Now Daranyi sat back, fingertips touching, eyes never leaving Krantz, as the other read the documents to himself. Krantz’s upper lip wriggled beneath his moustache, but his face betrayed no other reaction. At last, he looked up.
‘Where did you get these?’ he asked, and Daranyi detected that his tone was over casual.
‘You know, Dr. Krantz, I try to keep my sources-’
‘It does not matter. Merely personal curiosity as to how authentic-’
Yes, Daranyi decided, over casual, and therefore, it has value. ‘It is completely authentic,’ he said. ‘I will say this much. I have an English friend, a newspaperman now in Stockholm, who is down at the heels. He is underpaid and forever in debt. He, in turn, has a friend who works in British Intelligence in West Berlin-a Scotch girl-a filing clerk. My newspaper friend offered to telephone her, and I supported this. When he advised me what was available, I agreed to give him-he must give half to her-nine hundred kronor of the expense money you gave me. That is steep for something that may have no value, but I thought I would risk the investment. I hoped you would find it illuminating in some way.’
Krantz shrugged. ‘I cannot tell.’ And then-over casual, over casual-‘By the way, has anyone else seen this?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Well, no matter. It really gives us nothing, but I will retain it as a curiosity.’
‘As you wish.’
Krantz stood up, to indicate that the interview was terminated and the business of the evening was concluded. ‘For your part, Daranyi, you are to be congratulated, as ever, a thorough job well done. For our part, and I hate to say this, you have uncovered nothing of real value, nothing that can solve our little problem. Still, you have done what you could in a limited time, and for that, we on the committee concerned with this are grateful. I told you, the other day, your recompense would be generous. I believe you will be more than satisfied. I have discussed payment with my colleagues, and they have agreed with me that your services-considering the small amount of your time we have taken-are worth ten thousand kronor. I have the envelope-’
Daranyi had remained in the leather chair, and he remained seated still. ‘No,’ he said plainly.
Krantz had begun to move towards the mantelpiece, but now he halted and turned. ‘What was that?’
‘I said no-meaning ten thousand kronor is insufficient for what I have done.’
‘What do you expect?’
This was the long-awaited moment at last. ‘Fifty thousand kronor,’ said Daranyi.
Krantz looked stricken. ‘Are you mad, Daranyi? You are pulling my leg.’
‘Your wallet, perhaps, but not your leg.’
‘You seriously think we would give you fifty thousand for that batch of prattle and pap?’
‘I seriously think you will. I have a notion I have done well for you.’
‘You have done nothing. Fifty thousand kronor? Why, you will consider yourself fortunate if I can have your fee raised to fifteen thousand.’
Daranyi sat Buddhalike, as immovable, as superior, on the chair. ‘The price is fifty thousand for my work’-he paused, and concluded-‘ and my discretion.’
‘Discretion, is it? I have never dreamed you would stoop so low as blackmail. Do you understand the position you are in? I could have you thrown out of this country in two minutes.’
‘I have counted on that. Eviction would coincide with my own plans. You see, the moment you have paid me, I will buy my air ticket to Switzerland. A second cousin of mine has taken residence there and plans to open a rare-book shop, and wants a partner. I think Lausanne will be more healthy than Stockholm. And I think there is more of a future today in rare books than in-research-and documents.’
Krantz was livid. ‘Now you want to jew me out of the money to finance you?’
‘Exactly.’
‘You are a greedy devil. Where is your sense of proportion and self-respect?’
‘I have just regained both.’ He smelt his victory, and he came lightly to his feet. ‘I have done my part. Now you do yours. Fifty thousand.’
Krantz stared at Daranyi with distaste. ‘You cannot be dissuaded from this crime?’
‘No.’
‘I would have to talk to my friends first. It could not be fifty thousand in any case, perhaps closer to thirty thousand.’
‘Forty thousand is my bottom.’
‘I will not bargain like a tradesman,’ said Krantz. ‘All right then, forty thousand.’ He picked up a Spanish hand-bell and shook it. ‘Ilsa will show you out.’
Daranyi made no move. ‘When do I have my fee? Tomorrow is my deadline, tomorrow before the Ceremony.’ He would remind Krantz of the price of forfeit. ‘While the world press is still here.’
‘You will have your Judas money. I will send the cash in a plain envelope by messenger to your apartment… You know this is our last meeting.’
‘I had hoped it would be. Good-night to you, Dr. Krantz. And if ever you are in Lausanne, and in need of a rare edition-’
Daranyi permitted himself to smile, and Krantz glared and said, ‘Good-night!’
Daranyi opened the door, took his coat and hat from Ilsa, and hurried out.
Krantz went to his study door and closed and bolted it. Then he hastened across the room to the glass door and peered down into Norr Mälarstrand. Not until Daranyi was briefly visible, below, did he leave the point of vantage.
Hurrying on his short legs, he went to the sitting-room door behind his chair and knocked three times. He heard the tumble of the lock, and stepped back. The door opened.
Briskly, polishing his monocle with a handkerchief, Dr. Hans Eckart came into the study.
‘You heard everything?’ Krantz asked anxiously.
‘Every word.’ Eckart placed the handkerchief back in his pocket and adjusted his monocle.
‘He kept staring at the plant,’ said Krantz. ‘I was nervous all the time that he would see the microphone.’
‘No one could see it,’ said Eckart.
Krantz danced closer to his patron, jittering. ‘You heard him about the money-’
‘Never mind about the money. That Hungarian nincompoop’s usefulness is ended anyway. I will see that he is paid.’
‘Was there anything in his information that-?’
‘Yes,’ said Eckart curtly. ‘The SS file on Emily Stratman. Let me see it at once.’
12
IT had snowed all the night through, gusty flurries of large flat flakes, dry and adhering to where they fell, and on the early morning of December tenth, it was snowing still. The flurries had ceased, Count Jacobsson observed from his parlour window above the Foundation, and now the crystalline flakes floated lazily downward like confetti, and clung to every surface, and built one on the other, so that Sturegatan and the park below, and all the city of Stockholm encompassed by the eye, lay snug and white under a powdery blanket that rose and fell into the darkness beyond sight.
We are regally cloaked, thought Jacobsson, majestically covered by a royal cape of white to herald our climax day of Nobel Week.
He heard, behind him, the ponderous movements of his stout housekeeper, who came three times a week to clean his bachelor quarters, and listened as she set his breakfast on the oval table. He waited for her to leave, continuing to enjoy the snowfall, and when she was gone, he turned from the window and took his place at the table.
He had been too preoccupied with the problems of the big day ahead to think of breakfast, but now his appetite was whetted by the hot tiny sausages and scrambled eggs, the toast spread with red whortleberry jam, the choklad, and he began to eat ravenously. After he had devoured the sausages and eggs, and begun to sip the cocoa and munch the toast, he opened the three morning newspapers piled at his right hand. Each, he noticed, had picture spreads and long stories about the afternoon Ceremony, on its front page.