“Can I ’phone safely from some place near here?” he asked. She nodded, and then pointed across the back yard to a house in the next street. And then the doorbell rang. They looked at each other, with hope and fear allied in their eyes. Richard moved behind the sitting-room door, where he could see through the chink into the hall. He saw her open the front door slightly. Someone handed her an envelope, and he heard a familiar voice.
“May I see the Herr Professor?”
Richard was startled. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t… But the door had opened farther, and there was no doubt.
“Anni!” he almost shouted. “Come in!”
The woman was so taken aback that Anni and her broad smile were already inside the house. Richard seized her arm and pulled her into the sitting-room.
“Anni,” he said again. “How on earth did you get here?”
Anni was delighted with his amazement, just in the same way as when she used to produce a triumph of a cake for a birthday surprise in Oxford. For her answer, she took the envelope back from the woman and handed it proudly to him. Frances, he thought; it must be a message from Frances. What had happened? Was she waiting some place for him? He ripped the envelope roughly open. All it contained was a small diagram, a sheet of paper with a map and no names.
“There’s the Brenner,” said Anni, pointing to a small pencilled circle. “I thought it was better not to write in the names; instead, you will memorise them. That is why I had to see you.”
Richard looked quickly from the map to Anni. “How did you know we needed this? How did you know you would find me here?”
“The gnädige Frau…didn’t she tell you?”
“When did you see her?”
“After she came out of the church.”
“At what hour was that?”
Anni looked worried. “About a quarter to twelve. I reached my brother’s shop just after twelve, and that was the time Johann comes to see me on Saturdays. You see, that is the afternoon my brother goes to the mountains—he’s a guide on Saturdays and Sundays—and I look after the shop for him then. So when Johann came I got him to draw this, and I brought it to you at once. The gnädige Frau said tonight, but that was only because she was afraid for me. I thought you might want it now, so that you could leave at once. I didn’t tell Johann about you. I promised I would tell him later, and it will be all right because he liked both you and the gnädige Frau.”
Richard sat down wearily, his anxiety for Frances filling his mind, so that he did not question how it was that Johann had a place in Anni’s story. She saw the look in his face.
“The gnädige Frau told you nothing of our plans? What is wrong, Herr Professor? Is she not here?”
“No,” said the woman gravely, “she has not come back.”
“But she said she must hurry. She said you would be worried if she didn’t… Oh, Herr Professor!” Anni was so upset that Richard rose and took her hand. So his fears had been real. While he had waited and worried, something had happened to Frances. Something must have happened. If he could only stop feeling so damned sick with worry. This was of no damned use standing here patting Anni’s hand like a blasted idiot. Something had to be thought of, something had to be planned. They had lost an hour already.
“Tell me, Anni, how did you recognise Mrs. Myles?”
“I looked right into her eyes, and they recognised me. And then there was something in the way she walked, the shape of her legs. It was because I knew her so well that I could recognise her.”
“Then someone else who knew her well might have recog—” He couldn’t finish. He left Anni, and walked to the window. He stood with his back to them, looking out into the garden. He thought of van Cortlandt and Thornley. He must get in touch with them, and at once… But what then? What then? He must stop this. He had to keep calm, had even to forget that Frances was his; he had to think of all this mess as the way he had thought of Smith, as a kind of problem. And he needed all his wits about him to find a solution. Emotion would only hinder; worry might lose her for ever.
He turned back to the room. “Anni, could you go back to the shop and wait there until an American and an Englishman come to buy climbing boots?”
Anni heard his calm voice with amazement, but it seemed her fears. If the Herr Professor saw some hope, then there was hope. She listened to his descriptions of the two men who would come to buy climbing boots. She memorised their names carefully, and the message she had to give them. The Hungerburg at four o’clock. Anni was not enthusiastic about that message. The Hungerburg was so big that they might miss each other. It was safe enough for them there, she agreed, but they might be late before they met each other. She didn’t like to take the responsibility of the message. If anything went wrong, then she would blame herself.
“It would be better to meet them in the shop and see them yourself. It would save time,” she suggested. “There is a store-room at the back of the shop with its own entrance. You could wait there until your friends arrived. My brother has left already, and Johann must go back to the hotel as soon as I get back to the shop—I left him in charge so that I could come here. There will be no one there except me.” She laughed at any danger to herself. If the worst came, he would be an unknown customer; and there was the back entrance losing itself in courtyards and alleys, so that even if everything went wrong there was at least a chance to escape. Richard agreed with her in his heart. It would be the simplest solution, and the quickest one. That was the chief thing. Now that the suggestion had come from Anni herself, he accepted it gladly.
Anni had left by the back door, with a Loden cape thrown round her shoulders. He waited for two or three minutes until she would be safely out of the other house, hoping against hope that Frances might suddenly appear. The woman was obviously worried, but she was unexpectedly sympathetic. Herr Schulz would be home any minute now; she had the dinner table all ready for him. And he would be able to advise them. Meanwhile she offered him a bowl of thin brown soup with dumplings submerged in it. He must eat. Richard declined as politely as his revolving stomach would permit; worry churned him up inside like a Channel crossing. He had his eyes on his watch. Three minutes, he had thought, would be time enough for Anni. In any case, he couldn’t wait any longer. He suddenly left the room.
