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coughed.
    â€œHullo,” said Andrews. “ Hullo, Dwight.”
    The thin man inspected the room with his eyes as if he thought it was going to jump out at him.
    â€œIs this——”
    â€œYes, it’s Mencken. Here at last. I wondered if you’d come round.”
    â€œWell, thank God he’s come. About time. Any trouble?”
    â€œNone at all,” said Andrews, for me.
    â€œThank God for that. So the gallop’s going through as arranged?”
    Andrews seemed to remember that I was not one of his wine calendars. “ This is Major Berczik, doctor. A colleague of ours.”
    I got up uncertainly, put down the smelly cheroot, shook hands. Just bones gripped mine. A very thin man with cropped iron-grey hair and tight skin shiny and brown from the Italian sun. His long narrow face with its strong cheek bones had an equine look. I thought he sized me up as if I were the unexpected winner of a Selling Plate.
    â€œYounger than I thought,” he said in English. “Much younger. Maybe that’s no matter. Mustn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, eh, Andrews?” His thin lips parted in an unsatisfactory smile. “See anything of the British Navy? Damned good job they didn’t sink your old tub.”
    â€œI’ve been explaining the position to Dr Mencken,” said Andrews softly. “He will meet Captain Bonini to-morrow morning. Smoke?”
    â€œNot one of your damned poisonous weeds. Smell like something out of the Sargasso Sea.” He continued to assess me. “You have my sympathy, old man. Hope you’ll finish the course. Big things may depend.”
    â€œI’m a beginner at this work,” I said despondently. “Don’t expect too much.” I felt their attitude was too light-hearted and casual and, indeed, callous. It was not how I understood conspiracy.
    â€œThe British Intelligence,” said Andrews, “always expects too much. That’s how it gets results. Major Dwight has arrived from Rome on this job, by the way. He’ll be in Milan during the conference and you’ll be able to get in touch with him if things go wrong.”
    The other man noticed the expression on my face. “ That’s me, y’know. Dwight by birth; Berczik by adoption. Major in either event. Dragon Guards, to be truthful.” He was filling his pipe, a worn old briar, but stopped and coughed, a loose rustling cough. “I’ve news for you, Andrews. The name of the German scientist who’s attending the conference. Dr von Riehl.”
    â€œVon Riehl,” said Andrews. “He’s been in Italy a fortnight already. Have you heard of him, Mencken?”
    â€œYes,” I said slowly. “But I question where the ‘von’ has come from. He was Professor of Chemistry at Bonn five or six years ago. Since——”
    â€œDid you ever meet him?” Dwight asked sharply.
    â€œNo, no. But I know he was promoted by the Nazi Government to be one of their top scientific advisers. I did hear that he was among the chief advocates of biological and chemical warfare.”
    Dwight smiled, if you can call it a smile when only skin and not flesh is involved. “A worthy representative of the Reich. He’ll get the Iron Cross, no doubt.”
    For some minutes they discussed the ways of Germans with bitterness and acidity. I wondered if they had ever heard of Goethe or Beethoven, Freud or Schweitzer or Einstein. I had a curious presentiment that Andrews would never like me, because of my Austrian blood. I am not a man given over quick antipathies, and this feeling surprised me.
    â€œWhat’s the man been doing in Italy for over two weeks?” Andrews said. “He brings a Fräulein to Garda, apparently for what people do go away with Fräuleins for, and then almost every day drives off with his secretaries: to Milan, to Turin, to Genoa, leaving the girl behind.”
    Dwight said: “ Von