“Let her go!” commanded Heinz, while Hans and Robert tried to haul Leo’s steel-taut body off the girl. He got up slowly, cursing them, and stood looking down at Krista; then, as she did not move, he pulled her roughly to her feet. She shrank away from him. His eyes glowed strangely and his hands were twitching.
“We were only having a bit of fun,” he said. “No need to make a song and dance about it.”
Hans went up to Krista. “Has he hurt you?” He could not bear the look on her face. Katie and Anna could look out for themselves—they’d have scratched and bitten—but Krista was different. She was utterly defenceless in the face of violence. At school the twins had protected her, and although Leo was the chief of their gang they had gone instinctively to her help.
With a tremendous effort of will the girl pulled herself together to reassure Robert. She was still trembling, but she could see his anxiety. She pulled him to her side.
“It’s all right, Robert. I fell over a tree stump, and Leo fell over me,” she said hesitatingly. “Have you found Franz Joseph yet?”
They had searched everywhere, he said, but no one had seen him: what should they do now? They went down the slope to the tow-path and Robert picked up the bicycle.
“I knew you were here when I saw it lying there,” he said, “and then I heard you scream, Krista, so I came quickly.”
She was squeezing his little hand as if she could never let it go. Heinz and Hans looked curiously at her. She appeared quite calm again, but her pallor was frightening. It was going to be damned awkward if Leo started his tricks on Krista. Katie was another matter: she could look out for herself; but Krista! No, they were agreed on that. As Robert and she went off with the bicycle Leo said quietly to the twins, “Keep out of things which don’t concern you or you’ll find life rather unpleasant.”
He smiled as he said it, and his tone was very light, but they were under no illusions as to what he meant. Leo was not a person to be interfered with. The twins would pay for having interrupted his intentions today. Leo was not head of their gang for nothing.
A cry from Krista told them that the missing child had been found. He was lying on his stomach completely absorbed in an ant-hill. The rushes hid him completely. A paper boat floating far out in mid-stream had given the clue to Krista.
“You must have heard us calling,” said Heinz angrily. “We came quite close to you.”
Franz Joseph shook his head. “No, I didn’t hear anything at all. Only ships’ sirens and birds,” he insisted. “And I didn’t see anybody but the ants.”
Heinz was angry at the trouble the child had made for them all. He did not mention the unspoken fear of each of them that he might have fallen in. Every year the number of drowned was high. A treacherous current made swimming dangerous unless one knew how to zig-zag to avoid it. The older lads swam every evening in spite of the danger, and every summer there was a race to see who could swim across the wide river first. Leo had won it easily both last year and this. He was a magnificent swimmer and diver. Hank was as strong, but lacked the style and skill of his chief. A child who fell in would have no chance whatever against such a strong fast stream. The water was deep, and large steamers could navigate quite close in to the banks.
Heinz picked up his small brother and shook him roughly, hoisted him up on his shoulder and told him he was in for trouble as soon as he got home. Moe was waiting for him, said Hans. Franz Joseph set his dirty little face resolutely. He didn’t care. It had been worth it. It had been wonderful by the river with no one to keep telling him not to lean over the bank. He scrambled down from Heinz’s back and ran up to Krista. He put his hand in hers.
“You won’t let her beat me too hard, will you?” he asked anxiously.
But Franz Joseph did not get his beating. Joseph was at home, sitting waiting at the head of the table.
“What’s happened to Krista?” he said, after one look at her face. The marks of Leo’s fingers were round her bruised mouth. There was a silence; then she said lamely that she had fallen over a tree stump.
It was Robert who said, “That Leo fell on top of her—he wouldn’t let her get up.”
“Leo?” said Joseph sharply, his eyes on Krista. “What were you doing with Leo?”
“I met him on the tow-path when I was looking for Franz Joseph.” The words came unwillingly.
Joseph looked at Hank who had just come in late from work.
“Tell your friend to keep away from Krista.” His voice was furious. “It’s enough that he’s always with you and Katie. I don’t like the fellow.”
