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dirty work for dirty people. Is that the kind of information you want?”
    There was a pause. Girland had the disconcerting feeling, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, he was talking to himself.
    “Well, go on,” the woman said, her voice impatient.
    “Go on? What about? What’s your proposition? I’m here to listen … not to talk. You started this thing.”
    “How do I know you are from Dorey?”
    “Why else should I be here?” Girland said. “I was told you have something to sell. I was told to find out exactly what it is and how much you want for it. You take it from here.”
    “Who is this man Rossland you speak about?”
    Girland rubbed the side of his jaw. He was getting used to examining his lean features in the mirror.
    “You don’t have to worry about him. He’s dead. The last time I saw him, he was lying on his bed with the nails of his right hand torn off and he was very much strangled.”
    He caught the sound of a swift intake of breath over the microphone.
    “Dead? You mean he’s been murdered?” The woman’s voice went a little shrill.
    “He was strangled,” Girland said. “So that makes it murder.”
    “Who - who did it?”
    “Why should you care?” Girland leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring fixedly at his reflection, knowing he was staring at this woman hidden from his sight. “Rossland thought you were a joke. Dorey thinks you are a joke, but I didn’t, so I’m alive at the moment. I think you’ve talked too much. We have competition. You should know who the competitors are. You must have talked to them. I’ll tell you this in case you don’t know: they play it very rough. They tortured and murdered Rossland. Knowing Rossland the way I do, he spilled everything he knew. He has told them we are meeting here. I came in by the roof. If they get their hands on you, they’ll treat you as they treated Rossland. If they start pulling your nails out, I doubt if you will be any braver than Rossland. You’ll talk, and then you’ll have nothing to sell.”
    There was a long pause, then she said, “I don’t understand any of this. I’ve only contacted Mr. Dorey.”
    Girland shrugged.
    “Well, okay, if you say so, then someone else has talked. That makes the price less exclusive. So, suppose we get down to business? What is it you have to sell?”
    Again a long pause, then the woman said, “I know where Robert Henry Carey is.”
    Girland cocked his head on one side, his eyes alert.
    “You mean the American Agent who went over to the Russians four years ago?”
    “That’s who I mean.”
    “He’s in Russia, isn’t he?”
    “He left Russia ten days ago.”
    “Where is he now then?”
    “That’s the information I have to sell.”
    Girland took out a cigarette and lit it. He remembered Robert Carey, a tall, blond man who Rossland had once said was the finest agent in the racket. Girland had met him with Rossland and the two men had liked each other. That had been five years ago, but Girland still remembered the man’s pleasant, strong face and the straight blue eyes that gave his face its personality. There had been a hell of an uproar when Carey had defected. It was generally believed he was now being used as an instructor, coaching learner agents who would eventually work in the West. Now and then news filtered through from behind the Iron Curtain that hinted of a very efficient school for agents that had been recently formed, but no one knew nor could find out where the school was situated nor who was in charge, but it was thought to be Carey.
    “You mean he’s defected again?” Girland asked, leaning forward.
    “Yes.”
    “Well, fine. Then why doesn’t he just walk in and say so?”
    “He knows too much. He wouldn’t be allowed to get near the West.” She paused, then went on. “He’s ill. He hasn’t long to live.”
    “So what happens?”
    “I can tell you where to find him and you go to him. I want ten thousand dollars. He