The day after my arrival, I had an interview with
Mr. Bennett at Long's Hotel, a quaint old place in
Bond Street, long since gone. All that recommended
it, apparently, was its high charges. While I was
waiting to be summoned, a 'B. and S.' cost me two-
and-six, in addition to a tip. A significant meeting oc-
curred — one of those mutual revelations of character
that subsequently sustained frequent tension on both
sides. Mr. Bennett was leaving for Liverpool in a
few hours, en route to New York. He said to me,
without ceremony :

'I want you to write a personal letter to me every
week, wherever I am. In it you are to tell me what
your associates are doing; what you suggest and what
they suggest — all the news of the office, you under-
stand.' (Tou understand' was a current colloquial-

91






K.^



92 News Hunting on Three Continents

ism in London at the time, as I soon learned, but it
sounded like an interrogation.)

I understood, perfectly. I had heard of espionage,
but had never given it serious consideration : therefore,
the suggestion that I was to play the spy upon my
companions and fellow-workers gave me a shock. I
asked, at once, if I was to inform Mr. Jackson, Mr.
