‘One o’clock!’ I stared at him. Maxwell had left shortly after eleven.
He cocked his head on one side. ‘And pan Tucek is a well-known-figure here in Pilsen.’ He shrugged his shoulders again. ‘But of course if pana says no one visit him, then I believe him and I also say no one visit him.’
I remembered how the light had been off when I woke and how Jan Tucek had said he’d come to see me at the hotel. But if he had come, why the devil hadn’t he wakened me? I could have given him Maxwell’s message then. The porter was peering up at me uncertainly. ‘Pana must understand that I have to report everything of an unusual nature to the Party, particularly if it concerns an Englishman or an American.’ His lips tightened into a smile. ‘But life is difficult here in Czechoslovakia. I have a wife and family to think of, pane. Sometimes economics are more important than Party loyalties. You understand, panel’
‘Perfectly,’ I said. He was like a small sparrow searching determinedly after scraps in a cold spell. I pulled out my wallet and slipped him fifty kronen.
‘Dekuji uctive. Dekuji.’ The notes disappeared into his trouser pocket. ‘I remember now. It is just as pana says. There was no visitor at one o’clock this morning.’
He was turning away when I stopped him. ‘Did you show this visitor up yourself?’
‘Oh no, pane. He walk straight through the entrance and up the stairs. I know he is not a resident, so I follow him. It is expected of me.’
‘Quite,’ I said. ‘And you recognised this person?’
‘Oh, yes, pane.’ Then he smiled. ‘But, of course — no, pane. I do not recognise him any more now. I do not know to which room he go.’ He smirked and with a little bow, turned and walked quickly out through the hotel entrance.
I went through into the breakfast room. After several cigarettes and innumerable cups of black coffee I had got no nearer a solution of the matter. The porter wasn’t lying. I was certain of that. He had been far too sure of getting a fat tip. But if Tucek had come to see me so late at night, he must have had a reason, and an important one. Then why didn’t he wake me?
The problem was with me all that morning. I took a couple of aspirins to clear my head and went out into the bright spring sunshine. The buds shone fat and sticky on the smoke-black chestnut trees across the road. Birds were singing above the rattle of the trams and girls were wearing summer frocks. I paid three calls during the morning and did some business. When I got back to the hotel I was relieved to find that Marie had rung me. I was to call and see him at three-thirty. I could deliver my message to Tucek then.
At the Tucek works I was escorted by one of the factory police to the main office block. Maric had two of his technical experts with him. We discussed specifications. From a business point of view the meeting was successful. When the conference broke up, I remained seated. Maric glanced at me through his thick glasses. He got rid of the others very quickly and then, when the door was shut, he turned to me and said in English, ‘You wish to see me alone, Mr. Farrell?’
‘Well—’ I hesitated. ‘I didn’t think I should leave without saying good-bye to Mr. Tucek. You see, he and I were together—’
‘Quite, quite.’ Marie nodded and sat down at his desk. He took off his glasses and wiped them. Then, when he’d clipped them on to his nose again, he looked across at me.
‘But I do not think you can see him.’ His fingers had closed on a sheet of paper and he slowly crumpled it into a ball.
‘Is he in conference?’ I asked. ‘If so I will wait.’
He seemed about to say something. Then his small blue eyes retreated behind his glasses. ‘I do not think it will be any good waiting. But perhaps if you care to see his secretary—’ His voice sounded vague and uncertain.
is ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’d like to see his secretary.’
He nodded and rang for his assistant. The sudden decisiveness of his movements suggested a sense of relief. His assistant came in and he instructed him to take me to Tucek’s personal secretary. ‘Goodbye, Mr. Farrell.’ He dropped the crumpled ball of paper into his waste-paper basket and shook my hand. His fingers were soft and damp in my grip.
His assistant took me down two flights of concrete stairs and along a passage that was full of the noise of typewriters. Then we passed through swing doors marked Sprava zavodu and we were in the administrative block where the sound of our footsteps was lost in the deep pile of a carpeted corridor. It was the same corridor I’d walked down the previous day. We stopped at the door marked Ludvik Novak, tajemnik reditelstvi. My guide knocked and I was shown into the office of Tucek’s personal secretary. ‘Come in, Mr. Farrell.’ He was the dapper little man with the uneasy smile I’d seen the day before. There was no warmth in his greeting. ‘You are back again very soon. Was your meeting with pan Marie not satisfactory?’
‘Perfectly,’ I said.
‘Then what can I do for you?’
‘I would like to see Mr. Tucek before I go.’
‘I am sorry. That is not possible.’ He gave me a rubber-stamp smile.
‘Then I’ll wait until he’s free,’ I said.
‘It is not possible for you to see pan Tucek to-day.’ His eyes were quite blank.
I felt as though I were up against a stone wall. ‘You mean he’s not here?’ I asked.
‘I have told you, Mr. Farrell. It is impossible for you to see him.’ He crossed to the door and opened it. ‘I am sorry. We are very busy to-day.’
I thought of Maxwell’s strange visit the previous night. It’s urgent, Dick — very, very urgent, ‘Whether you are busy or not,’ I said, ‘I wish to see Mr. Tucek. Will you please tell him.’
The man’s eyes stared at me without blinking. ‘Why are you so anxious to see pan Tucek?’ he asked.
‘I was with him in the most critical days of our fight against the Germans,’ I said. ‘I am not in the habit of leaving a town without saying good-bye to old friends.’ I realised that I’d got to get under the cold official to the man beneath. ‘You are his personal secretary,’ I said. ‘You must have fought against the Germans. Surely you can understand that I want to see him before I leave?’
For an instant his eyes had warmth and feeling. Then they were quite blank again. ‘I am sorry. You cannot see pan Tucek to-day.’
There was no more I could do. He had opened the door. I went out. It was only after the door had closed behind me that I realised he had not called any one to escort me out of the works. I had begun to walk down the corridor before I realised this. I stopped and looked back. At the far end of the corridor was a big mahogany door. On it I saw — Jan Tucek, predseda a vrchni reditel. I quietly retraced my steps and stopped outside the door. There was the sound of somebody moving inside. I turned the handle and walked in.
Then I stopped. Opposite me was a big, glass-fronted bookcase. The glass doors had been flung wide and books littered the floor. A man paused in the act of rifling through the pages of a gilt-bound tome. ‘What do you want?’ He spoke in Czech and his voice was hard and authoritative. I glanced quickly towards the desk. Another man was seated in the chair Jan Tucek had occupied the previous day. The drawers had all been pulled out on to the floor. The carpet was littered with files. And from the midst of the pile the smiling face of Tucek’s daughter looked up at me. The steel filing cabinets against the wall by the windows had also been rifled. ‘What do you want?’ The man by the desk was also looking at me now. The sudden chill of panic crept along my spine. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was looking for pan Novak.’
Fortunately my Czech is quite good. The two men looked at me suspiciously. Then the one at the desk said, ‘In the next office.’
I murmured apologies and shut the door quickly. I tried not to hurry as I walked back along the corridor. But every moment I expected to hear the sound of Tucek’s door opening and a voice calling me to stop. But apparently they were not suspicious. Nevertheless, it was only after I’d passed through the swing doors and heard the sound of my feet on the concrete passage beyond, that the feeling of panic left me.