Hank, who had sat down without a word, took the plate handed him by Katie and began eating. He did not answer his father. The meal was unusually silent. They were all exhausted from the heat and from hunting for Franz Joseph.
When it was over Hank called the twins, and taking the air-pistol which he had recently acquired told them to come and shoot birds with him.
“What’s the row about Leo?” he asked, as they left the house. The twins told him. They were uneasy. Hank’s face was dark. To his brothers’ astonishment he was furious with Leo.
“Let him wait till I get at him,” he said. “Isn’t it about time we told him where he gets off?”
The twins were silent. They were thinking of the old caretaker. Leo had something on Hank now. As they walked across the fields Hank was in such a rage that he couldn’t speak. The face of Krista was revolving again and again in his mind, and each time he visualized it his hatred of Leo grew.
XVI
IT GREW hotter and hotter. The willows every day more tired and smutty, the grass more limp and scorched. On the great river the summer season was now in full swing. Tourists were filling the town and the villages along its banks. The grapes were ripening, and soon there would be the wine festivals to encourage even more visitors. As the pleasure boats drifted down the current, so the long line of cars raced parallel with them on the riverside roads.
Prosperity was returning again. The hotels were full. Money was pouring in. The beer gardens and restaurants were a riot of noisy drinking and singing in the evenings, and the lilting music of Strauss could be heard everywhere on the water.
Against all this frenzy for pleasure, for eating, drinking and love-making which seemed to be filling the population, the steady sound of the hammers and bricks never ceased. Working long shifts, men slaved at the new buildings. Whole new towns had grown up for the Occupation along the river. Huge new buildings for their own Government had shot up in the little town now decreed the capital. The great white building which was the seat of the new Government—the democratic one this time—which now dominated the once pretty and modest little town of Bonn, had already become a regular Sunday sight-seeing tour. Motor coaches brought loads of curious sightseers who peered and stared in at the windows and took photographs while eating and drinking their picnic food. At the entrances of the homes of the Chancellor and the President armed police stood guard, and the new flag flew. For a long time there had been no flag. The Third Reich one was forbidden by the Occupation. When the Chancellor, whom they called the “old man” and who came from the great town itself, rode out from his house, motor cyclist outriders cleared a path for him and brought up the rear. The country was out of the mire again. Gone were the days when the roads were swarming with the uniforms and cars of the Occupation. They were almost negligible now, and the country’s own cars, made in its own factories, were not only on the roads but winning the races abroad. The sports teams, fed adequately again, and so able to train, were holding their own with the world. Gone was the shame of defeat. It only remained for the wretched Peace Treaty to be signed for the army to be formed again.
Leo and Hank had a friend who worked as a waiter in one of the small but popular waterside restaurants with terraces overhanging the river. This lad, as brutal as Hank but far more vicious, told of foreign tourists wandering down the river late at night, their pockets filled with bank-notes, looking, like the population, for
pleasure and romance in the environs of the town.
The cafés, restaurants and beer gardens catered especially for just these wealthy business men. Their terraced gardens were gaily painted. The tables were discreetly shaded by day with gay umbrellas; at night Chinese lanterns and fairy lights lit the diners against their background of massed flowers and water. With the moonlight on the river and the changing lights of the passing vessels, it needed only a discreet orchestra playing Strauss waltzes or gay drinking songs to put the tourists in the mood for romance or adventure. The waiters and restaurant-owners would ply them with the wines of the district and blinded with moon-light, flowers, and music they could readily be persuaded to the delights of amatory dalliance. The girls, like the wines, were famous.
Eddie, the lad working in the restaurant which this year seemed to have become the popular one of the moment, had been watching with greedy eyes the huge wads of notes which some of these foreigners flaunted after sampling too much wine. He had observed how easily the girls of the town could lead the men off afterwards, and his avaricious soul could not bear to see such opportunities lost. He belonged to the gang—in fact he was one of the most useful members, and had it not been for Hank being brought in by Katie, he would have been number two. Being employed in such a fashionable restaurant he was a mine of information, and it was from him that the gang learned when certain families would be away and their houses empty. From him came the tips on when to plan the raids.
