The Schirmer Inheritance

12

George was kept for two days and three nights at the Sergeant’s headquarters.

On the first day, the Sergeant left the house soon after dawn, and returned when it was dark. George spent the day in the room downstairs, and had his meals there with Arthur. He did not see either the Sergeant or Miss Kolin. After that first night, she was moved to another room in an annex to the house and food was taken to her by one of the sentries. When George asked if he could see her, Arthur shook his head.

“Sorry, chum. No can do.”

“What’s happened to her?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

“I want to see her.”

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t mind whether you see her or not. It’s just that she doesn’t want to see you.”

“Why not?”

“The Sarge is the only one she wants to see.”

“Is she all right?”

“Fit as a fiddle.” He grinned. “Cut lip, of course, and a bruise or two, but radiant as a bride. You wouldn’t know her.”

“How much longer is this going on?”

“Search me. I’d say it had only just started.”

“After what happened, it doesn’t make sense.”

Arthur looked at him with some amusement. “I expect you’ve been nicely brought up. I told you she’d been asking for it, didn’t I? Well, she got it, and very nice too. I’ve never seen the Sarge take such a fancy to a girl before.”

“A fancy!” George was getting angry.

“I wouldn’t mind betting she was a virgin,” Arthur mused; “or as good as.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

“What’s the matter, chum? Sour grapes?”

“I don’t think there’s much point in discussing it. Did Colonel Chrysantos turn up?”

“The sheriff’s posse, you mean? Sure. They’re sitting on their backsides, like twerps, just on the other side of the frontier. Waiting for something to happen.”

“Or maybe waiting for Miss Kolin and me to turn up. Supposing the American Legation’s brought into this and they start complaining to Belgrade. Going to be a bit awkward for you, isn’t it?”

“You’ll be back before they finish even talking about doing anything. And when you do get back, you’ll begin to think again about all the fuss your office is going to make over the Sarge, and say it was all a mistake.”

“Got it all worked out, haven’t you? I don’t see what you had to get so upset about.”

“No? For one thing they’ve arrested that poor old sod who drove you. That’s not so funny, is it?”

“How do you know?”

“We had word from Florina this morning.”

“How?”

“Ask no questions, you’ll be told no lies. I’ll tell you this, though. The comitadjis have been using these hills for fifty years or more. There’s not much you can’t get away with in these parts if you know the ropes. Don’t forget that they’re Macedonians on both sides of the frontier. When it comes to small-scale work like this, the Chrysantos boys haven’t got an earthly.”

“What’ll happen to the driver?”

“That depends. He’s an old comitadji, so he won’t say where he got his orders from, no matter what they do to him. But it’s awkward. He isn’t the only one in Florina. There’s old Ma Vassiotis, for instance. They might have a go at her. You know, if the Sarge hadn’t changed things round a bit, I’d be inclined to go up and give your Miss What’s-her-name another bashing myself.”

“Supposing I were to tell Chrysantos that I hired the car and told the old man where to go.”

“He might believe you. But how did you know where to go?”

“I’d say you told me.”

Arthur laughed. “Proper lawyer, aren’t you?”

“Would it matter to you?”

“Not a tuppenny damn.”

“O.K., then.”

Arthur was cleaning a pistol. George watched him for a while in silence. At last he said: “Supposing there had been no question of the Sergeant’s going to America. Would you have gone on with this racket of yours?”

Arthur looked up, then shook his head. “No. I reckon we’ve just about had it now.”

“Having pulled off the big job?”

“Maybe. Time to move on anyway.” He bent over the pistol again.

“Got plenty of dough put away?” George said after a moment or two.

Arthur looked up, startled. “I’ve never met anyone with such terrible manners,” he said. “Come off it, Arthur.”

But Arthur was genuinely shocked. “How would you like it if I was to ask you how much money you had in the bank?” he said indignantly.

“All right. Tell me something else, then. How did it start? The Sergeant kept very quiet about that. What happened in the end to that Markos brigade you both commanded?”

Arthur shook his head sadly. “Always asking questions. I suppose it’s being a lawyer.”

