Although she was smiling, her eyes began to fill with tears again. "Now look what you've done."

He watched her from the balcony until he couldn't see her anymore. Then he went back to the embassy and slept. Toward seven or eight that evening he was awakened by footsteps and loud, frantic voices. The mobilization had begun.

PART III: The War Years

PART III

The War Years

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

HE returned to England on the ninth of August, leaving a continent in flames. London was warm, with a scent of cut grass, but the war was clearly very near. Soldiers filled nearly every public house, and the streets were littered with handbills and confetti. Along the Strand there were warning notices about spies.

He found a room in a modest hotel: no hot water, the cold running thin. He walked the first night, peering into dusty shop windows, conscious of just how long he'd been away. Toward dawn he met a prostitute, a sallow girl, with eyes like Zelle's. Which, of course, was nonsense. He shook his head, as if trying to exorcise her, and walked away.

The second day he met Southerland, in uniform, hair cropped close, in the hotel lobby. At first he let him do the talking, apologizing for what had happened in Berlin. ". . . And about the money, which I understand was part of the original agreement—"

"I don't want it."

"It's almost five thousand pounds, Nicky."

"Forget it."

From the lobby they went up to Gray's room for cigarettes and gin.

"I heard about what happened to you," Southerland said.

"What happened to me?"

"The punishment . . . Have you seen a doctor?"

"No need."

"I'm told it was pretty bad. Look, I can understand if you—"

"You can't understand." Then, reaching for a second glass of gin, "And where the bloody hell is Dunbar?"

It had become dark, and Southerland switched on the lamp. A fleet of trucks, a military caravan, was moving through the streets below. A handful of children cheered from a footbridge.

"I can give you the verdict, if you like?"

"The verdict?"

"Spangler led us down a very nasty alley. Charles was partly responsible. So was I. It could, however, have been worse."

"Tell that you your man Sykes."

"I was speaking tactically, Nicky. Of course, we all regret what happened to Sykes. Still, the fact remains that nothing of real consequence was compromised. That is, you were not in a position to tell them anything—"

"And Dunbar was?"

"Well . . . Yes."

Gray finished his gin, and returned to the window. The caravan had passed, the children had vanished, but the war had taken a step closer in this hotel room.

"Why weren't you there on the last night?"

Southerland began picking at an ancient doily, a bit of lace that fell apart in his hands. "I was engaged elsewhere."

"That's not an answer."

"All right. I had certain reservations."