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He went up the stairs two at a time and rang A
It was only then that he felt afraid. He hammered several times on the door and called her name, but there was no reply and he became aware of the peculiar silence that reigned throughout the entire house.
He went downstairs quickly and knocked on the door of the caretaker’s apartment in the hall. At first nothing happened, and he kicked the bottom of the door savagely, and then he heard slow reluctant footsteps approaching.
The door opened a little and the caretaker peered out. “Yes, mein Herr, what is it?”
“Miss Hartma
The caretaker was a middle-aged man with watery blue eyes and a pouched and wrinkled face. He shrugged. “That is not surprising, mein Herr. Fraulein Hartma
Chavasse rammed his shoulder against the door with such force that the caretaker was sent staggering across the room to crash into the opposite wall. There was a cry of alarm as Chavasse followed him in, and a gray-haired woman shrank back in her chair, a hand covering her mouth.
Chavasse grabbed the terrified caretaker by the front of his shirt and pulled him close. “You’re lying!” he said. “I happen to know that nothing on earth would make her leave her apartment at this particular moment.” He slapped the man backhanded across the face. “Where is she?”
The man’s head rolled from side to side helplessly. “I can’t tell you, mein Herr. It’s as much as my life’s worth.”
Chavasse slapped him again, viciously and with all his strength. The woman flung herself across the room and tugged at his arm. “Leave him alone. I’ll tell you what you want to know, only don’t hit him any more. He’s a sick man. He was wounded at Stalingrad.”
Chavasse pushed the caretaker down into a chair and turned to the woman. “All right, you tell me and you’d better make it convincing.”
As she opened her mouth to speak, her husband said desperately, “For God’s sake, keep your mouth shut. Remember what he threatened to do if we talked.”
“I know what I’m doing, Willi,” she said, and turned back to Chavasse. “About twenty minutes ago, a car drew up outside. There were two men in it, only one got out.”
“How do you know about this?” Chavasse asked.
“I saw them from the window. The one who came in knocked on the door and my husband answered. He wanted to know the number of Fraulein Hartma
Chavasse closed his eyes for a moment and drew a long breath. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“He threatened us, mein Herr,” she said simply. “He said that at the very least, he would see that my husband lost his job.”
“And you believed him?” Chavasse said in disgust.
She nodded. “These people have the power to do anything, mein Herr. They are all around us. What chance have poor people like ourselves to oppose them? They got us into the last war – they will have us fighting again before they are done.”
Tomorrow the world, he thought. Tomorrow the world. He turned away from her, a sudden hatred for everything German rising inside him. She followed him to the door and held out a key.
“This is a master key, mein Herr. Perhaps you would like to examine the apartment?”
He took it from her without a word and went slowly up the stairs. There was no life left in him at all, and he unlocked the door and went inside and switched on the light.
She’d put up a struggle, that much was obvious. The carpet was rucked up and the table in the center of the room was overturned, the telephone lying on the floor. The table and chair by the window were in their usual positions, the Hebrew textbook and notebook lying open, almost as if she had been working a moment before and had simply left the room for a little while.
He looked into the bedroom. She had obviously changed on coming in and undergarments were strewn carelessly across the bed. He picked up a nylon stocking that had fallen to the floor and stood with it in his hands, staring blindly into space. After a while, he dropped it onto the bed and returned to the living room, and discovered Colonel von Kraul in the act of righting the upturned table.
CHAPTER 13
“You were so long, I began to worry,” von Kraul said as he picked up the telephone and placed it on the table. “Your friend has gone out?”
Chavasse nodded slowly. “Yes, and I’m very much afraid she won’t be coming back.”
“There would appear to have been a struggle,” the German said. “Don’t you think you should tell me about it, my friend? Presumably, it has some co
Chavasse sat down. After a moment or two, he looked up and said, “There doesn’t seem much point in keeping it to myself now, does there?”
“Not really,” von Kraul said. “In any case, I may be able to help.”
Chavasse shook his head. “Somehow, I don’t think so.” He stood up and walked across to the window and looked out into the darkening street. “I came to Germany to find Martin Borma
Von Kraul’s eyes had narrowed slightly, but his face remained calm. Only the whiteness of his knuckles as his hands tightened over the handle of his walking stick betrayed the fact that he was considerably moved by what Chavasse had just told him. “And were these facts true?”
Chavasse nodded. “In the main – Borma
“Did you ever meet this man Muller?” von Kraul asked.
Chavasse nodded. “I was present when he was beaten to death by Steiner and another man in Nagel’s castle at Berndorf.”
“This is all begi
“She was working for an unofficial Israeli underground organization,” Chavasse told him. “The same people who tracked down Eichma
“I see,” von Kraul said dryly. “She and her friends were also after Borma
“She telephoned me at the Atlantic an hour or so ago,” Chavasse continued. “Without going into details of how and why, she found Borma
“Presumably, that’s what the opposition were after when they came here,” von Kraul said.
Chavasse shook his head. “I think they were looking for A
“It must make interesting reading.”
Chavasse nodded. “I understand Borma
“Presumably, Nagel must be included,” von Kraul said.
“He probably has a chapter to himself,” Chavasse told him, and at that moment the phone rang.
He lifted the receiver and said, “Yes, who is it?” knowing full well who it was.