One（1）
One
Tommy Beresford removed his overcoat in the hall of the flat. He hung itup with some care, taking time over it. His hat went carefully on the nextpeg.
He squared his shoulders, affixed a resolute smile to his face and walkedinto the sitting room, where his wife sat knitting a Balaclava helmet inkhaki wool.
It was the spring of 1940.
Mrs. Beresford gave him a quick glance and then busied herself by knit-ting at a furious rate. She said after a minute or two:
“Any news in the evening paper?”
Tommy said:
“The Blitzkrieg is coming, hurray, hurray! Things look bad in France.”
Tuppence said:
“It’s a depressing world at the moment.”
There was a pause and then Tommy said:
“Well, why don’t you ask? No need to be so damned tactful.”
“I know,” admitted Tuppence. “There is something about conscious tactthat is very irritating. But then it irritates you if I do ask. And anyway Idon’t need to ask. It’s written all over you.”
“I wasn’t conscious of looking a Dismal Desmond.”
“No, darling,” said Tuppence. “You had a kind of nailed to the mast smilewhich was one of the most heartrending things I have ever seen.”
Tommy said with a grin:
“No, was it really as bad as all that?”
“And more! Well, come on, out with it. Nothing doing?”
“Nothing doing. They don’t want me in any capacity. I tell you, Tup-pence, it’s pretty thick when a man of forty-six is made to feel like a dod-dering grandfather. Army, Navy, Air Force, Foreign Office, one and all saythe same thing—I’m too old. I may be required later.”
Tuppence said:
“Well, it’s the same for me. They don’t want people of my age for nurs-ing—no, thank you. Nor for anything else. They’d rather have a fluffy chitwho’s never seen a wound or sterilised a dressing than they would haveme who worked for three years, 1915 to 1918, in various capacities, nursein the surgical ward and operating theatre, driver of a trade delivery vanand later of a General. This, that and the other—all, I assert firmly, withconspicuous success. And now I’m a poor, pushing, tiresome, middle-agedwoman who won’t sit at home quietly and knit as she ought to do.”
Tommy said gloomily:
“This war is hell.”
“It’s bad enough having a war,” said Tuppence, “but not being allowedto do anything in it just puts the lid on.”
Tommy said consolingly:
“Well, at any rate Deborah has got a job.”
Deborah’s mother said:
“Oh, she’s all right. I expect she’s good at it, too. But I still think, Tommy,that I could hold my own with Deborah.”
Tommy grinned.
“She wouldn’t think so.”
Tuppence said:
“Daughters can be very trying. Especially when they will be so kind toyou.”
Tommy murmured:
“The way young Derek makes allowances for me is sometimes ratherhard to bear. That ‘poor old Dad’ look in his eye.”
“In fact,” said Tuppence, “our children, although quite adorable, are alsoquite maddening.”
But at the mention of the twins, Derek and Deborah, her eyes were verytender.
“I suppose,” said Tommy thoughtfully, “that it’s always hard for peoplethemselves to realise that they’re getting middle- aged and past doingthings.”
Tuppence gave a snort of rage, tossed her glossy dark head, and sent herball of khaki wool spinning from her lap.
“Are we past doing things? Are we? Or is it only that everyone keeps in-sinuating that we are. Sometimes I feel that we never were any use.”
“Quite likely,” said Tommy.
“Perhaps so. But at any rate we did once feel important. And now I’mbeginning to feel that all that never really happened. Did it happen,Tommy? Is it true that you were once crashed on the head and kidnappedby German agents? Is it true that we once tracked down a dangerous crim-inal—and got him! Is it true that we rescued a girl and got hold of import-ant secret papers, and were practically thanked by a grateful country? Us!
You and me! Despised, unwanted Mr. and Mrs. Beresford.”
“Now dry up, darling. All this does no good.”
“All the same,” said Tuppence, blinking back a tear, “I’m disappointed inour Mr. Carter.”
“He wrote us a very nice letter.”
“He didn’t do anything—he didn’t even hold out any hope.”
“Well, he’s out of it all nowadays. Like us. He’s quite old. Lives in Scot-land and fishes.”
Tuppence said wistfully:
“They might have let us do something in the Intelligence.”
“Perhaps we couldn’t,” said Tommy. “Perhaps, nowadays, we wouldn’thave the nerve.”
“I wonder,” said Tuppence. “One feels just the same. But perhaps, as yousay, when it came to the point—”
She sighed. She said:
“I wish we could find a job of some kind. It’s so rotten when one has somuch time to think.”
Her eyes rested just for a minute on the photograph of the very youngman in the Air Force uniform, with the wide grinning smile so likeTommy’s.
Tommy said:
“It’s worse for a man. Women can knit, after all—and do up parcels andhelp at canteens.”
Tuppence said:
“I can do all that twenty years from now. I’m not old enough to be con-tent with that. I’m neither one thing nor the other.”
The front door bell rang. Tuppence got up. The flat was a small serviceone.
She opened the door to find a broad-shouldered man with a big fairmoustache and a cheerful red face, standing on the mat.
His glance, a quick one, took her in as he asked in a pleasant voice:
“Are you Mrs. Beresford?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Grant. I’m a friend of Lord Easthampton’s. He suggested Ishould look you and your husband up.”
“Oh, how nice, do come in.”
She preceded him into the sitting room.
“My husband, er—Captain—”
“Mr.”
“Mr. Grant. He’s a friend of Mr. Car—of Lord Easthampton’s.”
The old nom de guerre of the former Chief of the Intelligence, “Mr.