“I have an inquiring mind.”

“Just plain nosy-parkering, my mother would have called it.”

“You forget that, at present, I’m the Sergeant’s legal adviser. Between a man and his legal adviser there should be no secrets.”

Arthur uttered an obscene four-letter word and went back to his cleaning.

But the following evening he came back to the subject of his own accord. George had still seen nothing of either the Sergeant or Miss Kolin and a suspicion had been forming in his mind. He began to ask questions again.

“What time’s the Sergeant coming back today?”

“Don’t know, chum. When we see him, I expect.” Arthur was reading a Belgrade newspaper that had arrived mysteriously during the day. Now he threw it down in disgust. “Lot of nonsense in that paper,” he said. “Ever read The News of the World? London paper that is.”

“No, I’ve never seen it. Is the Sergeant in Greece or Albania today?”

“Albania?” Arthur laughed, but, as George opened his mouth to ask another question, he went on. “You were asking what happened to us when we packed up fighting. We were up near the Albanian frontier then.”

“Oh, yes?”

Arthur nodded reminiscently. “You ought to have a look at Mount Grammos if you ever get the chance,” he said. “Wonderful scenery up that way.”

The Grammos massif had been one of the first strongholds of the Markos forces; it came to be one of the last.

For weeks the brigade’s position in the area had been deteriorating steadily. The trickle of deserters had become a stream. There came a day in October when important decisions had to be taken.

The Sergeant had been on his feet for fourteen hours or more, and his hip was paining him, when at last he gave orders to bivouac for the night. Later, the officer in charge of an outlying picket caught two deserters from another battalion and sent them to brigade headquarters to be dealt with.

The Sergeant looked at the men thoughtfully and then gave orders for them to be executed. When they had been led away, he poured himself a glass of wine and nodded to Arthur to do the same. They drank their wine in silence. Then, the Sergeant refilled the glasses.

“Does it occur to you, Corporal,” he said, “that those two men may have been setting their brigade commander and his second-in-command a good example?”

Arthur nodded. “It’s been occurring to me for days, Sarge. We haven’t a hope in hell.”

“No. The best we can hope for is that they will starve us to death.”

“They’re beginning to do that already.”

“I have no wish to be a martyr of the revolution.”

“Neither have I. We’ve done our jobs, Sarge, as well as we knew how and a bit over. And we’ve kept faith. That’s more than those bastards at the top can say.”

“ ‘Put not your trust in princes.’ I have remembered that, you see. I think the time has come to seek our independence.”

“When do we go?”

“Tomorrow night would not be too soon.”

“When they find out us two have gone, you won’t see the rest of them for dust. I wonder how many’ll get through.”

“The ones who always get through, the comitadji types. They will hide away in their hills as they have done before. They will be there when we want them.”

Arthur was startled. “When we want them? I thought you said something about independence.”

The Sergeant filled his glass again before he replied. “I have been thinking, Corporal,” he said at last, “and I have a plan. The politicians have used us. Now we will use them.”

He stood up and limped over to his kit bag for the tin box in which he kept his cigars.

Arthur watched him with something that he knew was very like love. He had a profound respect for his friend’s planning ability. Surprising things sometimes emerged from that hard, heavy head.

“How use them?” he said.

“The idea came to me several weeks ago,” said the Sergeant. “I was thinking of that history of the Party which we were once compelled to read. You remember?”

“Sure. I read mine without cutting the pages open.”

The Sergeant smiled grimly. “You missed some important things, Corporal. I will give you my copy to read.” He lighted a cigar luxuriously. “I think that it is quite possible that from being mere soldiers we may soon become soldiers of fortune.”