It did not suit Eddie at all that, owing to the absence of the two bargees for some months, there would be no money coming into his pockets. He had expensive tastes, and his tips did not cover them. When Leo and Hank came to him for advice on how to find a new “fence,” to their astonishment he was for finishing with housebreaking.
“Small fry,” he said contemptuously; “and look what a trouble it is to get rid of the stuff afterwards. Those two men swindled us right and left, and what could we do about it? No, there are too many in the gang for profit. Let’s get on to something bigger. We can do it now. We’re old hands. I’ve got a plan. We don’t need more than us three, and perhaps Alfred, but we need dolls—good-looking ones for this plan of mine. We can start with Katie and Maria of course, but we shall need more, so that we can use a fresh girl each time. I tell you, boys, this is money for jam!”
The three repaired to an unfrequented part of the river bank to discuss the plan.
“We’d better use Katie first,” suggested Leo, “she’s seen one killing and she’s hot stuff. But we can’t use her too often. She’s noticeable. Maria’s all right, but she’s not every man’s cup of tea. We don’t want them too striking—they’ll be recognized too easily.”
“I don’t like it,” said Hank bluntly. “I don’t trust skirts—they’re all soft and they’re all fools.”
“Stay out then,” snarled Leo, “but Katie’s in this—she’s just the one; so’s Maria.”
“It’s money for jam,” insisted Eddie. “All you’ve got to do is to be on tap—understand? It’s no use your being out in the village when the right sap comes in. You’ve got to be in a place where a phone-call will have you here on the dot. You can use my place—it’s on the phone and the landlady’s never in.”
He smoothed back his curly hair which was of that burnished gold that elderly spinsters love. It was a pity that the lady tourists never came out alone at night. If they came they were usually Americans and in parties of at least four. Eddie would have liked to have reversed the proposed roles and played decoy to some of the well-padded lady tourists. His landlady, for instance, was already completely under his thumb. She doted on the orphan lad, calling him her long-lost son and lavishing affection on him. He was biding his time and enduring her ridiculous attentions. The house in which he lodged was hers. He meant to get it, but he was playing his hand slowly.
Hank stuck out for some time. He didn’t like this new idea of the girls being used as decoys for the rich tourists to be robbed. Leo and Eddie were adamant. It was a damn good idea—if Hank was yellow he could stay out. Hank’s strength was useful to them. They really needed him but they were not going to give any such sign. Leo knew that he held the whip hand. Hank was a murderer, he seemed to have forgotten that.
The three youths, in their open-necked shirts with their skin bronzed, and their muscles hard from work and exercise, drew the eyes of many women as they strolled back along the river towards the restaurant where Eddie worked. He had suggested showing them the lay-out of the place—the exits to the river, the whole show—before the place got busy. He was on duty tonight, and took his friends round the terraces, pointing out the darkest tables—those under the lime trees—and how easy it would be for the girls to decoy the half-intoxicated men to the dark tow-path at the rear of the place. Here, under the thick weeping willows, the boys would take over. The tourist would be stunned, robbed and left hidden in the shadows—or if necessary rolled into the river.
“What about the proprietor?” asked Leo, who was no fool. “If he’s about it’ll be impossible.”
“He’s old, and goes home early, the girl must appear to have come at the tourist’s invitation. When I phone I’ll say which table—they’re all numbered—and she must just walk boldly in and join him. She’ll give us the signal when he’s well under.”
Hank’s mind was too simple for such cunning. He was accustomed to get all he wanted by sheer brute strength. Eddie and Leo, however, were planning details enthusiastically. They were contemplating the addition of drugs to the wine. It would make it all so much quicker.
“Rather risky, though,” said Eddie; “drugs can be traced more easily than a cosh.”
