Chapter 15 man from the nile k

In the years after they met and fell in love in Egypt, although Rand and Leila often revisited their old places, Leila seldom mentioned to Rand their experiences before their marriage.When they met, Layla was a young archaeologist exploring the Nile for Cairo University.At that time a large number of Russian technicians entrenched in the city.That seemed a long time ago, and although she was approaching fifty now, she was still a dignified, energetic woman. "You are as beautiful now as when we first met," he said to her one day before going to bed. "I was soaking wet then," she reminded him, "and swimming in that very polluted Nile. They say swimming there now would kill me."

"Sometimes not knowing the truth doesn't hurt us." His joke was a bit cold, she didn't react right away, she didn't speak until two full minutes later, he thought she had fallen asleep. "Jeffrey, there are things that may hurt you that you don't know about." Her voice was so serious that he propped himself up on one arm and turned to her: "What is it?" "I met a man in Egypt before we met. I never mentioned it to you." "Meet? You mean to have a relationship?" He was fully awake at this time. "I think so. He's a Russian named Victor Konstantin. He has the most beautiful and thickest black hair."

Memories of his time in Egypt came flooding back. "Is he a technician?" "Yes, but not just a technician, but an intelligence officer. That's why I never told you. He's the enemy you fought against, and I've been with him for months when you and I met." "What was his position at the time?" "Do you remember the yachts along the Nile? The Russians used them to transmit radio signals." "How could I forget? That's what the Germans did when the Romans approached Cairo's borders." "Victor's station is on one of the yachts. His code name is Nile K."

"But you didn't tell me all this time." "I'm done with him, there's no need to mention it again." Rand had adapted to the darkness, and he could almost see her pained expression. "Then why are you bringing it up today?" he asked. "Because Victor Constantine came to see me at the school yesterday afternoon." Then they got up and went to the kitchen.Leila poured two glasses of juice and continued their conversation. "I wanted to tell you last night," she confessed, "but I never got the chance until now." "He went to Reading University yesterday?"

She nodded. "I learned that a man wanted to see me right after I finished my lecture on archeology." "Twenty-five years have passed." Rand was surprised. “He saw an article I published in Archeology Weekly last winter and wanted to see me again, and he still has the accent and his hair is still as dark, although I think it’s been dyed.” Rand snorted. "It's not so easy for ex-boyfriends to find you if you marry by your husband's name." He tried to keep the conversation light. "I told him I was married and you were retired from the government. He said he wanted to meet you."

"Did you invite him to dinner?" "How come! We only had a cup of coffee at the Faculty Club, and he left. It didn't take more than an hour." Rand took a sip of the juice: "But you didn't tell me yesterday." "I wonder if I shouldn't have told you at all. But I think I should say that it was a long time ago, and it makes no difference." "Is Constantine living in England now or is he traveling?" "I knew he was coming to London for a few weeks. But he didn't tell me where he used to live, only that he might call me before he left England. I told him it was in our phone book."

"Okay," Rand said sarcastically, "maybe we can hang out together." Rand didn't talk to Layla about Victor Constantine for the next few days.In fact there is nothing more to say.She was at school three days a week, and his book on British intelligence after World War II, long overdue, was about to start again.This is a difficult book to write given the State Secrets Act.He can only write on the basis of published materials, not from his own experience. Halfway through the next week, the phone rang at ten o'clock in the morning.The voice on the other end of the phone asked his name directly. "Is that Mr. Rand?" For some reason, he immediately knew it was Leila's ex-boyfriend.

"Yes." Rand replied cautiously. "You don't know me. My name is Victor Constantine. I worked for the Soviet government in Egypt in the early 1970s. I would love to have lunch with you if I could." "What's the matter?" "Just chatting. I know your wife is back in Egypt and..." "She told me you met last week," Rand said to let him know that Layla had no secrets from him. "I think we should relive the old times together, I don't have many friends in the UK." And I'm not your friend, Rand thought.But he admits he's curious about Layla's ex-lover from twenty-five years ago. "Do you want to meet today?"

"Yes, if you can, otherwise..." "Today is fine, where shall we meet?" "Our new hotel on London Road, very close to the University of Reading. There's a nice restaurant on the ground floor where we can order a snack. How about it?" "No problem. Twelve o'clock?" "See you then, Mr. Rand." After hanging up the phone, Rand wanted to tell Leila the news.But he knew she was having morning classes at this time.He could wait until night to tell her.After his shower he changed into a blazer and trousers, which he usually wore when he was in town, instead of going to London.

