Judgment on Deltchev

CHAPTER EIGHT

As usual now, I had breakfast with Pashik. ‘Last night, Mr Foster,’ he said, ‘I telephoned your hotel.’

‘I was out.’

‘Yes. It does not matter.’ In his brown eyes was the faint hostility of the lover determined not to be possessive. ‘It was to tell you that Monsieur Brankovitch, the Minister of Propaganda, has called a foreign-press conference for this evening. We, of course, have been invited.’

‘Oh?’ What Petlarov had said about the tactics of the Propaganda Ministry came into my mind.

‘Monsieur Brankovitch will speak and also answer questions,’ said Pashik solemnly. ‘It will be very interesting. The food and drink will be excellent.’

‘And there will be a collection taken for the poor of the Parish.’

‘I beg pardon.’

‘Nothing. A bad joke.’

‘The conference will be in the state rooms of the Ministry at six o’clock.’

‘Good.’

He dabbed his bread in his coffee. ‘Have you seen Petlarov again, Mr Foster?’

‘Yes. I thought you’d rather not know about it.’ For a moment I wondered if I should also tell him that I had been to see Madame Deltchev, and then decided not to.

‘As long as there is no indiscretion, Mr Foster.’

‘He comes privately to my hotel room. The reception clerk does not know him.’

He sighed unhappily. ‘No doubt he will be discreet for his own sake. Is he still of interest to you?’

‘Yes. He is an intelligent man, don’t you think?’

‘If he had used his intelligence, Mr Foster, I should be more sympathetic towards him.’

‘You mean if he had played ball with the regime?’

‘Of course. That is the realistic attitude.’

We went off to the trial.

That day, the third, six witnesses were heard. All of them had been members of the Committee of National Unity, and all, except one, were members of the People’s Party. The exception was a man named Lipka, and he was a member of the anti-Deltchev section of the Agrarian Socialists.

For the most part, the evidence consisted of repetitions of the assertions made by Vukashin the day before. A mass of documents, including the minutes of the Committee meetings for the critical period, was produced, and there was a great deal of pseudo-legal fuss about which documents could and which could not be admitted as exhibits. The minutes were naturally well to the fore. As minutes they were quite often worse than useless, but as ammunition for the Prosecutor they were just the thing. I remember one typical item: ‘After some discussion the Committee agreed that Y. Deltchev should meet again with the Anglo-American representatives and urge them to delay the final decision on the proposals previously made.’ The prosecutor’s witnesses declared that the ‘discussion’ in question had been an effort by Deltchev and his henchmen to stampede the Committee into accepting a set of Anglo-American proposals it had not even seen and that the Committee’s decision had made Deltchev ‘grind his teeth with rage’. The judges had a word or two to say and even the defendant’s counsel, Stanoiev, felt it safe to join in this sort of argument. At one point, indeed, there was a fair simulation of a legal battle between the two advocates — a battle between two clowns with rubber swords — and, in the approved fashion, high words were exchanged.

The only effective witness was Lipka. He was one of those angry, embittered men who bear the news of their defeat in their faces; prepared always for hostility, they succeed in provoking no more than weary impatience. A talentless but ambitious man, he had been an Agrarian Socialist deputy for many years without achieving office, and his membership on the Committee had seemed to him the long-awaited recognition of his worth and the beginning of his period of fulfilment. In fact, his value to the unconstitutional Committee had resided simply in his status as an elected deputy, and when posts in the Provisional Government were being allotted he had been passed over without a thought. From that moment he had nursed an almost pathological hatred of Deltchev. At one time that hatred had been something over which people smiled and shrugged. Now, at last, the People’s Party had turned it to account. His mode of attack was stupid but damaging.

Most of those whose work is directly related to the moods and behaviour of the public are inclined to refer to it on occasion in disparaging, even insulting terms. But, while a gibe at popular stupidity from a harassed bus conductor may be amusing, the same gibe from the mouth of a leading politician has, for many, an uglier sound. What Lipka did was to quote Deltchev’s private comments on various matters and contrast them with public utterances made by him at the same time.

