Read Online The Confidential Agent by Graham Greene - Free Book Online

leafless square was empty, except for two Indians comparing lecture notes under the advertisements for Russian baths. He entered his hotel.
    A woman whom he supposed was the manageress was in the hall – a dark bulky woman with spots round her mouth. She gave him an acute commercial look and called, ‘Else! Else! Where are you, Else?’ harshly.
    â€˜It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I will find her on my way up.’
    â€˜The key ought to be here on its hook,’ the woman said.
    â€˜Never mind.’
    Else was sweeping the passage outside the room. She said, ‘Nobody’s been in.’
    â€˜Thank you. You are a good watcher.’
    But as soon as he was inside he knew that she hadn’t told the truth. He had placed his wallet in an exact geometrical relationship to other points in the room, so that he could be sure. . . . It had been moved. Perhaps Else had been dusting. He zipped the wallet open – it contained no papers of importance, but their order had been altered. He called ‘Else!’ gently. Watching her come in, small and bony with that expression of fidelity she wore awkwardly like her apron, he wondered whether there was anybody in the world who couldn’t be bribed. Perhaps he could be bribed himself – with what? He said, ‘Somebody was in here.’
    â€˜Only me and—’
    â€˜And who?’
    â€˜The manageress, sir. I didn’t think you’d mind her .’ He felt a surprising relief at finding that, after all, there was a chance of discovering honesty somewhere. He said, ‘Of course you couldn’t keep her out, could you?’
    â€˜I did my best. She said as I didn’t want her to see the untidiness. I said you’d told me – no one. She said, “Give me that key.” I said, “Mr D. put this in my hands and said I wasn’t to let anybody in.” Then she snatched it. I didn’t mean her to come in. But afterwards I thought, well, no harm’s done. I didn’t see how you’d ever know.’ She said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t ought to ’ave let her in.’ She had been crying.
    â€˜Was she angry with you?’ he asked gently.
    â€˜She’s given me the sack.’ She went on hurriedly, ‘It don’t matter. It’s slavery here – but you pick up things. There’s ways of earning more – I’m not going to be a servant all my life.’
    He thought: the infection’s still on me after all. I come into this place, breaking up God knows what lives. He said, ‘I’ll speak to the manageress.’
    â€˜Oh, I won’t stay – not after this. She’ – the confession came out like a crime – ‘slapped my face.’
    â€˜What will you do?’
    Her innocence and her worldly knowledge filled him with horror. ‘Oh, there’s a girl who used to come here. She’s got a flat of her own now. She always said as how I could go to her – to be her maid. I wouldn’t have anything to do with the men, of course. Only open the door.’
    He exclaimed, ‘No. No.’ It was as if he had been given a glimpse of the guilt which clings to all of us without our knowing it. None of us knows how much innocence we have betrayed. He would be responsible. . . . He said, ‘Wait till I’ve talked to the manageress.’
    She said with a flash of bitterness, ‘It’s not very different what I do here, is it?’ She went on, ‘It wouldn’t be like being a servant at all. Me and Clara would go to cinemas every afternoon. She wants company, she says. She’s got a Pekinese, that’s all. You can’t count men.’
    â€˜Wait a little. I’m sure I can help you – somehow.’ He had no idea, unless perhaps Benditch’s daughter . . . but that was unlikely after the episode of the car.
    â€˜Oh, I won’t be leaving for a