“I never saw that man before.”
“The Chief Commissioner did question you when you were first arrested by the Poles?”
“First, Colonel Bolt questioned me. Then someone who was called Special Commissioner questioned me. I did not hear his name.”
“That second man was Kordus. What was he like?”
“Medium-height, thin, undistinguished.” By the way Streit had glanced down at a pad on his desk, she guessed that Kordus’ description was already known. But even so, that put Olszak in little danger. There were so many men of medium height who were thin and undistinguished.
“Age?” Streit asked.
Sheila shook her head slowly, helplessly. “Middle-aged,” she said. Streit nodded as much as to say, “That’s what anyone who has seen him tells us.” He pursed his thin lips in annoyance at the undistinguished Kordus.
Dittmar wanted his innings, too. “Who was the man you identified?”
Truthfully she answered him, “He was with the police when Lisa and I were arrested.”
Dittmar’s eyes flickered. He concealed his disappointment well.
“And the third body?”
“No one could recognise that,” Sheila said briefly. The men laughed, shortly, quietly. Sheila was conscious of a slight change in their attitude. The tension eased. The faces were not merely polite now. They smiled, too.
“Well, that’s all, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said. “You were right, Dittmar, the markings inside the man’s clothing saying he was Kordus were either coincidence or purpose.”
Sheila rose, bowed and moved towards the door. She had been dismissed. It was over. She had told the truth throughout. It was over.
“One moment, Fräulein Braun,” Dittmar called and roused a sharp stare from Captain Streit. “After your release from questioning by Kordus, where did you meet Herr Olszak? Remember, you arrived that night at Korytowski’s flat with him.”
“I met him in the street outside. He was going there for a visit.”
“You met him in the street?”
“Yes.” Mild surprise at such a question was in Sheila’s voice.
“Was there another man with him? Someone who looked like that second exhibit downstairs?”
“No. He was alone. He almost knocked me down in the blackout. But there was no one else there at the time.” Dittmar frowned. This time he could not conceal his disappointment. Her mention of the blackout had reminded him that in such conditions she could not be expected to see anyone. He had had his theory nicely developing; now, a blackout made any other questions about that night quite pointless.
“What’s this you’ve got up your sleeve, Dittmar? What’s this about an Olszak?” Streit asked with a pleasant smile. But he and Greiser and Engelmann exchanged an almost imperceptible glance. “You’re a fine fellow, I must say, after we all agreed to pool our knowledge on the Kordus affair.”
Sheila saw the others watching Dittmar’s sudden, bland smile.
“Oh, this had nothing to do with Kordus,” the man answered coolly. “This is a little question just between me and Fräulein Braun. I never get the chance of seeing her. She’s in Hofmeyer’s department.”
Sheila smiled. She could only hope the smile betrayed none of her nervousness. For now she was convinced that Dittmar had found some cause for suspicion. He was on the right road. He was trying to connect Olszak with Kordus, and Kordus with Hofmeyer. He considered her the hand which would tie the loose ends round Olszak’s neck into a tight, satisfying knot. Why didn’t he make his charges against Hofmeyer? she wondered, and then realised that Hofmeyer’s position with other departments was too assured at the moment for unprovable statements to be made about him. All Dittmar needed was one small piece of proof. One small stone could start an avalanche.
“When did you last see Olszak?” he asked suddenly. Sheila was conscious that the others’ manners were strained. But they didn’t watch her, strangely enough. They were watching Dittmar.
Sheila stared at him, too. “Frankly,” she said with a puzzled frown, “I cannot remember the exact date. Some time during the siege. He came to ask about the Aleksanders.”
“Why?”
“He had just heard that Barbara Aleksander was dead.” Sheila looked at the three men in uniform. “She was burned to death with nearly two hundred children in one of our big raids.”
They ignored her remark. Hefner, alone, seemed shocked by the idea. “You must be mistaken,” he said sharply, and received a look of disapproval from the others, not for his naïveté but for the fact that he should have spoken at all.
Sheila looked pointedly at her scarred left hand. “I was nearly burned alive, too,” she said. “A dinner engagement saved me.”