The hotel is one of the modern American chains, a tourist business with little influence in the UK.Rand spotted Victor Constantine as soon as he walked through the revolving door.Because he was the only person of his age in the hall at that time, and his appearance was quite Russian.It is also possible that the black double-breasted suit he was wearing was the style worn by Russian leaders during the May Revolution. "Mr. Constantine?" "Ah, Mr. Rand! It's a pleasure to see you at last." Rand had to admit that despite his gray hair and wrinkled forehead, he was still handsome.He was tall, courteous, and squeezed his hand when he shook it.He led the way to the hotel's restaurant, where several business people were already dining.After they sat down and ordered drinks, Rand asked, "What brought you here? Mr. Constantine."

"Call me Victor, you're Jeffrey?" He spoke English very well without an accent. Rand nodded. "Layla said she saw you at school a week ago. Have you been here all this time?" "No, no! I returned the night I arrived in London. This time I'm here to see you and talk about the days when we were enemies. You see, I'm a reporter now." He handed Rand a business card with Written: Victor Constantine - Eastern European News Service.It has the address of Warsaw written on it. The drink was brought, and Rand took a sip, "Layla told me that you were a communications officer on a yacht on the Nile River." He nodded and said, "Yes, it's Nile K." "We knew there was at least one yacht in operation there, but I don't think we ever knew about the others." "We were running a well-planned operation. But I guess British intelligence was just as good." "Oh, yes." Before this, Rand thought that Constantine's purpose of meeting for lunch was only Leila's ex-boyfriend wanted to meet her husband, but now he was not so sure.Layla's name had rarely been mentioned in the conversation, and now the subject was becoming elusive again.Could this man be trying to get the latest information from him?But for what? Their lunch is delivered and the conversation turns to restaurants in London.Rand suggested a few good places, and Constantine mentioned his favorite restaurant in Paris. "When I was in Cairo, the food was unpalatable," he said. "Layla took me to some local restaurants, but I never got used to it." He looked at Rand across the table. "Of course, at the time The British have a lot of influence in Cairo, and I guess there's nothing wrong with your diet." "I can eat anything," Rand said. "Are you a British intelligence agent?" "It's not official." "You were the head of the Secret Communications Bureau, right?" "Yes." Rand admitted.Rand wondered how much Layla had told him, then and now, about his work.But acknowledging that he worked for the Covert Communications Agency doesn't mean much.Numerous publications of the British Intelligence Service have confirmed this. "I covered a guy named Taz back in the 1970s." "I knew him. I was there when he died in Switzerland a few years ago." "Perhaps you killed him." "No. He died in a car explosion. But it wasn't an explosion, exactly. It's a long story." Constantine nodded, "I know about it, but some people think you are responsible for his death." "On the contrary, I tried to save him. I believe that in the end we all respect each other." Topics range from the weather to world politics to the state of the economy.Victor Constantine is very knowledgeable in many ways, but the conversation never returns to their Cold War intelligence work.At the end of the lunch, they shook hands cordially, and Rand left wondering what the lunch had meant.Neither Layla nor her days in Cairo went into detail.He drove home through the afternoon sun, trying to figure out how to describe the lunch to her. The first thing he noticed when he got home was that the front door was slightly ajar, though of course it wasn't that he hadn't closed it properly when he left.He walked carefully into the house, saw that something was wrong, and immediately saw what was wrong.When Rand retired after their marriage, they moved to Reading, and Layla then vacated a ground-floor bedroom as his studio.On one wall of the studio were filing cabinets containing Rand's non-secret papers and letters, as well as Layla's notes from earlier archaeological digs.Although he always locked the cabinets, one of the drawers was left open.He found that the lock had been picked. Rand first checked the other rooms to make sure no one else was in the room.Then he opened the drawer carefully with his handkerchief.In his past work, he always had to think carefully, even booby traps.But he found no hidden leads, and no clockwork.This open drawer held his belongings from the year he met Layla in Egypt.There is no secret here, obviously someone entered the house and looked through these materials. The man must have come in when he was leaving for lunch with Victor Constantine. He found that he had been calculated, and Constantine used a meeting to lure him away, and then sent someone to break into the empty door. Rand went upstairs to find the Italian automatic pistol he had hidden in the linen locker.The clip was full and