The Schirmer Inheritance

11

It was just after dawn and the mountains above Florina were outlined against a pink glow in the sky when the old Renault deposited George and Miss Kolin outside the cinema where it had picked them up ten hours earlier. On George’s instructions, Miss Kolin paid the driver and arranged with him to pick them up again that evening to make the same journey. They went to their hotel in silence.

When he got to his room, George destroyed the precautionary letter he had left there for the manager and sat down to draft a cable to Mr. Sistrom.

“CLAIMANT LOCATED IN STRANGE CIRCUMSTANCES,” he wrote, “IDENTITY BEYOND REASONABLE DOUBT STOP COMPLEX SITUATION PREVENTS STRAIGHTFORWARD ACTION TO DELIVER HIM YOUR OFFICE STOP MAILING FULL EXPLANATORY REPORT TODAY STOP MEANWHILE CABLE IMMEDIATELY TERMS OF EXTRADITION TREATY IF ANY BETWEEN U.S. AND GREECE WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE ARMED BANK ROBBERY. CAREY.”

That, he thought grimly, should give Mr. Sistrom something to gnaw on. He read it through again, striking out the unnecessary prepositions and conjunctions, and then translated it into the code they had agreed on for highly confidential messages. When he had finished he looked at the time. The post office would not be open for another hour. He would write to Mr. Sistrom and mail the letter at the same time as he sent the cable. He sighed. It had been an exhausting night-exhausting in some unexpected ways. When the coffee and buttered rolls he had ordered from the restaurant arrived, he sat down to compose his report.

“In my last report,” he began, “I told you of the evidence I had been given my Madame Vassiotis and of my consequent decision to return home as soon as possible. Since then, as you will have gathered from my cable, the picture has completely changed. I knew, of course, that the inquiries instituted by Madame Vassiotis would reach the ears of all sorts of persons who, for one reason or another, were regarded as criminals by the authorities. I scarcely expected them to come to the attention of the man we have been looking for. Nevertheless, that is what happened. Twenty-four hours ago I was approached by a man who stated that he had friends who had information to give about Schirmer. Subsequently Miss Kolin and I took a very uncomfortable trip to a secret destination somewhere up in the mountains near the Yugoslav frontier. At the end of the journey we were taken to a house and confronted by a man who said he was Franz Schirmer. When I had explained the purpose of our visit, I asked him various pertinent questions, all of which he answered correctly. I asked him then about the ambush at Vodena and his subsequent movements. He told a fantastic story.”

George hesitated; then he erased the word “fantastic”-Mr. Sistrom would not like that sort of adjective-and typed the word “curious” in its place.

And yet it had been fantastic, to sit there in the light of the oil lamp listening to the great-great-grandson of the hero of Preussisch-Eylau telling, in his broken English, the story of his adventures in Greece. He had spoken slowly, sometimes with a faint smile at the corners of his mouth, always with his watchful grey eyes on his visitors, reading and assessing them. The Dragoon of Ansbach, George thought, must have been very much the same kind of man. Where other men would succumb to physical disaster, men like these two Schirmers would always endure and survive. One had been wounded, had put his trust in God, had deserted, and lived to become a prosperous tradesman. The other had been left for dead, had put his trust in himself, had kept his wits about him, and lived to fight another day.

What the second Sergeant Schirmer had become, however, was a question that the Sergeant himself had made no attempt to answer.

His own account of himself had ended inconclusively at the time of the closing of the Yugoslav frontier by Tito, and with a bitter complaint against the manœuvrings of the Communist politicians which had defeated the Markos forces. But George had very little doubt now about the nature of the Sergeant’s subsequent activities. They had conformed to an ancient pattern. When defeated revolutionary armies disintegrated, those soldiers who feared for political reasons to go back home, or who had no homes to go back to, turned to brigandage. And since, quite clearly, neither the Sergeant nor Arthur was, to use Colonel Chrysantos’s words, a “simple, deluded fanatic of the type that always gets caught,” their gleanings in Salonika had almost certainly gone into their own pockets, and those of their men-at-arms. It was a delicate situation. Moreover, if he were not to seem suspiciously incurious, he would have to invite them somehow to explain their set-up in their own way.

It had been Arthur who had provided the opening.

“Didn’t I tell you it’d be worth your while to come, Mr. Carey?” he said triumphantly when the Sergeant had finished.

“You did indeed, Arthur, and I’m very grateful. And of course I understand now the reason for all the secrecy.” He looked at the Sergeant. “I had no idea that fighting was still going on in this area.”

