... and I hung up the phone. The sound of his voice had left a chill in my spine, I had only heard a few words but I was sure it was him. Captain Richard Madden. Madden, calling from Viktor Runeberg's phone. I had checked the number, to be sure, and there was no doubt the phone was in his possession, which could only mean the end of our work and - though this should have seemed a secondary matter to me - of our lives also.

I threw my phone hard on the wall and it bounced back half cracked, still blinking. Although I knew it would likely make little difference I hastily scanned the room for an object that could finish the job. Madden, on Runeberg's phone could only mean that Runeberg had been arrested or murdered. Before the sun set on this same day, I ran the same risk.

I found a heavy wine bottle and dug it's heel into the splintered device, each crack shattering my rage until it gave way to despair. Madden was relentless. Or to be more accurate, he was obliged to be relentless. An Irishman in the service of England, a man suspected of equivocal feelings if not actual treachery. How could he not welcome and seize on this extrodinary piece of luck: the discovery, capture and perhaps death of two of our agents?

I went up to my bedroom. Absurd thought the gesture was, I locked the door behind me. I threw myself on my narrow bed, and waited on my back. The neverending landscape of city rooftops filled the window, and the hazy six o'clock sun hung in the sky. It seemed incredible that this day, without warnings or omens, might be the day of certain death. In despite of my dead father, having been a child of the symmetrical gardens of Hai Feng, was I to die now?

Then I reflected that all things happen, happen to one, pricesly now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present. There are countless men in the air, on land and at sea, and all that really happens happens to me ... The almost unbearable memory of Madden's long horseface put an end to these wandering thoughts.

In the midst of my hatred and terror, I knew that the fast-moving and doubtless happy soldier did not suspect that I possessed the Secret. Though this would not delay my death it might allow me to prevent the Secret from dying with me. A bird streaked across the misty sky and, absently, I turned it into an airplane and that airplane into the many skies of France, shattering their defences under a rain of bombs.

If only I could avoid the bullet long enough to shout the name in such a way that it would reach the ear of the Chief. The ear of that sick and hateful man, who knew nothing of me or Runeberg. How could he recieve a message of such importance from a man he did not know existed, while he sat with a full belly in his office, infinitely scrolling through newsreports, looking in vain for the impact of his orders.

I said aloud, "I must flee."

I sat up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence. As if Madden was already peering at me. Somthing - perhaps a desire to prove my total destitution to myself - made me empty out my pockets. I found just what I knew I was going to find. The mechanical watch, the nickel-plated chain and the square coin, the useless but copmromising keycard to Runeberg's office, the notebook, a handwritten letter which I decided to destroy at once (and which I did not destroy), a five pound note and some pennies, a red and blue pencil - and a revolver with a single bullet. Absurdly I held it and weighed it in my hand, to give myself courage. Vaguely I thought that a pistol shot can be heard from a great distance.

In less than ten minute I had developed my plan. The telephone directory gave me the name of the one person capable of passing on the information. He lived in a suburb of Fenton, less than half an hour away by train.

I am a timid man. I can say this now that I have brought my incredibly risky plan to an end. It was not easy to bring about and the thought of it's execution turned my stomach. I did not do it for my country! A place of no importance to me, particularly since it had degraded me by making me become a spy. Besides, I knew an Englishman - a modest man - and felt no ill will against him.

I carried out my plan becuase I felt the Chief had a fear of my race, of those uncountable ancestors whose culmination lies in me. I wished ot prove to him that a man of my race could save his armies. Besides, I had to escape Madden. His fist could knock on my door at any moment and seal my fate. Silently, I dressed, looked at myself in the mirror, went down the stairs, sneaked a look throught the curtains at the quiet street and went out. The station was not far from my house, but I thought it prudent to take a cab. I told myself that I ran less chance of being recognised. The truth is that, in the deserted street, I felt infinitely visible and vulnerable.

The cab rolled smoothly down my street, turned and headed towards the highway. A large black car swerved around the corner ahead of us and continued in the opposite direction. For a fleeting moment a brutish face loomed through the glare of the windscreen and my pulse quickened. I twisted in my seat, unable to tell if it was him, and was left with my panicked thoughts. I remember that I told the driver to stop a few streets away from the entrance. I got out with a painful and deliberate slowness.