An Officer and a Spy

mount the stairs to the archive. I am so close to shifting the final tumbler I am reluctant to abandon the attempt. Only when I hear a much louder creak do I realise I am out of time. I dart across the passage, try the nearest door – locked – and then the next one – open – and slip inside.
    I listen to the slow, deliberate tread of someone approaching along the corridor. Through the gap between the door and the jamb I see Gribelin come into view. My God, is there anything in this wretched man’s life apart from work? He stops outside the entrance to the archive and takes out his key. He inserts it in the lock and tries to turn it. I can’t see his face, but I see his shoulders stiffen. What is this? He tries the handle and opens the door cautiously. He doesn’t go in but stands on the threshold, listening. Then he throws the door wide open, turns on the light and moves inside. I can hear him checking his desk drawers. A moment later he returns to the corridor and glances up and down it. He ought to be an absurd little figure – a small dark-suited troll. But somehow he isn’t. There is a malevolence about him as he stands there, alert and suspicious – he is a danger to me, this man.
    Finally – satisfied presumably that he must have made a mistake in locking up – he goes back into the archive and closes the door. I wait another ten minutes. Then I take off my shoes and creep past his lair in my stockinged feet.
    On my walk back to my apartment I stop in the middle of the bridge and drop the roll of lock-picking tools into the Seine.
    Over the next few days the Tsar tours Notre-Dame, names a new bridge after his father, banquets in Versailles.
    While he goes about his business, I go about mine.
    I walk over the road to see Colonel Foucault, who has come back from the Berlin embassy to witness the Imperial visit. We exchange a few pleasantries and then I ask him, ‘Did you ever hear anything from Richard Cuers after that meeting we arranged in Basel?’
    ‘Yes, he came and complained about it bitterly. I gather you fellows decided to give him some rough treatment. Who on earth did you send?’
    ‘My deputy, Major Henry; another of my officers, Captain Lauth; and a couple of policemen. Why? What did Cuers say?’
    ‘He said he’d made the journey in good faith, to reveal what he knew about the German agent in France, but when he got to Switzerland he felt he was treated as if he was a liar and a fantasist. There was one French officer in particular – fat, red-faced – who merely bullied him: interrupted him all the time; made it clear he didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. That was a deliberate tactic, I assume?’
    ‘Not that I’m aware of; not at all.’
    Foucault looks at me in consternation. ‘Well, whether it was intentional or not, you won’t be hearing from Cuers again.’
    I go to see Tomps at the headquarters of the Sûreté. I tell him, ‘It’s about your trip to Basel.’ Immediately he looks anxious. He doesn’t want to land anyone in any trouble. But it’s clear the episode has been preying on his mind.
    ‘I won’t quote you,’ I promise him. ‘Just tell me what happened.’
    He doesn’t take much prompting. He seems to be relieved to get it off his chest.
    ‘Well, Colonel,’ he says, ‘you remember our original plan? It worked to the letter. I followed Cuers from the German railway station to the cathedral, saw him make contact with my colleague Vuillecard then followed the pair of them to the Schweizerhof, where Major Henry and Captain Lauth were ready for him upstairs. After that I went back to the bar at the station to wait. I guess it must have been about three hours later that Henry suddenly came in and ordered a drink. I asked him how it was going and he said, “I’ve had enough of this bastard” – you know how he talks – “there’s nothing we can learn from him, I’ll bet a month’s salary on it.” I said, “Well, what are you doing back here so early?” And he said, “Oh, I played Mr Big, pretended to get angry and finally walked out of there. I left him with Lauth: let the young fellow have a try!” Obviously I was disappointed with the sound of how this was going, so I said, “You know I’m an old acquaintance of Cuers? You know he likes a lot of absinthe? He really loves a drink. That might have been a better approach. If Captain Lauth can’t get anywhere, do you want me to have a try?”’
    ‘And what did Major Henry say