“No?” The Sergeant drained his glass and set it down with a bang. “It is the censorship,” he said. “The government hide the truth from the world.”

Arthur nodded gravely. “Proper Fascist-imperialist lackeys they are,” he said.

“But we do not talk politics, eh?” The Sergeant smiled as he filled Miss Kolin’s glass. “It is not interesting for the beautiful lady,”

She said something coldly in German and his smile faded. For a moment he seemed to be reconsidering Miss Kolin; then he turned to George cheerfully.

“Let us all fill our glasses and come to business,” he said.

“Yes, let’s do that,” said George. He had given them the reassuring impression that he was content with his picture of them as simple revolutionaries still fighting for a lost cause. That was enough. “I expect you’d like to know a bit more about the whole affair, wouldn’t you, Sergeant?” he added.

“That is what I wish.”

George told him the history of the case from the beginning.

For a time the Sergeant listened politely, interrupting only to ask for the explanation of a legal word or phrase he did not understand. When Miss Kolin translated it into German he acknowledged the service each time with a nod. He seemed almost indifferent, as if he were listening to something that was really no concern of his. It was when George came to the part played in the case by the account of the first Sergeant Schirmer’s exploits at Eylau that his attitude changed. Suddenly he leaned forward across the table and began interrupting with abrupt, sharp-voiced questions.

“You say Franz Schirmer. He had the same name and rank as me, this old man?”

“Yes. And he was roughly the same age as you were when you dropped into Crete.”

“So! Go on, please.”

George went on, but not for long.

“Where was he wounded?”

“In the arm.”

“As I was at Eben-Emael.”

“No, he had a sabre cut.”

“It does not matter. It is the same. Go on, please.”

George went on again. The Sergeant’s eyes were fixed on him intently. He interrupted again.

“Food? What food had he?”

“Some frozen potatoes he’d taken from a barn.” George smiled. “You know, Sergeant, I’ve got the complete account of all this written out by Franz Schirmer’s second son, Hans. That’s the one who emigrated to America. He wrote it out for his children, to show them what a fine man their grandfather had been.”

“You have this here?”

“I have a copy at the hotel in Florina.”

“I may see it?” He was eager now.

“Sure. You can have it. You’ll probably have the original eventually. I guess all the family papers are rightfully yours.”

“Ah yes. The family papers.” He nodded thoughtfully.

“But what Hans wrote isn’t the whole story by any means. There were some things Franz Schirmer didn’t tell his children.”

“So? What things?”

George went on to tell him then about the meeting with Maria, about Mr. Moreton’s investigation, and about his discovery of the truth in the army records at Potsdam.

The Sergeant listened without interruption now; and when George finished he remained silent for a moment or two staring down at the table in front of him. At last he looked up and there was a quiet smile of satisfaction on his face.

“That was a man,” he said to Arthur.

“One of the boys, all right,” Arthur agreed, nodding; “same name and rank, too. Let’s see-Dragoons were …”

But the Sergeant had turned to George again. “And this Maria. She was my great Urgrossmutter?”

“That’s right. Her first son, Karl, was your Urgrossvater. But you see the strong case we have through knowing about the change of name. Amelia Schneider’s first cousin was your grandfather, Friedrich, and he survived her. You remember him?”

The Sergeant nodded vaguely. “Yes. I remember.”

“Legally, he inherited the money. You will inherit from him through your father. Of course your claim may have to be advanced through the German or maybe the Swiss courts. You may have to apply for Swiss papers first. I don’t know, It depends on the attitude of the Pennsylvania court. Certainly we can expect the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to fight. What the attitude of the Alien Property Custodian will be we don’t yet know. It’ll be tough, but I guess you won’t mind that, eh?”

“No.” But he did not appear either to understand or to be paying much attention to what George was saying. “I have never been to Ansbach,” he said slowly.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time later on, I guess. Now, about the business side of it all. The law firm I represent are the attorneys for the administrator of the estate, so we couldn’t act for you ourselves. You’d have to retain someone else. I don’t know whether or not you can afford to put up money for the costs of fighting the case. They’d be pretty heavy. If you. didn’t want to do that we could recommend a good firm. They would act for you on a contingency basis. Explain it all, Miss Kolin, will you please?”

She explained. He listened absently and then nodded.

“You understand?” George asked.

“Yes. I understand. You do all.”

“Very well. Now, how soon can you leave for America?”

George saw Arthur look at him sharply. Now the trouble was going to start.

The Sergeant frowned. “America?”