he put it in his pocket.Then he went out and drove to the hotel on London Road again.Whatever Victor Constantine stole, he wants it back. At the hotel reception he showed the card Konstantin had given him. "I forgot my house number," he said to the waiter. She checked the computer and said, "It's room 607, Mr. Constantine." "thank you." He took the elevator to the sixth floor and knocked on the door, but no one answered.Frustrated, he looked around and saw that the housemaid's cart was on the other side of the hall.He walked over and smiled and said, "I'm Mr. Constantine in room 607. I seem to have left my magnetic card key in the room. Can you open the door for me?" She looked hesitant, so he showed his card. "Okay, but that's not my room." Finally she reluctantly led the way to the other side of the hall and opened the door with her key card.He tipped her a pound for it. Once inside he saw the made bed and the closed suitcase on the luggage rack.That's where his search should start, it seems.The bathroom door was closed, he walked over and pushed the door open. As soon as the door opened he saw the body of Victor Constantine lying in a pool of blood in the bathtub. Rand's first thought was Layla, who should tell her that his ex-boyfriend was dead.Second he realized how much his death had to do with the thief who took his papers.At this moment, someone knocked on the door. He looked out of the peephole and saw a man in overalls with a security guard's name tag on his chest.Opening the door a little, he asked, "What's the matter?" "Sorry to bother you, sir. But the maid said she let you into this room. I need to check your papers." "I, I was just about to call you. There's a dead body in the bathtub in the room." He opened the door to let the man in.He has no choice. The security guard came in to look at the body and asked, "Do you know him?" "He is Victor Constantine. I dined with him at noon. This is his room." The security guard looked very serious. He walked up to a chair and said, "Please sit down, sir. I'm going to report the incident to the police and they'll question you." "I want to call my wife, she teaches at the university." "You'd better wait here for the police, sir." Rand began to realize that he was in dire straits. "I should tell you that I have a pistol on me." The security guard's already expressionless face became as hard as granite. "Please put your hands up behind your head." Rand did as he was told. "It's a small automatic in the left breast pocket of my coat. The safety is off." The security guard carefully took the gun out with two fingers and placed it on the sheet. "Now sit there and don't move." He called the main station downstairs and reported what happened, and within two minutes another security guard came up. "What's going on here, Jennings." "The cleaning lady called and said she let this gentleman into the room. I came up to check and he said he found the body and then he said he had a pistol. The gun is in the bed now." The second man glanced at the body. "Blood everywhere! Was he shot?" "I haven't touched the body, so I don't know. I think it's the police's business." The police arrived in a few minutes.Rand knew Sheriff Herbert Squires, and they had attended several community meetings.While another officer was examining the body, he came over and asked, "Mr. Rand, what happened?" "It's a long story. Before I tell you, I hope you will allow me to call my wife. She will be worried when I come home." Sergeant Squires nodded: "Of course, I'll find you a vacant room. The fingerprint guy is going to collect the fingerprints on this phone." A police officer went with Rand to an empty room just across the corridor.Rand called Layla's office, hoping she was at her desk.As luck would have it, she answered the phone and he told her he had bad news. "Did you have an accident?" she asked quickly. "No. Your friend Constantine was killed in his hotel room, and I found the body." "What the hell are you..." "I'll tell you later. It looks like the police are going to give me a statement. I'm still in the hotel, but they might take me to the police station later." "I can't believe what you're saying." "It's absolutely true." "Jeffrey, did you kill him?" "Of course not! Is there even a need to ask?" "I'll wait for you at the police station." She finished speaking quickly and hung up the phone. When he returned to Constantine's room, Sheriff Herbert Squires told him: "The cause of death was a gunshot wound to the back of the head. We are going to check your weapons and you will have to come with us to the police station." "That gun never fired a single bullet," Rand assured them. "It doesn't look like it," agreed Squires, "but the fact that you brought it here is reason enough to interrogate you. That security guard, Jennings said you lied to Ask the waitress to open the door for you." Rand sighed: "I'd better tell you the whole story from the beginning." The sheriff listened attentively, without interrupting him, and did not ask until Rand had finished speaking, "Can your wife testify for you?" "Of course, she knows. It's just that I haven't had a chance to tell him that