Graham Greene (24 page)

E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

hat night a Court official called upon me and handed me the ribbon and cross of the Order of the Black Eagle, with an autograph letter, together with the two hundred francs I had lent, and a present from the Princess Edna—the beautiful scarf-pin with the British royal cipher set in diamonds, which is now in my cravat as I write. Times without number have I been asked how the pin came into my possession, but until now I have always preserved the strictest silence.

•

The other day, before I left the castle, Her Serene Highness presented me with a relic of her devoted and well-beloved husband—the signet-ring of his royal house, which he had worn until that day when sorrow and remorse had fallen upon him. The ring, an antique gold one, is now upon my finger, a souvenir of the man who, knowing that death must overtake him suddenly, singled me out as his friend—the man with the black spectacles.

WILLIAM LE QUEUX

PROFESSIONAL PERQUISITES

Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king's remembrance.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

t might interest the reader to take a look into the office I occupied as head of the Foreign Department of the German Secret Service.

Entering the room, large, well-furnished and covered with a deep, luxurious carpet, the visitor would be faced by my big mahogany writing-desk. The most precious piece of furniture in the room was a big old-fashioned cupboard containing my personal reference library. To the left of the desk was a trolley-table covered with telephones and microphones connected directly with Hitler's Chancellery and other places of importance, one telephone providing a direct line to my home in Berlin, as well as to my country house in Herzberg. Microphones were hidden everywhere, in the walls, under the desk, even in one of the lamps, so that every conversation and every sound was automatically recorded. The windows of the room were covered with a wire mesh. This was an electrically charged safety device which was switched on at night and formed part of a system of photo-electric cells which sounded an alarm if anyone approached the windows, doors, safe, or, in fact, tried to get too close to any part of my offices. Within thirty seconds a squadron of armed guards would have surrounded the entire area.

My desk was like a small fortress. Two automatic guns were built into it which could spray the whole room with bullets. These guns pointed at the visitor and followed his or her progress towards my desk. All I had to do in an emergency was to press a button and both guns would fire simultaneously. At the same time I could press another button and a siren
would summon the guards to surround the building and block every exit.

WALTER SCHELLENBERG

nd now have you decided what you would like to have for dinner? Please be expensive,” Bond added as he sensed her hesitation, “or you'll let down that beautiful frock.”

“I'd made two choices,” she laughed, “and either would have been delicious, but behaving like a millionaire occasionally is a wonderful treat and if you're sure … well, I'd like to start with caviar and then have a plain grilled
rognon de veau
with
pommes souffées.
And then I'd like to have
fraises des bois
with a lot of cream. Is it very shameless to be so certain and so expensive?” She smiled at him enquiringly.

“It's a virtue, and anyway, it's only a good plain wholesome meal.” He turned to the
maître d'hôtel,
“and bring plenty of toast.

“The trouble always is,” he explained to Vesper, “not how to get enough caviar, but how to get enough toast with it.

“Now,” he turned back to the menu, “I myself will accompany mademoiselle with the caviar, but then I would like a very small
tournedos,
underdone, with
sauce Béarnaise
and a
coeur d'artichaut.
While mademoiselle is enjoying the strawberries, I will have half an avocado pear with a little French dressing. Do you approve?”

The
maître d'hôtel
bowed.

“My compliments, mademoiselle and monsieur. Monsieur George,” he turned to the
sommelier
and repeated the two dinners for his benefit.

“Parfait,”
said the
sommelier,
proffering the leather-bound wine list.

“If you agree,” said Bond, “I would prefer to drink champagne with you tonight. It is a cheerful wine and it suits the occasion—I hope,” he added.

“Yes, I would like champagne,” she said.

With his finger on the page, Bond turned to the
sommelier:
“The Taittinger '45?”

“A fine wine, monsieur,” said the
sommelier.
“But if monsieur will permit,” he pointed with his pencil, “the Blanc de Blanc Brut 1943 of the same
marque
is without equal.”

Bond smiled. “So be it,” he said.

“That is not a well-known brand,” Bond explained to his companion, “but it is probably the finest champagne in the world.”

IAN FLEMING

n entering an apartment that was apparently fitted for his reception, he took a seat, and continued for a long time in a thoughtful attitude, as one who was in the habit of communing much with himself. During this silence, the aide-de-camp sat in respectful expectation of his orders. At length the General raised his eyes, and spoke in the low placid tones that seemed natural to him.

“Has the man whom I wished to see arrived, sir?”

“He waits the pleasure of your Excellency.”

“I will receive him here, and alone, if you please.”

The aide bowed and withdrew. In a few minutes the door again opened, and a figure glided into the apartment, and stood modestly at a distance from the General, without speaking. His entrance was unheard by the officer, who sat gazing in the fire, deeply absorbed in his own meditations. Several minutes passed, when he spoke to himself in an undertone:

“Tomorrow we must raise the curtain, and expose our plans. May heaven prosper them!”

A slight movement made by the stranger at the sound of his voice caught his ear, and he turned his head and saw that he was not alone. He pointed silently to the fire, towards which the figure advanced, although the multitude of his garments, which seemed more calculated for disguise than comfort, rendered its warmth unnecessary—a second mild and courteous gesture motioned to a vacant chair, but the stranger refused it with a modest acknowledgment—another pause followed, and continued for some time; at length the officer arose and opening a desk that was laid upon the table near which he sat, took from it a small and apparently heavy bag.

“Harvey Birch,” he said, turning to the stranger, “the time has arrived when our connection must cease; henceforth and for ever we must be strangers.”

The pedlar dropped the folds of the great coat that concealed his features, and gazed for a moment wildly at the face of the speaker, and then dropping his head upon his bosom, said meekly:

“If it is your Excellency's pleasure.”

“It is necessary—since I have filled the station which I now hold, it has become my duty to know many men, who, like yourself, have been my instruments in procuring intelligence—you
have I trusted more than all; I early saw in you a regard to truth and principle that, I am pleased to say, has never deceived me—you alone know my secret agents in the city, and on your fidelity depends, not only their fortunes, but their lives.”

He paused, as if to reflect, in order that full justice might be done to the pedlar, and then continued:

“I believe you are one of the very few that I have employed, who have acted faithfully to our cause; and while you have passed as a spy of the enemy's, have never given intelligence that you were not permitted to divulge; to me, and to me only of all the world, you seem to have acted with a strong attachment to the liberties of America.”

During this address, Harvey had gradually raised his head from his bosom, until it reached the highest point of elevation; a faint tinge gathered in his cheeks, and as the officer concluded, it was diffused over his whole countenance in a deep glow, and he stood proudly swelling with his emotions, but with eyes that humbly sought the feet of the speaker.

“It is now my duty to pay you for your services—hitherto you have postponed receiving your reward, and the debt has become a heavy one—I wish not to undervalue your dangers; here are an hundred joes—you will remember the poverty of our country, and attribute to it the smallness of your pay.”

The pedlar raised his eyes to the countenance of the speaker with amazement, and as the other held forth the money, he moved back as if from contagion.

“It is not much for your services and risks, I acknowledge,” said the General, “but it is all that I have to offer; at the end of the campaign, it may be in my power to increase it.”