“Yes. We could travel together if you like.”

“But I do not wish to go to America.”

“Well, Sergeant, if you’re going to claim your estate, I’m afraid you’ll have to go.” George smiled. “The case can’t be fought without you.”

“You said that you would do all.”

“I said we would recommend a firm of attorneys to represent you. But they can’t fight the case without producing the claimant. They’ll have to prove your identity and so on. The state and the Alien Property Custodian’s lawyer will want to ask you a lot of questions.”

“What questions?”

“Every sort of question. We’d better be quite clear about that. You’re liable to have to account for every moment of your life, especially the bit since you were reported missing.”

“That’s torn it,” said Arthur.

George misunderstood the remark with great care.

“Oh, I don’t think the Sergeant has any cause to worry on that score,” he said. “This is purely a domestic legal matter. The fact that he’s been fighting in a civil war here is of no interest to Pennsylvania. We might run into some trouble getting a visa, but I think we could get over that in view of the special circumstances. Of course, the Greeks could make it tough for him if he wanted to return here afterwards, but beyond that there’s nothing they can do. After all, it’s not as if he’d committed some felony for which he could be extradited by the Greek government, is it?” He paused. “You’d better translate that, Miss Kolin,” he added.

Miss Kolin translated. When she had finished, there was a tense silence. The Sergeant and Arthur stared at one another grimly. At last the Sergeant turned to George again.

“How much you say, this money?”

“Well, I’m going to be frank with you, Sergeant. Until I was quite sure who you were, I didn’t want to make it sound too attractive. Now, you’d better know the facts. After various tax deductions, you stand to get about half a million dollars.”

“Crikey!” said Arthur, and the Sergeant swore violently in German.

“Of course, that is only if you win the case. The Commonwealth is after the money too. Obviously, they’ll try to prove that you’re an impostor and you’ll have to be able to prove that you’re not.”

The Sergeant had risen impatiently and was pouring himself another glass of wine. George went on talking without a pause.

“It shouldn’t be difficult, I think, if it’s gone about in the right way. There are all sorts of possibilities. For instance, supposing for some reason you’d had your fingerprints taken-while you were in the German army, say-why then you wouldn’t have any more to worry about. On the other hand …”

“Please!” The Sergeant held up his hand. “Please, Mr. Carey, I must think.”

“Sure,” said George. “I was being stupid. It must be quite a shock to realize that you’re a rich man. It’ll take time for you to get adjusted.”

There was silence again. The Sergeant looked at Arthur and then they both looked at Miss Kolin sitting there impassively with her notebook. They could not say what was on their minds in front of her in Greek or German. Arthur shrugged. The Sergeant sighed and sat down by George again.

“Mr. Carey,” he said, “I cannot so immediately decide what I must do. I must have time. There are so many things.”

George nodded sagely as if he had suddenly understood the true nature of the Sergeant’s dilemma. “Ah yes. I should have realized that, other difficulties apart, this situation presents you with quite a problem in revolutionary ethics.”

“Please?”

Miss Kolin translated rapidly and with a faint sneer that did not please George in the least. But the Sergeant seemed not to notice it.

He nodded absently. “Yes, yes. That is so. I must have time to think about many things.”

George thought that it was time for slightly plainer speaking. “There’s one point I’d like to be clear about,” he said. “That is, if you don’t mind taking me into your confidence.”

“Yes? A point?”

“Are you known to the Greek authorities under your own name?”

“Now, chum-” Arthur began warningly.

But George interrupted him. “Save it, Arthur. The Sergeant’s going to have to tell me eventually anyway if I’m to be any use to him. You see that, don’t you, Sergeant?”

The Sergeant thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. It is a good question, Corporal. I see his reason. Mr. Carey, I am known by another name to the police.”

“Very well, then. I’m not interested in helping the Greek police. I’m concerned with the disposal of a big estate. Supposing that alias of yours could be kept out of the proceedings altogether-and I don’t see why it shouldn’t-would that make your decision easier?”

The Sergeant’s shrewd eyes watched him steadily. “Would there be no photographs in the newspapers of such a lucky man, Mr. Carey?”

“Sure, there’d be pictures all over the front pages. Oh, I see. You mean that, names or no names, the fact that you’d been in Greece would be bound to attract attention here and the pictures would identify you anyway.”

“So many persons know my face,” said the Sergeant apologetically. “So you see, I must think.”

