As he put the glass down on the bar he looked up. His eyes widened a little in surprise as he saw Nielecki at the other end of the bar. Nielecki looked like he always looked— like exactly what he was. He was short and stumpy and his overcoat fitted badly round the collar. His hat— one of those peculiar green Homburg hats which are only produced in the depressed areas of occupied countries— was worn perfectly straight on his head with its brim at the same angle all the way round. He was drinking lager beer and he carried his mouth towards the glass mug instead of raising the mug. His small eyes were still tired and shifty behind the horn-rimmed spectacles. Nielecki finished drinking; raised his head; saw Kiernan. He started.
Kiernan grinned at him. Always, when he met Nielecki; when he'd m
