Ashton's was the life of a gentleman of leisure; he visited museums and art galleries, attended the theatre and cinemas, and spent a lot of time in bookshops where he spent heavily, purchasing fiction and non-fiction, the non-fiction being mostly biographies. The books were over a spread of languages, English, German and Russian predominating.
And all the time he did not do a stroke of what could reasonably be called work. It was baffling. Benson was the perfect manservant. He did the household shopping, attended to the laundry and dry cleaning, and did a spot of cooking on those occasions when Ashton did not eat out. He had found himself a favourite drinking hole which he attended three or four times a week, an olstuga more intellectual than most because it had a chess circle. Benson would play a couple of games and leave relatively early. Neither of them wrote or received any letters.
Neither appeared to have any associates other than the small-change encounters of everyday life. Neither did a single damned thing out of the ordinary with one large and overriding exception. Their very presence in Stockholm was out of the ordinary. At the beginning of the third week, when their routine had been established, Henry and I cracked the apartment. Ashton had gone to the cinema and Benson was doing his Bobby Fischer bit over a half-litre of Carlsberg and we would have an hour or longer. We searched that flat from top to bottom and did not find much. The main prize was Ashton's passport. It was of Israeli issue, three years old, and made out in the name of Fyodr Antonovitch Koslov who had been born in Odessa in 1914. I photographed every page, including the blank ones, and put it back where I found it. A secondary catch was the counterfoil stub of a chequebook. I photographed that thoroughly, too. Ashton was spending money quite freely, his casual expenses were running to nearly?500 a week. The telephone rang. Henty picked it up and said cautiously, 'Vilket nummer vill ni ha?' There was a pause. 'Okay.' he put down the receiver.
'Benson's left the pub; he's on his way back.' I looked around the room. 'Everything in order?' 'I reckon so.' 'Then let's go.' We left the building and sat in Henty's car until Benson arrived. We saw him safely inside, checked his escort, then went away. Early next morning I gave Cutler the spools of film and requested negatives and two sets of prints. I got them within the hour and spent quite a time checking them before my prearranged telephone call from Ogilvie. It had to be prearranged because he had to have a scrambler compatible with that at the Embassy. Briefly I summarized the position up to that point, then said, 'Any breakthrough will come by something unusual-an oddity-and there are not many of those. There's the Israeli passport-I'd like to know if that's kosher. I'll send you the photographs in the diplomatic bag.' 'Issued three years ago, you say.' 'That's right. That would be about the time a bank account was opened here in the name of Koslov.
The apartment was rented a year later, also in the name of Koslov; it was sublet until four months ago when Ashton moved in. Our friend had everything prepared. I've gone through cheque stubs covering nearly two months. Ashton isn't stinting himself.' 'How is he behaving?
Psychologically, I mean.' 'I've seen him only three times, and then at a distance.' I thought for a moment. 'My impression is that he's more relaxed than when I saw him last in England; under less of a strain.'
There didn't seem much else to say. 'What do I do now?' 'Carry on,' said Ogilvie succinctly. I sighed. 'This could go on for weeks-months.
What if I tackled him myself? There's no need to blow my cover. I can get myself accredited to an international trade conference that's coming up next week.' 'Don't do that,' said Ogilvie. 'He's sharper than anyone realizes. Just keep watching; something will turn up.'
Yes, Mr. Micawber, I thought, but didn't say it. What I said was, 'I'll put the negatives and prints into the diplomatic bag immediately.' Two more weeks went by and nothing happened. Ashton went on his way serenely, doing nothing in particular. I had another, more extended, look at him and he seemed to be enjoying himself in a left-handed fashion. This was possibly the first holiday he'd ever had free from the cares of the business he had created. Benson pottered about in the shops and markets of Gamla Stan most mornings, doing his none-too-frugal shopping, and we began to build up quite a picture of the culinary tastes of the menage Ashton. It didn't do us one damned bit of good. Henty went about his own mysterious business into which I didn't enquire too closely. I do know that he was in some form of military intelligence because he left for a week and went north to Lapland where the Swedish Army was holding winter manoeuvres. When he came back I saw him briefly and he said he'd be busy writing a report.
Four days later he came to see me with disturbing information. 'Do you know there's another crowd in on the act?' I stared at him. 'What do you mean?' 'I've got a bump of curiosity,' he said. 'Last night, in my copious spare time, I checked to see whether Cutler's boys were up to snuff. Ashton is leading quite a train-our chap follows Ashton and someone else follows him.' I was about to speak but he held up his hand. 'So I checked on Benson and the same is happening there.'
'Cutler's said nothing about this.' 'How would he know?' said Henty scathingly. 'Or any of them. They're amateurs.' I asked the crucial question. 'Who?' Henty shrugged. 'My guess is Swedish Intelligence.
Those boys are good. They'd be interested in anyone with a Russian name, and even more interested to find out he's under surveillance.
They'll have made the connection with the British Embassy by now.'
'Damn!' I said. 'Better not let Cutler know or he'll have diplo matic kittens. I think this is where we join in.' Next morning, when Ashton took his morning constitutional, we were on the job. Ashton appeared and collected the first segment of his tail who happened to be Askrigg. Henty nudged me and pointed out the stranger who fell in behind. 'That's our joker. I'll cross the road and follow him. You stay on this side and walk parallel, keeping an eye on both of us.' By God, but Henty was good! I tried to watch both him and the man he was following but Henty was invisible half the time, even though I knew he was there. He bobbed back and forth, letting the distance lengthen and then closing up, disappearing into shop entrances and reappearing in unexpected places and, in general, doing his best not to be there at all. Two or three times he was even in front of the man he was shadowing. It was one of Ashton's book mornings. He visited two bookshops and spent about three-quarters of an hour in each, then he retired with his plunder to a coffeehouse and inspected his purchases over coffee and Danish pastries. It was pretty funny. The coffeehouse was on the corner of a block. Askrigg waited outside while, kitty-corner across the street, his follower stamped his feet to keep warm while ostensibly looking into a shop window. The third corner held Henty, doing pretty much the same, while I occupied the fourth corner. My own wait was made risible by the nature of the shop in which I was taking an intent interest. Henty was outside a camera shop. Mine sold frilly lingerie of the type known pungently as passion fashion. Out came Ashton and the train chugged off again, and he led us back to where we had started, but going home by the Vasabron just to make a variation. So far the whole thing was a bust, but better times were coming. Our man went into a tobacconist's shop and I followed. As I bought a packet of cigarettes I heard him speaking in low tones on the telephone. I couldn't hear what he said but the intonation was neither English nor Swedish. He left the shop and walked up the street while I followed on the other side. A hundred yards up the street he crossed, so I did the same; then he reversed direction. He was doing what he hoped was an unobtrusive patrol outside Ashton's flat. Fifteen minutes later came the event we'd waited for-his relief arrived. The two men stood and talked for a few moments, their breath steaming and mingling in the cold air, then my man set off at a smart pace and I followed. He turned the corner which led around the back of the Royal Palace, and when I had him in sight he was dickering with a taxi driver. I was figuring out how to say, 'Follow that car!' in Swedish when Henty pulled up alongside in his car. I scrambled in, and Henty said in satisfaction, 'I thought he might do that. We've all had enough walking for the day.' I've said he was good. So we followed the taxi through Stockholm, which was not particularly difficult, nor did he take us very far. The taxi pulled up outside a building and was paid off, and our man disappeared inside. Henty carried on without slackening speed. 'That does it!' he said expressively. I twisted in my seat and looked back. 'Why? What is that place?' 'The bloody Russian Embassy.'