“It was wonderfully well done. It could have turned–it could still-turn–the defeat which the British suffered through the loss of Karl Riemeck into a remarkable victory.
“Comrade Mundt took one precaution while the British, with Fiedler’s aid, planned his murder. He caused scrupulous inquiries to be made in London. He examined every tiny detail of that double life which Leamas led in Bayswater. He was looking, you see, for some human error in a scheme of almost superhuman subtlety. Somewhere, he thought, in Leamas’ long sojourn in the wilderness he would have to break faith with his oath of poverty, drunkenness, degeneracy, above all of solitude. He would need a companion, a mistress perhaps; he would long for the warmth of human contact, long to reveal a part of the other soul within his breast. Comrade Mundt was right, you see. Leanias, that skilled, experienced operator, made a mistake so elementary, so human that–” He smiled. “You shall hear the witness, but not yet. The witness is here; procured by Comrade Mundt. It was an admirable precaution. Later I shall call–that witness.” He looked a trifle arch, as if to say he must be allowed his little joke. “Meanwhile I should like, if I may, to put one or two questions to this reluctant incriminator, Mr. Alec Leamas.”
“Tell me,” he began, “are you a man of means?”
“Don’t be bloody silly,” said Leamas shortly. “You know howl was picked up.”
“Yes, indeed,” Karden declared, “it was masterly. I may take it, then, that you have no money at all?”
“You may.”
“Have you friends who would lend you money, give it to you perhaps? Pay your debts?”
“If I had I wouldn’t be here now.”
“You have none? You cannot imagine that some kindly benefactor, someone perhaps you have almost forgotten about, would ever concern himself with putting you on your feet.. . settling with creditors and that kind of thing?”
“No.”
“Thank you. Another question: do you know George Smiley?”
“Of course I do. He was in the Circus.”
“He has now left British Intelligence?”
“He packed it up after the Fennan Case.”
“An yes–the case in which Mundt was involved. Have you ever seen him since?”
“Once or twice.”
“Have you seen him since you left the Circus?”
Leamas hesitated. “No,” he said.
“He didn’t visit you in prison?”
“No. No one did.”
“And before you went to prison?”
“No.”
“After you left prison–the day of your release, in fact–you were picked up, weren’t you, by a man called Ashe?”
“Yes.”
“You had lunch with him in Soho. After the two of you had parted, where did you go?”
“I don’t remember. Probably I went to a pub. No idea.”
“Let me help you. You went to Fleet Street eventually and caught a bus. From there you seem to have zigzagged by bus, tube and private car–rather inexpertly for a man of your experience–to Chelsea. Do you remember that? I can show you the report if you like, I have it here.”
“You’re probably right. So what?”
“George Smiley lives in Bywater Street, just off the King’s Road, that is my point. Your car turned into Bywater Street and our agent reported that you were dropped at number nine. That happens to be Smiley’s house.”
“That’s drivel,” Leamas declared. “I should think I went to the Eight Bells; it’s a favorite pub of mine.”
“By private car?”
“That’s nonsense too. I went by taxi, I expect. If I have money I spend it.”
“But why all the running about beforehand?”
“That’s just cock. They were probably following the wrong man. That would be bloody typical.”
“Going back to my original question, you cannot imagine that Smiley would have taken any interest in you after you left the Circus?”
“God, no.”
“Nor in your welfare after you went to prison, nor spent money on your dependents, nor wanted to see you after you had met Ashe?”
“No. I haven’t the least idea what you’re trying to say, Karden, but the answer’s no. If you’d ever met Smiley you wouldn’t ask. We’re about as different as we could be.”
Karden seemed rather pleased with this, smiling and nodding to himself as he adjusted his spectacles and referred elaborately to his file.