Captive Witness

by Carolyn G. Keene

  Occasionally, they stumbled into holes but soon learned to glide with their feet just grazing the bottom.

  The shoreline became increasingly swamplike as they moved into Hungarian territory, and there were few lights to show them where land was. Since it was now close to midnight, most house lights had been extinguished. For a while, the two young people lost their bearings and were forced to stop.

  “What I wouldn’t give for one burst of moonlight,” Nancy said.

  She had no sooner spoken when a tremendous flash of light zigzagged across the sky followed by a clap of thunder. In the glow that spread over the whole lake, they could see clearly that they weren’t far from the twisted tree that Popov had said was near his hiding place.

  “Are you all right, Nancy?” Eric asked.

  “Yes, but scared. I thought they were shooting artillery at us.”

  “Give them the signal,” Eric went on.

  Taking out her duck call, Nancy blew three short, sharp quacks. There was no answer. She tried again, but still no reply.

  “Should we go up onshore?” Eric asked.

  Nancy was about to say yes when they heard the answering cry of Popov’s duck call. Moments later, faint shadows bulked out of the night and Nancy and Eric waded ashore to meet them.

  Emile Popov was carrying one child, a six-year-old. “He can sleep through anything,” he said, handing the boy to Eric. “Be careful when you put him in the tube. The water will wake him and we don’t want him to cry out. ”

  Nancy and Mrs. Popov took the other two six-year-olds. The older children gathered around Emile Popov, holding onto a rope he carried to keep them together.

  Eric began speaking softly to the children, paying special attention to the thirteen-year-old boy who was his cousin. In spite of their joyous reunion, the two kept their voices low.

  Nancy now took charge of painting everyone’s faces black, but as she finished, Eric whispered nervously.

  “Listen! Everyone be still.”

  The group froze at the sound of several automobiles approaching.

  “Trouble,” Mr. Popov said. “They’re coming. No one else would be coming at this hour. Quickly! Quickly!”

  Shoving off and keeping low behind the high reeds that covered the inshore waters, the little convoy began moving north again toward the Austrian border.

  Car doors opened and closed now and the loud voices of Hungarian police guards drifted across the lake. They trained their flashlights on the hut where the refugees had hidden, then swung the lights toward the shore.

  Did they suspect that the escape was being made by water? Would they send out boats? Nancy knew that the Hungarians had small patrol craft as did the Austrians, but since this was a relatively peaceful border, she hadn’t worried about them.

  The urgency of the situation prompted all of the children, except the smallest, to slip out of the tubes and help push. Each of the older ones stayed close to a younger one, using a buddy system they had devised over months of hiding throughout Eastern Europe.

  The searchers, running now along the shore, shone their lights out across the water.

  “Stop,” Nancy whispered.

  Everyone halted instantly. The flashlight beams played over and around them, but the darkness of their attire and the cover of tall reeds kept them from being seen.

  If only it would rain to block their vision, Nancy thought.

  But the rain didn’t come and the flashlights continued to sweep across the lake. Then, after ten minutes, drops began to dot the water. Within another minute, a full-scale storm was raging, and the curtains of water made the flashlights useless.

  Jubilantly, the convoy started moving again. Pushing and swimming as hard as they could, they approached the Austrian border. The flashlights, now dim blobs, receded toward the direction from which they had come.

  “Only two hundred yards to go,” Eric whispered over his shoulder.

  “Look!” Nancy exclaimed suddenly.

  Lying directly in front of them was a powerful light that attempted to cut through the heavy rain. It was mounted on a small patrol boat.

  For the first time since their mission began, Nancy wanted to cry. There was no way to tell if it was a Hungarian or Austrian craft in the dark. They were so close to freedom, and the children were so cold from the lake water that they struggled to keep their teeth from chattering.

  Oh, please help us, Nancy prayed as Eric moved to her side.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he whispered. “I’m going to swim out toward the center of the lake, a few hundred yards or so, then cross to the Austrian side. Then I’ll start shouting and screaming like a maniac. The patrol is sure to be distracted enough so you can scoot through with the kids.”

  “Oh, Eric, am I glad you dreamed that one up. I just ran out of ideas. Be careful, though.”

  “I will.”

  It took the young man fifteen minutes to position himself. By then, the rain had slackened and the light from the boat was scanning the area with such intensity that the little group was forced to wade far back into the reeds and crouch low.