‘Papa’ Deltchev had made a speech officially regretting an incident in which some peasants, misunderstanding or ignoring a Red Army order to keep out of a certain area, had been shot down by Russian sentries. In private he had said, ‘It might not be a bad thing if a few more of the damn fools were shot.’ After a speech congratulating the farmers on their public-spirited efforts to send more food to the towns ‘Papa’ Deltchev had said privately, ‘Thank God, they’ve had sense enough at last to find the black market.’ On his own proposals for dealing with the fuel shortage ‘Papa’ Deltchev had remarked, ‘And if they’re still cold we can always print a few more copies of the regulations for them to burn.’

There were altogether about a dozen examples given of the prisoner’s ‘contemptuous disregard of the welfare of the people whose interests he pretended to have at heart’. No doubt there were, as Lipka claimed, many others that could have been quoted. The muttered asides of an overworked Minister of State grappling with administrative chaos are unlikely to be distinguished for their sweetness or reason, and if he is an impatient man with crude notions of humour, they may be better forgotten. Certainly they cannot fairly be used as evidence of his true mind and intentions.

In his only interruption of the day Deltchev made this point himself. He said, ‘The doctor called out in the middle of a cold night may privately curse all mankind, but that curse does not prevent his doing his best for the patient.’

This remark was immediately excluded from the record as irrelevant. It had its effect in court, but I was beginning to see that it was not in the court that Deltchev was being tried.

Petlarov’s comments were not reassuring.

‘After sitting for three days in that courtroom,’ he said, ‘you may realize that not one single piece of evidence that could be called evidence in a civilized court of law has been offered in support of the charges and that the only piece of sense uttered has been supplied by the prisoner in his own defence. And yet already much damage has been done. The grocer I now visit again — thanks to you, my friend — is an intelligent man and a supporter of Deltchev. He detests the People’s Party and suspects what he reads in the controlled press. Yet the trial is important to him, and as he cannot attend in person, he must read the official reports in the newspapers. He reads with great suspicion, of course, and he discounts much of what he reads. But where is his standard of measurement? How can he discriminate? He reads that Minister Vukashin’s evidence proves conclusively certain accusations against Deltchev. Can he ask by what rules of evidence Vukashin’s statements are held to constitute a proof of anything except their own dishonesty? Of course not. He is a cautious man and hard to convince, but when I asked him today what he thinks, he is uneasy and does not like to meet my eye. “Evidently,” he says to me, “there was much evil that we did not know about. Even if these pigs must find it out, it is best that we know. We are in a mess all right.” And you know, Herr Foster, for the Vukashins and the Brankovitches, that is success. The disillusioned do not fight.’

‘I thought that it was the possible truth of some of the allegations that was worrying you.’

‘The foreign press is not so easily disturbed by official bulletins, as my grocer. What did Madame have to say about the Brotherhood?’

‘She said quite confidently that the charges were absurd.’

‘Did you believe her?’

‘I believe she sincerely thinks they are absurd.’

‘You were impressed, eh?’

‘Yes. She said she thought you were being over-clever.’

‘It is possible. I hope so. But remember that the only parts of his indictment which make statements that can be proved or disproved are those referring to the Brotherhood. You may create a haze of misrepresentation to prove that a man had evil intentions and cast doubts on his denials; but if you claim that on a certain date he went to a certain place and saw a certain person and he can prove that he did not, you are lost. Because the court invites your contempt, do not suppose that Prochaska and Brankovitch are fools.’

‘What does Katerina Deltchev do?’

‘She was an art student.’

‘Was?’

‘Is, for all I know. But of course she cannot attend classes at present.’ He looked at my wrist watch. ‘It is time for you to go. You must not miss Brankovitch.’