“Yes, I see that,” said George. He knew now that the Sergeant understood the position as clearly as he did. If the robbery or robberies in which he had been concerned were extraditable offences, then any kind of publicity would be fatal to him. Among those who would know his face, for instance, would be the clerks in the Salonika branch of the Eurasian Credit Bank. The only thing the Sergeant did not understand was that George was aware of the true position. No doubt a day would come when it would be safe to enlighten him; in Mr. Sistrom’s office perhaps. For the present, discretion was advisable.

“How long do you want to think, Sergeant?” he said.

“Until tomorrow. If you will tomorrow night come back we will speak again.”

“O.K.”

“And you will bring also my family papers?”

“I’ll do that.”

“Then auf Wiedersehen.”

“Auf Wiedersehen.”

“You will not forget the papers?”

“No, I won’t forget, Sergeant.”

Arthur took them back to the truck. He was silent on the way. It was evident that he, too, had plenty to think about. But when they were in the truck again and he was about to do up the canvas, he paused, and leaned on the tailboard.

“Do you like the Sarge?” he said.

“He’s quite a guy, you must be very fond of him.”

“Best pal in the world,” said Arthur curtly. “I was just asking. I wouldn’t like anything to happen to him, if you take my meaning.”

George chuckled. “How would you like to be the most unpopular man in Philadelphia, Arthur?”

“Eh?”

“That’s what I shall be if anything happens to Franz Schirmer.”

“Oh-la-la! Sorry I spoke.”

“Forget it. Say, what about taking it easy this time on some of those bends going down?”

“O.K., pal. You’re the doctor. Easy it is.”

The opening between the driver’s seat and the rear of the truck had a flap over it, and during the drive down to the culvert George struck a match so that Miss Kolin could examine the false number-plates again. She looked at them carefully and nodded. George extinguished the match impatiently. Any real hopes he might have had that the Sergeant would, after all, turn out to be only another simple-minded zealot of the Phengaros type had long since been abandoned. It was absurd to go on clutching at straws.

Promising to meet them again the following night at the same place, Arthur left them at the culvert. They stumbled back to the car, roused the old man from his sleep, and set out on the road back to Florina.

Although it was the first opportunity they had had of talking privately since they had met the Sergeant, neither of them spoke for several minutes. Then it was Miss Kolin who at last broke the silence.

“What do you intend to do?” she asked.

“Cable the office for instructions.”

“You will not inform the police?”

“Not unless the office tells me to. In any case, I’m by no means certain that we have anything more than vague suspicions to tell them.”

“Is that your honest opinion?”

“Miss Kolin, I wasn’t sent to Europe to act as a Greek police informer. I was sent to find the rightful claimant to the Schneider Johnson estate and produce him in Philadelphia. Well, that’s what I’m doing. It’s no concern of mine what he is here. He can be a brigand, a bandit, an outlaw, a travelling salesman, or the Metropolitan Archbishop of Salonika, for all I care. In Philadelphia, he’s the rightful claimant to the Schneider Johnson estate, and what he is here doesn’t affect his claim in the least.”

“I should think it would considerably affect his value in court.”

“That’ll be his attorney’s headache, not mine, and he can deal with it how he pleases. Anyway, why should you worry?”

“I thought that you believed in justice.”

“I do. That’s why Franz Schirmer is going to Philadelphia if I can get him there.”

“Justice!” She laughed unpleasantly.

George was already tired; now he began to get annoyed.

“Look, Miss Kolin. You are engaged as an interpreter, not as a legal adviser or my professional conscience. Let’s both stick to our jobs. At the moment, the only thing that matters is that, incredible as it may seem, this man is Franz Schirmer.”

“He is also a German of the worst type,” she said sullenly.

“I’m not interested in what type he is. All I’m concerned with is the fact that he exists.”

There was silence for a moment and he thought that the argument was ended. Then she began to laugh again.

“Quite a guy, the Sarge!” she said derisively.

“Now look, Miss Kolin,” he began, “I’ve been very …”

But she was not listening any more. “The swine!” she exclaimed bitterly. “The filthy swine!”

George stared at her. She began pounding her knees with her fists and repeating the word “filthy.”

“Miss Kolin. Don’t you think …”

She rounded on him. “That girl in Salonika! You heard what he did?”

“I also heard what she did.”

“Only for revenge after he had seduced her. And how many more has he treated that way?”

“Aren’t you being a bit silly?”