  Suddenly, Nancy heard Eric. He was whooping and yelling like an Indian tribal attack on a frontier fort. The men in the patrol boat reacted instantly and cruised toward the uproar.

  Pushing out of the reeds once again, Nancy and the Popovs covered the final distance of the border in five minutes. They didn’t stop until they reached the theater. Coming out of the water into the chill night air, some of the children at last began to whimper. The Popovs went from one to the other, murmuring words of comfort for they were now safe on Austrian soil.

  While the couple led the children to the limousine where warm blankets awaited them, Nancy observed an Austrian patrol boat pull ashore with Eric and two Austrian policeman. They wanted to see for themselves if the young man’s tale about the refugees was true. Discovering that it was, they saluted and left.

  Of course, jamming so many people into one automobile, even though it was large and ten of the occupants small, was no easy task. But nothing could dampen anyone’s spirits. Within half an hour, most of the children had fallen asleep. Nancy was surrounded by four of the smallest ones in the front seat.

  “Are you happy, Eric?” she asked.

  “It’s a dream come true,” he said, “and may I add that you were fantastic.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said with a lilt in her voice. “You’re the one who really wins the honors. If you hadn’t pulled that stunt, we never would have made it. ”

  “Aw, shucks,” Eric said, imitating the twang of Old West movie heroes. “It weren’t nothin’.”

  Nancy laughed, but a sobering thought stopped her. Everything except recovering Kurt Kessler’s film had been accomplished. He had risked his life to help save the children, but the young detective’s personal assignment to find Captive Witness had failed.

  For the rest of the trip back to the hotel, she racked her brain. Was there no way to recover that film?

  20

  Herr Gutterman Unmasked

  When they finally reached the hotel, the Popovs and the children were met by members of the refugee organization. It would arrange their transportation to relatives and friends in England and America.

  Professor Bagley then related the events at the Czechoslovakian border. “They tried to fool us by showing up with ten other children who had been trained to lie about their identities. Fortunately, I had been given photographs of the real orphans. How the Hungarians carried on, screaming and threatening!”

  “George took off her wig and waved it at them.” Bess giggled. “That really infuriated them.”

  “Then Burt got out of the wheelchair and started dancing with her.” Dave laughed. “The commissar or whoever he was turned purple!”

  “On the whole, it has been a huge success.” Dr. Bagley smiled. “Thanks largely to Nancy.”

  “You are much too kind, sir,” she said. “Everyone did his or her part beautifully. Th
e only thing that has me down is the fact I can’t find Captive Witness.

  Kurt Kessler, who was enjoying a cup of coffee and chatting with Ned, turned to reassure Nancy again. “Yes, I wish I had my film back, but I’ll make other films—better ones, too. Please don’t worry so.”

  Nancy explained, though, that it was irritating to have seen half of it yet to be unable to locate the place where it had been shown.

  “You actually saw it?” the director cried, causing Nancy to reveal the incident of her meeting with Gutterman.

  “Unfortunately, Vienna has no grid system of streets like other cities,” Nancy said, “so the twists and turns we took really confused me.” She paused a second. “I did hear certain sounds, though.”

  “What were they?” Kurt Kessler inquired with mounting eagerness.

  “Well, trains. A train yard, to be exact, and a merry-go-round. ”

  The film director furrowed his brow for a few moments, absentmindedly pulling at his shirt cuffs. Suddenly, he stopped and gripped the table with both hands. “Wait a minute!” he exclaimed. “I stayed in Vienna for a time before going to America, and I think I know where you were.”

  Nancy and the director dashed down the three flights of stairs, found the rental car and, with Mr. Kessler at the wheel, they headed north.

  “You were somewhere between the great railroad yards up ahead and the Prater amusement park on the right. The building with its twelve steps has to be around here.”

  Completely elated, Nancy shone her flashlight on the buildings as her companion drove the car up and down the streets in the area. They found nothing, though.

  “Let’s not give up yet,” Nancy said, causing him to speed the vehicle in another direction. Silently, they rode down a series of side streets lined with more old, run-down buildings. Then Kurt Kessler turned a sharp corner, and Nancy gasped in excitement. “There—down that side street. The second building! It has twelve steps!”

  Kessler counted them and accelerated the gas pedal. When he finally halted the car, they stepped out fast and hurried up to the front door. It was locked, but it took the director only a few seconds to open the lock with a tiny metal pick.

  “Someday I’ll have to tell you how I escaped out of Hungary,” he said to Nancy who was grinning almost as broadly as he was.

