The Ministry of Fear by Graham Greene Read Free Book Online Page A

him, ‘This is my brother, Mr . . .’
    â€˜Rowe.’
    â€˜Somebody called on Mr Rowe to ask about a cake. I don’t quite understand. It seems he won it at our fête.’
    â€˜Now let me see, who could that possibly be?’ The young man spoke excellent English; only a certain caution and precision marked him as a foreigner. It was as if he had come from an old-fashioned family among whom it was important to speak clearly and use the correct words; his care had an effect of charm, not of pedantry. He stood with his hand laid lightly and affectionately on his sister’s shoulder as though they formed together a Victorian family group. ‘Was he one of your countrymen, Mr Rowe? In this office we are most of us foreigners, you know.’ Smiling he took Rowe into his confidence. ‘If health or nationality prevent us fighting for you, we have to do something. My sister and I are – technically – Austrian.’
    â€˜This man was English.’
    â€˜He must have been one of the voluntary helpers. We have so many – I don’t know half of them by name. You want to return a prize, is that it? A cake?’
    Rowe said cautiously, ‘I wanted to inquire about it.’
    â€˜Well, Mr Rowe, if I were you, I should be unscrupulous. I should just “hang on” to the cake.’ When he used a colloquialism you could hear the inverted commas drop gently and apologetically around it.
    â€˜The trouble is,’ Rowe said, ‘the cake’s no longer there. My house was bombed last night.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. About your house, I mean. The cake can’t seem very important now, surely?’
    They were charming, they were obviously honest, but they had caught him neatly and effectively in an inconsistency.
    â€˜I shouldn’t bother,’ the girl said, ‘if I were you.’
    Rowe watched them hesitatingly. But it is impossible to go through life without trust: that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself. For more than a year now Rowe had been so imprisoned – there had been no change of cell, no exercise-yard, no unfamiliar warder to break the monotony of solitary confinement. A moment comes to a man when a prison-break must be made whatever the risk. Now cautiously he tried for freedom. These two had lived through terror themselves, but they had emerged without any ugly psychological scar. He said, ‘As a matter of fact it wasn’t simply the cake which was worrying me.’
    They watched him with a frank and friendly interest; you felt that in spite of the last years there was still the bloom of youth on them – they still expected life to offer them other things than pain and boredom and distrust and hate. The young man said, ‘Won’t you sit down and tell us . . . ?’ They reminded him of children who liked stories. They couldn’t have accumulated more than fifty years’ experience between them. He felt immeasurably older.
    Rowe said, ‘I got the impression that whoever wanted that cake was ready to be – well, violent.’ He told them of the visit and the stranger’s vehemence and the odd taste in his tea. The young man’s very pale blue eyes sparkled with his interest and excitement. He said, ‘It’s a fascinating story. Have you any idea who’s behind it – or what? How does Mrs Bellairs come into it?’
    He wished now that he hadn’t been to Mr Rennit – these were the allies he needed, not the dingy Jones and his sceptical employer.
    â€˜Mrs Bellairs told my fortune at the fête, and told me the weight of the cake – which wasn’t the right weight.’
    â€˜It’s extraordinary,’ the young man said enthusiastically.
    The girl said, ‘It doesn’t make sense.’ She added almost in Mr Rennit’s words, ‘It was probably all a misunderstanding.’
    â€˜Misunderstanding,’ her