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and Donald Maclean, among other things.” There was no denying Philippe had said that, even if the context had been subtly different.
    “Who is your contact? Is he reliable?” Sir Eustace frowned down at the file, and finding nothing there, frowned up.
    “I’ve no reason to think not.” But he had to go, nevertheless. Because now that the possibility of a leak had been aired, then the possible unreliability of Philippe Roux not only demonstrated his own shrewdness but also accounted for any small leakages which might otherwise now be traceable back to David Roche. So—adieu, Philippe . “But…”
    “Yes?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve just got a bad feeling about him. Nothing I could put my finger on—just a feeling.” The feeling was guilt, but in his present scale of priorities Roche thought he could handle it.
    “Who—“ Sir Eustace broke off as he caught the expression on Colonel Clinton’s face. “Yes, Fred? You think David has made his point?”
    The corner of Colonel Clinton’s mouth had twitched, but not with anything approaching amusement judging by the expression on the rest of his face.
    “He’s made his point right enough.” Clinton nodded. “But I was thinking of Roux, as a matter of fact.”
    “Roux?”
    “His contact—their liaison man. Philippe Roux.”
    “You know him?”
    “Not personally. But he was in Berlin about three years back, before my time. And he was on Gehlen’s Red List then as a probable KGB contact.”
    “That is good,” said Genghis Khan. “He gave you Roux—and he gave you Gehlen.”
    “Damn it—I gave him Roux!” The thought of Philippe Roux being no better than David Roche—and not only no better, but also not so good professionally speaking, if the West Germans had penetrated his cover— had been somehow shocking as well as disturbing. He had had Philippe down as true blue.
    “So you gave him only what he already knew, and in all innocence. And now you have told me, and I know—and that is good too,” Genghis Khan nodded approvingly. “And, what is more, I will do nothing about it, I assure you. Roux must take his chances—you are more important than Roux, David.”
    That was highly reassuring, but he couldn’t help looking at Genghis Khan interrogatively nevertheless.
    “Clinton trusts you. He gave you Gehlen—and he has been with the Gehlen Organisation for the last two years, liaising with them.” Genghis Khan nodded again. “So he gave you Roux, and he didn’t need to—and that is even more pleasing.”
    Roche wished that Genghis Khan could show his pleasure more obviously, but the face was still as expressionless as a waxwork.
    “I rather got the impression he didn’t like me much.”
    “Liking is not necessary. In any case, it is not you he dislikes, it is Sir Eustace Avery—and the man Latimer, he will be disliked too. I would guess that you are their choice, and they are thrusting you on Clinton. But at least he is disposed to make the best of you.”
    The way Genghis Khan was talking, estimating the likes and dislikes of the British top brass, suggested that he himself was above half-way up the ladder. And it also suggested that Genghis Khan had decided to emulate Colonel Clinton in trusting the eminently trustworthy David Roche with his confidences. And that happy state of affairs had to be capitalised on while it lasted, to help him play both sides against the middle as required. “I think you’d better explain that—‘thrusting me on Clinton’.” On second hearing it didn’t sound so flattering, either. “Why do they dislike each other? Just what is happening?”
    The pebble-eyes bored into him. “What is happening… what is happening is that they are each survivors of the great disaster which has befallen your service in recent years. Do you understand?”
    “No. Not really. Tell me.”
    Genghis Khan looked at his watch. “There is not time, not now. It is enough that they are two of the survivors—Clinton has