Liz must have made some sign or whispered some words the others could not catch, for the President again leaned forward and said, with great intensity, “Listen, child, do you want to go home? Do as I tell you and you shall. But if you–” She broke off, indicated Karden with her hand and added cryptically, “This Comrade wants to ask you some questions, not many. Then you shall go. Tell the truth.”
Karden stood again, and smiled his kindly, churchwarden smile.
“Elizabeth,” he inquired, “Alec Leamas was your lover, wasn’t he?”
She nodded.
“You met at the library in Bayswater, where you work.”
“Yes.”
“You had not met him before?”
She shook her head. “We met at the library,” she said.
“Have you had many lovers, Elizabeth?”
Whatever she said was lost as Leamas shouted again, “Karden, you swine,” but as she heard him she turned and said, quite loud, “Alec, don’t. They’ll take you away.”
“Yes,” observed the President drily; “they will.”
“Tell me,” Karden resumed smoothly, “was Alec a Communist?”
“No.”
“Did he know you were a Communist?”
“Yes. I told him.”
“What did he say when you told him that, Elizabeth?”
She didn’t know whether to lie, that was the terrible thing. The questions came so quickly she had no chance to think. All the time they were listening, watching, waiting for a word, a gesture perhaps, that could do terrible harm to Alec. She couldn’t lie unless she knew what was at stake; she would fumble on and Alec would die–for there was no doubt in her mind that Leamas was in danger.
“What did he say then?” Karden repeated.
“He laughed. He was above all that kind of thing.”
“Do you believe he was above it?”
“Of course.”
The young man at the Judges’ table spoke for the second time. His eyes were half closed:
“Do you regard that as a valid judgment of a human being? That is he _above_ the course of history and the compulsions of dialectic?”
“I don’t know. It’s what I believed, that’s all.”
“Never mind,” said Karden. “Tell me, was he a _happy_ person, always laughing and that kind of thing?”
“No. He didn’t often laugh.”
“But he laughed when you told him you were in the Party. Do you know why?”
“I think he despised the Party.”
“Do you think he _hated_ it?” Karden asked casually.
“I don’t know,” Liz replied pathetically.
“Was he a man of strong likes and dislikes?”
“No . . . no; he wasn’t”
“But he assaulted a grocer. Now why did he do that?”
Liz suddenly didn’t trust Karden any more. She didn’t trust the caressing voice and the good-fairy face.
“I don’t know.”
“But you thought about it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what conclusion did you come to?”
“None,” said Liz flatly.
Karden looked at her thoughtfully, a little disappointed perhaps, as if she had forgotten her catechism.
“Did you,” he asked–it might have been the most obvious of questions–“did you _know_ that Leamas was going to hit the grocer?”
“No,” Liz replied, perhaps too quickly, so that in the pause that followed Karden’s smile gave way to a look of amused curiosity.
“Until now, until today,” he asked finally, “when had you last seen Leamas?”
“I didn’t see him again after he went to prison,” Liz replied.
“When did you see him last, then?” The voice was kind but persistent.
Liz hated having her back to the court; she wished she could turn and see Leamas, see his face perhaps; read in it some guidance, some sign telling how to answer. She was becoming frightened for herself; these questions which proceeded from charges and suspicions of which she knew nothing. They must know she wanted to help Alec, that she was afraid, but no one helped her–why would no one help her?
“Elizabeth, when was your last meeting with Leamas until today?” Oh that voice, how she hated it, that silken voice.
“The night before it happened,” she replied, “the night before he had the fight with Mr. Ford.”
“The fight? It wasn’t a fight, Elizabeth. The grocer never hit back, did he–he never had a chance. Very unsporting!” Karden laughed, and it was all the more terrible because no one laughed with him. “Tell me, where did you meet Leamas that last night?”