The Looking Glass War by John le Carré Read Free Book Online Page A

to jump the gun, John,’ he repeated. ‘But there’s another matter we ought to look at, tragic as Taylor’s death is.’ He stowed the tobacco tin in the pocket of his green suit and said, ‘Registry.’
    ‘That’s Haldane’s parish. Research.’
    ‘I’ve got nothing against old Adrian. He’s a good scout. We’ve been working together for over twenty years.’ And therefore you’re a good scout too, thought Avery.
    Woodford had a way of coming close when he spoke; riding his heavy shoulder against you like a horse rubbing itself against a gate. He leant forward and looked at Avery earnestly: a plain man perplexed, he was saying, a decent man choosing between friendship and duty. His suit was hairy, too thick to crease, forming rolls like a blanket; rough-cut buttons of brown bone.
    ‘John, Registry’s all to the devil; we both know that. Papers aren’t being entered, files aren’t brought up on the right dates.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘We’ve been missing a policy file on marine freight since mid-October. Just vanished into thin air.’
    ‘Adrian Haldane put out a search notice,’ Avery said. ‘We were all involved, not just Adrian. Files do get lost – this is the first since April, Bruce. I don’t think that’s bad, considering the amount we handle. I thought Registry was one of our best things. The files are immaculate. I understand our Research index is unique. That’s all Adrian’s doing, isn’t it? Still, if you’re worried why not speak to Adrian about it?’
    ‘No, no. It’s not that important.’
    Carol came in with the tea. Woodford had his in a pottery jumbo-cup, with his initials drawn large, embossed like icing. As Carol put it down, she remarked, ‘Wilf Taylor’s dead.’
    ‘I’ve been here since one,’ Avery lied, ‘coping with it. We’ve been working all night.’
    ‘The Director’s very upset,’ she said.
    ‘What was his wife like, Carol?’ She was a well-dressed girl, a little taller than Sarah.
    ‘Nobody’s met her.’
    She left the room, Woodford watching her. He took his pipe from his mouth and grinned. Avery knew he was going to say something about sleeping with Carol and suddenly he’d had enough.
    ‘Did your wife make that cup, Bruce?’ he asked quickly. ‘I hear she’s quite a potter.’
    ‘Made the saucer as well,’ he said. He began talking about the classes she went to, the amusing way it had caught on in Wimbledon, how his wife was tickled to death.
    It was nearly eleven; they could hear the others gathering in the corridor.
    ‘I’d better go next door,’ Avery said, ‘and see if he’s ready. He’s taken quite a beating in the last eight hours.’
    Woodford picked up his mug and took a sip of tea. ‘If you get a chance, mention that Registry business to the Boss, John. I don’t want to drag it up in front of everyone else. Adrian’s getting a bit past it.’
    ‘The Director’s very tied up at the moment, Bruce.’
    ‘Oh, quite.’
    ‘He hates to interfere with Haldane, you know that.’ As they reached the door of his room he turned to Woodford and asked, ‘Do you remember a man called Malherbe in the Department?’
    Woodford stopped dead. ‘God, yes. A young chap, like you. In the war. Good Lord.’ And earnestly, but quite unlike his usual manner: ‘Don’t mention that name to the Boss. He was very cut up about young Malherbe. One of the special fliers. The two of them were quite close in a way.’
    Leclerc’s room by daylight was not so much drab as of an impermanent appearance. You would think its occupant had requisitioned it hastily, under conditions of emergency, and had not known how long he would be staying. Maps lay sprawled over the trestle table, not in threes or fours but dozens, some of a scale large enough to show streets and buildings. Teletape, pasted in strips on pink paper, hung in batches on the notice board, fastened with a heavy bulldog clip like galley proofs awaiting correction. A bed had been