She did not hear him. “How many more victims?” Her voice rose. “They are always the same, these beasts-killing, and torturing, and raping wherever they go. What do the Americans and British know of them? Your armies do not fight in your own lands. Ask the French about the Germans in their streets and in their houses. Ask the Poles and Russians, the Czechs, the Yugoslavs. These men are filthy slime on the land that suffers them. Filth! Beating and torturing, beating and torturing, bearing down with their strength, until they-until they-”

She broke off, staring blankly ahead as if she had forgotten what she had been going to say. Then, suddenly, she crumpled into a passionate storm of weeping.

George sat there as stolidly as his embarrassment and the lurching of the car would allow, trying to remember how many drinks he had seen her have since they had left Florina. It seemed to him that her glass had never once been empty while they had been at the Sergeant’s headquarters, but he could not quite remember. Probably she had kept refilling it. If that were so, she must have had the best part of a bottle of plum brandy, as well as her after-dinner cognacs. He had been too preoccupied to pay much attention to her.

She was sobbing quietly now. The old man driving had merely glanced round once and then taken no further interest. Presumably he was accustomed to distracted women. George was not. He was feeling sorry for her; but he was also remembering her pleasure in the anecdotes of Colonel Chrysantos, the man who knew “how to deal with Germans.”

After a while, she went to sleep, her head cushioned in her arms against the back of the seat. The sky was beginning to lighten when she awoke. For a time she stared at the road, taking no notice of the wind blowing her hair about; then she took out a cigarette and tried to work her lighter. The breeze in the car was too strong for it and George, who was already smoking, passed his cigarette to her to light hers from. She thanked him quite normally. She made no reference to her outburst. No doubt she had forgotten about it. With Miss Kolin, he had decided now, anything was possible.

He finished his report to Mr. Sistrom and sealed it in an envelope. The post office might be open now he thought. He took the report and the cable and went downstairs.

He had left Miss Kolin over an hour before, when she had gone to her room. To his surprise, he saw her sitting in the café with the remains of a breakfast on the table in front of her. She had changed her clothes and was looking as if she had had a good night’s sleep.

“I thought you were going to bed,” he said.

“You said you were going to send a cable to your office. I was waiting to take it to the post office. They make so much chi-chi about cables there. They have so few. I did not think you would like to deal with them yourself.”

“That’s very good of you, Miss Kolin. Here it is. I’ve done my report, too. Air-mail that, will you?”

“Of course.”

She left some money on the table for the breakfast and was going through the lobby to the street when the desk clerk came after her and said something in French. George caught the word “téléphone.”

She nodded to the clerk and glanced at George-in an almost embarrassed way, he thought.

“My call to Paris,” she said. “I had cabled my friends that I was on my way home. I wished to tell them that I would be delayed. How long do you think we will be?”

“Two or three days, I’d say.” He turned to go. “Pretty good work that, to get through to Paris from here in an hour,” he added.

“Yes.”

He saw her enter the telephone booth and begin speaking as he went upstairs, back to his room to sleep.

At eight o’clock that evening they met the old man with the Renault again, and began their second journey to the Sergeant’s headquarters.

George had slept fitfully for most of the day and felt a great deal wearier for having done so. In the faint hope that there might be a reply cable in from Mr. Sistrom, he had risen in the late afternoon and gone down to check. There had been nothing in. He had been disappointed but not surprised. Mr. Sistrom would have some thinking to do and some inquiries to make before he could send a useful reply. Miss Kolin had been out and, sitting beside her in the car, he noted that the leather satchel which she carried slung by a strap from her shoulder looked bulkier than usual. He decided that she had bought a bottle of brandy with which to fortify herself on the journey. He hoped, uneasily, that she would not hit it too hard.

Arthur was waiting for them at the same place and took the same precautions about shutting them in the back of the truck. The night was even warmer than the previous one and George protested.

“Is all that still necessary?”

“Sorry, chum. Got to be done.”

“It is a wise precaution,” said Miss Kolin unexpectedly.

“Yes, that’s right, miss.” Arthur sounded as surprised as George felt. “Did you bring the Sarge’s papers, Mr. Carey?”

“I did.”

“Good. He’s been worrying in case you’d forget. Can’t wait to know about his namesake.”

“I brought along a copy of an old photograph of him as well.”

“You’ll get a medal.”

“What’s been decided?”

“I don’t know. We had a chat last night after you’d gone but-anyway, you talk to him about it. There we are! All tucked up now. I’ll take it quiet.”

They set off up the twisting, rock-strewn road to the ruined house and went through the same routine as before when they reached it. This time, however, as they stood waiting among the pine trees while Arthur warned the sentry of their approach, George and Miss Kolin had nothing to say to one another. Arthur returned and led them to the house.

