An Officer and a Spy

other, a brunette, is twisted round in her seat looking towards the stage. The men face one another, talking in a desultory way. There is no need for Curé to tell me which it is he has brought me to see. Major Esterhazy reclines with his chair pushed well back from the table, his tunic unbuttoned, his pelvis thrust forward, his arms hanging down either side almost to the floor; in his right hand he holds casually at an angle, as if it is barely worth considering, a glass of champagne. His head in profile is flattish and tapers like a vulture’s to a great beak of a nose. His moustache is large and swept back. He seems to be drunk. His companion notices us standing by the door. He says something, and Esterhazy slowly turns his head in our direction. His eyes are round and protuberant: not natural, but crazy, like glass balls pressed into the skull of a skeleton in a medical school. The overall effect, as Curé warned, is unsettling. My God , I think, he could burn this entire place down and everyone in it, and not care a damn . His glance settles on us briefly, and for a second I detect a hint of curiosity in the tilt of his head and the narrowing of his gaze. Fortunately, he is befuddled by drink, and when one of the women says something his attention wanders vaguely back to her.
    Curé touches my elbow. ‘We should go.’ He pulls aside the curtain and ushers me away.

7
    I ARRIVE BACK in Paris just before noon the following day, a Saturday, and decide against going into the office. It is therefore not until Monday, four days after my last conversation with Lauth, that I return to the section. Even as I am climbing the stairs I can hear Major Henry’s voice, and when I reach the landing I see him along the corridor, just emerging from Lauth’s room. He is wearing a black armband.
    ‘Colonel Picquart,’ he says, coming up to me and saluting. ‘I am reporting for duty.’
    ‘It’s good to have you back, Major,’ I reply, returning his salute, ‘although naturally I am very sorry for the circumstances. I do hope your mother’s passing was as peaceful as possible.’
    ‘There aren’t many easy ways out of this life, Colonel. To be frank, by the end, I was praying for it to be over. From now on I intend to keep hold of my service revolver. I want a good clean bullet when my own time comes.’
    ‘That’s my intention, too.’
    ‘The only problem is whether one will still have the strength to pull the trigger.’
    ‘Oh, I expect there will be plenty around who will be only too happy to oblige us.’
    Henry laughs. ‘You’re not wrong there, Colonel!’
    I unlock my door and invite him in. The office has the cold, stale feel of a room that has not been used for several days. He takes a seat. The spindly wooden legs creak under his weight.
    ‘So,’ he says, lighting a cigarette, ‘I hear you’ve been busy while I’ve been away.’
    ‘You’ve spoken to Lauth?’ Of course, I might have guessed Lauth would have told him: those two are very thick together.
    ‘Yes, he’s filled me in. May I see the new material?’
    I feel a certain irritation as I unlock my safe and hand him the file. I say, conscious of sounding petty, ‘I had assumed I would be the one to brief you first.’
    ‘Does it matter?’
    ‘Only to the extent that I asked Lauth not to mention it to anyone.’
    Henry, with his cigarette clamped between his lips, puts on his spectacles, and holds up the two documents. He squints at them through the smoke. ‘Well,’ he mutters, ‘perhaps he doesn’t regard me as just “anyone”.’ The cigarette wobbles as he speaks, showering ash into his lap.
    ‘Nobody is suggesting you are.’
    ‘Have you done anything about this yet?’
    ‘I haven’t told anyone in the rue Saint-Dominique, if that’s what you mean.’
    ‘That’s probably wise. They will only start flapping.’
    ‘I agree. I want us to make our own enquiries first. I’ve already been to Rouen—’
    He peers at me over the top of his spectacles. ‘You’ve been to Rouen?’
    ‘Yes, there’s a major in the Seven-Four – Esterhazy’s regiment – who’s an old friend of mine. He was able to give me some personal information.’
    Henry resumes reading. ‘And might I ask what this old friend told you?’
    ‘He said that Esterhazy is in the habit of asking a lot of suspicious questions. That he’s even paid for himself to go on artillery exercises, and had the firing manuals copied afterwards. Also that he’s