The Spy Who Came in From the Cold by John le Carré Read Free Book Online Page B

he had drawn
level, so that Leamas stopped, turned and looked at him.
    “Yes?”
    “This is your parcel, isn’t it? You left it
on the seat. Why didn’t you stopwhen
I called you?”
    Tall, with rather curly brown hair; orange tie and
pale green shirt; a little bitpetulant,
a little bit of a pansy, thought Leamas. Could be a schoolmaster, ex London School of
Economics and runs a suburban drama club. Weak-eyed.
    “You can put it back,” said Leamas. “I don’t want
it.”
    The man colored. “You can’t just leave it
there,” he said, “ it’s litter.”
    “I bloody well can,” Leamas replied.
“Somebody will find a use for it.” He wasgoing to move on, but the stranger was still standing in front
of him, holding theparcel in
both arms as if it were a baby. “Get out of the light,” said Leamas.
“Do you mind?”
    “Look here,” said the stranger, and his
voice had risen a key, “I was trying to do you a
favor; why do you have to be so damned rude?”
    “If you’re so anxious to do me a favor,”
Leamas replied, “why have you beenfollowing me for the last half hour?”
    He’s pretty good, thought Leamas. He hasn’t
flinched but he must be shaken rigid.
    “I thought you were somebody I once knew in Berlin , if you must
know.”
    “So you followed me for half an hour?”
    Leamas’ voice was heavy with sarcasm, his brown eyes never left the other’s face.
    “Nothing like half an hour. I caught sight of you in Marble Arch and I thought you were Alec Leamas, a man
I borrowed some money from. I used to be in the BBC in Berlin and
there was this man I borrowed some money from. I’ve had a badconscience about it ever since and
that’s why I followed you. I wanted to be sure.”
    Leamas went on looking at him, not speaking, and
thought he wasn’t all that good but he was good enough. His story was scarcely
plausible-that didn’t matter. The point was that he’d produced a new one and
stuck to it after Leamas had wreckedwhat
promised to be a classic approach.
    “I’m Leamas,” he said at last. “Who the hell are
you?”
***
    He said his name was Ashe, with an “E” he
added quickly, and Leamas knew he was lying. He pretended not to be quite sure
that Leamas really was Leamas so over lunch they opened the parcel and looked
at the National Insurance card like, thought Leamas, a couple of sissies
looking at a dirty postcard. Ashe ordered lunch with just a fraction too little
regard for expense, and they drank some Frankenwein toremind them of the old days. Leamas began by insisting he
couldn’t remember Ashe, and Ashe said he was surprised. He said it in the sort
of tone that suggested he was hurt. They met at a party, he said, which Derek
Williams gave in his flat off the Ku-damm (he got that right), and all the
press boys had been there; surely Alec remembered that? No, Leamas did not.
Well surely he remembered Derek Williams from the Observer , that nice man who gave such lovely pizza parties? Leamas hada lousy memory for names, after all they were talking about
‘54; a lot of water had flown under the bridge since then…Ashe remembered
(his Christian name was William, by-the-bye, most people called him Bill), Ashe
remembered vividly .
They’dbeen drinking stingers,
brandy and crème de menthe, and were all rather tiddly, and Derek had provided
some really gorgeous girls, half the cabaret from the Malkasten, surely Alec remembered now?
Leamas thought it was probably coming back to him, if Bill would go on a bit.
    Bill did go on, ad-lib no doubt, but he did it
well, playing up the sex side a little, how they’d finished up in a night club
with three of these girls; Alec, a chap from the political adviser’s office and
Bill, and Bill had been so embarrassed becausehe hadn’t any money on him and Alec had paid, and Bill had
wanted to take a girl home and Alec had lent him another tenner—
    “Christ,” said Leamas, “I remember now, of course
I do.”
    “I knew you would,” said Ashe