by Anthony Grey
He wandered off idly across the room, picking up the jade mandarin figure from beside the vodka bottle. He carried it across to the window and held it towards the light. He stood for a long while gazing absently out into the street, stroking the pale green stone. ‘We’re beginning to get a picture, piece by piece.’
And if only the damned Americans didn’t try to do everything on their own.... He spoke quietly to himself without looking up from the jade figure, as if the room was empty.
Moynahan looked up from what he was doing, but Crowdleigh did not complete the sentence. When he had finished his photography, Moynahan returned the documents to the envelope and re-sealed it with some gum from a bottle in the desk. He held it up for Crowdleigh’s inspection and the Cabinet Office man nodded quickly and led the way out into the ball. He waited while Moynihan opened the door for him. He almost out of the door when he leaned back and picked up the evening paper from the hall table He looked at the picture of Mao Tse-tung and the headline for a moment, then raised his eyebrows at Moynahan as though in silent self-congratulation that they had not been careless enough to leave it behind. He tucked it away in a pocket of black jacket, drew back the heavy metal gates of the lift and disappeared inside, without any parting salutation
Moynahan stood listening to the moan of the lift as it sank slowly down towards the ground floor. Then he turned back and switched out the light inside the hall of Scholefield’s flat. He locked the door carefully behind him, leaned against It once to make sure, then walked off into the darkness of the hall and down the stairs.
END
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