there; surely Alec remembered that? No, Leamas did not. Well surely he remembered Derek Williams from the _Observer_, that _nice_ man who gave such lovely pizza parties? Learnas had a lousy memory for names, after all they were talking about ’54; a lot of water had flown under the bridge since then. . . . Ashe remembered (his Christian name was William, by-the-bye, most people called him Bill), Ashe remembered _vividly_. They’d been drinking stingers, brandy and crême de menthe, and were all rather tiddly, and Derek had provided some really gorgeous girls, half the cabaret from the Malkasten, _surely_ Alec remembered now? Leamas thought it was probably coming back to him, if Bill would go on a bit.

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