A Noble Profession

by Pierre Boulle

  trying to avoid revealing their presence. She walked straight ahead without hesitation, although it was pitch dark. On two occasions, when he put his hand on her shoulder so as not lose touch with her, he noticed she was feverishly hot.

  She slackened her pace, came to a halt behind a thicket, and whispered in his ear:

  “This is the place.”

  They were almost at the front gate, which had been left half open. After listening for a moment or two, Claire gave a sign for him to follow her. They crossed a path, slipped into the garden, crept along the fence, and entered a sort of tower that must have served at one

  time as a pigeon loft. This was her hiding place. It had a ladder that gave access to the roof. They climbed up and made themselves as comfortable as possible so as to be able to wait for a long time without shifting their positions.

  A crescent moon was beginning to shed its light over the wood. At the end of the garden, the white front of the villa stood out clearly against the trees. Thanks to a passing cloud, Austin was able to make out a faint glimmer behind the shutters of the living room. He tried to visualize Arvers waiting there for his visitors.

  The wood all around them appeared to be deserted. After peering into the dark patch of each thicket, he could see nothing to rouse his suspicions. Claire pointed out Gleicher’s villa, some fifty yards farther on. In that direction, too, everything seemed quite peaceful. They had arrived well ahead of time. They waited like this for almost two hours, on the alert for the slightest sound, but without detecting anything to justify their caution.

  Suddenly she touched his shoulder, but he, too, had seen it—a rectangle of light in front of Gleicher’s villa. Two silhouettes were visible for an instant; then the door closed behind them without a sound.

  “Only two of them, as agreed,” Austin whispered. She made no reply. After a minute or two the figures reappeared on the path and passed immediately below them. Claire pointed out Gleicher: she had recognized him by his limp, although his face was partly hidden in a scarf. He had always been sensitive to cold and dreaded the damp at night.

  They stopped in front of the gate, scrutinized the house and the immediate surroundings for some time, then entered the garden. Austin, who was observant by nature and whose every sense was quickened, noticed that Gleicher’s companion stood aside to let him pass through. He also observed that Gleicher made a gesture of impatience and muttered something under his breath, whereupon Otto hurried in ahead of him. This little scene, on the face of it insignificant, started off a train of thought in Austin's mind; but for the moment he did not follow it to its logical conclusion, so eager was he not to miss a single detail of the next act.

  Arvers must have been on the lookout, for he opened the front door before the Germans even had time to knock, and came out to meet them. For a moment he stood in full light, and Austin was struck by the change in his appearance.

  "He hasn’t arrived yet.”

  "Yet we’ve taken the trouble to be here on time,”

  said Otto, who was now playing his part with authority.

  "I don’t think he’ll be much longer,” Arvers replied timidly.

  The three men went inside and the door closed behind them, much to the disappointment of Austin, who was anxious to hear more. In the darkness and ensuing silence, Claire and he then started to keep a close watch on Gleicher’s villa, since they felt that any danger was bound to come from that direction. But the house was now fully visible in the light of the moon and appeared to be fast asleep.

  They went on waiting for another half hour. At least twenty times Austin was tempted to climb down from his observation post and keep the appointment. Finally he glanced at his companion, who seemed dreadfully disappointed, and said almost regretfully:

  “It doesn’t look like a trap to me. There are only two of them. I’m going down to join them. Wait for me here.’’

  He was just getting up to leave when an impression recorded a short time before suddenly flashed through his mind—the behavior of the two Germans at the front gate: Otto’s instinctive move to step aside, and Gleicher’s gesture of protest, which looked like a reprimand. He followed the train of thought that had been started off at the time and came to the only logical

  conclusion: Gleicher was the real chief. He was the one behind the whole scheme; he had organized it down to the last detail. Why this deception, then, unless with a hostile aim in view? The time it took him to work out this problem in his mind prevented him from putting

  his plan into action. He was still hesitating when there was a sound of footsteps inside the house. Presently the three men emerged under the light at the entrance.

  This abortive meeting had infuriated Gleicher. In his anger he forgot to confine himself to his role of subordinate and assumed his usual arrogant manner.

  “My dear sir,” he said in an icy tone, “do you really think I’m going to wait here all night for your chief to turn up? He should have been here an hour ago.”

  “I can’t understand it,” Arvers stammered. “He must have been unavoidably detained. I did all I possibly could, I assure you.”

  “I’m only interested in results. I warned you I’d hold you responsible if anything went wrong.”

  A note of entreaty crept into Arvers’ voice.

  “Just give me one more chance. I assure you I really did persuade him to agree to this meeting. I’m sure to hear from him sooner or later, and I’ll arrange another appointment at once.”

  Gleicher hesitated, but the business was too important for him to refuse.

  “All right then,” he finally agreed, “one last chance—the last chance for you. I hope I’ve made myself clear, Herr Arvers?”

  “He may still turn up tonight, for all I know.”

  “We’re not prepared to wait indefinitely. Besides, Otto has to get back to Paris. No, it’s off for tonight . . . Just the same,” he added after a moment’s reflection, “if you do hear from him, let me know. Is that clear? It’s your last chance, remember, Herr Arvers.”

