A disappointing spy

Not what Fowler expected. Fowler, 'a writer, young and romantic', wanted to meet a real secret agent. He imagined 'mysterious figures in the night, the crack of pistols, drugs in the wine'. Instead he follows Ausable down a musty corridor of a gloomy French hotel to a small room on the sixth and top floor.

Ausable. He is fat, 'very fat', and wheezes when he talks. He speaks French and German well enough, but still has the American accent he brought to Paris from Boston twenty years ago. They have spent a dull evening at a music hall.

A promise of drama. Ausable sees Fowler is disappointed. He says that soon a very important paper will come to him, a paper for which 'several men and women have risked their lives', and which 'may well affect the course of history'.

First real thrill. He switches on the light. Halfway across the room stands Max, a rival agent, 'slender' with a face like 'the crafty, pointed countenance of a fox', holding a small automatic pistol. 'Max,' Ausable wheezes, 'I thought you were in Berlin.'

What Max wants. 'The report… concerning some new missiles. I thought I would take it from you.'