I went to the press conference in a gloomy frame of mind.

The Ministry of Propaganda occupied one of the wings of what had once been the royal palace. It had been built, during a period of national prosperity toward the end of the eighteenth century, to the design of an Italian architect who had seen Versailles. Only a quarter of the building planned had been completed, but the resultant structure was imposing and quite large enough to contain three ministries and the national bank. The Propaganda Minister’s press conference took place in a large stateroom with a painted ceiling and two vast chandeliers. Chairs had been ranged in a semicircle round the marquetry desk at which the Minister was to stand. To one side there was a long table arranged as a buffet, with napkins covering the food on it.

Among the American and British correspondents Brankovitch was known as Creeping Jesus; he had a peculiar way of walking with his head and shoulders slightly in front of the rest of his body while his arms remained at a position of attention at his sides. By the French correspondents it was said that the posture was imposed upon him, as, in his imagination, Brankovitch carried two portfolios under his arms: that of his own ministry on one side and that of the head of the government on the other. He was a pale, dark man with a massive head and supercilious eyes. A graduate of Warsaw University, he had once been a mining engineer and his connection with politics had begun with pamphleteering. He had made a name for himself before the war as the arch-opponent of the foreign oil companies. He was a clever, ambitious man who never missed a chance of referring most emphatically to his loyalty to and admiration of Vukashin. They were many jokes made about these fulsome references to his leader; but it was said that, while he did not laugh at the jokes when they were reported to him, neither did he frown. It was believed that Vukashin disliked him personally but respected his judgment.

There were about sixty persons in the room; about half of us were foreigners. Brankovitch came in briskly, followed by two male secretaries bearing files and notebooks, and those who had been standing about talking took their seats. Brankovitch waited, looking round, until the movements had ceased. Then he began.

‘Gentlemen of the press,’ he said in German, ‘I have invited you to meet me here with three objects in mind. First, I wish to help you as far as possible in your work by giving you certain information necessary to your understanding of the evidence soon to be given in the criminal trial you are reporting. Next, I wish to give you an opportunity of asking me questions on matters of fact, and also’ — he smiled slightly — ‘on matters of opinion to which you may feel you already know the answers. Thirdly, I wished for the pleasure of renewing acquaintance with those of you I already know and of meeting those I don’t know. But business before pleasure, as the English say. I will speak briefly and then there will be time for questions.’

He glanced at his watch. He had a sort of brusque amiability that was not displeasing; he did not much care what we thought of him or mind if his amiability were not reciprocated. He was the busy man prepared to waste a little time on fools and so, logically, indifferent to foolishness.

‘Let me tell you,’ he said, ‘about the Officer Corps Brotherhood; not about its origins — I feel sure you know about those — but about its later activities and its methods. Terrorist societies are not recent institutions. Most countries have suffered from them. Many countries, including the United States of America, still do suffer from them occasionally. It is the duty of all civilized governments, when these occasions arise, to seek out and destroy the criminals. It is the duty, I say; yet, of course, the duty is not always performed. Sometimes the government is itself terrorized. In other cases the government may sympathize with the terrorists’ aims and secretly wish them well. I need hardly tell you that the Government of the People’s Party is neither intimidated by nor in any degree sympathetic to the Officer Corps Brotherhood. We will not tolerate crime of any sort. The workman who kills his mate in a moment of rage and the fanatic who kills his ideological enemy in cold blood shall have the same justice.’

‘From a People’s Court?’ somebody in the row behind me murmured; but if Brankovitch heard, he took no notice. He went on, ‘Under the reactionary governments of the pre-war years the Brotherhood became a great and terrible burden to our people. It is not known for certain how many murders it was responsible for. Without doubt the number must be reckoned in hundreds. I can tell you with more precision that the number of violent attacks on the person committed by the Brotherhood in the ten years between 1930 and 1940 was about one thousand four hundred. This figure includes only those cases serious enough to need hospital treatment. The reason for the greater precision is, of course, that those persons lived to explain what had happened. The injuries included bullet wounds — approximately six hundred cases; stabbings — approximately two hundred cases; acid-throwing — approximately thirty cases; flogging — approximately two hundred cases; and severe bruising and beating with truncheons, rods, and other weapons made up the remainder.’