Carter,” always came more easily to her lips than their old friend’s propertitle.
For a few minutes the three talked happily together. Grant was an at-tractive person with an easy manner.
Presently Tuppence left the room. She returned a few minutes later withthe sherry and some glasses.
After a few minutes, when a pause came, Mr. Grant said to Tommy:
“I hear you’re looking for a job, Beresford?”
An eager light came into Tommy’s eye.
“Yes, indeed. You don’t mean—”
Grant laughed, and shook his head.
“Oh, nothing of that kind. No, I’m afraid that has to be left to the youngactive men—or to those who’ve been at it for years. The only things I cansuggest are rather stodgy, I’m afraid. Office work. Filing papers. Tyingthem up in red tape and pigeonholing them. That sort of thing.”
Tommy’s face fell.
“Oh, I see!”
Grant said encouragingly:
“Oh well, it’s better than nothing. Anyway, come and see me at my officeone day. Ministry of Requirements. Room 22. We’ll fix you up with some-thing.”
The telephone rang. Tuppence picked up the receiver.
“Hallo—yes—what?” A squeaky voice spoke agitatedly from the otherend. Tuppence’s face changed. “When?—Oh, my dear—of course—I’llcome over right away. .?.?.”
She put back the receiver.
She said to Tommy:
“That was Maureen.”
“I thought so—I recognised her voice from here.”
Tuppence explained breathlessly:
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Grant. But I must go round to this friend of mine.
She’s fallen and twisted her ankle and there’s no one with her but herlittle girl, so I must go round and fix up things for her and get hold ofsomeone to come in and look after her. Do forgive me.”
“Of course, Mrs. Beresford. I quite understand.”
Tuppence smiled at him, picked up a coat which had been lying over thesofa, slipped her arms into it and hurried out. The flat door banged.
Tommy poured out another glass of sherry for his guest.
“Don’t go yet,” he said.
“Thank you.” The other accepted the glass. He sipped it for a moment insilence. Then he said, “In a way, you know, your wife’s being called awayis a fortunate occurrence. It will save time.”
Tommy stared.
“I don’t understand.”
Grant said deliberately:
“You see, Beresford, if you had come to see me at the Ministry, I was em-powered to put a certain proposition before you.”
The colour came slowly up in Tommy’s freckled face. He said:
“You don’t mean—”
Grant nodded.
“Easthampton suggested you,” he said. “He told us you were the man forthe job.”
Tommy gave a deep sigh.
“Tell me,” he said.
“This is strictly confidential, of course.”
Tommy nodded.
“Not even your wife must know. You understand?”
“Very well—if you say so. But we worked together before.”
“Yes, I know. But this proposition is solely for you.”
“I see. All right.”
“Ostensibly you will be offered work—as I said just now—office work—in a branch of the Ministry functioning in Scotland—in a prohibited areawhere your wife cannot accompany you. Actually you will be somewherevery different.”
Tommy merely waited.
Grant said:
“You’ve read in the newspapers of the Fifth Column? You know, roughlyat any rate, just what that term implies.”
Tommy murmured:
“The enemy within.”
“Exactly. This war, Beresford, started in an optimistic spirit. Oh, I don’tmean the people who really knew—we’ve known all along what we wereup against—the efficiency of the enemy, his aerial strength, his deadly de-termination, and the coordination of his well- planned war machine. Imean the people as a whole. The good-hearted, muddleheaded democraticfellow who believes what he wants to believe—that Germany will crackup, that she’s on the verge of revolution, that her weapons of war aremade of tin, and that her men are so underfed that they’ll fall down if theytry to march—all that sort of stuff. Wishful thinking as the saying goes.
“Well, the war didn’t go that way. It started badly and it went on worse.
The men were all right—the men on the battleships and in the planes andin the dugouts. But there was mismanagement and unpreparedness—thedefects, perhaps, of our qualities. We don’t want war, haven’t consideredit seriously, weren’t good at preparing for it.
“The worst of that is over. We’ve corrected our mistakes, we’re slowlygetting the right men in the right place. We’re beginning to run the war asit should be run—and we can win the war—make no mistake about that—but only if we don’t lose it first. And the danger of losing it comes, notfrom outside—not from the might of Germany’s bombers, not from herseizure of neutral countries and fresh vantage points from which to attack—but from within. Our danger is the danger of Troy—the wooden horsewithin our walls. Call it the Fifth Column if you like. It is here, among us.
Men and women, some of them highly placed, some of them obscure, butall believing genuinely in the Nazi aims and the Nazi creed and desiring tosubstitute that sternly efficient creed for the muddled easygoing liberty ofour democratic institutions.”
Grant leant forward. He said, still in that same pleasant unemotionalvoice:
“And we don’t know who they are .?.?.”
Tommy said: “But surely—”
Grant said with a touch of impatience:
“Oh, we can round up the small fry. That’s easy enough. But it’s the oth-ers. We know about them. We know that there are at least two highlyplaced in the Admiralty—that one must be a member of General G——’sstaff—that there are three or more in the Air Force, and that two, at least,are members of the Intelligence, and have access to Cabinet secrets. Weknow that because it must be so from the way things have happened. Theleakage—a leakage from the top—of information to the enemy, shows usthat.”
Tommy said helplessly, his pleasant face perplexed:
“But what good should I be to you? I don’t know any of these people.”
Grant nodded.
“Exactly. You don’t know any of them—and they don’t know you.”
