“Speak now or forever hold thy peace,” said Eshkol, coming to a halt. He smiled and his entire expression underwent a change. It was that of a warmhearted, good-natured, venerable Russian peasant stretching out a gnarled hand to stroke the mane of a frightened colt. “Ask for half of my kingdom, young man, and it shall be yours.”

“Mr. Prime Minister. You’ll have to excuse me, but I want you to know that you haven’t heard the whole truth.”

“I haven’t?” replied Eshkol patiently, leaning slightly toward the trembling young man.

“No, Mr. Prime Minister, sir. You’ve been misled. Perhaps not deliberately, perhaps only out of respect for your station, but misled all the same. A minute ago you said, sir, that you didn’t understand how it was possible for her to be left alone. I’m referring to Rimona.”

“Well?”

“That isn’t true, sir. It’s just a front. Everything you’ve heard here is a front. As you yourself said, sir, you’ve been watching a comedy. The truth is that Rimona has not been left alone. Not for a single minute. As usual, Mr. Prime Minister, you’ve been lied to.”

“Azariah!” snapped Yolek Lifshitz, crackling with anger. “That will be enough out of you!”

“I’m afraid,” said Srulik gingerly, “Comrade Eshkol is in a hurry. We have no right to detain him.”