The Russian Interpreter

‘Yes.’

Proctor-Gould went on looking at Manning.

‘You were very quiet on the bus, Paul,’ he said. ‘It occurred to me that these events might be imposing some strain on the confidence between us. I suppose they might suggest that I’m involved in some undertaking outside my work for my clients.’

Manning was silent.

‘I see that, Paul,’ said Proctor-Gould. ‘It certainly does seem as if Konstantin was looking for something in those Nescafé tins. But on my honour, Paul, I’ve no idea what.’

Manning still said nothing. They began to pace slowly across the station, side by side. It was a good place for confidential talk, thought Manning. They looked as if they were waiting for a train.

‘Then again,’ said Proctor-Gould, ‘the business of the books seems even odder. Why did Konstantin say he’d sold them when they were in his room all the time? Was it just to get me to raise my offer? But then he said he couldn’t get them all back at any price – only one of them for nothing. Another explanation struck me when we saw his room. He’s an educated man – perhaps he wanted the books simply for his own use. But in that case, why did he make me a price in the first place? What do you think, Paul?’

‘I don’t know, Gordon.’

‘I know what was worrying you, Paul. You thought I was prepared to pay rather a lot to get the books back. I can only say what I said before. A lot of those books don’t belong to me. I may be old-fashioned, but if someone entrusts me with something I feel a certain obligation to take care of it. And since I’d lost these books – through my own foolishness, as I fully recognize – I felt obliged to make considerable sacrifices to get them back. I don’t think there’s anything mysterious about that.’

Manning drew in breath to reply, then let it out again.

‘In fact, Paul,’ said Proctor-Gould, ‘two hundred roubles here or there really doesn’t mean very much in terms of what it costs me to stay in Russia anyway. I should have charged it to expenses, of course. It was a much bigger sacrifice to break into Konstantin’s room, I can tell you. I’ve never deliberately put myself on the wrong side of the law before. I shan’t be doing it again, either.’

They turned at the far side of the station, and began to walk back.

‘I think my motives in all this are fairly clear,’ said Proctor-Gould. ‘What Konstantin’s are I don’t know. It looks as if he thought there was one book I should value above all the rest, and he wanted to find out which. Why did he think it would be valuable to me? It couldn’t be anything about the book as a book. None of them has any value to a collector. None of them is on the banned list in Russia – I took great care about that. It would have to be something the book contained. Now if we rule out secret compartments and the like, there’s nothing much a book can contain, except perhaps some sort of message. Perhaps something in code, perhaps in one of those micro-dots one reads about. In other words, it looks as if Konstantin was trying to blackmail me because he thought I was involved in some sort of espionage.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Manning.

‘Not that it’s really necessary to follow Konstantin’s reasoning through. You’d reached the same conclusion about me yourself, hadn’t you, Paul?’

‘Well, look, Gordon….’

‘I’m not complaining, Paul. I’m rather flattered to be taken for a spy. It just doesn’t happen to be the case.’

‘I must admit, Gordon, the thought occurred to me. It seemed a logical explanation of the facts. But as a matter of fact I’d rejected it.’

Proctor-Gould looked at Manning with interest. As they paced along Manning could feel the great brown eyes examining his profile, as if the shape of his nose or the configurations of his ear might hold some clue to the thoughts taking place inside.

‘I’ve come to know you quite well in the past few weeks,’ said Manning. ‘At first I thought you were rather a charlatan. All this interest in improving Anglo-Soviet relations – I thought it was just a way of making more money and more contacts. But now I don’t think it is. You’re a public man, Gordon. You don’t do things for complex or ambiguous reasons, like the rest of us. You do simple things with simple aims for simple motives. People always suspect that public men are dishonest and insincere. But from observing you, Gordon, I don’t think they can be. Dishonesty and insincerity are too complex to be within the range of public men. Public men may deceive others – but only if they are deceiving themselves, too. They’re part of their own audience. I don’t think you could promote good relations between Britain and Russia with one hand, and undermine them with the other. I don’t think your character is capable of such complexity.’

Proctor-Gould thought about this for some moments.

‘Thank you, Paul,’ he said at last. ‘I must admit, I’m rather touched. It’s the testimonial I should most have liked to hear about myself.’

‘Not a testimonial, Gordon – a dispassionate observation.’

‘All the more pleasing, Paul.’