Free The Night of Wenceslas by Lionel Davidson Page B

envelope. There was a booklet and a two-page letter. The letter, signed L. V. Svoboda, general manager, State Glass Board, read :
    Dear Pan Whistler,
    It is a privilege to welcome you to Prague. I enclose you a booklet relating to our glass industry and also a programme planned for your visit. The programme, as you will see, is brief but quite comprehensive, and it will be a convenience if you will telephone the undersigned on your arrival to indicate if any changes should be required. Believe me, dear Pan Whistler …
    The second page of the letter, headed Visit of N. Whistler, representative of Bohemian Glass and Bijouterie Limited , read:
    Wednesday 10.00. Discussions with L. V. Svoboda, State Glass Board offices, Ujezd 23. Followed by luncheon at showrooms, Vaclavske Namesti 48. Afternoon, Discussions with departmental managers, S. N. Czernin, P. Stein, B. R. Vlcek, and tour round departments.
    Thursday 10.00. Automobile to Zapotocky Glassworks (Kralovsk, 15 km.). Full day. Luncheon at works.
    Friday 10.00. Automobile to Tseblic Glassworks (Tseblic, 23 km.). Full day. Luncheon at works.
    Saturday. Free Day. Return visits or further Discussions as necessary.
    As L.V. Svoboda had said, brief but quite comprehensive. The visit to Pavelka’s old plant was on Thursday. That meant, all being well, that I would have the formula within forty-eight hours. It also meant I would have to carry the bloody thing around for a further forty-eight. Unless, as Cunliffe had suggested, I could cut short my stay.
    I had read the programme rapidly. Now, lighting a cigarette to try and control the shaking of my hands, I went through it again. No point in arousing suspicion by asking to leave immediately after visiting Pavelka’s factory; especially since they had only laid on two glassworks to be visited. The Saturday free day, then.
    I inhaled deeply, pondering this. A terrifying thought had struck me in the aeroplane that there might be some mess-up on the actual day. Cunliffe had not allowed for this. I was to ‘forget’ the Norstrund; someone would pick it up; it would be returned to me. Fine. But what if some ill-starred maniac refused to allow me to ‘forget’ it? What if it somehow weren’t returned to me? I might be very glad of that free day with its wise provision for Return Visits .
    As Cunliffe had said, it was natural enough for a visitor to carry a Norstrund around with him. So long as I put it promptly into service and carried on that way, all might be well. All things considered, the programme was best left as it was. L. V. Svoboda should be advised of this. I should also book my return flight for Sunday.
    I put down the programme and realized I was still clutching the Norstrund. It had not left my hand all day and was now sticky from the perspiration that had flowed freely. I thought I might have a shower first, and also a bottle of beer. I went to the telephone and ordered the beer, and then stood under the shower for ten minutes.
    I seemed to be washing off more than the grime of travel.
    When I emerged, refreshed and relaxed, the room was in green semi-darkness. A striped awning had been lowered on the balcony. The beer was waiting on a tray. I had heard no one come in.
    I took the beer out on the balcony, and drank it, looking down on the Vaclavske Namesti. The street was a-crawl with people. In the hot sun, a queue waited outside an Automat cafeteria opposite. The little trams clanged up and down. Far down the street, Wenceslas glittered in the hard light, and at the top end, by the Prikopy junction, an enormous picture of Lenin looked down, inscribed with the words, ‘Every hand, every brain for the building of socialism.’
    It seemed suddenly a very long way from London, from the Little Swine and the Princess May and Maura.
    Far down the street, the trees began to move in the museum gardens and a moment later the awning above my head fluttered as a small breeze swept the street. I finished my beer and lit a