“It was dead easy,” Arthur said. “The Sarge had got hold of a list of all the secret Party members and sympathizers in the Salonika area, and we sorted out those that worked in banks and in the offices of businesses with big payrolls. Then we approached them and gave them their big chance to serve the Party in its hour of need, just as the book said the old Bolshies had done. We could always say we’d denounce them if they got suspicious, but we haven’t had any trouble of that kind. I tell you, every single job we’ve done, we’ve had a man or woman on the inside, helping us for the honour and glory of the Party.” He laughed contemptuously. “Flies in the Ointment, Unite! They couldn’t wait to ditch the people they were working for. Some of them would torture their own mothers if the Party wanted them to, and be glad to do it. ‘Yes, Comrade. Certainly, Comrade. Glad to be of service, Comrade!’ It’s made me sick sometimes to hear them,” he added self-righteously.

“Still, you did pretty well out of it, didn’t you?”

“Maybe we did, but I still don’t like people who bite the hand that feeds them.”

“Surely, it must have taken quite a bit of courage for some of these people to act on their convictions to the extent of helping you.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Arthur sourly. “If you ask me, these political convictions that make it O.K. to play someone else a dirty trick behind their backs have something pretty phony about them.”

“You’re quite a moralist, Arthur. What about the trick you were playing?”

“I’m not pretending to be better than I am. It’s these phonies I can’t stand. You should talk to some of them. Clever. Know all the answers. Prove anything you like. The sort you don’t want with you if you’re going out on a patrol, because, if things get sticky, they’re the ones who’ll start looking round for a reason for everybody to chuck in their hands and go home.”

“Does the Sergeant feel the same way about these things?”

“Him?” Arthur laughed. “No. He doesn’t bother. You see, I think there are all kinds of people. He doesn’t. He thinks there are only two kinds-those you’d want with you when things are bad, and those you wouldn’t have at any price.” He smiled slyly and added: “And he makes up his mind real quick.”

George lit his last cigarette and stared thoughtfully at Arthur for a moment. The suspicion suddenly became a certainty. He screwed up the empty pack and tossed it on the table.

“Where are they, Arthur?” he said.

“Where are who?” Arthur’s face was all innocence.

“Come on, Arthur! Let’s stop playing games. They were here last night, I know, because I heard the Sergeant come in around midnight and start talking to you. But this morning neither he nor Miss Kolin was here. At least, I didn’t see him, and no food’s been taken up to her. So where are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think again.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Carey, and that’s a fact.” “Has he gone for good?”

Arthur hesitated and then shrugged. “Yes, he has.”

George nodded. He had suspected, but, now that he knew for certain, the news came as a blow. “What am I being kept here for?” he asked.

“He’s got to have time to get clear.”

“Clear of me?”

“No, clear of this country.” Arthur leaned forward earnestly. “You see, supposing you went back and Chrysantos started on you, and you blew the gaff about his being on the way out. I don’t say you’d mean to, but he’s a cunning bastard, that one. You can see it might be awkward.”

“Yes, I see. He’d already decided what he was going to do. I think he might have told me.”

“He asked me to, Mr. Carey. I was going to wait until after supper, just to be on the safe side, but you may as well know now. You see, there wasn’t much time. We’ve been all fixed up to go for days. He made the final arrangements yesterday and just came back to ask her if she wanted to go too.”

“And she did?”

“Like a shot. Can’t keep her hands off him. Proper case it is.”

“Isn’t he afraid she’ll try and turn him in again?” Arthur laughed. “Don’t be silly, chum. She’s been waiting for a man like that all her life.” “I still don’t get it.”

“I expect you’re like me,” Arthur said consolingly. “I like it a little more on the quiet side myself. But about the money-”

“Yes, about the money.”

“We talked it over, him and me, Mr. Carey, and we came to a conclusion. He couldn’t have claimed it. You see that, don’t you? You talked about extradition and all that, but that’s not the point. Extradition or not, everything would have had to come out. That’d be no good. He’s going to start a new life under a new name, with all this behind him. He hasn’t got half a million dollars or anything like, but he’s got enough to go on with. If he claimed that money he’d be a marked man. You know that as well as I do.”

“He could have told me this the first time.”

“He only wanted his family papers, Mr. Carey. You can’t blame him for that.”

“And he just had me stringing along so that I wouldn’t make trouble. I get it.” George sighed. “All right. What’s his new name going to be? Schneider?”

“Now, you don’t want to be bitter, chum. He liked you and he’s very grateful.”