Konstantin and I had lunch together today, and that our house was robbed." Layla was waiting for them at the police station, and Squires escorted them both to the interrogation room. "What happened?" she asked coldly. He recounted the whole story, noting her surprise when she learned that Constantine had called him for dinner. "Why did he do that?" She was puzzled. "It turns out his real motive was to lure me out of the house so his companions could rummage through my old papers in Egypt." "Is it the files in your drawer? There are no secrets there, and there is no meaning after twenty-five years. The Cold War is over, and the former Soviet Union no longer exists." Squires listened to their conversation with interest. "How much do you know about the dead?" he asked Layla. "I knew him pretty well in the 1970s before meeting my husband." "You didn't consider him an enemy, did you?" "Of course not. At that time he and other Russians were invited to Egypt by the Egyptian government. I was investigating some of the smaller tombs left by the First Dynasty, which may have been submerged during the high tide of the Nile. At that time I While diving, Viktor Konstantin was on one of the Russian yachts. One day he invited me on board for a cup of tea, and I went. It was vodka, but I was fine with it.” "How did you end up?" Layla shrugged: "I found Victor spying on some British diplomats in Cairo. My mother is Scottish, my father is Egyptian, and I am loyal to my country. I ended our I met Jeffrey soon." She gave Rand a wry smile, as if begging his forgiveness for bringing him into this. Sergeant Squires touched his chin and thought, "Did you report the burglary at your home? Mr. Rand." "Not yet. I only had one idea at the time, which was to find Constantine at the hotel." He stood up and said, "I think we'd better go over to your house and check the scene." The street they lived on was very quiet, almost deserted, like the kids hadn't come home from school yet.Rand and Leila drove their own cars, followed by Squires and a police officer.It took officers a while to find scratches proving the lock had been picked. "A man of great skill," he concluded, "may have used some new electronics, too." They entered the house, and Leila led the way to Rand's studio. "Here, Sheriff Squires." "It's a nice place," said the sheriff. "These old houses are charming." "Which drawer is it?" Layla asked Rand, but then noticed that one was open about a foot. "The thief didn't close it?" "Yes, I haven't checked yet." She shook her head in bewilderment. "As if he's just trying to draw our attention to the drawer and the ajar door," she said, turning to Sergeant Squires. "Can we check the drawer? Do you need fingerprints?" "Don't touch the outside of the bookcase," he said. "If there are no fingerprints on the outside, it's even less likely to be on the inside." But Rand didn't think he touched the files.Some tan envelopes containing documents had not been opened.When he started checking the dates from 1971, the memory came flooding back.He was not yet forty, young enough to discover its fascination in Egypt and the treasure of his life. "I didn't find anything missing, but I'm not sure," he said. "But it's weird that this thief wants you to know he's been there," Squires said. The uniformed officers took some pictures as directed by the sheriff, and then started taking fingerprints.When he was done he reported, "Sheriff, the doors and filing cabinets seem to have been wiped, or he was wearing gloves." "Now?" Rand asked, "It looks like Constantine hired someone to break in, but that person found something valuable and decided to keep it for himself, so he killed his employer." "It's a possibility," Squires conceded, "that there were at least two other people." "Who is it?" The sheriff smiled and said, "I've got to look it up. Would you be able to come to my office tomorrow morning for a statement?" Leila asked, "When? I have class tomorrow." Rand tried to correct her, but said nothing.She obviously knew there was no class on Thursday.There must be a reason for her slip of the tongue. "Ten?" Squires asked. Layla and Rand glanced at each other. "I think so," she said. "It would be nice if I could talk to you alone," he said. "I have an appointment with you at ten and Mr. Rand at ten-thirty." "Why is that?" Rand asked. "Just routine." Sheriff Squires and the deputies left afterward.Rand watched them leave and then returned to Layla. "You said you have class tomorrow." She shrugged. "I forgot I had Thursdays off. Nothing?" "Is there something you haven't told me, Layla?" "No, is there something you didn't tell me?" "I didn't kill him. I had no reason to kill him. He seemed like a pleasant fellow. We barely talked about you." "You must have seen that Squires thought the robbery was fake. He thought you shot Victor out of jealousy and made up the story of the robbery." "But I don't. He's looking for some papers." "Let's have a drink and try to solve the puzzle," she suggested. The next morning's morning paper had half a column covering the murder. (“A resident of a hotel registered under the name of Victor Constantine has been shot