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stopped.
    â€œChi cosa dite?” a voice called.
    I went in.

Chapter Four
    A big untidy room that looked as if a jackdaw had been collecting newspapers. Wicker chairs and Turkish rugs, lace curtains behind blackout curtains; a baby grand and a fat man with a stump of a cheroot between his irregular discoloured teeth.
    He had started on the music again and I waited until the piece was over, standing self-consciously in the open doorway.
    â€œThat was very fine,” I said in Italian. “ You must play it for me again sometime.”
    He got up and shut the window, then walked over and shut the door behind me.
    â€œI’m damned if I do. They might have chosen something less hackneyed. You’re four days late, Signor Catania.”
    We stared at each other.
    â€œMussolini’s navy was not able to issue a navicert,” I replied.
    I had of course known that the pianist would be no long-haired, fine-featured student; but the reality really was rather a disappointment. A man in the middle forties, of medium height, with small self-confident black eyes, a sallow skin that would never stay shaven long enough to look clean. A smart but greasy blue suit with pin stripe, big blue and white spotted the and spotted handkerchief to match, too much of it showing. He looked like a man with a deficiency of ascorbic acid, one who took too little exercise and ate too many sweets. A prosperous bookmaker or the manager of a high-class brothel. But his fat was not soft fat.
    â€œSit down,” he said in English, speaking with an intonation I couldn’t place. “Name of Andrews. So you’re Mencken.”
    â€œEdmondo Catania,” I said. “Would you wish to see my passport?”
    â€œThanks, no. I know more about you than you do yourself. When did you get here?”
    â€œTwo o’clock this afternoon.”
    â€œAny difficulties on landing?”
    â€œNo. They seemed to approve of my coming home to enlist.”
    His cigar wagged and he showed more teeth. “We were getting that anxious, wondering what had happened to you. It’s been left pretty late now. You must meet Captain Bonini first thing in the morning.”
    On the threshold of the task I suddenly found resolution failing again. Courage had come with me like a noisy crowd to a town gate: now, faced with the guards, it was melting away.
    â€œBonini?”
    â€œYes. Sit down and I’ll rell you about him. Cigar?”
    I took one—not that I wanted one—sat down. His face was close to mine as he offered me a light. Garlic and cheap scent. His eyes were dogmatic but his cleft chin weak.
    He said: “ You are half British, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat’s the other half—German?”
    â€œAustrian.” He must have known.
    â€œMuch the same thing, isn’t it?”
    â€œNot to me.”
    â€œHitler’s a Bavarian. You’re part of the Herrenvolk .”
    â€œI am not ashamed of my Austrian blood.”
    â€œAh, well, no.” He sat back and crossed his fat legs. “It takes all sorts to make a nation. I must confess I don’t exactly adore Germans. It’s a weakness, you know, a weakness in an agent to have likes and dislikes of his own.”
    â€œI wouldn’t think that. It might be a mistake to prejudices.”
    He blew out a cloud of smoke. “ I’ve got those too.”
    Silence fell. I noticed a ladies’ fashion magazine open among all the newspapers, some French novels; calendars on the walls advertising Chianti and Valpolicella.
    â€œBonini,” I prompted.
    â€œBy the way, don’t call me Andrews. My name is Brevio. Michele Brevio. You feeling a bit het-up about all this?”
    â€œI left England knowing practically nothing,” I said, annoyed.
    â€œAll this cloak and dagger stuff. It must be unsettling, oh, I agree. But In fact most of it’s dreary routine. I hope yours will be. Try to look on it