Determined to show his occasional employer that he had no anxiety, anticipated nothing but a friendly call, Daranyi squatted on his chair across from Krantz, and blew on his coffee, and listened to banal comments on world events, and waited. Presently, Krantz ceased the irrelevant conversation, and devoted himself to the rolls and coffee, and they both had their breakfasts in silence. With this, from previous observation of Krantz’s behaviour pattern, Daranyi understood that the waiting game would soon be over. Shortly, there would be a few indirect questions, the tentative posing of an idea that wanted looking into, direct questions, then orders.
Krantz’s empty cup clattered to his saucer, and Daranyi started to rise to bring the bamboo-handled pot, but Krantz’s lifted hand stayed him in his place.
‘Never mind, I have had enough,’ said Krantz. Genteelly he patted his moustache and goatee with his napkin, then took a metal puzzle out of his pocket, swinging it, and finally letting his short fingers twist and untwist it. ‘Tell me, Daranyi, what have you been up to these days? Have you been behaving yourself?’
‘At my age, Dr. Krantz? I practise celibacy, and good eating three times a day. Food and first editions, those are my excesses.’
‘Are you busy?’
Daranyi swiftly weighed his answer: very-busy implied unavailability and might scare the customer off; not-at-all-busy implied undesirability and might make the customer a stiff bargainer. ‘Moderately, moderately busy,’ said Daranyi. ‘There is always something going on, you know.’
Daranyi weighed elaboration: if he was not specific, the customer would think he was lying; if he was too specific, the customer would know he could not be trusted. ‘I am concluding two industrial accounts-of course, Dr. Krantz, I am not at liberty to divulge-’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Krantz impatiently. ‘I will tell you why I am here-I have an idea. A minor matter has come up-something of concern to me-and I would need some-some intelligent, discriminating research. I could think of only you, Daranyi. The question is-your immediate availability. Would you be able to put your other work aside, at once, to undertake a short, intensive investigation? Be truthful, Daranyi. We know each other. We are old friends. I would have to have your complete dedication, your full co-operation. I could not have you being diverted by any other project. You know my requirements-thoroughness, promptness, prudence. What do you say to that, Daranyi?’
‘As I have told you, my other assignments are about done. Fortunately, the deadlines are still a while off. But even if they were not, I would put them aside for you.’ Fleetingly, to Daranyi’s mind came The Faerie Queene: this the temple of Venus, and here inseparable friends, here Damon and Pythias, Jonathan and David, Hercules and Hylas. Daranyi’s smooth, plump countenance assumed the hood of Damon, earnest, sincere, faithful to whatever end. ‘You have always been generous with me, Dr. Krantz,’ continued Daranyi, ‘and I cannot help but stand ready to serve you, with all devotion, at any time. Your word is my command.’
Krantz’s uneasiness gave way to comfort. ‘Good, good.’
‘You need only speak of the problem, and I will address myself to it immediately.’
Krantz, who had been deep in the leather chair so that his stumpy legs dangled and his shoes barely touched the carpet, pushed himself forward in what was to be a gesture of confidence. Now he perched on the front of the chair, his shoes solidly planted before him. He stuffed the puzzle in his pocket-it was as if Eckart was over his shoulder, judging him-and proceeded to the business of the morning.
‘As you know, Daranyi, this is Nobel Week, one of my busiest weeks of the year-’
‘So it is. How time flies. I had almost forgotten.’
‘Have you read of this year’s crop of laureates who have come to us from America, France, Italy?’
‘I am ashamed to confess this, Dr. Krantz, but I have been so busy, I have hardly had time to glance at my newspapers this week.’
Krantz brushed at the air with his hand. ‘No matter. The assignment I have for you concerns these Nobel winners. Because of their importance, and the nature of what you must learn, your research-the assignment itself-must be strictly confidential.’
‘Dr. Krantz, I have never failed you.’ Then Daranyi added with pride, ‘I am professional.’
‘Take no offence. I merely emphasize the-the stature of the persons being investigated-and remind you they are in the international limelight. Now then, a rumour has come to the attention of several of us on the prize-giving committees. One of our laureates, I know not which, may have an unsavoury-no, let me put it this way-may have a questionable past and be of questionable character. There could be a scandal, before or after the Ceremony. If this is true, we must know about it in advance, we must be informed, prepared to take preventive action. The good name of the entire Nobel Foundation is at stake.’
Daranyi nodded gravely, and did not believe one word of what Krantz had told him. Daranyi’s professional assets were distrust and suspicion, and long experience had taught him that the motives men pretended to have in hiring him were always to be doubted. But Daranyi never fussed about this. Morality had nothing to do with free-lance espionage. An ethical spy was an impoverished spy, or worse, a dead one. You took a job. You rendered efficient services for a fee. You did not think. You survived.
Daranyi did not think now. He wore the Damon hood. ‘I can see the importance of this, and your concern,’ he said.
Krantz appeared pleased with himself. For him, so dryly factual, so lacking in the art of fable, the worst of it was over. The rest would be relatively simple. ‘In quite a natural way, several of us on the committees banded together on the matter-unofficially, of course-and determined to take action, sub rosa. I mentioned to my colleagues that I knew someone who could help-and here I am.’
‘I am grateful,’ said Daranyi. ‘You wish me to proceed as I did in the investigation of the Australian physicists?’
Krantz recoiled slightly at the bald mention of an old intrigue, best forgotten. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘That was a leisurely research done at long distance. In this research, there is a time element, and the subject-subjects-of the research are close at hand, and therefore your inquiries will be more dangerous. Now, I have spoken of rumour of a scandal, but I do not want you out blatantly snooping for one-not at all. As a matter of fact, you may find no evidence of scandal at all. But we on the committee have our information, our half of the jigsaw, and by supplying us more information, you may supply us with the missing half of the puzzle. Do you understand?’
‘I fully understand.’
‘I will leave with you pocket-sized photographs of the laureates, a record of their recent activities in Stockholm-public activities, that is-and the remainder of their schedules. I will also leave you condensed public biographies of each laureate, containing their backgrounds, statements, habits, as taken from our official records and gleaned from the press. This we have and is of no importance. I will give it to you merely so that you may familiarize yourself with the subjects, know who they are, know the quarry.’
‘Everything will be useful.’
Krantz’s beady eyes glittered. ‘What we require, and do not possess, is personal data-as much as can be obtained in a hurry-on each laureate, and his or her relatives and associates. I repeat, do not look for overt scandal. What we want is that which has been kept secluded from public view-the small weaknesses of the present, indiscretions of the past, the personal histories unknown, the expurgated sections of experience or conduct. I am certain I need elaborate no further. You are practised in these matters.’