“We all run risks, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said coldly, but he looked at her with sudden interest. Something in her emotional outburst was connected with Dittmar. Sheila took a deep breath. The first phase of her attack had been launched. To strike back at Dittmar had been instinctive: this was the only way to defend herself and her friends. At the very least it would serve as a diversion. Subconsciously, Hofmeyer’s remarks about departmental jealousies had linked up with the look on these men’s faces as they had watched Dittmar take the centre of the stage. If she had had time to think it all out, she would never have had the courage to attempt her next move. If she had been a man, she would never have tried it.
She returned Streit’s look with wide brown eyes. “Yes, Captain Streit. I have been running risks willingly for three months now.” She was almost weeping with indignation. “And today I find that all my work during these three months may be sabotaged. Not by the enemy. By someone among us, someone who may want to usurp Herr Hofmeyer’s power.”
“What’s this?” interrupted Engelmann sharply. “What’s this? Hofmeyer is one of my men. He has been of outstanding service to our new branch of the Sicherheitsdienst. Who has been interfering with his work?”
“I don’t know. Herr Hofmeyer didn’t say. He is loyal,” Sheila said, but her eyes flickered towards Dittmar’s bent head. He was pretending to examine the arrangement of roses on Captain Streit’s desk. Streit had at least caught Sheila’s implication. His thin, clever lips became thinner. Sheila’s guess that he didn’t like Dittmar was confirmed. Her fingers stopped their hidden trembling. She unclasped her hands and smoothed her skirt.
“Sit down, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said pleasantly. “How sabotaged? That is a strong statement.”
“By some unexplained refusal to let me make a short journey to Korytów.”
“Why must you go?”
“I don’t want to go. The journey will be unpleasant. But there are three people there—two children, one elderly female—whom I must contact. I can only do that by going to Korytów.”
Streit looked puzzled, disappointed; but he was still watching Dittmar, who was now looking unconcernedly out of the window. “If they are necessary to your work, Fräulein Braun, then we can telephone and have them sent here.”
“Then they would know we are behind this move. The Poles are very suspicious. I must accomplish this as Sheila Matthews, not as Anna Braun.”
“What is this Korytów?”
“A very small village near enough to Warsaw.”
“Is Hofmeyer against your going?” Captain Streit was beginning to get bored, but he was thorough.
“No. Yesterday it was his solution to my biggest problem. Today, he finds that another department which he had to consult is against the idea.”
“Why so much fuss about a mere trip to an unimportant pigsty? There should be no difficulty for any agent to reach there. The question should not even have arisen. So much time wasted on these petty misunderstandings!”
“I believe the trouble arises because Korytów is to be destroyed. That was the reason given Herr Hofmeyer.”
“Then that is a military matter,” Streit said, and marked the conclusion of a disappointing conversation by slapping the gleaming rosewood with his open han
d. “For the moment, the military is in control.”
The case was closed. She had lost, Sheila thought. And in more ways than one, she realised, as Dittmar turned round to face the room and looked at her.
But Engelmann said, “There’s a department for liaison with the military in matters of reprisals. I was to have headed it, but owing to pressure of my own duties, Arndt was appointed instead. Where is Arndt? He will explain. He advises the military which areas we want cleaned up.”
Dittmar broke his silence. “He had to visit Cracow. I have been acting as deputy here for him.”
“Then you advised the military committee that a village should be selected as an example?” Engelmann said. “Such a decision should have been suggested first of all to Streit, or Greiser, or to me. On what authority do you make your decisions, Herr Dittmar?”
Sheila’s eyes counted the roses. She had offered a diversion from questions about Olszak. She had stirred up something far more than she had intended. She was now too nervous even to enjoy Dittmar’s sudden uncertainty.
“As Herr Arndt’s chosen deputy—”
“Arndt is responsible in such matters to me. He would have had me ratify such a decision. As for this Korytów...where is it? I haven’t heard of any trouble recently, there. I never even heard of it until these last minutes.”
Streit picked up the telephone, and gave brisk instructions. He then settled himself comfortably in his chair. All his interest had returned. He was no longer annoyed over his time being wasted. “We shall wait until the right department is found, to explain to us why Korytów should have been the selected village,” he said amiably to the room.