He paused to let it sink in and then went on:
“These people, these high-up people, know most of our lot. Informationcan’t be very well refused to them. I am at my wits’ end. I went to East-hampton. He’s out of it all now—a sick man—but his brain’s the best I’veever known. He thought of you. Over twenty years since you worked forthe department. Name quite unconnected with it. Your face not known.
What do you say—will you take it on?”
Tommy’s face was almost split in two by the magnitude of his ecstaticgrin.
“Take it on? You bet I’ll take it on. Though I can’t see how I can be of anyuse. I’m just a blasted amateur.”
“My dear Beresford, amateur status is just what is needed. The profes-sional is handicapped here. You’ll take the place of the best man we had orare likely to have.”
Tommy looked a question. Grant nodded.
“Yes. Died in St. Bridget’s Hospital last Tuesday. Run down by a lorry—only lived a few hours. Accident case—but it wasn’t an accident.”
Tommy said slowly: “I see.”
Grant said quietly:
“And that’s why we have reason to believe that Farquhar was on tosomething — that he was getting somewhere at last. By his death thatwasn’t an accident.”
Tommy looked a question.
Grant went on:
“Unfortunately we know next to nothing of what he had discovered.
Farquhar had been methodically following up one line after another. Mostof them led nowhere.”
Grant paused and then went on:
“Farquhar was unconscious until a few minutes before he died. Then hetried to say something. What he said was this: N or M. Song Susie.”
“That,” said Tommy, “doesn’t seem very illuminating.”
Grant smiled.
“A little more so than you might think. N or M, you see, is a term wehave heard before. It refers to two of the most important and trusted Ger-man agents. We have come across their activities in other countries andwe know just a little about them. It is their mission to organise a FifthColumn in foreign countries and to act as liaison officer between the coun-try in question and Germany. N, we know, is a man. M is a woman. All weknow about them is that these two are Hitler’s most highly trusted agentsand that in a code message we managed to decipher towards the begin-ning of the war there occurred this phrase—Suggest N or M for England.
Full powers—”
“I see. And Farquhar—”
“As I see it, Farquhar must have got on the track of one or other of them.
Unfortunately we don’t know which. Song Susie sounds very cryptic—butFarquhar hadn’t a high-class French accent! There was a return ticket toLeahampton in his pocket which is suggestive. Leahampton is on thesouth coast—a budding Bournemouth or Torquay. Lots of private hotelsand guesthouses. Amongst them is one called Sans Souci—”
Tommy said again:
“Song Susie—Sans Souci—I see.”
Grant said: “Do you?”
“The idea is,” Tommy said, “that I should go there and—well—ferretround.”
“That is the idea.”
Tommy’s smile broke out again.
“A bit vague, isn’t it?” he asked. “I don’t even know what I’m lookingfor.”
“And I can’t tell you. I don’t know. It’s up to you.”
Tommy sighed. He squared his shoulders.
“I can have a shot at it. But I’m not a very brainy sort of chap.”
“You did pretty well in the old days, so I’ve heard.”
“Oh, that was pure luck,” said Tommy hastily.
“Well, luck is rather what we need.”
Tommy considered a moment or two. Then he said:
“About this place, Sans Souci—”
Grant shrugged his shoulders.
“May be all a mare’s nest. I can’t tell. Farquhar may have been thinkingof ‘Sister Susie sewing shirts for soldiers.’ It’s all guesswork.”
“And Leahampton itself?”
“Just like any other of these places. There are rows of them. Old ladies,old Colonels, unimpeachable spinsters, dubious customers, fishy custom-ers, a foreigner or two. In fact, a mixed bag.”
“And N or M amongst them?”
“Not necessarily. Somebody, perhaps, who’s in touch with N or M. Butit’s quite likely to be N or M themselves. It’s an inconspicuous sort of place,a boardinghouse at a seaside resort.”
“You’ve no idea whether it’s a man or a woman I’ve to look for?”
Grant shook his head.
Tommy said: “Well, I can but try.”
“Good luck to your trying, Beresford. Now—to details—”
One（2）
II
Half an hour later when Tuppence broke in, panting and eager withcuriosity, Tommy was alone, whistling in an armchair with a doubtful ex-pression on his face.
“Well?” demanded Tuppence, throwing an infinity of feeling into themonosyllable.
“Well,” said Tommy with a somewhat doubtful air, “I’ve got a job—ofkinds.”
“What kind?”
Tommy made a suitable grimace.
“Office work in the wilds of Scotland. Hush- hush and all that, butdoesn’t sound very thrilling.”
“Both of us, or only you?”
“Only me, I’m afraid.”
“Blast and curse you. How could our Mr. Carter be so mean?”
“I imagine they segregate the sexes in these jobs. Otherwise too distract-ing for the mind.”
“Is it coding—or code breaking? Is it like Deborah’s job? Do be careful,Tommy, people go queer doing that and can’t sleep and walk about allnight groaning and repeating 978345286 or something like that and finallyhave nervous breakdowns and go into homes.”
“Not me.”
Tuppence said gloomily:
“I expect you will sooner or later. Can I come too—not to work but justas a wife. Slippers in front of the fire and a hot meal at the end of theday?”
Tommy looked uncomfortable.
“Sorry, old thing. I am sorry. I hate leaving you—”
“But you feel you ought to go,” murmured Tuppence reminiscently.
“After all,” said Tommy feebly, “you can knit, you know.”
“Knit?” said Tuppence. “Knit?”
Seizing her Balaclava helmet she flung it on the ground.
“I hate khaki wool,” said Tuppence, “and Navy wool and Air Force blue.
