“Yes, that’s fine, but it isn’t what I wanted to see you about.” Ranklin helped himself to a cigarette from the packet on the desk. “Actually, I need your help-”
Novak leaped to his feet, roaring: “I did not say you could smoke! Especially not my cigarettes! You want my help? Dear God, for that I’ll testify that you called the Emperor a fornicating old fossil and hang both of you for treason.” He sat down and his tone made a chameleon change. “What made you think Pero here was an informer?”
“He was good,” Ranklin lied, “but his teeth were too good for the rest of him. Just staining them isn’t enough.”
Pero smiled, then hastily shut his mouth and worked his tongue at the stains. “It feels horrible,” he murmured.
“Was that all?” Novak demanded.
The honest answer was that Pero had to be an informer. There was no point in bringing himself and the Count together without someone to overhear. After that, everything about Pero, from the excessively greedy way he ate to the impersonal raggedness of his clothes, had seemed stagey, convincing from the back row of the stalls but not close to.
But honesty would only help them improve the act for the next British agent they nabbed. Ranklin shrugged and conceded: “His feet, too. Down-and-outs let their feet rot.”
“Ach!” Novak’s act became one of melodramatic delight. “You betray yourself! Such careful observation confirms you are a snivelling spy.” He jerked his head at Pero. “All right, you can go and clean yourself up. Also, you might be sickened to watch what I may do to this disgusting maggot. You did well enough.”
Pero clicked his heels at Novak, gave Ranklin a sympathetic grin, and vanished. Novak lit a cigarette and slumped in his chair. “Go on, say something. I’m beyond surprise. Help, Dear God.” Behaving like an erratic fuse was obviously intended to keep Novak’s victims off balance, worrying that he might explode. But behind it, Ranklin guessed, was a shrewd, nasty, and committed mind. But committed to what?
He took a cautious drag on his own cigarette, which tasted of perfume-soaked hay. “I assume you know that Senator Falcone has bought an aeroplane in Britain and plans to provoke a violent strike in the shipyards here. Naturally, the British Government dislikes having such plots hatched on its territory, so I came here to discover more. And, since you were kind enough to lock me up with the Count, I did discover more – but unfortunately not everything. Perhaps together, we can work out what’s missing.”
“Together?” Novak made a wild gesture of despair. “Now I’m expected to collaborate with a loathsome creeping spy . . . But go on, go on.”
“Tomorrow, they’re going to fly-”
“Are you sure about tomorrow? Pero reports that you were trying to beat that out of the Count, but-”
“It’s tomorrow: I could see the Count’s face, Pero couldn’t. Is it some anniversary of Oberdan?”
“This whole damned time is the anniversary of Oberdan,” Novak grumbled, “but tomorrow has no special meaning. Continue.”
“Tomorrow they’ll fly over in the aeroplane and do something to try and stir up the strike – or worse, possibly. And I’d guess they’re planning to spray the city with machine-gun fire.”
“Guessing? You’re guessing? You can’t guess with me, you vile cockroach. You may cheat your English masters with your idleness, but with me you’re pleading for your life! Remember that.”
“Sorry,” Ranklin said calmly, “but that’s the best I can do.”
“For the love of God,” Novak grumbled. “Is this what the famous English Secret Service employs? I should have left you there another year or – Come in!”
But the officer of the Austrian Landwehr who had knocked so perfunctorily hadn’t waited to be asked. “Ah, this is where you’re hiding yourself. I’ve been looking everywhere.” He sat down. “Remember to make sure this office is properly tidied before you go.”
Although Ranklin had never seen him before, he already knew him well. Every army has its plump, fussy staff officers who go unerringly for the least important detail and stick to it. The Captain’s stars on his collar were superfluous; the bunch of papers in his hand was his rank, his whole purpose.
He seemed to become aware of Ranklin and asked: “Who’s this?”
Stone-faced, Novak said: “This, Hauptmannn Knebel, is an English spy.”
Knebel didn’t seem impressed. He looked at Ranklin again, but only as if estimating his value in paperwork. “Then hadn’t you better get rid of him while we talk?”
“Ach-” Novak waved airily; “-I’m sure he already knows everything that’s going on here.”
“Then perhaps I should borrow him until this damned relief is done with.”
Novak acknowledged the quip by baring his teeth, then said: “He has been conspiring with the Conte di Chioggia.”
“Ah yes, it was about the Count.” Knebel shuffled his papers. “I have just spoken to the Kommandant, in person, on the telephone. He orders you to release the Count immediately.”
With Knebel, Novak had tried to curb his histrionics. But not now. “Release him? Just when I’ve proved he’s a traitor? – after all these years?”
Secure behind his papers, his spectacles and an upturned but still non-belligerent moustache, Knebel seemed unconcerned. “Possibly, possibly, but your orders are still to release him. You can keep that one,” he added, indicating Ranklin.
“But they’re in it together! Listen, please listen to how I trapped them. Yesterday they met both at the Cafe San Marco and, more suspiciously, in the Galleria di Montuzza. So observe-” he held up a thick forefinger; “-that implicates this worm in whatever the Count is doing, but does not yet implicate the Count with this worm. You understand? But then, early yesterday, I get proof that this verminous-”
“Verminous?” That had been a mistake; vermin were something Knebel took seriously. “He didn’t pick up anything in our dungeons. I’ve had those dungeons inspected every-”
“No, no.” Novak waved his head in agitation. “It was just a way of talking. Poetic, you might say. Please let me continue. So – the proof implicates this . . . this man, and so each now implicates the other – you see? So I arrest them, put them together, and trap them into revealing more of their plots. And that is what has happened. Each proves the other is guilty!”
“Quite so,” Knebel said indifferently. “But your orders are to release the Count.”
“But,” Novak wailed, “if one is not guilty, neither is the other!”
“Possibly, but the Count is not regarded as an enemy of the Emperor. You may not know this, but-”
“He’s applied for Austrian nationality. Yes, of course I know about that nonsense.”
“Hardly nonsense, as you would see if you gave it some thought. Whether nationality is granted or not, just applying will ruin his name in the Italian community. He’s thrown away all his influence with them.”
“And doesn’t that tell you he’s up to something worse than usual? He wants to fool you into thinking he’s given up plotting, just when-”
“Ah, but it isn’t just the nationality, it goes further than that.” Knebel smiled confidently. “However, I cannot discuss such matters.”
“He has fooled you! He’s got you playing his game!”