Sheila stirred uncomfortably. “I am sorry—” she began apologetically.
Streit silenced her with a careless wave of his hand. “Not at all, Fräulein Braun. Several little difficulties have kept arising during the few days we have been in Warsaw. We are always interested to see who is causing unnecessary complications for purely personal motives. Warsaw is difficult enough to organise, in any case. The place is a mess of ruins and intrigue. We have got to establish a firm order and discipline, not only among the snivelling Poles but among ourselves. There is no time for personal ambitions.”
It was easy for Captain Streit to talk, Sheila reflected as she listened gravely. His position was already attained: now he didn’t have to worry about personal ambitions of his own. All he had to do was to worry about the personal ambitions of others who might reach for his job.
Dittmar said, his face white with anger, his voice compressed and hard, “There is no need to find any department. I am responsible for the definite choice of Korytów. We had to make an example of one village to bring that district round Lowicz to its senses.”
Sheila’s horror couldn’t be restrained. For a moment she stared at the man’s set face. The others saw that stare. They remembered the term she had first used: sabotage. Now it seemed to them as if she had found proof that the village of Korytów had been picked maliciously to embarrass Hofmeyer’s plan. It was obvious that she was outraged by Dittmar’s statement.
“We all know the record of that part of the country,” Streit said brusquely. “I agree that one example, perhaps two, possibly three must be made. It doesn’t matter which villages are chosen, whether they are actually guilty or not. But it does matter that you recognise the correct procedure in such matters. In that way, no department will have its plans—complicated.” In the slight but careful hesitation there had been the suggestion of a stronger word. Streit continued in the same even tone, “The AO has done good work in preparing the ground first for the military occupation and then for the Gestapo. But now that we are here, we do not need the AO to help us make decisions. We decide, Herr Dittmar. The AO merely suggests.”
There was an uneasy movement from the embarrassed Hefner. He was worried, Sheila saw. Loss of prestige for an overambitious Dittmar meant loss of security for Hefner.
Captain Greiser stretched his long legs and then rose. “A most illuminating afternoon,” he said, “and now I must beg your leave, Captain Streit. I have a committee meeting in ten minutes. I regret I must go. I am sure we shall all benefit from this most interesting discussion.” He saluted negligently, and left the room.
Dittmar, his broad face impassive, saluted quickly and said, “I must beg your leave, too, Herr Hauptmann.” He hurried after the Wehrmacht captain, as the Gestapo arm raised its cold consent, and Hefner hurried after him.
“Was it possible that he chose Korytów purposely, and not accidentally?” Engelmann was asking. This last half-hour had upset him more than anyone except Sheila.
“Most possible,” Streit said. “Isn’t that so, Fräulein Braun? I think Fräulein Braun could tell us a lot, if she weren’t so afraid. Isn’t that so, Fräulein Braun?”
Sheila, who had hoped that Dittmar’s exit would also be the cue for her dismissal, sank back again into her chair. She felt the cold sweat break down her spine.
“Don’t be afraid, Fräulein Braun. You can say what you think. We should like to know what you think.”
“Captain Streit, Herr Engelmann.” She stopped. Tears of desperation were not far away. “I may need your protection.” She tried to stop twisting her innocent handkerchief.
The two Nazis looked at each other in amazement and then in mild amusement. Herr Engelmann was even a little touched by such a pleasant idea. The colder Streit merely waited for this frightened girl to explain her hysteria. His eyes had scarcely left her face since Dittmar had gone.
“Dittmar told you he never sees me,” she said in desperation. “Yet he forced his way into my apartment a few days ago. He told me that Hofmeyer would not last. He told me a clever girl would look for another boss. He meant himself. I refused. I told him I had my job to do. He knew it concerned Korytów. That was why I challenged him today, as you saw, Captain Streit. He will not forget that. And yet I do not see why a man like Dittmar should be allowed to elbow his way into power. For power is the reward of service and bravery, not of scheming. Isn’t that true of our country, gentlemen?”
Captain Streit smiled approval of such a pretty speech. The more excitable Engelmann cursed softly and paced the room. “Hofmeyer is one of my men,” he said at last. “I’ll see he is left to work without any threats.” The attack on Hofmeyer had now reached the dimensions of an attack on Engelmann himself. He bit his thumb savagely.