I should like to knit something magenta!”
“It has a fine military sound,” said Tommy. “Almost a suggestion ofBlitzkrieg.”
He felt definitely very unhappy. Tuppence, however, was a Spartan andplayed up well, admitting freely that of course he had to take the job andthat it didn’t really matter about her. She added that she had heard theywanted someone to scrub down the First-Aid Post floors. She might pos-sibly be found fit to do that.
Tommy departed for Aberdeen three days later. Tuppence saw him offat the station. Her eyes were bright and she blinked once or twice, but shekept resolutely cheerful.
Only as the train drew out of the station and Tommy saw the forlornlittle figure walking away down the platform did he feel a lump in his ownthroat. War or no war he felt he was deserting Tuppence. .?.?.
He pulled himself together with an effort. Orders were orders.
Having duly arrived in Scotland, he took a train the next day toManchester. On the third day a train deposited him at Leahampton. Herehe went to the principal hotel and on the following day made a tour ofvarious private hotels and guesthouses, seeing rooms and inquiring termsfor a long stay.
Sans Souci was a dark red Victorian villa, set on the side of a hill with agood view over the sea from its upper windows. There was a slight smellof dust and cooking in the hall and the carpet was worn, but it comparedquite favourably with some of the other establishments Tommy had seen.
He interviewed the proprietress, Mrs. Perenna, in her office, a small un-tidy room with a large desk covered with loose papers.
Mrs. Perenna herself was rather untidy looking, a woman of middle-agewith a large mop of fiercely curling black hair, some vaguely appliedmakeup and a determined smile showing a lot of very white teeth.
Tommy murmured a mention of his elderly cousin, Miss Meadowes,who had stayed at Sans Souci two years ago. Mrs. Perenna rememberedMiss Meadowes quite well—such a dear old lady—at least perhaps notreally old—very active and such a sense of humour.
Tommy agreed cautiously. There was, he knew, a real Miss Meadowes—the department was careful about these points.
And how was dear Miss Meadowes?
Tommy explained sadly that Miss Meadowes was no more and Mrs. Per-enna clicked her teeth sympathetically and made the proper noises andput on a correct mourning face.
She was soon talking volubly again. She had, she was sure, just the roomthat would suit Mr. Meadowes. A lovely sea view. She thought Mr. Mead-owes was so right to want to get out of London. Very depressingnowadays, so she understood, and, of course, after such a bad go of influ-enza—
Still talking, Mrs. Perenna led Tommy upstairs and showed him variousbedrooms. She mentioned a weekly sum. Tommy displayed dismay. Mrs.
Perenna explained that prices had risen so appallingly. Tommy explainedthat his income had unfortunately decreased and what with taxation andone thing and another—
Mrs. Perenna groaned and said:
“This terrible war—”
Tommy agreed and said that in his opinion that fellow Hitler ought to behanged. A madman, that’s what he was, a madman.
Mrs. Perenna agreed and said that what with rations and the difficultythe butchers had in getting the meat they wanted—and sometimes toomuch and sweetbreads and liver practically disappeared, it all madehousekeeping very difficult, but as Mr. Meadowes was a relation of MissMeadowes, she would make it half a guinea less.
Tommy then beat a retreat with the promise to think it over and Mrs.
Perenna pursued him to the gate, talking more volubly than ever and dis-playing an archness that Tommy found most alarming. She was, he admit-ted, quite a handsome woman in her way. He found himself wonderingwhat her nationality was. Surely not quite English? The name was Spanishor Portuguese, but that would be her husband’s nationality, not hers. Shemight, he thought, be Irish, though she had no brogue. But it would ac-count for the vitality and the exuberance.
It was finally settled that Mr. Meadowes should move in the followingday.
Tommy timed his arrival for six o’clock. Mrs. Perenna came out into thehall to greet him, threw a series of instructions about his luggage to an al-most imbecile-looking maid, who goggled at Tommy with her mouth open,and then led him into what she called the lounge.
“I always introduce my guests,” said Mrs. Perenna, beaming determin-edly at the suspicious glares of five people. “This is our new arrival, Mr.
Meadowes — Mrs. O’Rourke.” A terrifying mountain of a woman withbeady eyes and a moustache gave him a beaming smile.
“Major Bletchley.” Major Bletchley eyed Tommy appraisingly and madea stiff inclination of the head.
“Mr. von Deinim.” A young man, very stiff, fair-haired and blue-eyed,got up and bowed.
“Miss Minton.” An elderly woman with a lot of beads, knitting withkhaki wool, smiled and tittered.
“And Mrs. Blenkensop.” More knitting—an untidy dark head which lif-ted from an absorbed contemplation of a Balaclava helmet.
Tommy held his breath, the room spun round.
Mrs. Blenkensop! Tuppence! By all that was impossible and unbeliev-able—Tuppence, calmly knitting in the lounge of Sans Souci.
Her eyes met his—polite, uninterested stranger’s eyes.
His admiration rose.
Tuppence!