  29

  Austin could hear only part of this conversation, but it was enough to lend weight to Claire's

  accusation: Arvers really seemed to be a tool in the Germans' hands. He was about to go and ask him to account for himself when she suddenly motioned to him to sit down. A faint sound had attracted her attention. The front door opened again and a figure furtively approached the threshold. All the lights inside the house had been switched off, but the sky was sufficiently

  clear for them to recognize the figure as Arvers. He paused on the doorstep, half hidden behind a pillar, and remained there, motionless and silent, peering out into the darkness.

  Alone in the villa after the Germans had left, Arvers had lapsed into a state of gloom.

  Austin had not turned up. The reason was obvious: he was suspicious—suspicious of the Germans, of course, but also of him, Arvers. His unique sensitivity to what other people thought about him was infallible. From the tone of Austin’s voice over the telephone, he had been able to tell that the Englishman’s suspicions were aroused by something in his own behavior.

  In spite of his dismay, he made an effort to reason with himself dispassionately. What would he himself, the craftiest agent of all, have done if he had suspected a trap? He would have pretended to agree to the meeting and then discreetly kept the place under close observation without revealing his presence. That was probably how Austin had acted. Perhaps he was still lying in wait at this very moment?

  It was at this stage of Arvers’ deductions that he left the house, after turning out all the lights. The darkness and the silence excited him; his nerves were already strained beyond endurance by the ordeals of the last few months. Suddenly the forest seemed extraordinarily hostile, concealing in the shadow of every bush someone bent on his destruction. His enemies—by whom he meant anyone who discussed him behind his back—he imagined those enemies gathered together this evening in this secluded comer of Brittany, tempo- raril
y united in their common feeling of ill-will toward him. Dr. Fog, who had entrusted him with this mission only in order to bring about his ruin, was undoubtedly one of them. Claire was also there, in the forefront. She must have told them about him and guided them to his hide-out. Austin had talked it over with her before telephoning him—probably at her mother’s, that old witch who hated him even more than did the others.

  What could she have said about him? She loathed and despised him in spite of the heroism of which he had given ample proof. To have risked his life twenty times over, courted danger every minute of the day, contended with a menacing brute regardless of the consequences—all this was to no avail. He had been prepared to liquidate Bergen. He had changed his mind only from a sense of duty, to avoid the inevitable reprisals and the death of dozens of innocent people.

  And that idiot girl had jumped to the conclusion that he was frightened of meeting a man face to face and killing him! The absurdity of this idea brought a smile to his lips. How little she knew him! He had proved himself in this respect as well, but he could scarcely flaunt his prowess in broad daylight.

  He shook his head to prevent the revival of other memories that threatened to set his thoughts on a sinister course. It was his immediate enemies that mattered tonight, particularly Claire. It was Claire’s opinion that he had to contend with. To her he would always be a coward; nothing would make her change her mind. Nothing, except perhaps . . .

  He turned back into the house for a moment and disappeared from view. He had no definite purpose in mind—it was simply that he thought he had seen a glimmer of hope in the darkness, and his subconscious had propelled him inside. He was away less than a min-

  ute. When he reappeared he was holding in his out- stretched hands a small object that neither Claire nor Austin could distinguish clearly. Almost immediately he stuffed it into his pocket, keeping his fist clenched tightly around it.

  A sudden beam of light illuminated the path as a car drove out of the garden of the villa beyond. Austin remembered what Gleicher had said: this was Otto leaving for Paris. The car soon vanished into the distance. From their observation post they could see Gleicher as he closed the gate before going inside. When Austin re- turned back in Arvers’ direction, he could not see him

  anywhere until presently he emerged from the shadows where he had been crouching to avoid the headlights. At that instant he was clearly visible in the moonlight, and his gaze seemed to be fixed on one specific spot. His haggard face was turned in the direction of the other villa.

  What had Claire reported? How much did she know, exactly? In spite of all his precautions, had he given himself away at any time during the months they had been living together, especially during the last few weeks? He could not be perpetually on guard; perhaps he might have said something in his sleep? Had she followed him to Gleicher’s without his knowing it? She was capable of anything. And if she had, she might have . . .

  He uttered an obscene oath. That must be it—she had heard the recording. It made such a noise, such an infernal din; even on the telephone it made his ears ring. . . . And she had faithfully sent every word of it back to London, by means of a special code. All his enemies, both in England and in France, were now aware of the existence of the tape. To get hold of it was the sole purpose of their maneuvers, for Claire’s tittle-tattle was not enough; they had to have the material evidence in their hands. That was why Austin had come back to France, and his absence this evening assumed a deeper significance. Since Dr. Fog had ordered him to get hold of the tape at any price, naturally he had to get in touch with Gleicher, but without Arvers’ being there.

  The whole situation was gradually becoming clearer with each fresh pulsation of his fevered brain. Why should they need him, after all? They were simply waiting until he had gone to bed before going off to find Gleicher and make a deal with him. Gleicher would hand over the tape as proof of his good will, only too pleased with this opportunity to do him a bad turn. It was even more than likely that the whole thing had been arranged in advance. Gleicher had been leading him on the whole time. He had been mad to trust him—how can one ever trust a German? Gleicher obviously found it more profitable to negotiate with Austin than with him. Not only did they all look upon him as a coward but they considered him to be of no account.

