Free The spies of warsaw by Alan Furst

League of Nations, so sometimes I'm in Geneva.
    Talk about endless meetings."
    "Where's home, then?"
    "I'm Parisian by birth, Polish by heritage."
    "An emigre family."
    "Yes, I grew up speaking Polish at home, French everywhere else."
    "What do you do for the League?"
    "Report on legal claims, mostly, a form of arbitration. When the
    League redrew the Silesian border in 1921, after the third uprising,
    tens of thousands of Poles and Germans were in a new country, and
    private citizens continued to submit claims to the League, seeking
    satisfaction they couldn't get from local courts. It's the same up in
    Danzig, declared by the League a Free City, but what you have is a German population governed by Poles. All this led to local disputes--
    land ownership, unfair administration, tax problems. We don't have
    legal standing, but we try to arbitrate, and sometimes the local courts
    are responsive. Anyhow it's a last resort, for Poles and Germans, even
    though Germany left the League when Hitler came to power. The
    League is, if nothing else, persistent: war doesn't work, try the courts."
    "Try anything," Mercier said.
    That caught her attention, and she looked at him. "Not the usual
    sentiment," she said, "from someone in uniform."
    "You'd be surprised," Mercier said. "Once you've been in the middle of it . . ."
    She turned away and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on
    the arm of the backseat. "Well, now you'll be in it again. Spain is just
    the beginning, it'll spread from there."
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    "Inevitable, you believe?"
    "From the people I talk to, yes. Eaten up with grievance, especially
    the Germans. Getting even is what they think about."
    "You have a difficult job, Madame Szarbek."
    "Anna, please. And it's mademoiselle, for a while anyhow. Is your
    job easier than mine?"
    "No, not really."
    At the Europejski, they were led up a marble stairway to a private dining room, all wood-paneled walls and polished floor. Beneath crystal
    chandeliers, a long table was set for thirty; the sheen of the damask
    tablecloth, the heavy silver, and the gold-rimmed china glowed in the
    light of a dozen candelabra. They were greeted at the door by an officer of the Polish General Staff and his splendidly bejeweled wife. "We
    are so very pleased you could join us," she said, her smile gracious and
    warm. The room hummed with conversation; officers in uniform,
    most of the other men in evening wear, most of the women in formal
    gowns. Anna, perhaps momentarily taken aback by all the glitter,
    took Mercier's arm. He was instantly aware of the touch of her hand,
    resting lightly on his sleeve.
    From some distant century, an ancient waiter in a swallowtail coat
    moved toward them, parchment face lit by a beatific smile, parchment
    hands holding a silver tray, which trembled slightly, bearing two
    glasses of champagne. Drinks in hand, they watched him shuffle back
    toward the kitchen. Anna started to say something, but another officer
    wife descended on them, leading a small fellow in a dark suit, one of
    the men from Renault. After the introductions, she swept away, in
    search of other strays.
    "So, Monsieur Blanc," Mercier said, "a worthwhile visit, so far?"
    "Yes, I would say it is; we are making our case. The R-Thirty-five
    tank is a magnificent machine."
    "And what do you do for the Renault company?"
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    "I am one of the senior engineers--I concern myself mostly with
    treads."
    From Anna, an appreciative, encouraging nod. Treads!
    "Yes, that's me. And you, colonel?"
    "I'm the military attache, at the embassy."
    "Ah, then you must support us--these Poles can be stubborn.
    Don't you think, Madame Mercier?"
    "Oh yes, indeed, terribly stubborn."
    "Tell me, Major Kulski," Anna said, "do you favor the Renault
    machine?"
    "Mmm, well . . ."
    "Oh, perhaps you are