第一章（1）
第一章
1汤米•贝尔斯福德在公寓的门厅里脱下外套，小心翼翼地挂起来，然后很仔细地把帽子挂在旁边的钉子上。
他伸展一下肩膀，走进客厅，脸上的表情换成一种坚毅的微笑。他妻子正坐在那儿用卡其色的毛线织一顶巴拉克拉瓦盔式帽子。
这是一九四〇年的春天。
贝尔斯福德太太飞快地扫了他一眼，又以惊人的速度织了起来。过了片刻，她说道：
“晚报有什么消息吗？”
汤米说：
“就要打闪击战了，万岁，万岁！法国的形势不太好。”
塔彭丝说：
“现如今真是个压抑的世界。”
顿了顿，汤米又说：
“那么，你为什么不问问我？没必要绕这么大个圈子。”
“我知道，”塔彭丝承认，“故意绕弯是挺让人气恼的。可我要是真问你了，你也会不高兴的。不管怎样，我都不需要问，答案全都写在你脸上了。”
“我没觉得自己一脸不高兴。”
“不，亲爱的，”塔彭丝说，“你脸上那种刻意的笑容，是我见过的最让人心碎的表情了。”
汤米咧开嘴笑了笑，说：
“不是吧，真有那么糟糕吗？”
“糟糕多了！好了，说吧，事情没成？”
“没成。他们什么职位都不让我做。告诉你吧，塔彭丝，一个四十五岁的人却被看成一个老态龙钟的老头儿，这我可受不了。陆军、海军、空军，还有外交部，个个都告诉我，我太老了。也许以后会需要我。”
塔彭丝说：
“唉，我也一样。他们不需要我这个年纪的人做护理工作。‘不了，谢谢你。’他们宁愿用那些从来没见过伤口，或者连给绷带消毒也不会的黄毛丫头。而我，从一九一五年到一九一八年，三年里做过各种不同的工作，在外科病房和手术室当过护士，做过贸易公司的货车司机，后来又给一位将军开车。所有这些工作，我都可以肯定地说自己做得非常优秀。现在，我只是一个可怜的、莽撞的、讨厌的中年妇女，应该老老实实地坐在家里织毛衣，我却偏偏没这么干。”
汤米忧郁地说：
“这场战争就像人间地狱。”
“打仗已经够糟的了，”塔彭丝说，“现在就连做点儿事都不行。”
汤米安慰地说道：
“好啦，至少黛伯拉找到工作了。”
黛伯拉的母亲说道：
“哦，她挺好，我想她能做好这份工作。可是，汤米，我还是觉得自己并不比黛伯拉差。”
汤米咧嘴一笑。
“她可不这么觉得。”
塔彭丝说：
“有些时候，女儿确实让人很厌烦，尤其是她非要对你特别好的时候。”
汤米小声说道：
“有时候小德里克那副体谅我的样子真是让人难以忍受，眼神中充满了‘可怜的老爸’的意味。”
“其实，”塔彭丝说，“我们的孩子虽然很可爱，但有时也会让人恼火。”
可是一提到她那对双胞胎——德里克和黛伯拉，她的目光就变得柔和起来。
“我想，”汤米若有所思地说，“人们很难意识到自己已经人到中年，过了做一番事业的年龄了。”
塔彭丝愤怒地哼了一声，摇着她那长了一头黑亮头发的脑袋，卡其色的毛线团在她的大腿上来回转着。
“我们过了做事的年龄了，是吗？或者，只是别人一直这么暗示我们？有时我觉得我们向来毫无用处。”
“很有可能。”汤米说道。
“也许是这样吧。可不管怎么说，我们曾经觉得自己很重要。然而现在，我开始感觉所有的事都没有真正发生过。发生过吗，汤米？你曾经被德国间谍打破头，还被绑架了，是吗？我们曾经追踪过一个危险的罪犯——最后抓住了他，是吗？我们营救了一个女孩，找到了重要的机密文件，获得国家的感谢，对吗？是我们！你和我！是没人在乎、没人瞧得起的贝尔斯福德夫妇！”
“别说了，亲爱的，说这些也没用了。”
“话虽如此，”塔彭丝忍住眼泪，说，“我对我们的卡特先生很失望。”
“他给我们写了一封很真诚的信。”
“他什么也没做——甚至连一线希望也不肯给我们。”
“他现在也不在原位了。跟我们一样。他年纪很大了，住在苏格兰，钓钓鱼而已。”
塔彭丝渴望地说：
“他们可以让我们在情报部门做些事。”
“我们可能做不了这个，”汤米说，“也许，现在我们没那个胆量了。”
“我想，”塔彭丝说，“有人会这么认为。但是，就像你说的，到了关键时刻——”
她叹了口气，接着说：
“但愿我们能找到工作。一个人要是想太多，会腐烂的。”
她的视线落在一张身穿空军制服的年轻人的照片上，那咧嘴笑的样子像极了汤米。
汤米说：
“身为一个男人就更惨了。毕竟，女人还能织织毛衣、打打包裹，或者去食堂帮帮忙。”
塔彭丝说：
“再过二十年我也能做这些活儿。现在我还没老到要做这种工作。真是不像话。”
门铃响了。塔彭丝站起身去应门，他们住的公寓不提供门房服务。
她打开门，看见门垫上站着一个男人，宽肩膀、红脸膛，留着一把漂亮的大胡子。
他飞快地扫了她一眼，友善地问道：
“是贝尔斯福德太太吗？”
“是的。”
“我是格兰特，是伊斯特汉普顿勋爵的一个朋友，他让我来看望您和贝尔斯福德先生。”
“哦，太好了，请进。”
她把他带进客厅。
“这是我丈夫，这位是，呃，上尉——”
