“I must remind you, darling, that one of the first rules of any secret service is to keep intelligence apart from action. We’re condemned, alas, to intelligence. I can understand how you feel at missing such an opportunity. Don’t imagine I’m not equally disappointed. If only . . . But no, it’s no use,” he concluded, pretending to reconsider his decision; “we haven’t the right to take action on our own.”
He had felt at once that she looked upon these excellent reasons of his as weak excuses. Admittedly, his voice had not been very convincing. And now, at this moment, under Claire’s scornful gaze, he realized this conversation had been preying on his mind ever since the previous day.
She still did not reply to his remark: “I can’t see what more we can do,” but her smile became more pronounced and frankly sarcastic. He averted his gaze, unable to support this calculated insult any longer. His eyes fell on the message from London, which seemed to reflect contempt of a slightly more subtle kind but similar to the scorn she was pouring on him. The violence of his shame and rage made him tremble and fired him with an irresistible urge—the brutal reaction of his pride against the monstrous injustice of ignominious suspicions.
“So that’s how it is, is it?” he exclaimed, bringing his clenched fist down on the table. “They think we’re being overcautious, is that it? Well, they’ll soon see. We’re going to take action for a change.”
19
He had no control over these words at the moment he uttered them. It was only in the silence that followed his declaration that he realized he had unleashed a fatal chain of events, culminating for him in a fresh ordeal that gave him a vague presentiment of horror. He cursed himself for having once again become his own executioner, but the change in Claire’s attitude prolonged the intoxication of his hasty decision.
She looked at him in amazement and disbelief. The smile had frozen on her face. He derived such solace from her manifest stupefaction that he continued to pursue the course on which he had blindly embarked, burning his boats, taking a keen pleasure in disclosing his plans by slow degrees, in order to enjoy her discomfiture the more. He now spoke solemnly, deliberately, weighing every word as he was drawn deeper and deeper into the mesh.
“Bergen’s still got two more days at the inn?”
“Tomorrow and the day after.”
“And he goes for his walk all by himself?”
“All by himself.”
“You say you know the forest pretty well?”
“Every tree, every bush, every rock.”
“How long does it take to get there?”
“Less than two hours. There are several shortcuts.”
He could no longer avoid the outcome. He paused for a moment; then, with the cool determination of a leader weighing all the risks, declared briskly:
“Very well, then. If you’ll agree to come with me, I’ll see to him.”
He was delighted to see her bite her lip with anger, and this sight was all he needed to appease his anguish.
She, in turn, now began to raise objections, and her voice was trembling.
“But you said we ought to confine ourselves to intelligence.”
“In principle, yes. But the opportunity’s too good to miss.”
“We risk being censured by London.”
“Almost certainly,” he said in a tone of calm defiance. “That’s just another risk we’ll have to take. But there’s one thing that takes precedence over everything else, darling. I’ve thought about it very seriously—the existence of this fellow Bergen is a menace to thousands, possibly millions, of human lives. There’s no getting away from that. In a case like this, the ends justify a divergence from our principles. I’ll take all the responsibility . . . But, of course, if you don’t like the idea, I can’t force you to cooperate.”
He was allowing himself the supreme satisfaction of showing that he now sus
pected her of lack of courage. She merely shrugged her shoulders.
“I’ll show you how to get there. If we leave tonight we’ll be there before daybreak.”
“Tonight!”
His voice betrayed the terror he suddenly felt. He had not thought of acting so soon. In his own mind he had vaguely decided on the day after tomorrow, and this forty-eight hours’ deferment had helped to soften the harsh reality.
“Tonight.”
Their dialogue resembled a duel between two expert swordsmen. As she suddenly fixed her eyes on him, deriving fresh hope from his dismay, he parried her thrust automatically.