dead in what is believed to be a burglary.”) No new information was provided beyond that.Fortunately, the report said nothing about the burglary at the Rand home. When they arrived at the police station, Sergeant Herbert Squires was waiting for them. "Do you have any new leads?" he asked as he greeted them. "No," Rand told him, "we talked about it all night yesterday. We even searched the house to see if anything else had been tampered with or stolen, but everything seemed to be in place. " Squires smiled sympathetically and said, "Leave me alone with Mrs. Land. You can wait here." Rand sat on a hard bench, facing the bulletin board with wanted fliers and internal department announcements.He didn't understand why Squires was interrogating Layla alone.Would he really believe that Rand would kill the man out of jealousy over what had happened twenty-five years ago? "Are you Mr. Rand?" one asked.He looked up to see Jennings, the hotel security guard. "Yes, Mr. Jennings." "Call me Phil, Phil Jennings," he said, taking a seat next to Rand. "They called you in for a statement, too? I just finished." "Yes, my wife is in there." "I told the sheriff I didn't know. I never noticed Mr. Constantine. In a hotel as big as ours, customers come and go all the time." The stern face Rand remembered in the hotel seemed Relaxed a little, the man looked younger, perhaps less than thirty years old. "I think he just happened to meet the thief when he came back to the room, just like the paper said." "Someone of your colleagues must have seen that man." Jennings nodded. "I asked the maid who cleaned his room. She remembered him as a handsome old man with an accent." "Is he with someone else?" "No, he's alone. He's going down to breakfast, and I guess she's just in his room." breakfast! — thought Rand.Maybe there he could meet the man he'd hired to break into Rand's house.Maybe someone in the hotel restaurant will remember him. Sheriff Squires and Layla left the house together and stood in the doorway. "Mr. Rand, you may come in now." Layla smiled at him and sat outside.Jennings said goodbye and left. Squires cleared his throat as Rand sat in the chair across from the sheriff's desk. "First of all, I want to tell you that your gun has nothing to do with this. It doesn't even match the caliber of the gun that murdered Victor Constantine. I'll return it to you after I finish my statement." "Thank you very much. I told you the gun was only for self-defense. It never occurred to me to shoot him." "I know. We've checked your background, Mr. Rand. You have strong government ties, and I know you were in British intelligence before you retired." "Yes, in a secret branch." "Your wife told me she was working in Egypt when you two met." "Exactly, she is also the Constantine I met in Egypt." Touching his chin, Squires continued: "We couldn't find his passport, which is weird. He has some business cards in his wallet, and his access card, but no passport." "He used to live in London. Must have left his passport at his previous residence." "Probably. But people who travel to foreign lands are always used to carrying their passports with them." Rand began to get tired of seemingly meaningless speculation, and asked, "Are you trying to get any clues from it?" "Yes," Squires replied, "we went to the school to investigate, and your wife didn't have classes yesterday from noon to two in the afternoon. She may have gone home, opened the door with her key, and scratched the lock slightly to see It sounded like forced entry. That's how she broke into filing cabinets, too." Rand couldn't believe his ears. "What did you say? Maybe my wife killed Victor Constantine? That's ridiculous! She just told me about him last week." "Did she really tell you everything? It's possible, Mr. Rand. Perhaps your wife was working for Constantine in Cairo, spying for the Russians? Maybe he threatened her to tell you everything." .” "Impossible. She will tell me. We are honest with each other." "She said she never mentioned her relationship with Constantine to you until last week. That's a complete confession?" "Listen, Layla didn't murder Constantine or anyone else! If you want to continue this questioning, I'd better call my lawyer." "That's not necessary," said Squires, leaning back a little. "Of course I welcome any new leads you may have. Perhaps the robbery at your house had nothing to do with Constantine's death." But some information in the conversation reminded Rand of something. "Yeah, totally fine. I have an idea, give me a day to investigate." "Okay, you can go," Squires said. "You and your wife are free." so far! —He seemed to add the second half of the sentence silently. Rand didn't speak to Layla until he left the police station."I don't know why he felt involved with me," she said. "I know, he told me." She turned to him, "You don't believe it, do you?" "Of course not. Do you have a train timetable in your bag?" "To London?" "Yes. We should take the next train if we can." "you want……?" "I can't tell you, just trust me." "Do you know who killed him?" "Maybe." He was silent all the way on the train, just reading the London papers he had