Free The Night of Wenceslas by Lionel Davidson

room? I didn’t know. I didn’t know about anything. It was the first time she had done this. I bent down and put on the shoe and gazed at her in some bewilderment.
    She said, ‘Would you like to stop looking like one o’clock struck and tell me what’s happening?
    ‘You caught me by surprise. I didn’t expect to find you.’
    ‘I thought I’d look in and say hello. I might not see you before you go off. You don’t mind, do you?’
    ‘No. No. Not a bit.’
    She looked at me shrewdly. ‘The trip is still on, is it?’
    ‘Yes. Absolutely.’
    ‘I expect your mother was pretty pleased.’
    ‘Yes. Delighted.’
    ‘Well, good.’
    ‘Yes.’
    A pistol shot suddenly went off on the wireless, and I jumped about a foot. Maura turned the wireless off and said, ‘Look here, Nicolas, what’s up?’
    ‘Nothing. I’m a bit tired, Maura. It was the drive back, I expect.’
    She looked at me consideringly for a moment, and said slowly, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’
    I didn’t say anything.
    ‘No idea when you’ll be back?’
    ‘In a week or two, I expect. I don’t know for sure.’ I wondered if she did.
    ‘Right.’ She stood up and stuffed her sweets in her handbagand slipped on a jacket. ‘Perhaps you’ll look me up when you come back.’ Her lopsided smile came on briefly.
    I wanted to take her hand then, but desisted. ‘I’m sorry about this, Maura. I’m terribly tired.’
    ‘That’s all right. I can see myself down.’
    I saw her down, but I made no offer to accompany her home. In the dark hall I felt closer to her than I had been in the light, felt suddenly that I should take her in my arms and get rid of the suspicion once and for all. But I knew it wouldn’t get rid of the suspicion. She said good night and went down the path without looking back.
    I walked slowly back upstairs and smoked a cigarette on the divan and undressed and got into bed. Just for a moment as I swam light-headedly into sleep, it all seemed believable.

Chapter 4
1
    As we filed into the airport bus at Cromwell Road on Tuesday morning, I could see Cunliffe watching me from his car parked across the road, so to give him a little early-morning pick-me-up, I dropped the guide book I was carrying. It was a gesture of the merest bravado. I felt acutely frail, boneless, bodiless almost without the book.
    The man behind me picked it up and gave it back to me and I thanked him, marvelling that I was not sick with hysteria all over it. This book – it now seemed to me unbelievably obvious – was the nub of my mission. Beneath its flyleaf when I returned would be Pavelka’s formula.
    Cunliffe had explained the operation to me in endless and sickening detail. I must carry the book everywhere. I must allow it to leave my hand only once – in Pavelka’s factory where I had to ‘forget’ it on the desk in the manager’s office. It would be returned to me before I left.
    ‘That is really all you need to know,’ Cunliffe had said. One may claim without immodesty that it is quite a neat little scheme. It is entirely natural for you to carry a Norstrund about – indeed, it is the only up-to-date guide book on Czechoslovakia. You will find it invaluable. Prague is a beautiful city with many ancient monuments. Relax. Enjoy yourself. I am only sorry you have to know you will be carrying the – the bit of paper.’
    I was sorry, too.
    I got in the bus and it shortly moved off and I turned my head to see if Cunliffe was following. His car stayed where it was. I was glad of this. I had stayed awake half the previous night toying with expedients that might prevent my departure. These included throwing an epileptic fit at the airport, or locking myself in the lavatory until the plane had gone.
    At the airport, although I could not quite screw up the gall to throw the epileptic fit, I did lock myself in the lavatory, staying there for longer than seemed humanly or technically feasible. The party was still there when I