Alan Maitland had walked the half-mile from his office to the waterfront and his cheeks were flushed and ruddy from the cold wind outside. He wore no hat, only a\ light topcoat which he shrugged off as he entered. In one hand he carried a briefcase. 'Good morning, Mr Kramer,' Alan said. 'It was good of you to see me without an appointment.'

'I'm a public servant, Mr Maitland,' Kramer said in his precise, punctilious voice. With a polite, formal smile he gestured Alan to a chair and sat down at the desk himself. 'My office door is always open – within reason. What can I do for you?'

'Perhaps your secretary told you,' Alan said, 'I'm a lawyer.' Kramer nodded. 'Yes.' A young and inexperienced one, he thought. Edgar Kramer had seen many lawyers in his time and crossed swords with a few. Most had not impressed him.

'I read about your assignment here a couple of days ago and decided to wait until you arrived.' Alan was aware of feeling his way carefully, not wanting to antagonize this small man facing him, whose goodwill could be important. He had intended, at first, to approach the Immigration Department on behalf of Henri Duval as soon as possible following Christmas. But then, after he had spent an entire day reading immigration law and legal precedents, the evening papers of the twenty-sixth had carried a brief announcement that the Department of Immigration had named a new head to its Vancouver district. After talking it over with his partner Tom Lewis, who had also made a few discreet inquiries, they had decided – even at the loss of several precious days – to wait for the new appointee.

'Well, I've arrived. So perhaps you'll tell me why you waited.' Kramer creased his face into a smile, If he could help this novice lawyer, he decided – provided the youngster proved cooperative with the department – he would certainly do so.

'I'm here on behalf of a client,' Alan said carefully. 'His name is Henri Duval and at present he is being detained on a ship, the MV Vastervik. I would like to show you my authority to act on his behalf.' Unzipping the briefcase he produced a single sheet of paper – a typed copy of the retainer which the stowaway had signed at their first interview – and placed it on the desk.

Kramer read the paper carefully, then put it down. At the mention of the name Henri Duval he had frowned slightly. Now, a trifle warily, he inquired, 'If I may ask, Mr Maitland, how long have you known your client?'

It was an unusual question, but Alan decided not to be resentful. In any case, Kramer seemed friendly enough. 'I've known my client three days,' he answered cheerfully. 'As a matter of fact, I first read about him in the newspapers.'

'I see.' Edgar Kramer brought the tips of his fingers together above the desk. It was a favourite gesture whenever he was thinking or mentally marking time. He had, of course, obtained a full report of the Duval incident immediately on arrival. The deputy minister, Claude Hess, had told him of the Minister's concern that the case should be handled with absolute correctness, and Kramer was satisfied that that had already been done. In fact, he had answered questions from the Vancouver's newspapers to that effect the previous day.

'Perhaps you didn't see the newspaper articles.' Alan reopened his briefcase and reached inside.

'Don't bother, please.' Kramer decided he would be friendly but firm. 'I did see one of them. But we don't rely on newspapers here. You see' – he smiled thinly – 'I have access to official files, which we consider somewhat more important.'

'There can't be much of a file on Henri Duval,' Alan said. 'As far as I can make out, no one officially has done much inquiring.'

'You're quite right, Mr Maitland. There's been very little done because the position is perfectly clear. This person on the ship has no status, no documents, and apparently no citizenship of any country. Therefore, as far as the department is concerned, there is no possibility even of considering him as an immigrant.'

'This person, as you call him,' Alan said, 'has some pretty unusual reasons for having no citizenship. If you read the press report, you must know that.'

'I am aware there have been certain statements in print.' Again the thin smile. 'But when you have had as much experience as me, you will learn that newspaper stories and the true facts are sometimes at variance.'

'I don't believe everything I read either.' Alan found the on-and-off smile and the other man's attitude beginning to annoy him. 'All that I'm asking – and that's really the reason I'm here – is that you investigate the matter a little more.'

'And what I'm telling you is that any further investigation is pointless.' This time there was a distinct coolness in Edgar Kramer's tone. He was conscious of an irritability, perhaps from tiredness – he had had to get up several times last night and was far from being rested on waking this morning. Now he continued, 'The individual concerned has no legal rights in this country, nor is he likely to have any.'

'He's a human being,' Alan protested. 'Doesn't that count for anything?'

'There are many human beings in the world, and some are less fortunate than others. My business is to deal with those who come within the provisions of the Immigration Act, and Duval does not.' This young lawyer, Kramer thought, was definitely not cooperative.

'I am asking,' Alan said, 'for a formal hearing into my client's immigration status.'

'And I,' Edgar Kramer said firmly, 'am refusing it.'

The two eyed each other with the beginnings of dislike. Alan Maitland had the impression of facing a wall of impregnable smugness. Edgar Kramer saw a brash youthfulness and disrespect of authority. He was also bothered by a new urge to urinate. It was ridiculous, of course… so soon. But he had noticed that mental excitability sometimes had that effect. He willed himself to ignore it. He must hold out… not give way…

'Couldn't we be reasonable about this?' Alan wondered if perhaps he had been too brusque; it was an occasional fault he tried to guard against. Now he asked – he hoped persuasively

– 'Would you do me the favour of seeing this man yourself, Mr Kramer? I think you might be impressed.'

The other shook his head. 'Whether I was impressed or not would be entirely beside the point. My business is to administer the law as it stands. I do not make the law or approve exceptions to it.'

'But you can make recommendations.'

Yes, Edgar Kramer thought, he could. But he had no intention of doing so, particularly in this case with its sentimental overtones. And as for personally interviewing some would-be immigrant, his own status nowadays put him a long way above that.

There had been a time, of course, when he had done a good deal of that kind of interviewing – overseas, after the war, in the shattered countries of Europe… selecting immigrants for Canada, and rejecting others in much the same way (he had once heard someone say) that one selected the best dogs from a pound. Those had been the days when men and women would sell their souls, and sometimes did, for an immigrant visa, and there had been many temptations for immigration officers, to which a few succumbed. But he himself had never wavered and, although not caring greatly for the work – he preferred administration to people – he had done it well.

He had been known as a tough official, guarding his country's interests carefully, approving only immigrants of the highest standard. He had often been proud to think of the good people… alert, industrious, medically fit… whom he had allowed in.

Rejecting those who were substandard, for whatever reason, had never disturbed him, as it sometimes disturbed others.

His thoughts were interrupted.

'I'm not asking for admittance of my client as an immigrant

– not yet, anyway,' Alan Maitland said. 'All that I'm seeking is the very first stage – an immigration hearing away from the ship.'