He had been referring to notes in front of him. Now he pushed them aside.

‘But statistics can give little idea of the emotional consequences of this state of affairs, of the hatreds and fears aroused and of the effect on the social life of the community. I will tell you, therefore, of one typical case among the known cases and leave the rest to your imaginations. It is the case of Kyril Shatev, who was prefect to this city in 1940. A man named Brodno, a criminal pervert and a member of the Brotherhood, had been arrested on suspicion of murder. There was plenty of evidence on this occasion and Shatev determined to bring this man to trial. Immediately he began to receive the usual threats from the Brotherhood. He ignored them. I will be quite honest with you; past experience told him that when the case came for trial the attentions of the Brotherhood would turn from him to the judge trying the case. The judge might yield, but that was not Shatev’s business. However, he miscalculated. The probability is that the evidence against Brodno incriminated senior members of the Brotherhood and was for them too dangerous to be heard. The Sunday before the date of the trial was to be set, Shatev, with his wife, his two young children, and two female servants, was at his house about ten kilometres out of the city. They were about to sit down to the midday meal when a car drove up and three men got out. They said they wanted water for the car. A servant unthinkingly opened the outer door and the men pushed past her, knocking her senseless with a pistol butt. Then they went into the house. Shatev tried to defend his family and was immediately shot. Unfortunately for him, he did not die at once. The men had a bayonet, and the two children were killed with it. Shatev’s wife was then forced to witness her husband’s sexual mutilation, also with the bayonet. She was then killed herself. The other servant was not harmed. She was to serve as a witness, they said, that the sentence of the Brotherhood had been carried out. She was threatened, however, that if she attempted to identify the murderers she too would be killed. The murderers were never identified and Brodno was never tried.’

He paused for a moment and looked round. ‘One typical case,’ he said, and sighed. ‘No doubt,’ he went on, ‘much could be said about a government that allowed itself to be intimidated by such means, but it is easy to miss the point. There were, in fact, many members of the Brotherhood in government circles. This we have found out later, for, of course, membership was always secret. Who were these men? We know of two who were ministers and twenty-seven in posts of high authority in the civil service, the police, and the army. There were certainly others in these high places. The plain truth is that membership in the Brotherhood ran through every class of our society except that of the ordinary workman. This Brotherhood is a bourgeois disease. It is difficult to conceive, I grant you, that a man, presumably of more than average intelligence and ability, who has made his way to a position of authority and responsibility, could have any direct relationship with, for example, the murderous perverts who entered the Shatevs’ house that Sunday or with others equally vile. But we found it so. When, during the life of the Provisional Government, we began the attack upon this evil, we had many terrible surprises. Yes, I say, terrible. To despise a man politically is one thing. To discover that he is a criminal lunatic is another. It is difficult to believe the most incontrovertible evidence in such cases. Yet we must.’

He paused again and there was dead silence. We knew that now he was talking about Deltchev. He clasped his hands in front of him.

