He said then, "All right, Paley. Uncover him."
Paley went to the table. He took hold of the white sheet. His hand trembled a little, and there were sudden beads of sweat on his forehead despite the freezing cold of the room. He looked as though he did not want at all to carry out the order.
Connor's harsh breathing was loud. Birrel wondered why they were so affected. Surely not by the sight of a dead man—they, even more than he, had seen plenty of dead men in the war years.
The sheet was pulled halfway back. A naked man lay on the table, his dark eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
He was fairly young, black-haired, with faintly swarthy skin and a blocky, undistinguished face. He looked vaguely familiar....
With a shock, Birrel realized that the dead man looked not unlike himself. Not a twin-like resemblance, but still, a strong resemblance.
He looked up quickly to Connor. He was amazed by the expression in Connor's heavy face. The lines in it had deepened. His half-narrowed eyes stared almost hauntedly at the dead man.
Paley had moved back from the table, and there was a strain in his gray face as he looked across the body at them.
"He was a spy," Connor said. "There's no doubt about that at all. And a very skillful one, to get into that guarded area."
Birrel asked, "From what country?"