“是先生。”
“格兰特先生。他是卡特先生——不，是伊斯特汉普顿勋爵的朋友。”
“卡特先生”是前任情报局局长常用的化名，比起老朋友的封号，这个称呼反而叫得更加顺口。
三个人愉快地聊了一会儿。格兰特是个随和的人，很有魅力。
没多久，塔彭丝走出房间。很快，她拿着雪利酒和几个杯子回来了。
几分钟后，在几个人沉默的空当，格兰特先生对汤米说：
“听说你在找工作，是吗，贝尔斯福德？”
汤米的眼睛里闪出一道热切的光。
“没错，是的，你该不会是——”
格兰特笑了，摇摇头。
“哦，不是那样的。那种工作恐怕得留给活跃的年轻人去做了，或者是有多年经验的人。我也只能推荐一些枯燥的工作，坐办公室，给文件归档，用红带子捆起来，分门别类——类似这种。”
汤米脸色一沉。
“哦，我明白了！”
格兰特鼓励般的说：
“这样总比没事可做要强。不管怎么说，改天你来我办公室谈谈吧。军需部二十二号房间。我们会给你安排一个工作的。”
电话响了。塔彭丝拿起听筒。
“喂……是的……怎么了？”电话那头传来激动的叽叽声，塔彭丝脸色变了，“什么时候……哦，天哪……当然……我马上过去。”
她放下听筒，对汤米说：
“是莫琳。”
“我猜到了——从这儿就能听出是她的声音。”
塔彭丝上气不接下气地解释说：
“很抱歉，格兰特先生，但我得去一趟我朋友那里。她摔了一跤，脚踝扭伤了，可家里只有她小女儿。我得去帮忙处理一下，再找个人来照顾她。请原谅。”
“当然，贝尔斯福德太太，我非常理解。”
塔彭丝冲他笑笑，拿起放在沙发上的一件外套，往身上一套就急匆匆地走了。前门砰的一声关上了。
汤米又给客人倒了一杯雪利酒。
“别着急走。”他说。
“谢谢。”对方接过杯子，默默地啜饮了一会儿，然后说，“从某种意义上来说，你太太被电话叫走，也是一件好事。这样我们会节省很多时间。”
汤米瞪着他。
“我不明白。”
格兰特不紧不慢地说：
“是这样，贝尔斯福德，要是你来我们部门找我，我还是有权给你介绍一份工作的。”
汤米满是雀斑的脸渐渐涨红了。
“你该不是说——”
格兰特点点头。
“伊斯特汉普顿推荐了你，”他说，“他跟我们说你适合这份工作。”汤米深深地叹了口气。
“跟我说说吧。”他说。
“当然，这事要绝对保密。”
汤米点点头。
“连你妻子也不能告诉，明白吗？”
“既然你这么说了——那好吧。但是我们之前是一起工作的。”
“是的，我知道，不过勋爵只推荐你一个人。”
“我明白了。好吧。”
“表面上是我们给你提供了一份工作——正如我刚才所说——办公室工作，在军需部苏格兰分部。实际上你是去另一个完全不同的地方。那里是禁区，你太太不能跟你一起去。”
汤米等着下文。
格兰特说：
“你看过报纸上说的第五纵队吗？我想你至少该知道这个词的字面意思吧。”
汤米咕哝道：
“内部的敌人。”
“没错。贝尔斯福德，战争开始时，人们的心态都是乐观积极的。哦，我指的不是那些真正了解情况的人。我们一直都知道自己对付的是什么人——敌人的高效率，他们的空中优势，破釜沉舟获胜的决心，还有周密的部署和协调的配合。我说的是敌人这个整体。而我们那些好心的、傻头傻脑的民主人士，只相信他们愿意相信的——德国会崩溃的，他们国内即将发生革命，他们的武器不堪一击，他们的士兵都营养不良，打起仗来都站不稳，诸如此类。全都是痴心妄想。
“然而，战争并非他们想得那样。开始就没打好，现在更糟了。士兵们都是很好的——军舰、飞机和战壕里的都是好兵。可是我们指挥不当，而且准备不足——也许，是我们的实力欠缺。我们不希望发生战争，没有认真考虑过打仗的事，更别说提前做好准备了。
“最糟糕的已经过去了，我们已经改正了错误，慢慢让合适的人去做合适的工作。我们开始掌握正确的作战方法——而且我们能赢得战争，这一点无须怀疑——但是我们得开个好头才行。然而导致失败的危险元素并不是来自外部——不是德国轰炸机，也不是德国夺取了中立国家的政权从而占据了进攻优势——而是来自我们内部。我们的危险，就是特洛伊的危险——我们城墙里的木马。如果你愿意的话，可以叫它第五纵队。它就在这里，在我们中间。有男人、女人，其中一些身居高位，还有一些只是无名小辈，但他们全都相信纳粹的那些理念，而且希望用纳粹那种严厉的、立竿见影的信条取代我们模糊、懒散的民主制度。”
格兰特向前探了探身，依然用友善而平静的语调说道：
“然而我们不知道他们是谁……”
汤米说：“但是，一定——”
格兰特有些不耐烦地说：
“啊，我们能把那些小虾米一网打尽。这很简单。但关键在于其他人。我们知道这些人。我们知道海军部至少有两个高官，其中一个在G将军的部门。空军里起码有三个甚至更多，情报部门里少说也有两个，因此得以接近内阁机密。通过对近期几起事件的分析，我们得出了这些结论。信息被泄露——而且是从高层——给了敌人，这一点就说明了问题所在。”
