“I’ll tell you something–no one else will, so I’ll tell you. Mundt had Fiedler beaten up, and all the time, while it was going on, Mundt baited him and jeered at him for being a Jew. You all know what kind of man Mundt is, and you put up with him because he’s good at his job. But”–he faltered for a second, then continued–“but for God’s sake, enough people have got mixed up in all this without Fiedler’s head going into the basket. Fiedler’s all right, I tell you.. . idealogically sound, that’s the expression, isn’t it?”
He looked at the Tribunal. They watched him impassively, curiously almost, their eyes steady and cold. Fiedler, who had returned to his chair and was listening with rather studied detachment, looked at Leamas blankly for a moment.
“And you messed it all up, Leamas, is that it?” he asked. “An old dog like Leamas, engaged in the crowning operation of his career, falls for a. . . what did you call her? . . . a frustrated little girl in a crackpot library? London must have known; Smiley couldn’t have done it alone.” Fiedler turned to Mundt. “Here’s an odd thing, Mundt; they must have known you’d check up on every part of his story. That was why Leamas lived the life. Yet afterwards they sent money to the grocer, paid up the rent; and they bought the lease for the girl. Of all the extraordinary things for them to do, people of their experience, to pay a thousand pounds to a girl–_to a member of the Party_– who was supposed to believe he was broke. Don’t tell me Smiley’s conscience goes that far. London must have done it. What a risk!”
Leamas shrugged.
“Smiley was right. We couldn’t stop the reaction. We never expected you to bring me here–Holland, yes–but not here.” He fell silent for a moment, then continued. “And I never thought you’d bring the girl. I’ve been a bloody fool.”
“But Mundt hasn’t,” Fiedler put in quickly. “Mundt knew what to look for–he even knew the girl would provide the proof–very clever of Mundt, I must say. He even knew about that lease–amazing really. I mean, how _could_ he have found out? She didn’t tell anyone. I know that girl, I understand her. . . she wouldn’t tell anyone at all.” He glanced toward Mundt. “Perhaps Mundt can tell us how he knew?”
Mundt hesitated, a second too long, Leamas thought.
“It was her subscription,” he said. “A month ago she increased her Party contribution by ten shillings a month. I heard about it. And so I tried to establish how she could afford it. I succeeded.”
“A masterly explanation,” Fiedler replied coolly.
There was silence.
“I think,” said the President, glancing at her two colleagues, “that the Tribunal is now in a position to make its report to the Praesidium. That is,” she added, turning her small, cruel eyes on Fiedler, “unless you have anything more to say.”
Fiedler shook his head. Something still seemed to amuse him.
“In that case,” the President continued, “my colleagues are agreed that Comrade Fiedler should be relieved of his duties until the disciplinary committee of the Praesidium has considered his position.
“Leamas is already under arrest I would remind you all that the Tribunal has no executive powers. The People’s Prosecutor, in collaboration with Comrade Mundt, will no doubt consider what action is to be taken against a British _agent provocateur_ and murderer.”
She glanced past Leamas at Mundt. But Mundt was looking at Fiedler with the dispassionate regard of a hangman measuring his subject for the rope.
And suddenly, with the terrible clarity of a man too long deceived, Leamas understood the whole ghastly tuck.
* * 24 * The Commissar
Liz stood at the window, her back to the wardress, and stared blankly into the tiny yard outside. She supposed the prisoners took their exercise there. She was in somebody’s office; there was food on the desk beside the telephones but she couldn’t touch it. She felt sick and terribly tired; physically tired. Her legs ached, her face felt stiff and raw from weeping. She felt dirty and longed for a bath.