After a moment or two George looked up. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’ll be getting along, too, by and by. It’s easier for me, being British. There are all sorts of places I can go. I might even join the Sarge if I feel like it.”

“Then, you do know where he’s going?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how he’s going. He might be on a ship in Salonika at this very moment for all I know. But I couldn’t say for certain. What I don’t know, nobody can make me tell.”

“So you’re just here to look after me. Is that it?”

“Well, I’ve got to pay off the boys, too, and clear up generally. I’m the adjutant, you might say.”

There was a silence. He looked round the room moodily. His eyes met George’s. Unsuccessfully, for once, he tried to grin.

“I tell you what, chum,” he said. “Now that the Sarge’s gone and everything, I reckon we’re both a bit down in the mouth today. We got hold of some German wine once. Kept it for special occasions, like last night. What about you and me having a bottle between us now?”

The sun was shining when George awoke the following morning. He looked at his watch and saw that it was eight o’clock. On the two previous mornings, Arthur had roused him, with a good deal of military noise, at seven.

He listened. The house was quite silent and the cicadas outside seemed very loud. He went and opened the door of his room.

There was no sentry on duty there. The “boys” had evidently been paid off. He went downstairs.

In the room where they had eaten their meals, Arthur had left a note and a letter for him.

George looked at the note first.

Well chum [it said], I hope you have not got too much of a hangover. There’s a letter here that Sergeant Schirmer left for you before he went. Sorry I can’t lend you my razor today as it’s the only one I’ve got. When you want to go back to dear old Civilization just walk up through the trees past the place we parked the truck and then take the right fork. You can’t miss it. It’s less than a mile away. Nobody on this side will interfere with you. You will soon meet a patrol on the other side. Don’t forget to do your best for that old driver. It’s been nice knowing you. All the best. Arthur.

The letter from the Sergeant was in Miss Kolin’s angular handwriting.

DEAR MR. CAREY [he read],

I have asked Maria to write this for me so that the meaning of what I feel and have to say will be clear and properly expressed in your language.

First, allow me to apologize for having left you so suddenly and discourteously, without taking my leave of you. No doubt, by the time you read this, the Corporal will have explained to you the situation and also the reasons for my decision not to attempt to go with you to America. I trust that you will understand. I was naturally disappointed, as I have always wished to see something of your country. Perhaps some day it will be possible.

And now, permit me to express my gratitude to you and to those of your office who sent you. Maria has told me of your persistence and determination to find a man you had so much reason to believe dead. It is a good thing to be able to go on a little further when those with less spirit are ready to turn back. I am sorry that you will have no more valuable a reward than my gratitude. Yet that I offer you sincerely, my friend. I would have been glad to receive so much money if it had been possible, but not more glad than I am now to possess the documents you brought me.

The money I cannot think of with great emotion. It is a large sum, but I do not think it has to do with me. It was earned in America by an American. I think it is just that, if there is no other heir but me, the American State of Pennsylvania should have it. My true inheritance is the knowledge you have brought me of my blood and of myself. So much has changed and Eylau is long ago, but hand clasps hand across the years and we are one. A man’s immortality is in his children. I hope I shall have many. Perhaps Maria will bear them. She says that she will wish to.

The Corporal tells me that you will be so kind as to speak discreetly for the driver who was arrested. Maria asks that, if possible, you will give him her typewriter and the other things she left in Florina so that he may sell them and have the money. His name is Douchko. She sends you also her apologies and her thanks. So now, my friend, there is only left for me to thank you again and to wish you happiness in your life. I hope we may meet again.

Yours very sincerely,

FRANZ SCHIRMER

The signature was in his own writing, very neat and clear.

George put the letters in his pocket, got his briefcase from his room, and walked up through the pine trees. It was a fine, fresh morning and the air was good. He began to think out what he would have to say to Colonel Chrysantos. The Colonel was not going to be pleased; neither was Mr. Sistrom. The whole situation, in fact, was most unfortunate.

George wondered why it was, then, that he kept laughing to himself as he walked on towards the frontier.