‘Of course,’ he said. I knew the driver of my jeep would spot me as we came out and follow us unobtrusively. As we drove away I noticed Martins never looked behind – it’s nearly always the fake mourners and the fake lovers who take that last look, who wait waving on platforms, instead of clearing quickly out, not looking back. Is it perhaps that they love themselves so much and want to keep themselves in the sight of others, even of the dead?

I said, ‘My name’s Calloway.’

‘Martins,’ he said.

‘You were a friend of Lime?’

‘Yes.’ Most people in the last week would have hesitated before they admitted quite so much.

‘Been here long?’

‘I only came this afternoon from England. Harry had asked me to stay with him. I hadn’t heard.’

‘Bit of a shock?’

‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I badly want a drink, but I haven’t any cash – except five pounds sterling. I’d be awfully grateful if you’d stand me one.’

It was my turn to say ‘Of course’. I thought for a moment and told the driver the name of a small bar in the Kärntnerstrasse. I didn’t think he’d want to be seen for a while in a busy British bar full of transit officers and their wives. This bar – perhaps because it was exorbitant in its prices – seldom had more than one self-occupied couple in it at a time. The trouble was too that it really only had one drink – a sweet chocolate liqueur that the waiter improved at a price with cognac – but I got the impression that Martins had no objection to any drink so long as it cast a veil over the present and the past. On the door was the usual notice saying the bar opened from six till ten, but one just pushed the door and walked through the front rooms. We had a whole small room to ourselves; the only couple were next door, and the waiter, who knew me, left us alone with some caviare sandwiches. It was lucky that we both knew I had an expense account.

Martins said over his second quick drink, ‘I’m sorry, but he was the best friend I ever had.’

I couldn’t resist saying, knowing what I knew, and because I was anxious to vex him – one learns a lot that way – ‘That sounds like a cheap novelette.’

He said quickly, ‘I write cheap novelettes.’

I had learned something anyway. Until he had had a third drink I was under the impression that he wasn’t an easy talker, but I felt fairly certain he was one of those who turn unpleasant after their fourth glass.

I said, ‘Tell me about yourself – and Lime.’

‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I badly need another drink, but I can’t keep on scrounging on a stranger. Could you change me a pound or two into Austrian money?’