The Sergeant greeted them in the hall, shaking hands with George and clicking heels to Miss Kolin. He smiled, but seemed secretly ill at ease as though doubtful of their goodwill. Miss Kolin, George was relieved to note, was her usual impassive self.

The Sergeant led them into the dining-room, poured out drinks, and eyed George’s briefcase.

“You have brought the papers?”

“Sure.” George opened the case.

“Ah!”

“And a photo of the Dragoon,” George added.

“This is true?”

“It’s all here.” George took out a folder which he had brought from Philadelphia. Inside it there was a photostat or photograph of every important document in the case. “The Corporal didn’t have time to read the interesting part when he searched my room,” he added with a grin.

“Touché,” said Arthur, unmoved.

The Sergeant sat down at the table, glass in hand, his eyes gleaming as if he were about to be served with some ambrosial meal. George began to lay the documents one by one in front of him, explaining as he did so the origin and importance of each. The Sergeant nodded understandingly at each explanation or turned to Miss Kolin for guidance; but George soon saw that there were only certain documents in which he was genuinely interested-those which directly concerned the first Franz Schirmer. Even a photograph of Martin Schneider, the soft-drinks potentate who had amassed the fortune which the Sergeant might inherit, produced no more than a polite exclamation. The photostats of Hans Schneider’s Account, on the other hand, the church-register entries relating to the marriage of Franz, and the record of the baptism of Karl, he studied minutely, reading the German aloud to himself. The copy photograph of old Franz he handled as if it were a holy relic. For a long time he stared at it without speaking; then he turned to Arthur.

“You see, Corporal?” he said quietly. “Am I not like him?”

“Take away the beard and he’s your spitting image,” Arthur agreed.

And, indeed, for one who knew of the relationship, there was a strong resemblance between the two Schirmers. There was the same heavy strength in the two faces, the same determination in the two mouths, the same erectness; while the big hands grasping the arms of the chair in the daguerreotype and those grasping the photographic copy of it might, George thought, have belonged to the selfsame man.

There was a rap on the door and the sentry put his head in. He beckoned to Arthur.

Arthur sighed impatiently. “I’d better see what he wants,” he said, and went out, shutting the door behind him.

The Sergeant took no notice. He was smiling now over Hans Schneider’s account of Eylau and the photostat of a page of the Dragoon’s war diary, the one recording Franz Schirmer’s desertion, which George had placed beside it. That old act of desertion seemed to give him special pleasure. From time to time he would glance at the old man’s photograph again. George supposed that the Sergeant’s own failure to return to Germany when an opportunity presented itself (he could have taken advantage of one of the amnesties) had been a kind of desertion. Perhaps, what the Sergeant was enjoying now was the reassuring intimation from the past that, contrary to the beliefs of his childhood, sinners were not obliged to dwell with devils always, and that outlaws and deserters, no less than fairy princes, might live happily ever after.

“Have you decided yet what you’re going to do?” George asked.

The Sergeant looked up and nodded. “Yes. I think so, Mr. Carey. But first I would like to ask you some questions.”

“I’ll do my best to …” he began.

But he never learned what the Sergeant’s questions were. At that moment the door was flung open and Arthur came back into the room.

He slammed the door behind him, walked over to the table, and looked grimly at George and Miss Kolin. His face was pinched and grey with anger. Suddenly he threw two small, bright yellow tubes down on the table in front of them.

“All right,” he said. “Which of you is it? Or is it both of you?”

The tubes were about an inch and a half long and half an inch thick. They looked as if they had been cut from bamboo and then coloured. The three round the table stared at them, then up at Arthur again.

“What is this?” snapped the Sergeant.

Arthur burst into an angry torrent of Greek. George glanced at Miss Kolin. Her face was still impassive, but she had gone very pale. Then Arthur stopped speaking and there was silence.

The Sergeant picked up one of the tubes, then looked from it to George and Miss Kolin. The muscles of his face set. He nodded to Arthur.

“Explain to Mr. Carey.”

“As if he didn’t know!” Arthur’s lips tightened. “All right. Someone left a trail of these things from the culvert up here. One every fifty metres or so for someone else to follow. One of the lads coming up with a light spotted them.”

The Sergeant said something in German.

Arthur nodded. “I put the rest out collecting them all before I came to report.” He looked at George. “Any idea who might have dropped them, Mr. Carey? I found one of these two wedged between the canvas and the body of the truck, so don’t start trying to play dumb.”

