Ilya Simonov looked at him wanly. “That too, Kliment.”
“You are jesting!”
“No. Not really. I had hoped to become engaged—soon.”
“A party member? I never thought of you as the marrying type, Ilya.”
Simonov said slowly, “Yes, a Party member. Catherina Panova, my assistant in the automobile agency in Prague.”
Blagonravov scowled heavily at him, put forth his fat lips in a thoughtful pout. He came to his feet, approached a file cabinet, fishing from his pocket a key ring. He unlocked the cabinet, brought forth a sheaf of papers with which he returned to his desk. He fumbled though them for a moment, found the paper he wanted and read it. He scowled again and looked up at his agent.
“Your first report,” he said. “Catherina Panova. From what you say here, a dangerous reactionary. Certainly