“Not through Alfred,” insisted Leo; “he gets us the stuff to keep the dog quiet. He’s clever and careful. He’s more careful than some members of the gang have been.” He looked meaningly at Hank as he said this.
Alfred worked at his uncle’s pharmacy, his sister, Maria, was the decoy whom the boys had been discussing. Alfred was studying to be a chemist while helping his uncle in the shop. A quiet, studious-looking lad, with a moon face, his thick spectacles hid his merciless grey eyes. Alfred was, perhaps, more to be feared than Leo, for he had access to lethal drugs. Not openly, of course. His uncle, a careful well-meaning man who had adopted his nephew and niece when their father had been killed in the war, was very strict about keeping well within the law and giving access only to qualified persons. His store-cupboards were always locked. How could he know that his quiet nephew was a clever locksmith?
“I don’t like it,” repeated Hank, “it’s too risky.”
“You’re yellow,” taunted Leo.
Hank, as he knew, would not take this.
“I’m not yellow,” he retorted. “But why stick your neck out? Now if the proprietor himself was in with us . . .”
“I told you, he’s old,” said Eddie contemptuously. “But his son is young, and the old man keeps him short of dough. He’ll come in easy enough with us—the old boy’s leaving the night work more and more to his son.”
“I don’t know if Katie will do it,” argued Hank. “She got a knock over that last job—girls are no use on this sort of thing.”
“And whose fault was the last job?” sneered Leo. “She’ll do it all right—leave her to me. She’ll need new clothes—understand? And after each job every one of them must be destroyed. It’s no use any of you jibbing at the cost. The clothes are the cop’s best means of identification. A girl can do anything with her face or hair and they know it. They rely on clothes.”
Hank was dubious. He had not been blind to the effect of the caretaker’s death on his sister. Katie had been curiously apathetic since that night. She no longer seemed to care that Leo’s passion for her was waning.
On his way home a new idea came to him. He had remembered the interest Leo had shown in Krista. He was still seething with fury at Leo’s attempted seduction of her that other evening. The very thought of it made him see red. He didn’t know why, but
the very idea of Leo having anything to do with Krista made him want to kill his chief. Lately Krista’s face had been coming through all his dreams; even during working hours at the shipyard. He would take care that Leo never saw her again—but at the same time he would use Leo’s interest in her to force Katie from her apathy and make her fall in with the leader’s new plans.
XVII
THE first tourist was decoyed by Maria, not Katie. As the one used in the plot would be the one to receive a share of the money acquired by it, the girls insisted on drawing lots. Maria was the lucky one. She was a dark-browed, luscious type of girl known to every lad in the village as easy. An orphan, she had been adopted with her brother Alfred by the elderly uncle and his wife. The wife was bedridden and in no way able to control her niece. Maria had the same moon face as her brother, but while he was sleepy and lazy she was tempestuous and restless. She had no use for the village, and spent most of her evenings roaming the town.
At eighteen she was already horribly experienced, and easily the toughest girl in the gang. Like all the others, she had learned to steal during the bombing and thought absolutely nothing of it. She had robbed numerous Occupation soldiers of their wallets after they had gone with her to the room she hired with an older girl in the town. Under a complexion of peaches and cream she hid the resilience and persistence of a much older woman. She had been Leo’s girl until he had discarded her in favour of Katie’s red hair. Now it seemed that he was tiring of Katie. The gang all said that he was crazy about that half-witted girl whom the bunker family had adopted. She would be his next, they said.
Maria, rehearsed and primed for every move by Leo and Eddie, ready for any emergency which might arise, did not make a slip. At exactly the right moment she joined the more than half-intoxicated tourist at his table, ushered there by Eddie. The foreigner was enchanted by her ripe beauty and the boldness of her caresses and overtures. Eddie telephoned the waiting Hank as soon as the old proprietor was out of the way. The son, as he had surmised, had been only too keen on cutting in with them and was a willing accomplice. Hank, waiting in the room Eddie rented from the woman he was slowly and gradually parting from her possessions, came immediately at the signal.
A House on the Rhine Page 16
