The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (25 page)

Karden seemed rather pleased with this, smiling
and nodding to himself as he
adjusted
his spectacles and referred elaborately to his file.

“Oh yes,” he said, as if he had
forgotten something, “when you asked the grocer for credit, how much money
had you?”

“Nothing,” said Leamas carelessly.
“I’d been broke for a week. Longer, I should think.”

“What had you lived on?”

“Bits and pieces.
I’d been ill—some fever. I’d hardly eaten anything for a week. I suppose that
made me nervous too—tipped the scales.”

“You were, of course, still owed money at the
library, weren’t you?”
“How
did you know that?” asked Leamas sharply. “Have you been—”
“Why didn’t you go and collect
it? Then you wouldn’t have had to ask for credit, would you, Leamas?”

He shrugged.

“I forget.
Probably because
the library was closed on Saturday mornings.”
“I see. Are you sure it was
closed on Saturday mornings?”

“No. It’s just a guess.”

“Quite. Thank
you, that
is all I have to ask.”

Leamas was sitting down as the door opened and a
woman came in. She was
large and
ugly, wearing a gray overall with chevrons on one sleeve.
Behind
her stood
Liz.

She entered the court slowly, looking around her,
wide-eyed, like a half-awakened child entering a brightly lit room. Leamas had
forgotten how young she
was.
When she saw him sitting between two guards, she stopped.

“Alec.”

The guard beside her put his hand on her arm and
guided her forward to the spot where Leamas had stood. It was very quiet in the
courtroom.

“What is your name, child?” the
President asked abruptly. Liz’s long hands hung at her sides, the fingers
straight.

“What is your name?” she repeated,
loudly this time.

“Elizabeth Gold.”

“You are a member of the British Communist Party?”

“Yes.”

“And you have been staying in
Leipzig
?”

“Yes.”

“When did you join the Party?”

“
Nineteen
fifty-five
. No—fifty-four, I think it was—”

She was interrupted by the sound of movement; the
screech of furniture
forced
aside, and Leamas’ voice, hoarse, high-pitched, ugly, filling the room.

“You bastards!
Leave
her alone!”

Liz turned in terror and saw him standing, his
white face bleeding and his clothes awry, saw a guard hit him with his fist, so
that he half fell;
then
they were both upon him, had
lifted him up, thrusting his arms high behind his back. His head fell forward
on his chest,
then
jerked sideways in pain.

“If he moves again, take him out,” the President
ordered, and she nodded to
Leamas
in warning, adding: “You can speak again later if you want. Wait.”
Turning to Liz she said sharply, “Surely you know when you joined the
Party?”

Liz said nothing, and after waiting a moment the
President shrugged. Then leaning forward and staring at Liz intently she asked:

“
Elizabeth
,
have you ever been told in your Party about the need for secrecy?”
Liz nodded.

“And you have been told never, never to ask
questions of another Comrade on
the
organization dispositions of the Party?”

Liz nodded again. “Yes,” she said,
“of course.”

“Today you will be severely tested in that
rule. It is better for you, far better, that you should know nothing.
Nothing,” she added, with sudden emphasis. “Let this be enough: we
three at this table hold very high rank in the Party. We are acting with the
knowledge of our Präsidium, in the interests of Party security. We have to ask
you some questions, and your answers are of the greatest importance. By
replying truthfully and bravely you
will help the cause of socialism.”

“But
who?
” she whispered, “
who
is on trial? What’s Alec done?”

The President looked past her at Mundt and said,
“Perhaps no one is on trial.

That is the point.
Perhaps only
the accusers.
It can make no difference
who
is accused,” she added,
“it is a guarantee of your impartiality that you cannot know.”

Silence descended for a moment on the little room;
and then, in a voice so quiet that the President instinctively turned her head
to catch her words, she asked, “Is it Alec? Is it Leamas?”

“I tell you,” the President insisted,
“it is better for you—far better—you should not know. You must tell the
truth and go. That is the wisest thing you can do.”

Liz must have made some sign or whispered some
words the others could not
catch,
for the President again leaned forward and said, with great intensity,
“Listen, child, do you want to go home? Do as I tell you and you shall.
But if you—” She broke off, indicated Karden with her hand and added
cryptically, “This Comrade wants to ask you some questions, not many. Then
you shall go. Tell the truth.”

Karden stood again, and smiled his kindly,
churchwarden smile.

“
Elizabeth
,”
he inquired, “Alec Leamas was your lover, wasn’t he?”
She nodded.

“You met at the library in Bayswater, where
you work.”

“Yes.”

“You had not met him before?”

She shook her head. “We met at the library,” she said.

“Have you had many lovers, Elizabeth?”

Whatever she said was lost as Leamas shouted
again, “Karden, you swine,” but as she heard him she turned and said,
quite loud, “Alec, don’t. They’ll take you
away.”

“Yes,” observed the President drily; “they
will.”

“Tell me,” Karden resumed smoothly,
“was Alec a Communist?”

“No.”

“Did he know you were a Communist?”

“Yes. I told him.”

“What did he say when you told him that,
Elizabeth
?”

She didn’t know whether to lie, that was the
terrible thing. The questions came so quickly she had no chance to think. All
the time they were listening, watching, waiting for a word, a gesture perhaps,
that could do terrible harm to Alec. She couldn’t lie unless she knew what was
at stake; she would fumble on and Alec would die—for there was no doubt in her
mind that Leamas was in danger.

“What did he say then?” Karden repeated.

“He laughed. He was above all that kind of thing.”

“Do you believe he was above it?”

“Of course.”

The young man at the Judges’ table spoke for the
second time. His eyes were
half
closed:

“Do you regard that as a valid judgment of a
human being? That is he
above
the course of history and the compulsions of
dialectic?”