  Once inside, the young detective closed her eyes, recalling how she had been turned when taken there by Gutterman. She indicated the door to the director. He motioned her to stand back as he listened carefully.

  “Someone is in there,” he said softly. Then, without another word, he put his shoulder to the door and burst through. Nancy was right on his heels.

  “Good evening,” came a voice from a chair that swiveled to face the two visitors.

  It was Adolph Gutterman! In one hand, he was holding the film Captive Witness and in the other, a flaming cigarette lighter. His eyes seemed glazed as if he were entranced by the fire.

  Kessler moved forward, slowly, staring into them. “Hagedorn?” he said softly. “Heinrich Hagedorn?”

  Gutterman did not reply. The lighter was flaming wildly now, threatening to singe the man’s finger. Gently, Kessler took the lighter and then the film. He placed it in its tin container.

  “You know him?” Nancy asked in bewilderment, adding, “I don’t understand—he just let you take the film right out of his hand without a protest.”

  Kessler lowered his eyes toward Hagedorn’s trembling fingers as they covered his face, muffling a deep cry.

  “We were in the film business together when we were young,” Kessler murmured. “He was a good director. A great actor. A master of disguises, voice changes. One of the best in the world.”

  “How did he come to be a spy then?” Nancy asked.

  As she spoke, the man slumped back in his chair, frozen in shock.

  “It’s a long story,” the director continued. “I don’t even know it all. He lost both parents in Nazi concentration camps. Those who took control, fed him, educated him, trained him to act and direct. But he was too wild, too creative. He wanted to do things his own way.

  “He made a short film that was the most devastating attack on political oppression I have ever seen.”

  “More devastating than Captive Witness? Nancy asked.

  “Much more. He went to prison for years because of it. Then suddenly, he was released on condition that he make propaganda films for his country. What he really was being trained for was a future in espionage. He became a spy in order to keep his wife and children fed. ”

  Now Kessler’s voice began to waver. “He had compromised everything for the people he cared about most—”

  “I still don’t understand, though, why he just let you take that film right out of his hand,” Nancy interrupted quietly.

  Kessler took a deep breath before going on. “Because of our friendship, I suppose,” he said.

  “He and I were in prison at the same time. When he finally managed to get out, he helped me escape. I remember he said it was more important for my film work to be seen than his.

  “Unfortunately, neither Heinrich nor I realized that our captors would pin my escape on him. The next thing I learned was that his wife and children had been killed in an automobile accident.”

  “How terrible!” Nancy gasped.

  She gazed at the man in the chair whose eyes were now pinched shut. No wonder he had behaved so erratically, appearing brilliant one moment and childlike another. He was only playing the role of someone who wouldn’t permit himself to be hurt again. Seeing Kurt Kessler, however, had revived those feelings he had attempted, perhaps unsuccessfully, to abandon.

  After Kessler had placed a call to the police, Nancy told him thoughtfully, “I’ve learned a lot from this experience, mostly that you can’t understand what other people have to endure unless you put yourself in their shoes.”

  Of course, she had no idea that she would soon face another, similar challenge when she solved The Gondolier’s Secret.

  “That’s why I make movies,” the film director said. “I made Captive Witness to show the world how the other half is forced to live.”

  Nancy’s eyes flashed to the tin container Kessler had held tightly since he took it from his old friend. “And I guarantee that everyone who sees this picture will be a captive audience!” she exclaimed.

  A few days later, when the young detective and her traveling companions were gathered at the Vienna Film Festival awards ceremony, they listened intently to the names of those recommended as producer of the Best Foreign Documentary. Kurt Kessler was one of five nominees, all of whom had done outstanding film work.

  “I’ll be so disappointed if he doesn’t win,” Bess confided to Nancy as someone on stage opened an envelope.

  Kessler, who sat on the other side of the girl, murmured under his breath during the endless wait, then gasped as his name was called. A huge round of applause went up from the audience.

  “Oh, I’m so happy for you,” Nancy told him, letting him step quickly into the aisle.

  When he reached the microphone, everyone was still clapping loudly and he quieted them with his hands. “Please, please. You are all too kind,” he said. “I cannot accept this award alone. I must share it with someone without whose courageous help I would not be standing here now.”

  A murmur rose among his listeners, as he paused before going on. “Nancy Drew, will you please join me here?”

  “Me?” Nancy said quietly.

  “Yes, you!” her other friends whispered from behind, coaxing her out of her seat. “You deserve it, Nancy!”

 

 

 
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