“Say Lisa sent you,” the woman called after him.
The formula worked. The cobbler obligingly made the call for him, and then left him alone with the telephone. He heard van Cortlandt’s voice, and such a wave of relief swept over him that he realised he had been afraid of getting no answer.
“Hello!” said van Cortlandt, and waited. “Hello, there!”
“Van Cortlandt?”
“Speaking.”
It was easier to talk now; the words which had deserted him came rushing out.
Van Cortlandt said, “Oh, yes, The Times. I’m sorry I’m late with that article. Glad you called. I thought you would because of this delay.”
“Serious?” So van Cortlandt knew already; that saved explanations.
“At the moment, yes.”
“Well, there’s another article to write. Beauties of the Tyrol. Have you any climbing equipment?”
“Just my own two feet.”
“Well, better add something to that. If you haven’t boots, get them this afternoon. This is a rush assignment. Go to any good sports dealer, and he will advise you. There’s Schmidt, or Spiegelberger, or Rudi Wachter. He is particularly good. You’ll find him on the Burggraben near the Museum-Strasse.”
“Good. I’ll go there at once. Hope to see you soon.”
“I’ll see you soon. Get a move on with the article, won’t you? No delay for this one.”
“Sure; you can depend on me. Love and kisses to Geoffrey Dawson.”
“And mine to Luce.” There was a sudden laugh at the end of the ’phone, and then silence.
In the sitting-room, Richard found Schulz sitting at the table, his head well down to his bowl of soup. Of Lisa, there w
as no sign. Schulz, busy with a dumpling, motioned him to a chair and pointed to the soup pot. Richard poured himself some coffee and gulped it down. He thought of the brandy in his flask, but they might need that later on.
“I must go at once,” he said. “My wife—”
“I know.” Schulz wiped his lips, and swallowed some water.” I know. Lisa told me. There are all your papers and clothes.”
He nodded to a large envelope and a neat brown paper parcel on a side table. Richard rose and brought the envelope over to the dinner table. The document looked convincing; the photographs had just the right moronic look.
“Were we quick enough for you? That’s everything, I think; everything. You’ve paid me. Have you any money left?”
“I’ll meet some friends,” Richard said.
“Well, good luck.”
Richard’s words came haltingly. “My wife may have been arrested. They may trace her movements to this house.”
Schulz swallowed some more soup noisily. “Don’t worry about that. I had already decided to change my address. I saw your friend Kronsteiner early this morning, at my place of—business. He had a message last night from our friend who used to be at Pertisau. So we are on the move again. Lisa is packing now.” He smiled as he saw the relief on Richard’s face. Richard prepared to go. They shook hands silently.
Then Schulz suddenly spoke. “Courage!” he said. “Courage! It’s the only real weapon we’ve got. A man can win when he still has his courage.”
Richard nodded. “I’m sorry if we have upset your plans.”
“They are always being upset, but we go on. And don’t worry about Kronsteiner. He’s all right. He’s much changed since his visit to me this morning.” Schulz threw back his head and laughed. Kronsteiner’s change seemed to amuse him… And then he went back to his soup. “It would be a pity to leave it,” he explained, his voice once more matter-of-fact.
Lisa met Richard at the doorway. “This was all you left upstairs,” she said, and held out his small razor case, and Frances’ bag. He nodded his thanks, and watched her slip them safely into the brown paper parcel.
“We’ll give you five minutes, and then we leave,” called Schulz, in the middle of the last dumpling. “Goodbye, young man, and courage.”
Lisa gave him her first and last smile.
* * *
He closed the door softly, and walked unhurriedly down the street. The brown paper parcel attracted no attention. It was almost two o’clock.
20
RALLYING-GROUND
All Innsbruck seemed to be marching that Saturday. There had been two parades already, complete with bands, banners, and uniforms. The onlookers crowded into the principal streets through which the processions passed and even after they had gone the people waited. Perhaps there were still other processions to come. By avoiding the main thoroughfares, Richard walked quickly through the deserted little side-streets, and he arrived at the back entrance of the Wachter shop in record time. There was no one in sight as he opened the back door and walked quietly into the small room which Anni had described as a store-room. This was it, all right. He moved carefully and slowly between the neat stacks of boxes to a crate under the small, high window. No one would be able to look in through that window, unless he brought a step-ladder along with him. He sat down on the edge of the crate, and waited. He could hear a murmur of voices, and once Anni laughed. The sounds were distant enough to assure him that a room lay between the store-room and the front shop itself, where Anni was serving a customer. No one had seen him, no one had heard him enter; so far, so good. If anyone were to look into the room, the rows of boxes would hide him. He began to feel better.
The two doors worried him all the same. He rose suddenly and examined the lock of the door by which he had entered. It worked easily, so he locked it. Better that than to risk some unknown visitor using this street door at an awkward moment. It would be a simple matter to unlock the door and escape by the alley if any complication arrived. There was that other door, the one which must lead into that middle room; but he couldn’t do anything about it until Anni appeared.
