— Yes, sir, I do think so, sir. Who of us does not have his own private spy fantasy in which he singlehandedly brings some hidden bounder to justice? And so there was this police officer in the middle of the room with rain still trickling down his greatcoat, guardedly telling us what he could while we stood around him in a circle, until I stepped up to him — I remember it quite clearly — and asked, “But who is it? An Arab, I’ll wager.” It was obvious to me that no one else would spy on the British Empire. “Not at all,” says he, his blue eyes twinkling, “it’s one of our side.” Well, there was general consternation at that — but he, sir, he just looked me straight in the eye and said, it was too much for him to resist: “I mean, not exactly one of our side; he’s one of those Jews who’ve leeched onto us…” He knew very well who I was — he even threw me a cheeky, half-jesting smile — and I recall feeling, sir, if I may say so, thoroughly in a funk, not because of the anti-Semitic remark, which means nothing to me and is something I can shrug off quite coolly, but because of the quite maddening coincidence. Here was Major Clark about to leave the next day and finally give me a shot at trying a major case — and who should it involve but a Jewish spy in Jerusalem, a fact that an uncalled-for delicacy might regard as reason…
— Quite right, sir.
— Quite right, sir.
— To spare me the discomfort…
— Indeed, sir. You know what we military advocates generally have to deal with: desertions, brawls, petty thefts, drunkenness, insubordination — in a word, thirty- and sixty-day sentences and one-guinea fines. And here was a real investigation, something to get to the bottom of, where possibly lurked a man’s death. I was so beside myself that I left the club directly and went straight to the divisional guardhouse by Jaffa Gate, under the assumption that that’s where this Mani was being held. Of course, I had no idea at the time what his name was, but I was determined not to be elbowed aside, and soon I found myself standing out in the cold night across from the place called David’s Tower, which is a sort of miniature version of the Tower of London, with my mind racing ahead. Just then I noticed a Jew dressed in black, hanging back by a little lane that ran into the empty square — and I knew directly that he was connected to the spy and had come to see what was being done with him; which meant that word had already reached the concerned parties in Jerusalem, who had sent a first scout to reconnoiter; and a most clandestine-looking, eternal-looking, metaphysical-looking scout he was… only later did I discover that he was not the least bit different from his scoutmasters…
— I’m sorry, sir, there I go again getting ahead of myself.
— The twenty-eighth of February, sir. The next day was a tense but quiet one at the advocate-general’s office. Everyone knew about the investigation in the Tower of David, and the brigadier was beating the bushes for Major Clark, who had been absent from work for several days because he was busy packing and buying gifts — oriental baubles, silk scarves, and little rugs for the British gentry waiting for him impatiently, I daresay irately, in England. And now this spy had fallen on us out of the blue, and the major was terrified of having his leave canceled and being made to take up the investigation while his little bun was growing daily in its oven, which was something the whole British army couldn’t have done anything about. He kept running from the tailor’s and the jeweler’s to the interrogation cell and the brigadier, and from there back to the advocates’ office for a look at the lawbooks — and never a word to me, sir, not a hint that I might take the case upon myself, although he knew I would have given my right arm to do it. Wherever he went his hip flask went with him, and he had the squinty look of a beaten dog…
— I don’t believe, sir, that he’s partial to anything in particular, whatever’s available will do… Well, that evening the first sergeant relayed an order for us four advocates to remain after work, and after a while Major Clark appeared, all bleary-eyed from drink and the day’s intrigues; his little squint was gone, and he was wearing his dress uniform with the brass all polished and the decorations agleam. I could see at once that he had vanquished the brigadier and received leave to attend his own wedding, and I knew he would never be back in the Orient, since his future father-in-law had landed him a plum on the general staff to make sure he didn’t fly the nest again now that it was properly feathered. And so he sat the four of us down with the Handbook of Wartime Jurisprudence and the secret file in front of him, speaking to all of us but looking only at me, because he knew his man and realized that for the past twenty-four hours I had been preparing myself for the case. First he told us about his adventures that day and about his tilt with the brigadier, and then he said to me: “And you, my dear Ikey, shall make this Jew your business, just don’t forget whose side you’re on; I want a proper investigation, and a proper indictment, and death, because that’s what the law calls for and what divisional headquarters expects, seeing that this blighter is responsible for the loss of lives and artillery across the Jordan. You’re the very man to do the job quickly and smoothly, since who could deny satisfaction to a Jew asking for another Jew’s head? By Jove, it should be a special treat…”
— Yes, sir. Those were his words A special treat.
— That’s just his manner, sir. I’ve never taken it to heart, sir. I’ve served with Major Clark for over a year now, first in France and then here, and there isn’t a more likable, decent chap anywhere, even if he has a sharp tongue. And his anti-Semitism is the most natural thing in the world; I mean, it’s all a parcel with his views on women and horses, which are very solid indeed and have survived their encounter with the facts with hardly a scratch. But he wouldn’t harm a fly and in fact there’s no greater gentleman… Well, sir, we all drank to his health and went our ways, and I went mine firmly gripping the file as though it were a most wonderful book that I was about both to read and to write. I couldn’t wait to talk to the prisoner, who was mine now, all mine’… I knew he was still putting up a brave front and admitting nothing, and no sooner had Major Clark left the room than I was out in the wet, lonely night, heading for the guardhouse. It was nearly midnight; the melting snow was trickling underfoot; a huge moon buzzed down above the city walls as if it were being hauled in on a kite string; and suddenly, as I was crossing the walled city in utter silence from the Damascus to the Jaffa Gate, I heard a snuffling and a tinkling of bells; and a shepherdless flock of black goats came charging out of a lane in such a dark frenzy that they might have been a pack of devils looking for the Archfiend himself, and vanished down another lane and were swallowed up by the cobblestones. The church bells were ringing away, and there was a smell of freshly baked bread, and I was actually trembling with desire to begin, already haunted by the momentous feeling that has gripped me, waking and sleeping, for the past five weeks… and which, Colonel, is the reason I’m here now, tiring you without getting to the point, because the story keeps coming between us, and I’m afraid I may already have tried your patience too far…