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since most of these people were roughly classifiable as bourgeoisie, the writer would be either self-employed, or in a position to find free time at any moment of the day if he wished. Not only inept: asinine. But incidentally it had helped to thicken the blanketing haze of suspicion round the one promising suspect: a certain Mr Besançon. I reached for the file on Mr Besançon. Arlette, who has the un-Dutch idea that tea at night is bad for one, had made two glasses of fresh lemonade with the peel in it, and honey.
    â€˜Honey, honey?’ She thinks this funny. Funny, honey. There was a lot of very attractive steam. I fished out my lemon-peel and chewed on it in a greedy way.
7
    It began with an elaborate summary. Points indicating or supporting suspicion. And, to be fair of course, points in favour. Which were, briefly, that no ground existed beyond stupid prejudice to suspect the man of anything at all.
    Followed a pretty complete picture of his present circumstances, and a long row of dockets – all that was known of his extraordinary chequered past. I read the whole thing, absorbed. Very, very interesting indeed. Man was in his sixties. Lives alone. Widower.
    A stranger, a Jew, an intellectual.
    Known to be nervously deranged; result of wartime experiences.
    Lives in house with high wall – practically the only one in Holland. You can’t see what he does all day.
    Works at home, in own time, in own way, at own pleasure.
    Known to take long solitary walks at night. Has also been seen at six in the morning.
    Is courteous, formal, but shy and distant in relations with everybody.
    Seems to shun human contact.
    Has telephone. Does regular work for electronics firm. Has contact with husband of dead woman number one.
    Is known as inventor of mysterious apparatus and devices.
    Speaks Dutch in formal, correct but slightly stilted way.
    Speaks German perfectly; French well; Russian well.
    Suspected pacifist, suspected pro-Russian. Lukewarm on alliances, patriotism. Low on political consciousness.
    Practises no religion. Never been known to profess any, either Jewish or any other.
    Professes, on the contrary, fear of newspapers, radios, television, parties, associations, committees, organizations(everything, in short, that makes Dutch life so agreeable).
    There were some perfectly charming annotations here too. ‘Having no newspapers in the house, access to newsprint – i.e., to cut out letters – presumed limited.’
    Of course, the greengrocer does have that habit of wrapping cabbages in old newspapers. Arlette starts reading them instead of getting on with the cabbage.
    There is a housekeeper, a middle-aged woman who looks after Mr Besançon out of charity and refuses a wage. She says indignantly that any connexion with revolting happenings is quite unthinkable.
    During protracted interviews with many most experienced police-officers, Monsieur Besançon showed irritation, nervous strain, and agitation in moments of fatigue. All kept within bounds, all balanced by politeness, self-control, patience and understanding of officers’ unpleasant duties. All this is explainable by his past life – which includes interrogation by the Gestapo, years in camps, and forced labour. All the policemen agreed on this.
    One last thing struck me – and hard, because it was the one thing 1 would have given real weight to. An irrational feeling. It was the final annotation, by the State Recherche officer.
    â€˜I have been many times struck in course of conversation with Mr Besançon by the conviction that he possessed some secret. This led me to a persistent belief that he was the author of the crimes under investigation, but that conclusive evidence, since he is certainly a very clever man, would be hard to find. After two days, however, of rigorous interrogation, I am bound to state that this feeling rests upon no factual basis and must therefore be disregarded.’
    That, I thought, is