[originaltext] X was a secret agent. He had rented a furnished room in a pro

X was a secret agent. He had rented a furnished room in a provincial town not far from the public park and had been there two weeks. He was standing at the window looking out at the dull beds of geraniums, the park gates and the cold, uninviting statue of Queen Victoria that stood across the street from him. It was raining hard and the few people who passed by looked wet and miserable, too. How, he wondered, could anybody think there was anything interesting about the life of a secret agent? He knew it was because people had seen so many television plays about glamorous spies that they thought the life of a secret agent was exciting. They were convinced that every cigarette lighter concealed a secret tape recorder: that a fountain pen held in a certain way would open a locked door, that the touch of a gold ring against the hand of an enemy would make him reveal all his secrets. How wrong they were! He looked round his room. The wallpaper was in the worst possible taste, the pictures horrible, the carpet worn, dirty and faded: and he was cold. This was the third Monday he had come to the window to look out. He prayed it would be the last.
    As if in answer to his prayer, a certain meeting he had been sent to investigate was about to take place. He took out his camera. Just beneath the statue two women had stopped to speak. He knew one of them, and it was she who pointed in his direction. The other woman looked up towards him and in that brief moment he photographed her.
Questions 9 to 11 are based on the passage you have just heard.
9. Where did the secret agent possibly live?
10. What could be found in his room?
11. Why did he stand at the window, looking outside?