His hand had moved twice to his pocket while I'd been talking, and twice had stopped; but his breathing was painful now and he swung away and perked the thing out and squeezed it, his back to me.
It was almost silent, the improved model designed exclusively for people of discretion who prefer not to embarrass their friends.
'Excuse me,' he said.
On my way out I told him: 'Think it well over. There's just enough time. We've got a rendezvous in the morning, eight o'clock at Clive Steps. I hope you won't turn up.'
3: WARSAW
They looked like this when there'd been a military coup d'etat and they'd been hustled out of the cells and stood against a wall, the only concession a handkerchief across their eyes if they wanted one. This was how I remembered him on Clive Steps, standing perfectly still and perfectly straight in his neat dark coat, the first light seeping from a leaky sky and striking across his glasses.
How long had he been here? His face was white with cold, with nerves. Long enough to make sure I didn't turn up a minute early and go away again in the hope of getting rid of him by saying look, first he bungled the code-intro and then he missed the rendezvous so I'm not taking him out there, he's inefficient.
'Well it's your funeral,' I said.