The voices were silent now. The customer must be going, for he heard the accustomed formula and Anni’s dutiful echo. There was a sound of a bell. Of course, that would be the door closing. Anni must have brought back one of those doorbells as a present for her brother after all. She had said she would. He smiled in spite of himself. It was rather odd to hear the familiar Oxford sound right here in Innsbruck. It made him think of a dark little shop, with the smell of rich tobaccos in the air and neat white jars on its shelves; and the polished brass scales, on which the light and dark tobaccos were weighed before they were mixed and then carefully emptied into your pouch; and the darkened oak counter with its rubber mat for your coins, and the change which came to you from the old wooden till; and the gentle note of the bell as you opened and shut the door.
The bell was silent again, and he heard Anni’s footsteps approaching. The door into the middle room opened, and she stood straining her eyes into the dim light. He stepped out from behind the boxes.
“God be thanked,” she said.
“Did you hear me at all?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve been coming through here between visits from customers, just to make sure. Have you locked that door? Good. I’ll lock this one too. The room next you is a dressing-room, where customers try on sports clothes if they want to. If anyone should go in there, just keep quite still. But if anyone with a loud voice tries this door, and rattles it, and asks me angrily for the key, then leave at once.”
The front doorbell rang.
“It has been very useful, that bell,” said Anni in a whisper. She turned to go, but Richard caught her arm as he heard a cheery voice call: “Anyone here?” from the front shop. That must be Thornley. It was.
“That was a darned lucky break, if you ask me,” said van Cortlandt in English. Their voices sounded as if they brought good news.
Anni looked at Richard inquiringly. He nodded, and she went through to meet them. He heard the men ask about climbing boots, but Anni’s voice was too low for him to know what she had answered. He heard them suddenly quieten, and follow her quickly towards the store-room.
She locked the door behind them, and they were left alone in the room, standing there looking at each other.
“God, and aren’t we glad to see you,” said van Cortlandt.
“Frances?” Richard asked.
Thornley spoke. “They got her. Just the rottenest luck. It was the fair-haired blighter with the bracelet who saw her, and recognised something. They’ve taken her to Dreikirchen. That’s all I could find out. That and the number and identification marks of the car.” He groped in his pocket for the sheet from his diary where he had scribbled the signs down in that restaurant just after the boys had left him.
The door was unlocked, and Anni entered the room with Tyrolese jackets over her arm. She handed them to van Cortlandt and Thornley.
“Where is Dreikirchen, Anni? Is it a village or a house? Have you every heard of it?”
“If the doorbell rings, get back into the dressing-room and try these on, in front of the mirror,” she said to the American. “Lock this door behind you, and put the key up on that high shelf there.” She turned to Richard. “Now that we’ve made things safe, Herr Professor; there is only one Dreikirchen near here. It’s just two hours’ walk from here—to the south of Innsbruck. If you follow the Brenner-Strasse you will reach the Berg Isel, and Dreikirchen is to the right of that. I will show you on the map; you have one?”
Richard had already taken his Baedeker out of his pocket, and was searching for the Berg Isel. Anni looked over his arm, and pointed with her finger.
“There’s the road. You see that small line on its right? That is the side road which takes you to Dreikirchen. There it is— these black squares grouped together.”
“Is it a village, and why isn’t it named?”
“It isn?
??t a village. It is too small—just a few small houses and the monastery and three little chapels. Monks used to live there.”
“Who lives there now?”
Anni seemed embarrassed. She wasn’t sure. She had heard her brothers talk, of course, but they had never explained. One of their friends had been sent there.
“Is it a concentration camp?” asked van Cortlandt.
Anni was shocked. Oh, no. Nothing like that. There were boys at Dreikirchen who were being educated. Specially chosen boys and young men. She admitted there were rumours. Of course there always were rumours, but people didn’t try to find out about rumours, not if they were wise.
“Has it any connexion with the Gestapo?” asked van Cortlandt again.
Anni looked frightened. There were rumours, she said… And once Johann had made a joke about that in front of one of her brothers, and that was the only time they had quarrelled. Richard thanked her; that was all she knew or wanted to know.
As she left them Thornley stopped her. “If you were to see a large black car with these numbers on it what would you think?” He held out the page from his diary.
“Special car,” she said.
“Secret police?”
Anni nodded. “I must go back into the shop,” she said, and left them.
“Were you followed?”
“We were at first,” said van Cortlandt. “And then we had a break. The whole place is jammed with people. So we got mixed up with two processions, and here we are without our tail. We are probably safe for another ten minutes, until he reports to headquarters and they give him a list of our shopping places. They no doubt listened in to our talk on the ’phone today. So now let’s get busy.”
Richard said. “Thanks for all you’ve done. It would have been hopeless without you.”
“Say, we’re in on this too,” said van Cortlandt. He turned to Thornley. “Imagine that…he thought he was going to get rid of us at this stage. It will take three of us to find Frances. And she’s got to be found.”