‘Let me give you an example from history, gentlemen,’ he said; ‘not the history of our own country, but that of Italy and France. In 1830 there was in Italy a young exile named Louis Bonaparte, a nephew of the first Napoleon and once his adopted grandson. In Italy also at that time there was a secret terrorist society called the Carbonari — the Charcoal Burners. Among the members were nobles, officers, landlords, government officials, peasants, and priests. The members called each other “cousin” and the only form of resignation ever accepted from a member was his death. This young Bonaparte became a member of the Carbonari and a year after was imprisoned by the Austrian police for his part in a murderous affair. He was not then a very important or responsible person. But twenty-eight years later, when that same man was Napoleon III, Emperor of France, the Carbonari had need of him and sent a reminder by an assassin named Orsini. The reminder was a gift of three bombs, and they exploded one evening in the January of 1858 as the emperor was arriving at the Opéra in Paris. Eight innocent bystanders were killed and a hundred and fifty wounded, but Cousin Bonaparte was quite safe. What the Carbonari wanted from him was help to make a bourgeois revolution in Italy. He did not hesitate. The responsibilities of Napoleon III, Emperor of France, toward the people he ruled were as nothing beside those of Cousin Bonaparte toward the Carbonari terrorists. And so the Italian Risorgimento was paid for with the blood of the French soldiers that soaked the fields of Montebello and Turbigo and Solferino. It is not a pretty story — no prettier than that of Shatev and his family.’

There was silence for a moment.

He added quietly, ‘Gentlemen, our people will fertilize no more fields for the “cousins” or “brethren” of this century. We intend to seek out all the murderers whether they sit on café chairs or on the thrones they have made for themselves above the heads of the people. The People’s Party and its great leader Vukashin are pledged to that.’ He looked round at us again and then sat down. ‘I will answer questions,’ he said.

It was quite well done and for a space nobody moved; then an American in front of me got up.

‘In December of last year, Minister,’ he said, ‘the People’s Party Government announced that the Officer Corps Brotherhood had been completely — eliminated. I think that was the word used. Are we to understand now that that announcement was incorrect?’

Brankovitch nodded. ‘Unfortunately, yes. At the time, of course, we believed it to be true. Later developments have shown that we were mistaken.’

‘What later developments, Minister?’

‘I would prefer not to anticipate the court proceedings.’

A small dark man got up.

‘Minister, was not Deltchev himself responsible for the very vigorous proceedings taken to eliminate the Brotherhood?’

‘He was certainly responsible for the action against the Brotherhood that we now know to have been ineffective, but the decision that there should be action was taken by the Provisional Government as a whole. In other words, the People’s Party participated in the decision but not in the carrying out of it.’

Others began to rise and now the questions came quickly.

‘Minister, can your allusion to Napoleon III be taken to mean that the government links the allegations about Deltchev’s peace negotiations with the allegations about his membership in the Brotherhood?’

‘You may draw that conclusion if you wish.’

‘The charge is that Deltchev was to be paid for his efforts. Aren’t the two suggestions inconsistent?’

‘Possibly. But remember that Napoleon III also had his reward — Nice, the Riviera, Savoy.’

‘Minister, do you consider that the evidence heard so far in court has gone any way toward proving any of the charges against Monsieur Deltchev?’

‘The evidence must be considered as a whole.’

‘By whom was defending counsel appointed, Minister?’

‘By the government. In all cases when a prisoner fails to appoint counsel to defend him that is done.’

‘Did this prisoner fail to appoint counsel? Did he not, as an advocate, wish to defend himself?’

‘On a criminal charge a prisoner is not by law permitted to conduct his own defence. The law was made for the benefit of poor persons certain of conviction who feared to burden their families with legal costs.’

‘Minister, could not the law, clearly not intended for persons in Monsieur Deltchev’s position, be waived in this case?’

‘Are laws waived in England for the benefit of persons in high position?’

‘Then you agree, Minister, that it would be to Monsieur Deltchev’s benefit if he could defend himself?’

‘It would be to the benefit of you gentlemen, I have no doubt. I apologize for our reluctance to have the court turned into a circus entertainment.’

‘Will the Minister say if, as a result of the Prosecutor’s unhappy efforts yesterday to provide the court with entertainment, the prisoner will now be allowed proper medical attention in the prison?’

