A Matter of Honor

Romanov arrived at Robin’s front door a few moments after she had hailed the taxi. The nameplates on the side wall indicated that Miss Beresford resided on the fourth floor.

The door itself would have proved no problem to any self-respecting petty thief [in Moscow] and Romanov had secured entry within moments. The colonel quickly joined him before they proceeded silently up the dark staircase to the fourth floor.

Romanov slipped the Yale lock faster than Robin could have opened it with her key. Once inside he checked the layout of the room. The colonel stood around fidgeting. “Settle down,” said Romanov. “I don’t expect the lady will keep us waiting too long.” The colonel laughed nervously.

The taxi drew up outside the house as directed. Robin jumped out and tipped the cabbie extra because the witching hour had long passed and she at last felt safe. It seemed ages since she had been home. All she was looking forward to now was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

Adam stepped off the train at Waterloo East a little after midnight and was pleased to find the underground was still running. He had avoided going on to Charing Cross, as he couldn’t be sure which side would have a reception committee waiting for him. He showed the season ticket to the West Indian on the ticket barrier and waited around on the underground platform for some time before the train drew slowly in.

There were several stations between Waterloo and his destination, and even at this time of night there seemed to be a prolonged stop at every one. Several late-night revelers got in at the Embankment, more still at Leicester Square. Adam waited nervously at each station, now aware that he must have caught the last train. He only hoped Robin had carried out his instructions faithfully. He looked around the carriage he was sitting in. It was full of night people, waiters, nurses, party returners, drunks—even a traffic warden. The train eventually pulled into his station at twelve-forty.

The ticket collector was able to give him the directions he needed. It was a relief to reach his final destination so quickly because there was no one else around to ask the way at that time of night. He moved slowly toward number twenty-three. There were no lights on in the house. He opened the swinging gate and walked straight up the path, removed the bunch of keys from his pocket, putting the Chubb one in the lock, pushed open the door quietly, and closed it noiselessly behind him.

At a little after twelve-ten the last train from Dover pulled into Charing Cross station. As Adam was nowhere to be seen, Lawrence instructed his driver to take him back to his flat on Cheyne Walk. He couldn’t understand why the agent whom he had handpicked hadn’t reported in. When Lawrence arrived home he put the key in his lock, hoping that he would find Adam already waiting for him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

HE PUSHED OPEN the swinging gate and made his way slowly up the path in the pitch-darkness. Once he reached the corner of the house he searched for the third stone on the left. When he located the correct stone, he pulled it up and felt around in the dirt with his fingers. To his relief the spare key was still in place. Like a burglar he pushed it into the lock quietly.

He crept into the hall and closed the door behind him, switched on the light, and began to climb the stairs. Once he had reached the landing he switched off the hall light and pushed open his bedroom door.

As he stepped in and flicked on the light switch, an arm circled his throat like a whiplash, and he was thrown to the floor with tremendous force. He felt a knee pressed hard against his spine, and his arm was jerked up behind his back into a half nelson. He lay on the floor, flat on his face, hardly able to move or even breathe. The first thing he saw was Adam.

“Don’t kill me, Captain Scott, sir, don’t kill me,” he implored.

“I have no intention of doing so, Mr. Tomkins,” said Adam calmly. “But first, where is your esteemed employer at this moment?”

Adam kept his knee firmly in the middle of the colonel’s back and pressed his arm a few inches higher before the colonel bleated out, “He went back to the embassy once he realized the girl wasn’t going to return to the flat.”

“Just as I planned,” said Adam, but he didn’t lessen the pressure on the colonel’s arm as he described in vivid detail everything that would now be expected of him.

The colonel’s face showed disbelief. “But that will be impossible,” he said. “I mean, he’s bound to noti—ahhh”

The colonel felt his arm forced higher up on his back. “You could carry out the whole exercise in less than ten minutes, and he need never be any the wiser,” said Adam. “However, I feel that it’s only fair that you should be rewarded for your efforts.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the fawning colonel.

“If you succeed in delivering the one item I require and carry out my instructions to the letter, you will be given in exchange your passport, driver’s license, papers, wallet, and a guarantee of no prosecution for your past treachery. But if, on the other hand, you fail to turn up by nine-thirty tomorrow morning with the object of my desire,” said Adam, “all those documents will be placed thirty minutes later on the desk of a Mr. Lawrence Pemberton of the F.O., along with my report on your other sources of income, which you seem to have failed to declare on your tax return.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, Captain Scott?”

“As ten o’clock chimes,” said Adam.

“But think what would happen to me, Captain Scott, sir, if you carried out such a threat,” moaned the colonel.

“I have already considered that,” said Adam, “and I have come to two conclusions.”

“And what are they, Captain Scott?”

“Spies,” continued Adam, not loosening his grip, “at the present time seem to be getting anything from eighteen to forty-two years at Her Majesty’s pleasure, so you might, with good behavior, be out before the turn of the century, just in time to collect your telegram from the Queen.”

The colonel looked visibly impressed. “And the other conclusion?” he blurted out.

“Oh, simply that you could inform Romanov of my nocturnal visit, and he in return would arrange for you to spend the rest of your days in a very small dacha in a suitably undesirable suburb of Moscow. Because, you see, my dear Colonel, you are a very small spy. I personally am not sure when left with such an alternative which I would view with more horror.”

“I’ll get it for you, Captain Scott, you can rely on me.”

“I’m sure I can, Colonel. Because if you were to let Romanov into our little secret, you would be arrested within minutes. So at best, you could try to escape on the Aeroflot plane to Moscow. And I’ve checked, there isn’t one until the early evening.”