“We’re not so stupid as we look,” I said.
Schäder looked at me, and laughed. He went on questioning me, stating his experience on the technique of government — the mechanical technique, the paper work, the files, the use of men.
He was being very patient in coming to his point. At last he knew enough about me. He said: “Tell me, Mr Eliot, what is to cause war between your country and mine? You are not the man to give me hypocritical reasons. Do you think you will fight for the balance of power?”
I waited for a second.
“I think we should,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes.
“That is interesting. You cannot keep the balance of power forever. Why should you trouble—”
“No one is fit to be trusted with power,” I said. I was replying to Roy, as well as to him. “No one. I should not like to see your party in charge of Europe, Dr Schäder. I should not like to see any group of men in charge — not me or my friends or anyone else. Any man who has lived at all knows the follies and wickedness he’s capable of. If he does not know it, he is not fit to govern others. And if he does know it, he knows also that neither he nor any man ought to be allowed to decide a single human fate. I am not speaking of you specially, you understand: I should say exactly the same of myself.”
Our eyes met. I was certain, as one can be certain in a duel across the table, that for the first time he took me seriously.
“You do not think highly of men, Mr Eliot.”
“I am one,” I said.
He shrugged his shoulders. He got back to his own ground, telling me that he did not suppose my countrymen shared my rather “unusual reasons” for believing in the balance of power. I was taking up the attack now, and replied that men’s instincts were often wiser than their words.
“So you think, if we become too powerful, you will go to war with us?”
I could see nothing at that table but Roy’s face, grave and stricken. During this debate he had been silent. He sat there before my eyes, listening for what I was bound to say.
“I think we shall,” I said.
“You are not a united country, Mr Eliot. Many people in England would not agree with you?”
He was accurate, but I did not answer. I said: “They hope it will not be necessary.”
“Yes,” said Roy in a passionate whisper. “They hope that.” Joan was staring at him with love and horror, praying that he would not say too much.
“We all hope that,” she said, in a voice that was deep with yearning for him. “But you’ve not been in England much lately. Opinion is changing. I must tell you about it — perhaps on the way home?”
“You must,” said Roy with a spark of irony. But he had responded to her; for a moment she had reached him.
“Will they not do more than hope?” said Schäder.
“It depends on you,” said Joan quickly.
“Will they not do more than hope?” Schäder repeated to Roy.
“Some will,” said Roy clearly.
Joan was still staring at him, as though she were guarding him from danger.
Eggar intervened, in a cheerful companionable tone: “There is all the good will in the world—”
“Let us suppose,” said Schäder, ignoring him, “that it comes to war. Let us suppose that we decide it is necessary to become powerful. To become more powerful than you and your friends believe to be desirable, Mr Eliot—”
“Believe to be safe,” I said.
“Let us suppose we have to extend our frontiers, Mr Eliot. Which some of your friends appear to dislike. You go to war. Then what happens?”
“We have been to war before,” I said.
“I am not interested in history. I am interested in this year and the next and the next. You go to war. Can you fight a war?”
“We must try.”
“You will not be a united people. There will be many who do not wish for war. There will be many who like us. They see our faults, but they like us. If there is a war, they will not wish to conquer us. What will they do?”
He expected Roy to answer. So did Joan and I. But Roy sat looking at the table. Was he moved by her love? Was he considering either of us? His eyes, usually so bright, were remote.
Schäder looked at him curiously. Not getting an answer, Schäder paused, and then went on: “How can you fight a war?”
In a few moments the conversation lagged, and Joan said, quite easily: “I really think I ought to get Roy to his house, Dr Schäder. This is his first day out of bed, you know. He looks awfully tired.”
Roy said without protest: “I should go, perhaps.” He gave a slight smile. “Eliot can stay and talk about war, Reinhold. You two need to talk about war.”
Schäder said, with the comradely physical concern that one often meets in aggressive, tough, powerful men: “Of course you must go if you are tired. You must take care, Roy. Please look after him, Miss Royce. He has many friends who wish to see him well.”
He showed them out with elaborate kindness, and then returned to Eggar and me. Eggar had realised that he must let Joan have Roy to herself, and he stayed listening while Schäder and I talked until late. I told Schäder — much more confidently than I felt at the time — that he must not exaggerate the effect of disunity in England. It was easy to alter opinions very quickly in the modern world. We had a long discussion on the effectiveness of propaganda. In the long run, said Schäder, it is utterly effective. “If we entertained you here for a few years, Mr Eliot, you would accept things that now you find incredible. In the long run, people believe what they hear — if they hear nothing else.”
He was a formidable man, I thought, as I walked home with Houston Eggar. I was troubled by his confidence: it was not the confidence of the stupid. He was lucky in his time, for he fitted it exactly. He was born for this kind of world. Yet he was likeable in his fashion.
“Calvert is not as discreet as he ought to be,” said Eggar, as we walked down the deserted street.
“No.” All my anxiety returned.
“It does not make our job easier. I wish you’d tell him. I know it’s just thoughtlessness.”
“I will if I get the chance,” I said.
“Between ourselves,” said Houston Eggar, “this is a pretty thankless job, Eliot. I suppose I can’t grumble. It’s a good jumping-off ground. It ought to turn out useful, but sometimes one doesn’t know what to do for the best. Everyone likes to have something to show for their trouble.”
I was touched. For all his thrust and bounce, he wanted some results from his work.
A clock was striking two when I let myself in at Roy’s front door. I had been anxious ever since he left the dinner. Now I was shaken by a sudden, unreasonable access of anxiety, such as one sometimes feels on going home after a week away.