Brankovitch rose to his feet with a smile. ‘The prisoner is receiving ample medical attention,’ he said, ‘and as much insulin as he wishes. It was nothing more sinister than a stupid administrative blunder that prevented his having attention a few days ago. Disciplinary action has been taken against those responsible. Naturally the prisoner took the utmost advantage of his plight to gain sympathy …’

‘When driven to do so by the Prosecutor?’

‘Or when a favourable opportunity presented itself.’ Brankovitch smiled again. ‘We interpret motives from the standpoint of our own prejudices. But please note that the prisoner was not prevented from addressing you.’

‘What he said was not reported in the official press, Minister.’

‘Quite properly. The fact that a man is diabetic surely does not affect his responsibility to the community for criminal acts. Gentlemen, perhaps you would care to continue our discussion over the refreshments. I hope you will not think I am attempting to corrupt you if I say that there is champagne and caviar for you to sample. I am merely performing another of my functions as a Minister in introducing to you two products of our agricultural and fishing industries which we are anxious to export. The champagne is not French, of course, but it is a dry, sparkling wine of pleasing character and I think you will like it.’

There were one or two murmurs of amused assent and a scraping of chairs. Waiters entered, obviously in response to a signal, and whisked away the napkins from the buffet.

‘He is clever, the Minister,’ said Pashik seriously.

‘Yes, he is. Shall we go?’

He looked shocked. ‘Do you not wish to ask questions, Mr Foster?’

‘What about? Napoleon the Third?’

‘I think it would be impolite to go,’ said Pashik earnestly. ‘The Minister will surely wish to meet you. There is protocol to be observed.’

‘There are others going.’ Though most of those present had moved over to the buffet and stood in groups talking, I noticed several making unobtrusive exits.

‘Those are local agency men, Mr Foster. They have met the Minister before.’

‘All right. Shall we go over?’ Brankovitch was talking to a group that included Sibley, the man who drank too much and was indiscreet.

‘No, Mr Foster. Let us quietly have some refreshments. Presently matters will arrange themselves.’

We were joined after a moment or two by an American I had chatted with once or twice at the courthouse. A waiter brought us wine and caviar sandwiches. One of the secretaries delivered copies of a long blood-curdling piece on the Officer Corps Brotherhood.

‘Did you know that Byron was a member of the Carbonari?’ the American was saying. ‘I think we ought to rechristen our friend Brankovitch. When Ferdinand of Italy tried to liquidate the Carbonari he had his Minister of Police set up another secret society called “the braziers of the counterpoise”, Calderai del Contrappeso. The Minister recruited all the worst characters in the country for it and what they did to the Italian liberals makes Little Bopeep of that Shatev story. The Minister was a man called Prince Canosa. What about Creeping Canosa for our friend?’

Pashik had left us. I talked to the American and ate sandwiches. After a few minutes Pashik came back rather breathlessly with one of the secretaries, a stony-eyed young man with over-neat clothes.

‘This is Monsieur Kavitch,’ he said; ‘he is of the Minister’s bureau.’ The secretary bowed and we shook hands. ‘The Minister is most anxious to meet you, Herr Foster,’ he said stiffly.

‘I shall be honoured.’ I caught the American’s eye and he put his tongue very obviously in his cheek.

The secretary stared hard at me. ‘Have you yet had time, Herr Foster,’ he said, ‘to visit any of the well-known beauty spots that abound in the vicinity of our city?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t.’

‘At this time of year,’ the secretary continued steadily, ‘there are many varieties of the most remarkable rose blooms in the world to be seen and savoured. Our country is very beautiful. However, it is to be hoped that you will wish to be present on Saturday at the official parade and celebration in honour of the twenty-seventh anniversary of the founding of the People’s Party.’

‘I don’t-’

‘Herr Foster’s special pass has already been applied for,’ Pashik put in smartly.

‘Ah, then he will see some of the beauties of the country brought to the city,’ pursued the secretary steadily. ‘This year the parade will be a symbolic integration of peaceful husbandry and armed might — the plough and the sword in harmony together.’

