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Florry. Our Russian tattletale worked in Amsterdam. He said his last job for his employers involved opening a special, secret communications link to Barcelona. He concluded from the rush and risk involved that the link could only be to service a secret, most sensitively placed agent. This happened on five August; Julian Raines arrived in Barcelona on fourAugust. And of the Apostle group, he and he alone is in Spain.”
    “You see, Mr. Florry, it
is
quite clear.”
    Florry shook his head.
    “What we need is somebody to go out to Spain and establish an especially close relationship with Julian Raines. We need somebody to keep watch over him; we need reports on his whereabouts, his chums, his little jobs for the Russians. We need evidence.”
    “And then?”
    “And then do the necessary. As the necessary has been done before, Mr. Florry, by brave young Englishmen.”
    “To kill him?”
    “One stops one’s enemies as one can or as one must.”
    “Good Christ.”
    “Were you in the war, Florry?”
    “No, of course not.”
    “Well, I have been in several. One learns to do what one must.”
    Florry saw now that the whole thing was a sham: Sir Denis and
The Spectator
working in concert with His Majesty’s government in the subtle, cozy, pleasant, particularly
English
way of doing such things. Offer Florry the life he wants; in exchange, take only his soul.
    “No,” Florry said. “You force me to be somewhat moralistic about this. It’s simply wrong.”
    “But surely, Mr. Florry, one’s
country
counts for more than—”
    “One’s friends are one’s country; or rather, without them, one’s country is meaningless.”
    He got up to leave. “I’m sure you will inform Sir Denis of my decision.” He turned smartly and walked to the door. It wouldn’t open.
    “Mr. Florry,” said Mr. Vane with some embarrassment,“there’s a rather large constable from Special Branch out there at our request. It’s his bulk that is blocking the doorway and he has his instructions.”
    “To arrest me, I suppose. On the charge of Refusal to Take Part in Ugly Plots.”
    “Mr. Florry, I must say, it’s your sanctimony that I find the most difficult to bear,” said the major at long last. “Vane, tell the moralistic Mr. Florry what the constable has in his pocket.”
    “It’s a warrant. And it is for your arrest. But the charge is perjury.”
    “Perjury?”
    “You do remember Benny Lal, do you not, Mr. Florry?” asked Vane.
    Something ripped at Florry’s chest.
    “One would think so. You wrote about him quite eloquently. Although you left out certain details, assistant superintendent,” said the major.
    Florry looked at the man, hating and fearing him at once.
    “Last year, another man confessed to the murder of U Bat. He was a member of the Burmese Po Ben Sien, or Freedom Party, a militant nationalist group that we believe to be controlled by Julian’s friends at Comintern. The movement eliminated U Bat when they realized he was secretly reporting to one of our politicals in the area. They killed him and tried to place the blame on us.”
    “So you’ve got me. Some years ago, I made the mistake of telling less than the truth, and now you’ve got me.”
    “Well, the option is a term in the Scrubs. Four years, I believe, is the term for perjury in a capital case. And Mr. Florry, even in the Scrubs there are cell blocks that might be pleasant and cell blocks that might be dreadful for such a handsome chap as you. I might go so far as to usewhat little influence I’ve got to see you end up among nellie-boys and poofs of a particularly aggressive nature. Not a pretty fate for a public-school boy.”
    “I say, you are a bastard, aren’t you?”
    “As a writer, you enjoy irony, don’t you, Florry? Here’s one for your collection. I have no doubt you did exactly the
right
thing in the matter of U Bat. It was necessary to close that case swiftly. At the same time, I have absolutely no compunction against using it