汤米和善的脸上露出困惑的表情，他无能为力地说：
“可是我能帮你什么呢？这些人我都不认识。”
格兰特点了点头。
“没错。你一个也不认识——而且他们也不认识你。”
他顿了顿，好让对方沉淀一下他的话，然后继续说道：
“那些人，那些要人，对我们这些人大部分都比较了解，所以不太可能避开他们传递情报。我已经无计可施了。我去找过伊斯特汉普顿，可他现在不干这个了——他病了。不过他是我知道的最有头脑的人，他想到了你。你离开情报部已经二十多年了，你的名字跟这个部门毫无牵连，也没人认识你的面孔。你觉得怎么样——能胜任吗？”
汤米欣喜若狂，笑得嘴巴都合不上了。
“胜任？我当然能胜任了。虽然我还不明白自己能有什么用处。我只是个业余爱好者。”
“亲爱的贝尔斯福德，我们需要的正是你这种业余爱好者。专业人士反而会遇到障碍。
你将接替的人，曾经是我们最优秀的同事。”
汤米一脸询问的表情，格兰特点点头。
“是的，上星期二在圣布里奇特去世了，被一辆卡车撞死了——之后只活了几个小时。
表面上是一起意外事故，但其实并非偶然。”
汤米缓缓说道：“我明白了。”
格兰特平静地说：
“因此我们有理由相信法夸尔发现了某些事，事情终于有了进展。他的意外死亡正说明了这一点。”
汤米面露困惑。
格兰特继续说道：
“很遗憾，我们对他的发现几乎一无所知。法夸尔有条不紊地追踪了一个又一个线索，然而大部分都没有结果。”
格兰特顿了顿，又说：
“法夸尔一直昏迷，直到去世前才清醒了几分钟。他努力想说些什么，可只说出了这几个字：N或M。桑苏西。”
汤米说：“这个，好像没什么启发性啊。”
格兰特微微一笑。
“比你想得多一点儿。知道吗，我们以前听说过‘N或M’这个词，指的是两个最重要、最受信任的德国间谍。我们收集到一些他们在其他国家的活动情况，对他们略知一二。他们的任务是在外国组织第五纵队，担任该国和德国之间的联络官。据我们了解，N是男人，M是女人。我们只知道这两个人是希特勒最为信任的间谍。战争刚开始时，我们设法破译了一封密码电报，上面有这样的话：‘建议N或M去英国，全权负责——’”
“明白了。那法夸尔——”
“在我看来，他肯定是发现了其中一个人的线索，很遗憾，我们不知道是哪一个。桑苏西，听上去让人费解——不过法夸尔的法语发音不太标准！在他口袋里有一张去利汉普顿的回程车票，这倒是个线索。利汉普顿是南海岸的一座新兴城市——就像伯恩茅斯或者托基 [1] 一样，那儿有很多私人开的小旅馆或宾馆，其中有一家就叫桑苏西。”
汤米说：
“桑苏西……桑苏西……我明白了。”
格兰特说：“是吗？”
“你是想，”汤米说，“让我去那儿——呃——四处打听一下？”“就是这个意思。”
汤米脸上又露出了微笑。
“目标有点儿模糊吧？”他问，“我甚至不知道自己要找谁。”“可我也无法告诉你，我自己也不知道，只能看你的了。”
汤米叹了口气，耸耸肩。
“我可以试试看，不过我的头脑没那么灵。”
“我听说你以前干得非常好。”
“哦，全靠运气而已。”汤米急忙说道。
“没错，运气正是我们所需要的。”
汤米考虑了一会儿，说：
“关于这个地方，桑苏西——”
格兰特耸了耸肩。
“这或许是场骗局，我也说不上来。也许法夸尔认为是‘苏西姊妹为士兵们缝制衣服’。
一切都是猜测。”
“那利汉普顿呢？”
“跟其他类似城市差不多，各色人等都有。老太婆、老上校、一清二白的老小姐、可疑的顾客、一两个外国人，其实就是一锅大杂烩。”
“N或M就在他们中间吗？”
“不一定。也许是和N或M有联系的人，但也很有可能是他们本人。这是一个不起眼的地方，是海滨度假胜地的一个寄宿公寓。”
“我要找的人是男是女你也不知道吗？”
格兰特摇了摇头。
汤米说：“好吧，我只能试一下了。”
“祝你好运，贝尔斯福德。现在，我们说说细节吧……”
第一章（2）
2半小时之后，塔彭丝气喘吁吁地闯了进来，一脸的急切和好奇。汤米正一个人吹着口哨坐在扶手椅里，一副拿不定主意的表情。
“怎么样？”塔彭丝字字饱含深情。
“是这样，”汤米的语气有点儿含糊，“我找到了——一种工作。”
“什么样的工作？”
汤米做了个鬼脸。
“在苏格兰的偏远地区做办公室工作，官方不让声张，不过听起来没什么可激动的。”
“我们两个都去，还是就你自己去？”
“恐怕只能是我自己去。”
“该死的！我们的卡特先生怎么能这么自私？”
“我想这一类的工作是男女分开的，不然太容易分心了。”
“是编码还是破译电码？是不是和黛伯拉的工作差不多？你可得小心了，汤米，做这种事的人会变得很古怪，整晚睡不着觉，走来走去，嘴里还不停地嘀咕着九七八三四五二八六之类的东西，最后都精神崩溃，卷铺盖回家了。”