“Get hold of a car and send her in it to Korytów,” Streit said curtly. “Surely we can spare one car, when so many are being used by our gallant young officers on leave?”
Engelmann nodded in agreement with Streit’s passing jibe at the army, and reached for the telephone.
“You look pale and tired, Fräulein Braun,” Captain Streit said. “Perhaps you have been overworking?”
Sheila, praying that the hard grey eyes would give her just two minutes’ respite from their watchfulness, smiled shakily and said, “You know, I still can smell that room downstairs.”
Streit reached a long-fingered hand towards the vase and broke off a rose. “Try this,” he said. “I often do. You come from Munich, Fräulein Braun?”
She took the rose. Its perfume was soft and sweet and clean. “Yes. But I lived many years in London.”
“So I noticed. When you are excited, there is quite a hint of English inflection in your accent. It is extremely interesting.”
Sheila was holding the rose to her face as if it were a bottle of smelling salts. Engelmann, replacing the receiver, said jovially, “Now I know why you’ve been reminding me all this time of Chicago.”
Sheila looked blankly at him.
“One of my best men, when I was working in the AO, was sent out to Chicago to organise the loyal Germans there. He was there for five years. When he came back in ’38, he spoke German with a Chicago accent. I heard him with my own ears. Incredible!”
Streit was amused in that cold way of his, but he looked at the telephone suggestively.
Engelmann sa
id hurriedly, “A car is coming round here for Fräulein Braun. She had better leave at once, in order to reach Korytów in time. She will make her own plans to deal with her contacts there.”
“Any escort?”
“Can’t be spared today. She could have one tomorrow if she waited.”
“What does Fräulein Braun say?” Streit asked mockingly. “It may be dangerous.”
“I’ll go today,” Sheila said quietly. Engelmann was pleased, obviously. Captain Streit had a tantalising way of hiding his emotions.
The telephone bell rang as Sheila rose. For a moment she was paralysed with dread at its possible message. But Streit’s voice was normal when he answered, “Too late now.” He replaced the receiver unconcernedly. “Only about the Dittmar-Korytów-military-liaison-office affair,” he said to Engelmann. He rose to his feet and said to Sheila, “Perhaps we may have dinner together some night, and discuss what you saw and heard at Korytów, Fräulein Braun. And come to me with any other information.”
Engelmann had saluted and was already marching into the corridor.
Captain Streit’s voice was so gentle that Sheila had to strain to catch all his words. “Information not only about Dittmar. About anyone. Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein Braun!”
Sheila smiled and acknowledged his salute, as Engelmann’s worried voice called, “Fräulein Braun, we have little time.”
As she closed the door, Streit was arranging the photograph on the desk to his taste. As serious-faced woman and wide-eyed little boy stared out from their silver frame at the red roses.
* * *
Sheila found she didn’t walk quite steady. She lurched against Engelmann as they descended the broad, stone staircase. She pretended her high heels were treacherous on the stairs. But Engelmann was too preoccupied to notice anything. She looked at him curiously. He was still the same tall thin man with an unhappy face. But now she also saw the worried eyes, the intent mouth. He had ordered the car, not because he was sympathetic to her or to Hofmeyer as he had pretended, but rather because he had wanted to assert his authority over Dittmar. If he hadn’t done so, his authority would have been permanently weakened. All these people, these self-appointed lords of creation, were vulnerable. They lived with the perpetual fear that their power was threatened, because the foundation of that power was opportunity. That could explain the broken bodies in the evil-smelling room. The nouveau riche displayed his yachts and pictures to silence his doubts. The arriviste in politics displayed his brute force for the same purpose. Cruelty, like all forms of display, was the compensation for the hidden, nagging fear of inferiority. Yes, that could explain the mutilated bodies. And yet Sheila, having known men and women who could live happily without the display of either force or wealth, felt that such people were the reason why she condemned the Nazi even as she explained them. If some of the human race could be gentle and decent in face of poverty and worry and ill health, then there was no excuse for those who denied gentleness and decency. Explanation was no excuse at all, not even in the recently fashionable terms of Freud or Dali.
While Still We Live Page 30
