“I realize you’ve got a lot to think over,” said Fox. “I sympathize with your predicament, I really do. But it’s a fix of his own making, you see? Digby did some extraordinary work for us during the war—saved a lot of men. His record in Switzerland is the stuff of legend. I mean that. But he’s also carried our innermost secrets into the heart of the Soviet government, Stalin himself, and maybe the Soviets were our allies a couple of years ago, but you have to understand, you have to realize that what’s shaping up now is the most fundamental clash of two different ways of life that we’ve seen since classical times.”

“What do you know about classical times?” Iris said bitterly.

“If you knew, Mrs. Digby. If you knew what they’re doing inside that country, it would turn your blood cold. If he doesn’t defect, they’ll kill your husband without a second thought. They will. And they’ll kill you and your children, if they think it’s necessary. And if he does defect as their man, why, you either stay behind in London and never see him again—your children never see their father again—or else you go with him and spend the rest of your life as a citizen of the Soviet Union. And I guarantee, you’ll never set foot outside Russia again.”

Oakwood Court loomed before them. The driver turned right and pulled around the drive to the entrance to number 10. The car stopped.

“You have my card, Mrs. Digby. We’ll be keeping watch in the meantime. But I’d advise you not to wait too long. It’s likely they’ve already made the offer, through Burgess.”

For some reason, Iris felt reluctant to leave the taxi and the warm, confidential voice of Mr. Fox. There was something reassuring about him, thick and rawboned as he was.

She reached for the door handle. It opened without any difficulty.

“Thanks so much for your advice, Mr. Fox,” she said, and climbed out of the taxi.

LATER, IRIS WOULD REALIZE that she first sensed something amiss in the lobby, because the porter wasn’t there in his usual station. Maybe she thought he was helping another resident with a heavy package or something—maybe she didn’t take conscious note of his absence. What happened next shocked her so deeply, she would only piece together the various memories—start to make sense of them—when the passing of time allowed her to examine them more objectively.