A fortnight later “N. Marinetti” posted his second report to “J. L. Venezetti.”
The part that referred to Spartacus, I had supplied. The rest was Zaleshoff’s. It had taken him some time to compose. Most of it consisted of nondescript facts about the work in progress in the factories of three big customers. According to Zaleshoff, who supplied them, these facts had been known to every intelligence department in Europe for the past three months. They would, he declared, supply a stodgy but confidence-promoting background to the really important items. Just how he had come into possession of them I did not trouble to inquire. To do so would, I knew, have been a waste of time.
The important items were singularly unimpressive. There were two of them. One referred in the vaguest terms to three special hydraulic aircraft lifts and to the fact that they had been designed at the request of a municipal authority in the Trentino. The other was a bald statement to the effect that the same municipal authority had retained a well-known Italian civil engineer, named Bochini, as a consultant, and that this engineer was no longer working for the Italian Air Ministry. I had looked at the report a little despondently.
“It looks pretty feeble to me, Zaleshoff.”
He had chuckled. “Don’t you worry. It’s dynamite. You see what happens when he gets it. He’ll react all right.”
Vagas did react. Two days after I had despatched the report I collected his letter from the poste restante. In addition to the three thousand lire there was a letter:
Dear Sir,
Your report received. I enclose 3,000 lire as arranged. There are two points mentioned in your report about which I should like further details as soon as possible. The points in question are those relating to the hydraulic lifts and to the retention of the engineer Bochini. The details I require are as follows:
1. What arrangements have been made for paying for these lifts? Is it the Italian Government who is paying? What form of credit facilities have been extended by the manufacturers? You might approach the subject by saying that you have heard on good authority that the municipality in question is in financial difficulties.
2. Who designed the lifts? On what date are they being delivered?
3. Has Bochini had anything to do with the order for the lifts?
I realise that to secure this information quickly you will have to re-visit Torino. Please do so as soon as you possibly can. I am prepared to pay a bonus of 5,000 lire over and above the present arrangement for this information.
Yours faithfully,
J. L. Venezetti.
Zaleshoff crowed when I showed it to him.
“What did I tell you?” he demanded triumphantly.
“I don’t understand it.”
“It’s perfectly simple. For purposes of secrecy the Italian Air Ministry have issued their orders for the equipment for these three aerodromes through this municipality. Officially, the municipality will take delivery. Actually it will be the Air Ministry. This guy Bochini is their head man on the subject of underground aerodrome construction. Vagas got the idea immediately. I knew he would. But it’s too important a thing for him to make mistakes about. He wants confirmation.”
“But how am I going to get this information?”
“You needn’t worry. I’ve got it already. We’ll wait a couple of weeks before we deliver, just to make it look all right. Then we’ll be sitting pretty.”
Four days previously my spirits had been raised considerably by the discovery that I was no longer under surveillance, that the plain-clothes men had been withdrawn. Now, Zaleshoff’s enthusiasm completed the cure. That night the three of us ate at a more expensive place than usual. I ordered a bottle of Asti Spumante. We drank to the confusion of Vagas, and Zaleshoff and I took it in turns to dance with Tamara. Looking back on that evening now, I can still recapture the feeling I had of sitting in the sun after a particularly unpleasant storm has passed. We were very gay. But now our gaiety seems more than a little pathetic. I have, these days, a mistrust of celebrations that amounts to a superstition. I can never quite forget the grim spectre of anti-climax that lurks in the ante-room.
The following day I replied to Vagas’ letter, assured him that I would do my best to obtain the information he wanted, and settled down to the work of the office.
Thanks chiefly to Umberto’s efforts, the work had begun to assume more reasonable proportions. Bellinetti, I was almost relieved to find, was spending less and less time at his desk and more and more in the caffe. His manner towards me was jauntily cordial. I imagine that he thought that the new broom had worn down and that the dust was settling once again into the old corners. I did not bother to disillusion him. Things were going smoothly. Fitch, in one of his weekly memoranda, had made a jocular reference to the growing efficiency of the Milan office. I almost regretted my decision to resign at the end of the month-almost, but not quite.
That week I wrote to Claire and received a reply from her. I also wrote to Hallett asking him to let me know if he heard of a job going that might suit me. I was, I said with perfect truth, anxious to return to England. With memories of the envelope steaming episode, I asked him to address his reply care of Claire.
I paid my weekly ceremonial visits to the Consulate for news of my passport and to the Amministrazione to have my permit date-stamped. The officials at the Consulate were, as always, charming and sympathetic. The policeman on the door at the Amministrazione greeted me by name. We exchanged opinions on the subject of the weather. The evenings I spent at the cinema or with Zaleshoff and Tamara. When it was warm, which it was on most days now, we walked in the new Park. That Saturday I watched with Zaleshoff a highly acrimonious football match between a Milan team and a team from Verona. The latter won, and the referee was manhandled and seriously injured by the crowd. Three days later I went to Rome.
The summons from Rome I received late on the Tuesday afternoon. There had been a fire at the works of one of our customers just outside the city. The fire had spread from the stores to a machine shop containing a battery of S2 machines. The fire had been put out, but five of the machines had been damaged. The machines had been busy on a Government contract with a penalty clause not covered by insurance. I was wanted immediately to advise as to the speed with which the necessary spare parts could be obtained from England and the possibility of increasing the output of the undamaged machines and to place a valuation on the damage done.
Bellinetti was, as usual, out of the office. I told Umberto where I was going, and went back to the Parigi. There, I packed a suitcase with the things I might require for a night in a hotel, snatched an early dinner and caught a night train to Rome.
I spent the following day amidst the ruins of the burnt-out shop. The damage was more extensive than I had anticipated, and the unhappy signatories of the contract with the penalty clause had lost their heads. Eventually, I sent a long telegram to Fitch, and was able to get one back from him with reassuring news concerning the delivery of the spare parts. The works manager kissed me on both cheeks. It was, however, very late when eventually I got away, and I was dog-tired. I decided to spend the night in Rome and travel back to Milan the following day.
It was towards half-past six the following evening when my train drew into the Centrale at Milan. It had been full for most of the way. Now it began to empty. The corridor was jammed with luggage and people. I was standing outside my compartment waiting impatiently for the way to clear when I saw Zaleshoff.
The platform was crowded with people meeting the train. He was standing on the outskirts of the crowd, scanning the alighting passengers anxiously. I leaned out of the window and waved. Then he saw me.