bought on the platform.Until the last part - today's activity arrangement, he finally found the information he needed. "Look here," he pointed to Layla, "the British Archaeological Society is having a meeting at the Barbican this week. Don't you go to these meetings often?" "I haven't been there for a number of years. In terms of archaeological treasure hunting, there is nothing new to be found in the Lecture Hall at the University of Reading. I let someone else go." "I think we should go. Maybe we can find something." "What can we find?" she asked.When he told her what he thought, she sat next to him, her eyes wide open in disbelief. In London, they took a taxi to the Barbican, to its stark concrete vestibule.It was crowded here, some men and women stood in groups, and some were anxious to visit the next part. "Wait here for me," he said to Layla as they walked toward the registration desk.He used to speak to the young girl wearing the British Archaeological Society badge, but she just shrugged and shook her head.He took a schedule from her to check the schedule of discussions and reports that afternoon. "Conference hall D, on the second floor," he told Leila, "let's go." "Jeffrey, are you sure you want to do this?" "Pretty sure," he said, stopping her outside Conference Hall D, "if anything goes wrong, you can ask security for help." "I know how to do it." She reassured him. He went in alone and saw a long podium in the far end of the room with Mike on it.Four men and a woman sat there, seemingly having a question-and-answer session.Rand walked up to Mike, the nearest audience member, and raised his hand to ask a question.After a while, the host called him up: "Please tell us your name and position when you ask questions." "Jeffrey Rand, retired. I would like to know the progress of the excavation in Egypt, code-named Nile K. I have a question for our Russian guest, Mr. Victor Constantine." Rand had no way of knowing what the reaction to his question would be, but the tall, dark-haired man stood up quickly, stepped off the podium, and headed for the corner exit.He didn't go far.Leila and two security guards were waiting for him outside the door. "You know he's going to take the fire exit?" Rand asked Constantine after London police took her into custody. "I know, he did it a long time ago. But how do you know he's alive? And who died in his room?" "I told you something on the train. My first mistake was to turn everything upside down. You said he found you through your recent article in Archeology Weekly. But what about an ex-Russian spy? Would read that kind of magazine? That's not something you'd find on a newsstand or in a doctor's waiting lounge. Yes, Konstantin read it as a professional interest in the field. He later became an archaeologist A scholar, or at least a treasure hunter. Because of his previous relationship with you, he was particularly interested in sites along the Nile. That's how I found him. We knew he was coming to London for a purpose, when I read in the newspaper The archaeological meeting listed, I'd bet he'd be here. He was at the meeting when we arrived, it was pure luck." "I understand all this, what happened to the robbery?" "Another mistake I made was to assume too hastily that Konstantin was looking for documents from my period. In fact, he was looking for the records of your expedition to the Nile, which you did at the University of Cairo. He believed he was Quickly find the flooded tomb, but he also needs your records to locate exactly. Although he brought a man to help him, after he talked to you and understood your schedule, he decided that it would be better to come in person Search our house. He knew exactly what he was looking for and was a trained spy, picking locks was a piece of cake for him. You may have told him that our old papers are kept together of." Leila nodded. "He asked about our house and how we arranged our lives." "Because I've never met him, his assistant took me to lunch in his place, and he came into our house. I found it strange that he barely mentioned you and his days in the Russian intelligence service. He just briefly mentioned you and my old rival Taz. Of course this is what Constantine told him. I should have noticed two clues. You mentioned that Constantine has black hair, probably dyed ...and you and the waitress said he had an accent. But the man I had lunch with was gray-haired and spoke good English with no accent at all." "Why did Constantine kill him?" "Probably because he didn't fully trust this man. He must have known that if he left obvious signs of a break-in, I would definitely call the police or come to him in person. If Constantine killed this man in his guest room, in the His wallet and business card are left on the body, the police will definitely think that the dead is him, especially with me as a witness. Even if you and others find this mistake later, it will be a few days later. Of course he will not leave the passport on the body on, because the photos don't match at all." "It's all for my research twenty-five years ago!" Layla exclaimed in surprise. "I thought Victor came to Reading just to see me again."