“我不会的。”
塔彭丝悲观地说：
“你早晚也会这样的。我能不能也过去——不是去工作，而是以妻子的身份？照顾你的起居，你忙完一天的工作后还能吃上一顿热乎的饭菜。”
汤米显得有些不安。
“真抱歉，老婆子，真对不起，我也不想离开你——”
“可你觉得你应该去。”塔彭丝恋恋不舍地嘟囔着。
“无论如何，”汤米无力地说道，“你还能在家织毛衣。”
“织毛衣？”塔彭丝说，“织毛衣？”
她抓起那顶盔式帽子扔在地上。
“我讨厌卡其色毛线，”塔彭丝说，“还有海军蓝、空军蓝，我想织品红色的！”
“很有军事化的感觉，”汤米说，“好像要来一场闪电战似的。”
其实他心里很难过。不过塔彭丝是个刚毅勇敢的人，她积极地鼓励汤米，说他应该接受这个工作，她自己这方面完全没关系。她还说自己打听到急救站需要一个负责打扫的人，也许她适合做这事。
三天后，汤米起程去了阿伯丁。塔彭丝去车站为他送行，一双眼睛亮晶晶的，眨了两下，努力做出一副开心的样子。
火车渐渐驶出车站，汤米望着那个孤零零的小小身影走出月台，不禁有些哽咽。无论有没有战争，都是他遗弃了塔彭丝……
他竭力让自己振作起来。命令就是命令。
按时到达苏格兰之后，第二天，他坐火车去了曼彻斯特。第三天，一列火车载他去了利汉普顿。他先是去了当地最有名的宾馆，次日又去那些私人小旅馆和宾馆转了转，看看房间，询问一下如果要长住的话有什么条件。
桑苏西是一座褐红色的维多利亚式的别墅，坐落在一个山坡上，从楼上的窗户望出去，海景一览无余。大厅里散发着一股淡淡的尘土味儿和油烟味儿，但是比汤米看过的其他地方好多了。他在办公室见到了老板娘佩伦娜太太。这是一间算不上整洁的小屋子，一张大桌子上摆满了报纸。
佩伦娜太太自己也很邋遢，一头黑色的鬓发像个大拖把，妆容不整，一笑就会露出一口白牙。
汤米咕哝着向她提到自己有一位年长的堂姐梅多斯小姐，两年前在桑苏西住过。佩伦娜太太还清楚地记得梅多斯小姐——一位可爱的老太太——也许没那么老——非常活跃，而且很有幽默感。
汤米很谨慎地表示同意。他知道确实有一位梅多斯小姐——情报部很注意这些细节问题。
亲爱的梅多斯小姐现在好吗？
汤米难过地解释说梅多斯小姐已经过世了。佩伦娜太太同情地啧啧了几声，应景地感叹一番，脸上浮现出恰当的悲伤。
没多久，她又开始滔滔不绝地说了起来。她说有一个房间绝对适合梅多斯先生住，可以看到大海的美景。她觉得梅多斯先生离开伦敦来这儿是正确的，她知道如今的都市生活很沉闷，当然经历过这次流感之后……
佩伦娜太太一边说着，一边带汤米上楼看房间，还说起了每周的食宿费。汤米显得很失望。佩伦娜太太解释说，物价涨得飞快。汤米则说自己的收入减少了，而且还要缴税，等等。
佩伦娜太太抱怨道：
“这场可怕的战争——”
汤米表示同意，并说他觉得应该绞死希特勒。一个疯子，他就是个疯子。
佩伦娜太太表示同意，说口粮配给少，就算屠夫也不容易弄到肉——有时候连胰脏等杂碎也见不着，因此做她的客房服务也不易。不过既然梅多斯先生是梅多斯小姐的亲戚，那房钱可以少收半个几尼。
汤米败下阵来，答应回去考虑一下。佩伦娜太太跟着他到门口，说得更加起劲了，她表现出来的那种狡猾让汤米很吃惊。他承认，在某种程度上，她挺漂亮的。他心里猜测着她是哪国人，肯定不是英国人吧？她的姓是西班牙或者葡萄牙人的姓，但也许是她丈夫的国籍而不是她的。他想她也许是爱尔兰人，虽然她并没有爱尔兰口音。不过她活力充沛这一点倒是像爱尔兰人。
最后他们谈妥了，梅多斯先生第二天就搬过来。
六点钟，汤米准时到了。佩伦娜太太走出大厅迎接他，快言快语地吩咐一个女仆放置行李。那女仆样子傻傻的，张着嘴巴瞪着汤米。随后佩伦娜太太带汤米到了那个她称为休息室的房间。
“我总是介绍房客们互相认识。”佩伦娜太太说，眉飞色舞地望着里面眼神透着疑惑的五个人，“这是我们新来的房客，梅多斯先生——这位是欧罗克太太。”一个身躯像座小山一般的女人冲他喜气洋洋地微笑着，一双小眼睛亮晶晶的，嘴上还有一撮胡子。
“这位是布莱奇利少校。”布莱奇利少校审视着他，然后动作僵硬地点点头。
“范•德尼姆先生。”这是个年轻人，金发蓝眼，表情呆板，他站起身，鞠了一躬。
“明顿小姐。”这个上了年纪的女人身上挂了很多珠子，手里织着卡其色的毛线，还哧哧地笑着。
“还有布伦金索普太太。”这人也在织毛衣，长着一头乱蓬蓬的黑发，把脑袋从手中的巴拉克拉瓦盔式帽子上面抬了起来。
汤米屏住呼吸，整个房间旋转起来。
布伦金索普太太！塔彭丝！这一切似乎都不可能，都让人难以置信——塔彭丝，正坐在桑苏西的休息室里不动声色地织毛衣！
她的目光和他相遇——礼貌的、毫无关系的陌生人的目光。
他佩服极了。
塔彭丝！
注释：
[1]两个都是英国的海滨城市。