  There was no longer any doubt in his mind. Gleicher had stayed behind alone in the villa to negotiate the deal—alone with the tape recording.

  This mixture of shrewdness and wild aberration culminated in a conclusion of such logic and purity that he experienced a kind of pleasure he had not known for a long time—the certainty of having recovered the strength and all the keenness of his intellect.

  His fate depended on this document and on its present owner. Right now, in a single movement his subconscious had already planned and that his mind was now beginning to analyze in detail, he could not only get hold of it but could also confound his enemies by

  proving he was capable of accomplishing the most dreadful and most laudable feat of all. Theoretically, the plan was perfect. All that remained was to spur his body into action.

  Well, he’d show them! The simplicity and beauty of his reasoning had kindled a fire in his flesh and muscles. To redeem his honor and at the same time compel his foes to recognize his true heroic stature just when they thought that victory was theirs—this was a prospect of intoxicating bliss, the only one acceptable to his supreme egotism, the only one that could overcome the instincts of his timid nature.

  Before he could make up his mind to take the first step, the thought that had previously brought a haughty, contemptuous smile to his lips occurred to him again: Claire was absolutely devoid of perspicacity; he knew perfectly well he was capable of killing—in certain circumstances! He no longer tried to dismiss the horror from his mind. On the contrary, he derived an additional stimulation from contemplating it and, with his hand still clenched in his pocket, he strode out of the house.

  30

  “What on earth is he up to now?” Claire muttered in a voice that betrayed her nervous tension.

  Arvers was creeping along the path toward Gleicher’s villa as silently as a ghost. He paused for a moment at the front gate, then slipped into the garden. Austin had a feeling that the final act was yet to be played and motioned to his companion. They climbed down from the pigeon loft and in their turn crept up toward the villa, keeping in the shadow of the trees. Hiding behind some bushes, they heard a muffled sound of music: Gleicher was indulging in his favorite diversion. Cautiously parting the branches, they caught sight of Arvers twenty yards away in front of the door and on the point of knocking. He had been standing there all the time they were approaching.

  The phonograph record must have drowned the sound, for there was no answer. Arvers waited a minute, then knocked again, more loudly and repeatedly. The music continued, but Austin presently heard Gleicher’s voice.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It’s me,” said Arvers. “I thought you wouldn’t have gone to bed yet. I just wanted to let you know that my chief from London has turned up.”

  The door was held ajar, then flung wide open. The light from the hall blazed out into the garden. Gleicher glanced out and gave a scornful titter as he saw Arvers standing there alone.

  “You almost frightened me, Herr Arvers. I wasn’t expecting you, and all by yourself, too.”

  Austin saw Arvers wince at the insult, but his only reply was to apologize for the misunderstanding.

  “It’s not my fault,” he said. “His car broke down and he had to borrow a bicycle. He’s sorry he’s so late, but he would very much like to meet you now if you would

  be kind enough to step over to my place.” “Otto has just left,” Gleicher grumbled. “Nevertheless, there’s no harm in having a preliminary talk. I’d like to know what he’s like. . . . But does he think

  I’m at his beck and call? I’ve already inconvenienced myself once tonight.”

  Arvers assumed a still
more obsequious tone.

  “I don’t quite know what to say. I think he’s a bit suspicious, in spite of all I’ve told him. That’s only natural; he doesn’t know you. Besides, he thinks you’re only an intermediary. I’ve told him you’re prepared to be of service to him. Those were your own instructions.”

  Gleicher peered at him intently. He hesitated for some time, remembering the conversation he had had with Otto just before the latter left for Paris. Otto had said he didn’t like the idea of leaving him there all alone, next door to a man who had every reason to hate him.

  “Nonsense, Otto, I have nothing to fear from him. He hasn’t the guts to do me any harm. When the Gestapo arrested him, he didn’t lift a finger to resist them.”

  “Sudden violence paralyzes him,” Otto had replied.

  “It may not be the same when he’s given time to think.”

  This remark was sufficiently shrewd to have made Gleicher pause to consider it for a moment. He realized that his assistant was making some progress in the particular field to which he himself attached so much importance, namely psychology. But he could not accept the views of a subordinate on this subject.

  “Not on your life,” he retorted scornfully. “He’s one of those people who are physically incapable of shedding blood, even to save their own lives.”

  “Yes, I agree, Herr Doktor, but there could be an even more powerful motive. . . . And talking about that Gestapo business, there’s one point I still don’t understand.”

  It seemed so very strange of Otto to pursue this argument, at the risk of incurring his chief’s displeasure, that Gleicher asked him to explain himself.

  “It’s a detail that has always puzzled me and I’ve been thinking about it a great deal these last few days. How did his operator, Morvan, die? We’ve always assumed the Gestapo killed him. Well, now, I got in touch again with my agent, who interrogated the survivors all over again, and they still seem quite convinced about it.”