An Officer and a Spy

I pretended to read it through carefully. I was playing for time. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Come to my office. Let’s get to the bottom of this.’

‘No, Major, please don’t concern yourself with it. .’

‘Nonsense, I insist.’

‘I don’t want to put you to any inconvenience. .’

‘Really, I have plenty of time.’

It seemed an endless walk to the Third Department, during which I could think of nothing to utter except banalities about the weather and his family. ‘And how is your wife?’

‘She’s very well, thank you, Major.’

‘And do you have children? I’m sorry, I can’t remember.’

‘Yes, Major — two.’

‘What sort?’

‘A boy and a girl.’

‘And how old are they?’

‘Pierre is three and Jeanne is one and a half. .’

And so on and so forth. It was a relief when we reached my door. ‘Why don’t you wait in here,’ I said, ‘while I check what’s going on.’

‘Thank you, Major.’

He went inside and I closed the door. I checked my watch again. Ten to nine. For several minutes I paced up and down the corridor like a sentry, repeatedly glancing at my closed door, willing the time to pass, wondering if perhaps he had climbed out of the window and shinned down the drainpipe, or was at that moment rifling through my desk for secrets. At last, at two minutes to the hour, I went in to fetch him. He was sitting on the edge of a chair with his bowler hat on his knees. The papers on my desk were undisturbed. It didn’t look as if he’d moved a centimetre.

‘Your telegram is quite correct,’ I said brightly. ‘There is an inspection.’

‘What a relief!’ exclaimed Dreyfus, getting to his feet. ‘I really thought some of the fellows were playing a joke on me — they sometimes do, you know.’

‘I need to see the general myself. I’ll walk over with you.’

Off we set again.

Dreyfus said, ‘I hope I get the opportunity to have a word with General Boisdeffre. We had a really good talk about artillery formations in the summer. There are one or two additional points that have occurred to me since.’ I made no reply. Then he said, ‘You don’t happen to know how long this inspection is likely to take, do you, Major?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘The thing is, I told my wife I’d be home for lunch. Well, it doesn’t matter.’

We had reached the wide, high-ceilinged passage leading to the office of the Chief of the General Staff.

Dreyfus said, ‘I say, it’s awfully quiet, isn’t it? Where is everyone?’

The double doors were up ahead. His pace was slowing. I willed him to complete the distance.

I said, ‘I think they must all be inside waiting for you.’ I placed my hand in the small of his back and gently pressed him forward.

We reached the door. I opened it. He turned to me, puzzled. ‘Aren’t you coming in as well, Major?’

‘I’m sorry. I just remembered something I have to do. Goodbye.’

I turned on my heel and walked away. Behind me I heard the click of a lock, and when I looked back the door was closed and Dreyfus was gone.

‘Tell me,’ I say to Gribelin, ‘what exactly happened that morning after I delivered Dreyfus to you and Colonel du Paty?’

‘I don’t understand what you mean, Colonel.’

‘You were there to act as a witness?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, what was it you witnessed?’ The archivist stares at me as I pull out a chair. ‘Forgive all these questions, Monsieur Gribelin. I’m simply trying to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. It is a continuing case, after all.’ I indicate the chair opposite. ‘Sit down with me for a moment.’

‘If that is what you want, Colonel.’ Without taking his eyes off me, as if he suspects I might make a sudden lunge at him, Gribelin lowers his bony frame into the seat. ‘What do you want to know?’

I light a cigarette, and make a great show of pulling the ashtray towards me. ‘We wouldn’t want a stray spark up here!’ I say with a smile, shaking out the match and placing it carefully in the ashtray. ‘So Dreyfus comes through the door, and then what?’

It is as difficult as pulling teeth, but gradually I extract the story from him: how Dreyfus walked in, looked around and asked where General Boisdeffre was; how du Paty replied that he had been delayed, invited Dreyfus to sit down, indicated his gloved hand, and enquired if he wouldn’t mind taking down a letter for him as he had sprained his wrist; how Dreyfus did as he was asked, watched by Cochefort and his assistant, and by Gribelin who was sitting opposite him.

‘He must have started to get nervous,’ I suggest. ‘He must have wondered what was happening.’

‘He did, most definitely. You can see it in his handwriting. I can show you, in fact.’ Gribelin goes once again to his filing cabinet and returns with a bulging folder, several centimetres thick. He opens it. ‘The first item is the actual document Dreyfus wrote down at Colonel du Paty’s dictation.’ He pushes the file over to me. ‘You can see how his writing changes halfway through, as he realises he’s been trapped and tries to disguise it.’