At least another hour passed before Spangler and a woman appeared. She was young and actually quite pretty with white-blonde hair drawn back in a bun. She wore a tweed skirt and jacket, thick spectacles, and some sort of medal. Spangler brought over a chair from the corner for her and put it against the wall just on the edge of Gray's vision. As she sat down he caught a glimpse of a stenographer's pad and a fountain pen in her hand. Spangler positioned the third chair directly in front of Gray's. Then he sat, like the girl, with his knees crossed and his hands in his lap.

"You don't look well, Nicholas. You don't look well at all."

Gray shut his eyes, with a quick vision of the room as if viewing it from the ceiling: three chairs on an empty floor, one perpendicular to the other two.

"There's also the matter of your mental health, a matter which becomes increasingly delicate the longer you stay here."

Gray opened his eyes and looked at him. "Why don't you just tell me what you want?"

"Your trust, then answers to some questions."

"Go to hell."

"Ah, but forgive the conceit—this is hell." He got up from his chair and moved to the far window. As he edged back the blinds Gray saw a shred of blue, possibly morning sky. "First let me say that your instincts were correct. I never intended to betray my country. Indeed, the entire affair was a trap from the start, a test of British procedure and capabilities, an attempt to arrest and compromise a ranking officer. Unfortunately, we were left with only you."

Turning his head slightly, Gray caught another glimpse of the girl. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes seemed fixed on his swelling ankles and bare feet.

"You should also know that your people will not lift a finger to help you. They cannot even afford to admit that you were acting on their behalf. Your ridiculous Charles Dunbar has already left the country. So really, Nicky, you are in bad circumstances."

Gray shut his eyes again. "I ask you to notify the British embassy."

Spangler smiled. "You know, you don't owe them anything, Nicky. They involved you in a stupid charade, then literally abandoned you to the enemy."

"I'd like a glass of water."

"Think about it, Nicky. Had your brave Charles Dunbar only waited another few seconds you wouldn't even be here."

"And I should like my coat and shoes. I'm cold."

Voices from the courtyard drew Spangler to the window, where the light tended to accentuate his movements: his hand in his pocket extracting a handkerchief, his eyes slowly shifting back to Gray.

"You know, I had actually prepared my questions for someone closer to the bone. Dunbar, for example, or that other one . . . Southerland. I think, however, that you'll be able to accomodate me if you try."