“I don’t know. It’s what I believed, that’s
all.”

“Never mind,” said Karden. “Tell
me,
was he a
happy
person, always laughing and that
kind of thing?”

“No. He didn’t often laugh.”

“But he laughed when you told him you were in
the Party. Do you know why? “

“I think he despised the Party.”

“Do you think he
hated
it?” Karden asked
casually.

“I don’t know,” Liz replied
pathetically.

“Was he a man of strong likes and
dislikes?”

“No…
no
; he
wasn’t”

“But he assaulted a grocer. Now why did he do that?”

Liz suddenly didn’t trust Karden any more. She didn’t trust the
caressing voice and the good-fairy face.

“I don’t know.”

“But you thought about it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what conclusion did you come to?”

“None,” said Liz flatly.

Karden looked at her thoughtfully, a little disappointed
perhaps, as if she had forgotten her catechism.

“Did you,” he asked—it might have been
the most obvious of questions—”did you
know
that Leamas was going to hit
the grocer?”

“No,” Liz replied, perhaps too quickly, so that in the
pause that followed Karden’s smile gave way to a look of amused curiosity.

“Until now, until today,” he asked
finally, “when had you last seen Leamas?” “I didn’t see him
again after he went to prison,” Liz replied.

“When did you see him last, then?” The voice was kind
but persistent.

Liz hated having her back to the court; she wished
she could turn and see Leamas, see his face perhaps; read in it some guidance,
some sign telling how to answer. She was becoming frightened for herself; these
questions which proceeded from charges and suspicions of which she knew
nothing. They must know she wanted to help Alec, that she was afraid, but no
one helped her—why would no one help her?

“
Elizabeth
,
when was your last meeting with Leamas until today?” Oh that voice, how
she hated it, that silken voice.

“The night before it happened,” she replied, “the
night before he had the fight with Mr. Ford.”

“The fight?
It
wasn’t a fight,
Elizabeth
.
The grocer never hit back, did he—he never had a chance.
Very
unsporting!”
Karden laughed, and it was all the more terrible
because no one laughed with him. “Tell me, where did you meet Leamas
that last night?”

“At his flat.
He’d
been ill, not working. He’d been in bed and I’d been coming in and cooking for
him.”

“And buying the food? Shopping for him?”

“Yes.”

“How kind.
It must
have cost you a lot of money,” Karden observed sympathetically.
“Could you afford to keep him?”

“I didn’t keep him. I got it from Alec.
He-“

“Oh,” said Karden sharply, “so he
did
have some money?”

Oh God, thought Liz, oh God, oh dear God, what
have I said?

“Not much,” she said quickly, “not
much, I know.
A pound, two pounds, not more.
He didn’t
have more than that He couldn’t pay his bills—his electric light and his rent—they
were all paid afterwards, you see, after he’d gone, by a friend. A
friend had to pay, not Alec.”

“Of course,” said Karden quietly,
“a friend paid. Came specially and paid all his bills. Some old friend of
Leamas, someone he knew before he came to Bayswater,
perhaps. Did you ever meet this friend, Elizabeth?”

She shook her head.

“I see. What other bills did this good friend
pay, do you know?”

“No…
no
.”

“Why do you hesitate?”

“I said I don’t know,” Liz retorted
fiercely.

“But you hesitated,” Karden explained.
“I wondered if you had second
thoughts.”

“No.”

“Did Leamas ever speak of this friend?
A friend with money who knew where
Leamas lived?”

“He never mentioned a friend at all. I didn’t
think he had any friends.”
“Ah.”

There was a terrible silence in the courtroom,
more terrible to Liz because like a blind child among, the seeing she was cut
off from all those around her; they could measure her answers against some
secret standard, and she could not know from
the dreadful silence what they had found.

“How much money do you earn,
Elizabeth
?”

“Six pounds a week.”

“Have you any savings?”

“A little.
A few pounds.”

“How much is the rent of your flat?”

“Fifty shillings a week.”

“That’s quite a lot, isn’t it,
Elizabeth
? Have you paid your rent
recently?”

She shook her head helplessly.

“Why not?”
Karden continued. “Have you no money?”

In a whisper she replied: “I’ve got a lease.
Someone bought the lease and sent
it
to me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Tears were running down
her face. “I don’t know… Please don’t ask any more questions. I don’t
know who it was… six weeks ago they sent it, a bank in the City…some
Charity bad done it…a thousand pounds. I swear I
don’t know who…a gift from a Charity, they said. You know
everything…you tell me who…”

Burying her face in her hands she wept, her back
still turned to the court, her
shoulders
moving as the sobs shook her body. No one moved, and at length she lowered her
hands but did not look up.

“Why didn’t you inquire?” Karden asked
simply. “Or are you used to receiving
anonymous gifts of a thousand pounds?”

She said nothing and Karden continued: “You
didn’t inquire because you guessed. Isn’t that right?”

Raising her hand to her face again, she nodded.

“You guessed it came from Leamas, or from
Leamas’ friend, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she managed to say. “I heard
in the Street that the grocer had got some money, a lot of money from somewhere
after the trial. There was a lot of talk about it, and I knew it must be Alec’s
friend…

“How very strange,”
said Karden almost to himself.
“How odd.”
And then:

“Tell me,
Elizabeth
, did anyone get in touch with you
after Leamas went to prison?” “No,” she lied. She knew now, she
was sure they wanted to prove something against Alec, something about the money
or his friends; something about the grocer. “Are you sure?” Karden
asked, his eyebrows
raised
above the gold rims of his
spectacles.

“Yes.”

“But your neighbor, Elizabeth,” Karden
objected patiently, “says that men called—two men—quite soon after Leamas
had been sentenced; or were they just lovers, Elizabeth? Casual lovers, like
Leamas, who gave you money?”