“Dumb or not,” George said steadily, “I don’t know anything about them. What are they?”

The Sergeant got slowly to his feet. George could see a pulse going in his throat as he drew George’s open briefcase towards him and looked inside. Then he shut it.

“Perhaps one should ask the lady,” he said.

Miss Kolin sat absolutely rigid, looking straight in front of her.

Suddenly, he reached down and picked up her satchel from the floor by her chair.

“You permit?” he said, and, thrusting his hand into it, drew out a tangle of thin cord.

He pulled on the cord slowly. A yellow tube came into view and then another, then a handful of the things, red and blue as well as yellow. They were strings of wooden beads of the kind used for making bead curtains. George knew now that it was not a bottle of brandy that had made the satchel so bulky. He began to feel sick.

“So!” The Sergeant dropped the beads on the table. “Did you know of this, Mr. Carey?”

“No.”

“That’s right, too,” Arthur put in suddenly. “It was Little Miss Muffet here who wanted the canvas over the truck. Didn’t want him to see what she was up to.”

“For God’s sake, Miss Kolin!” George said angrily. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

She stood up resolutely, as if she were about to propose a vote of no-confidence at a public meeting, and turned to George. She did not even glance at Arthur or the Sergeant. “I should explain, Mr. Carey,” she said coldly, “that, in the interests of justice and in view of your refusal to take any steps yourself in the matter, I considered it my duty to telephone Colonel Chrysantos in Salonika and inform him, on your behalf, that the men who robbed the Eurasian Credit Bank were here. On his instructions, I marked the route from the culvert, so that his troops could …”

The Sergeant’s fist hit her full in the mouth and she crashed into the corner of the room where the empty bottles stood.

George leaped to his feet. As he did so the barrel of Arthur’s gun jabbed painfully into his side.

“Stand still, chum, or you’ll get hurt,” Arthur said. “She’s been asking for this and now she’s going to get it.”

Miss Kolin was on her knees, the blood trickling from her cut lip. They all stood watching her as she climbed slowly to her feet. Suddenly she picked up a bottle and flung it at the Sergeant. He did not move. It missed him by a few inches and smashed against the opposite wall. He stepped forward and hit her hard across the face with the back of his hand. She went down again. She had made no sound. She still made no sound. After a moment she began to get to her feet again.

“I’m stopping this,” said George angrily, and started to move.

The gun dug into his side. “You try, chum, and you’ll get a bullet in the kidneys. It’s nothing to do with you, so shut up!”

Miss Kolin picked up another bottle. There was blood running from her nose now. She faced the Sergeant again.

“Du Schuft!” she said venomously, and hurled herself at him.

He brushed the bottle aside and hit her again in the face with his fist. When she fell this time she did not try to get up, but lay there gasping.

The Sergeant went to the door and opened it. The sentry who had summoned Arthur was waiting there. The Sergeant beckoned him in, pointed to Miss Kolin, and gave an order in Greek. The sentry grinned and slung his rifle across his back. Then he went over to Miss Kolin and hauled her to her feet. She stood there swaying and wiping the blood from her face with her hand. He gripped her arm and said something to her. Without a word, and without looking at any of them, she began to walk towards the door.

“Miss Kolin-” George started forward.

She took no notice. The sentry pushed him aside and followed her out of the room. The door closed.

Sickened and trembling, George turned to face the Sergeant.

“Easy, chum,” said Arthur. “None of the hero-to-the-rescue stuff. It won’t wash here.”

“Where’s she being taken?” George demanded.

The Sergeant was licking the blood off one of his knuckles. He glanced at George and then, sitting down at the table, took the passport from Miss Kolin’s satchel.

“Maria Kolin,” he remarked. “French.”

“I asked where she’s being taken.”

Arthur was standing behind him still. “I wouldn’t try getting tough, Mr. Carey,” he advised. “Don’t forget, you brought her here.”

The Sergeant was examining the passport. “Born in Belgrade,” he said. “Slav.” He shut the passport with a snap. “And now we will talk a little.”

George waited. The Sergeant’s eyes rested on his.

“How did you find out, Mr. Carey?”

George hesitated.

“Talk fast, chum.”

“The truck the Corporal brought us up in-it had slots for false number-plates and the plates were lying inside on the floor of the truck. They were the same numbers as those mentioned in the Salonika papers.”

Arthur swore.

The Sergeant nodded curtly. “So! You knew this last night?”

“Yes.”

“But you did not go to the police today?”