‘Very interesting.’

‘Yes. It is of the utmost importance that all our visitors leave us with a correct impression. I will myself see that you have an advantageous place, Herr Foster. Here, now, is the Minister.’

He stepped aside nimbly, like a compère effacing himself for the entry of the star. Brankovitch, with the other secretary in attendance, had stopped to say a word to a Scandinavian group. Now he turned in my direction. The secretary beside me said something in his own language with my name in it. Brankovitch held out his hand and turned on a watery smile.

‘How do you do?’ he said in English. His warm hand released mine almost as soon as it touched it. He nodded to Pashik as I answered him. ‘You have not been to our country before, Mr Foster?’

‘No, Minister. But I’m finding my first visit most interesting.’

He nodded. ‘Much fiction has already been written about it, but mostly by strangers. Now that cultural activities are being widely encouraged, however, perhaps a native school of writers will emerge. There is the language difficulty, of course. A knowledge of our language is rare. Yet Ibsen, also writing in a narrowly spoken language, achieved world fame.’

‘Ibsen’s heroes and heroines were not obliged to be positive, Minister.’

‘Ah, I see you have heard of our special problems. Yes, we are compelled to consider the standard of education of the public here. We must pay still for past injustices. The percentage of illiteracy is high and those who are literate are for the most part still uneducated in the Western sense of the word. But in other cultural fields — the visual arts and music, for example — greater freedom is already possible.’

‘Ideas do not have to be expressed in words to be dangerous, Minister.’

‘We do not hinder truth, Mr Foster — only the facile repetition of lies. But we must have a long undisturbed conversation about such things, for I would be glad to hear your opinions. Tell me, how did you find Madame Deltchev last night? In good health?’

I sensed rather than heard Pashik’s sharply indrawn breath. Brankovitch’s gaze rested on me with unwavering affability.

‘She seemed very well.’

He smiled again. ‘She is not being persecuted?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘We have tried to spare her as much as possible. Naturally her position is difficult and we have to protect her against possible demonstrations. But I am glad to hear that she is well. You are the only journalist who has interviewed her, I think.’

‘I think so.’

He nodded vaguely. ‘I am so glad to have had this opportunity of meeting you, Mr Foster,’ he said. ‘We must have another talk. Most interesting.’

He nodded again and turned away. The secretary slid past me after him. The interview was at an end.

I looked at Pashik. His face was quite expressionless. He stepped up to me.

‘Do you wish to go now, Mr Foster?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘You did not tell me that you had seen Madame Deltchev,’ he said as we walked away.

‘No. I thought you’d prefer not to know.’

‘We must hope no harm is done.’

‘What harm can be done?’

He shrugged. ‘Such things attract attention.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘We must hope not. But I would have preferred that you had told me. I could at least have prevented the embarrassment.’

‘What embarrassment? The sentries on the house looked at my permit. They reported. What of it?’

‘You do not understand.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t. I think you’re over-anxious, as I’ve said before.’

‘I think my opinion about that may be better informed, Mr Foster.’

‘I’m sorry, Pashik. I certainly have no wish to compromise you, but I have a job to do.’

‘I have the responsibility, Mr Foster.’

‘You must try to shoulder it.’

Before he could answer, there were quick footsteps behind us. Pashik turned round as if he expected to be attacked. It was Sibley.

‘Hullo there,’ he said breezily; ‘how are you, Foster? And you, Georghi my friend? What a dreadful party! When are we going to have that drink? Now? I feel the need.’

‘Please excuse me,’ said Pashik hastily, ‘I must go to my office. Mr Foster, you have messages to send.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He hesitated. We had reached the door. He gave up. ‘Very well. Good night, Mr Foster. Good night, Mr Sibley.’

‘Good night.’

He went, leaving a slip-stream of malodorous disapproval.

Sibley chuckled. ‘Poor little man,’ he said.