Free Ashenden by W. Somerset Maugham

manner you get them is no business of his.’
    â€˜That goes without saying. There is only one thing I wish to make quite plain; Mr. Somerville understands of course that I have not accepted the mission with which you have entrusted me on account of the money?’
    â€˜Quite,’ replied R. gravely, looking him straight in the eyes.
    â€˜I am with the Allies body and soul, I cannot forgive the Germans for outraging the neutrality of Belgium, and if I accept the money that you have offered me it is because I am first and foremost a patriot. I can trust Mr. Somerville implicitly, I suppose?’
    R. nodded. The Mexican turned to Ashenden.
    â€˜An expedition is being arranged to free my unhappy country from the tyrants that exploit and ruin it and every penny that I receive will go on guns and cartridges. For myself I have no need of money; I am a soldier and I can live on a crust and a few olives. There are only three occupations that befit a gentleman, war, cards and women; it costs nothing to sling a rifle over your shoulder and take to the mountains – and that is real warfare, not this manoeuvring of battalions and firing of great guns – women love me for myself, and I generally win at cards.’
    Ashenden found the flamboyance of this strange creature, with his scented handkerchief and his gold bracelet, very much to his taste. This was far from being just the man in the street (whose tyranny we rail at but in the end submit to) and to the amateur of the baroque in human nature he was a rarity to be considered with delight. He was a purple patch on two legs. Notwithstanding his wig and his hairless big face, he had undoubtedly an air; he was absurd, but he did not give you the impression that he was a man to be trifled with. His self-complacency was magnificent.
    â€˜Where is your kit, Manuel?’ asked R.
    It was possible that a frown for an instant darkenedthe Mexican’s brow at the abrupt question that seemed a little contemptuously to brush to one side his eloquent statement, but he gave no other sign of displeasure. Ashenden suspected that he thought the Colonel a barbarian insensitive to the finer emotions.
    â€˜I left it at the station.’
    â€˜Mr. Somerville has a diplomatic passport so that he can get it through with his own things at the frontier without examination if you like.’
    â€˜I have very little, a few suits and some linen, but perhaps it would be as well if Mr. Somerville would take charge of it. I bought half a dozen suits of silk pyjamas before I left Paris.’
    â€˜And what about you?’ asked R., turning to Ashenden.
    â€˜I’ve only got one bag. It’s in my room.’
    â€˜You’d better have it taken to the station while there’s someone about. Your train goes at one ten.’
    â€˜Oh?’
    That was the first Ashenden had heard that they were to start that night.
    â€˜I think you’d better get down to Naples as soon as possible.’
    â€˜Very well.’
    R. got up.
    â€˜I’m going to bed. I don’t know what you fellows want to do.’
    â€˜I shall take a walk about Lyons,’ said the Hairless Mexican. ‘I am interested in life. Lend me a hundred francs, Colonel, will you? I have no change on me.’
    R. took out his pocket-book and gave the General the note he asked for. Then to Ashenden:
    â€˜What are you going to do? Wait here?’
    â€˜No,’ said Ashenden, ‘I shall go to the station and read.’
    â€˜You’d both of you better have a whisky and soda before you go, hadn’t you? What about it, Manuel?’
    â€˜It is very kind of you, but I never drink anything but champagne and brandy.’
    â€˜Mixed?’ asked R. dryly.
    â€˜Not necessarily,’ returned the other with gravity.
    R. ordered brandy and soda and when it came, whereas he and Ashenden helped themselves to both, the Hairless Mexican poured himself out three parts of a tumbler of neat