“What I did was to cable in code to my office to find out what the extradition treaty between America and Greece says about armed bank robbery.”

“Please?”

Arthur explained in Greek.

The Sergeant nodded. “That was good. Did she know you do this?”

“Yes.”

“Then why does she tell Chrysantos?”

“She doesn’t like Germans.”

“Ah, so?”

George looked down pointedly at the Sergeant’s hands. “I understand her feelings.”

“Easy, chum.”

The Sergeant smiled enigmatically. “You understand her feelings? I do not think so.”

The sentry came in, gave the Sergeant a key with a word of explanation, and went out again.

The Sergeant put the key in his pocket and poured himself a glass of plum brandy. “And now,” he said, “we must think what is to be done. Your little friend is safely in a room upstairs. I think we must ask you also to stay, Mr. Carey. It is not that I do not trust you but that, at the moment, because you do not understand, you are feeling that you would like to destroy the Corporal and me. In two days, perhaps, when the Corporal and I have finished arranging our business, you may go.”

“Do you intend to keep me here by force?”

“Only if you are not wise and do not wish to stay.”

“Aren’t you forgetting why I came here?”

“No. I will give you my decision in two days, Mr. Carey. Until then, you stay.”

“Supposing I told you that unless Miss Kolin and I are released immediately you’ll have as much chance of inheriting that estate as that sentry outside.”

“Your office in America will be very sad. Arthur explained to me.”

George felt himself reddening. “Does it occur to you that, trail or no trail, Colonel Chrysantos won’t take very long to find this place now? In two or three hours he may have you surrounded by Greek troops.”

Arthur laughed. The Sergeant smiled grimly.

“If that is so, Mr. Carey, Chrysantos will be in trouble with his government. But you need not worry. If this bad Colonel comes, we will protect you. A glass of wine? No? Brandy? No? Then, since you are tired, the Corporal will show you where you can sleep. Good night.” He nodded dismissal and began to go through the photostats again, putting those that interested him specially into a separate pile.

“This way, chum.”

“Just a moment. What about Miss Kolin, Sergeant?”

The Sergeant did not look up. “You do not have to worry about her, Mr. Carey. Good night.”

Arthur led the way; George followed him; the sentry brought up the rear. They went upstairs to a derelict room with a straw mattress on the floorboards. There was also a bucket. The sentry brought in an oil lamp.

“It’s only for a couple of nights, Mr. Carey,” said Arthur-the hotel receptionist apologizing to a valued client who has arrived unexpectedly. “You’ll find the palliasse fairly clean. The Sarge is very keen on hygiene.”

“Where’s Miss Kolin?”

“Next room.” He jerked his thumb. “But don’t you worry about her. It’s a better room than this.”

“What did the Sergeant mean about Chrysantos getting into trouble with the government?”

“If he tried to surround us? Well, the Greek frontier’s nearly a kilometre away. We’re on Yugoslav territory. I’d have thought you’d have guessed.”

George digested this disconcerting news while Arthur adjusted the lamp wick.

“What about the frontier patrols?”

Arthur hung the lamp on a hook jutting out from the wall. “You want to know too much, chum.” He went to the door. “No lock on this door, but, just in case you’re thinking of sleepwalking, there’s a wide-awake sentry here on the landing, and he’s trigger-happy. Get the idea?”

“I get it.”

“I’ll give you a call when it’s time for breakfast. Pleasant dreams.”

About an hour had gone by when George heard the Sergeant come upstairs and say something to the sentry.

The sentry replied briefly. A moment or two later George heard the sound of a key being inserted in the door of the next room-the room Arthur had said was Miss Kolin’s.

With some idea of protecting her, George got up quickly from the mattress on which he had been lying and went to the door. He did not open it immediately. He heard Miss Kolin’s voice and the Sergeant’s. There was a pause, then the sound of the door being shut. The key turned in the lock once more.

For a while, he thought the Sergeant had gone, and went back to the corner where his mattress was. Then he heard the Sergeant’s voice again, and hers. They were talking in German. He went to the wall and listened. The tone of their voices was curiously conversational. He was aware of a strange uneasiness and his heart began to beat too fast.

The voices had ceased now, but soon they began once more, and softly, as if the speakers did not wish to be overheard. Then there was silence for a long time. He lay down again on the mattress. Minutes went by; then, in the silence, he heard her utter a fierce, shuddering cry of passion.

He did not move. After a while there were low voices again. Then nothing. He became aware for the first time of the sound of the cicadas in the night outside. He was at last beginning to understand Miss Kolin.