Assignment in Brittany

  Hearne watched the spreading brown stain on the chewed end of the cigarette. “There are more important reasons than that,” he said coldly, “or this place would not have been made the headquarters. Why did you come here?”

  The man accepted the change of subject quite as unsuspectingly as Hearne had hoped he would. A change of subject was only natural after the implied snub which had just been administered.

  “I came to verify the points in a letter which I received yesterday.”

  The bitter voice told Hearne as much about the letter as he needed to know. The points in the letter had so confounded this man that he had come here at once to make quite sure there had been no mistake. He couldn’t quite believe that the headquarters of the organisation, which Hans and Elise had been so skilfully nursing, should really be established here.

  Hearne said, “I hope the trip has been worth your while. What instructions did you get?”

  “Plenty.” The man jabbed the sodden cigarette-end into the ashtray, and lit another cigarette. He didn’t offer one to Hearne. “Plenty. Including the instructions to wait for you here until you came down this afternoon, so that we could compare notes. What are your plans?”

  “Just what I’ve been told. I’m working towards results by stimulating a series of Breton nationalist meetings, and by accenting the importance of co-operation for the achievement of our ideals.”

  “That would carry you through here all right,” the man assented gloomily. “But down in the towns it is going to be more difficult. Here, the people are half asleep. Here, the Germans haven’t interfered much with the life of the district so far. But in Dol it is different. They have been there for some weeks now. They are using many of its people in construction work, and the women don’t like it any more than the men. And then I’m told to gather them all together under the banner of co-operation! I tell you, that can’t be done unless the Germans don’t interfere with the people’s existence; and they cannot but interfere in important centres, where large-scale preparations have got to have extra labour. We’ll have to use other methods in those towns, I tell you.”

  Hearne checked his first impulse to soothe the man. Why should he? It would be the best thing he could do if he could encourage a feeling of injustice and jealousy among Hans’s chosen band. He smiled condescendingly, tilted his chair back against the wall, and watched the man through half-closed eyes. His obvious enjoyment of the man’s predicament infuriated the thin nostrils.

  “You think it’s easy?” the man demanded.

  “If you don’t, someone else will.”

  The man stared. “So,” he said softly, “if I don’t find it easy, someone else will?”

  “No doubt,” Hearne said placidly, and yawned.

  “Do you realise how important my district is? Do you realise how I have worked there for nearly two years? No one else knows all the difficulties, the peculiarities, as I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, my fine friend, really. You sit up here with your head in the clouds, thinking out grand phrases for your next speech. But it is I who work.”

  “And just what gives you the impression that you work more than I do? Just what makes you think Dol should be so much more important than other districts?”

  “You must come and visit me some day. We shall make a little tour of the new airfields, of the new underground stores, of the new roads, of the— But what’s the use? Nothing I have ever said ever convinced you.”

  “On the contrary. I am delighted to hear your news, for it shows our strength. As you know, I have just managed to get back to Saint-Déodat, and until this talk with you I wasn’t sure of the progress that has been made during the last month. I used to think that Brittany would only be of political value to our friends. Now I see that we have still a greater role to play.”

  “Yes, and more difficult.”

  “Then all the greater credit will be ours.”

  “Yes.” The man’s tone was not wholly confident. “If the right people get the credit,” he added spitefully.

  “That’s to be seen, of course,” Hearne said callously, and watched the man’s reaction with a good deal of pleasure. “But why worry if you don’t get the credit, provided the cause is victorious?”

  That silenced the thin face opposite him. It was Hearne who had to speak first after that. He said casually, “I suppose all this preparation is for attack?”

  The man looked quickly up at him. “Why do you ask?” he said sharply.

  “Because I prefer to be on the attacking side in this war. Defence is unpleasant since the perfection of the bombing plane.”

  “Oh, you can sleep in your comfortable bed without fear of bombs. We are on the attack.”

  “Good. The sooner the better.”

  “It will be quite soon. In six weeks’ time. That is definite. England is beaten already. In six weeks’ time the army of occupation will be over in Britain. That will make things easier for us then.”

  “You feel there will be nothing to fear here, once the Germans are occupied elsewhere?”

  “Nothing to worry about, nothing that can’t be taken care of by the Gestapo and a handful of planes. Some will be relieved to find they are on the winning side, although they hadn’t the courage to fight for it like you and me. The others, they’ll have all the heart taken out of them. That is why Britain must fall. She’s the rallying-ground of those who want to fight. Once she’s gone, they’ll be left hopeless, and when they are hopeless, they can be persuaded.”

  “And that’s our job,” Hearne said. “How are the rest of our organisation? Are we meeting soon?”

  “I shall call a meeting for five of them this week, and tell them what I have learned today. Then they will each hold their own meetings, and pass on my report and recommendations. In that way we will co-ordinate our campaign, although we shall have to use our individual judgment in dealing with the particular problems of our districts. We don’t all live in pleasant villages and plan speeches, you know.”

  Hearne hesitated, as if he were weighing something carefully in his mind, and then he said quietly, “Are they all to be trusted?”

  The man paused in lighting another cigarette. The flame from the small wax match reached his bitten thumbnail, and he dropped the smoking stub with an oath.

  “Why shouldn’t they be?” he said slowly. “They’ve all risked death for the rewards they will now get. Rewards never dulled loyalty.”

  “That’s the point. Rewards. There may be a division of opinion about these. After all, you and I understand each other. You have a difficult, and an important, district to organise successfully. I have to make important speeches. We aren’t competing. We are each sure of the rewards for our loyalty.” Hearne watched the man’s eyes and was content with the uncertainty which he saw there. Hearne continued calmly, “But the others may not be so sure of the results for themselves. They may be impatient. Be very careful with them. They may interpret our efforts in a wrong light, even carry tales to our German friends in order to discredit us.”

  The man said nothing, but there was a look of speculation in his eyes as they stared at the wall above Hearne’s head. The idea which Hearne had sown was firmly planted. It would bear sour fruit.

  Hearne became business-like. He talked of the next meeting, of the problems which must be covered before it would take place. The man from Dol listened, and made his counter-suggestions as Hearne had guessed he would. That type always had a counter-suggestion ready. Then counter-suggestion gave way to detailed instructions, which were obviously pulled out of his memory. He repeated them too glibly not to have heard them only some hours before. Some of the phrases he used might have come straight from Elise’s mouth.

  “Good,” Hearne said at last. “Now what about a date for the next meeting?” As the man searched through a small diary of closely written pages and licked the point of a pencil, Hearne was thinking of Kerénor, of Kerénor and the use to which he might put the nationalist mee
tings which the Nazis were going to encourage. Kerénor, if he could get his warnings to the various districts about the true meaning of these meetings, if he and other true Bretons could use these gatherings for their own purposes, could start the beginning of a powerful movement against the Germans. The Nazis would regret some day that they had encouraged the Bretons to get together. And the Bretons would play their own secret game very well. Hearne smiled to himself as he thought of the enjoyment they would get out of duping the Germans.

  “What about the twentieth of this month?” the man asked. Hearne made a great pretence of concentrating.

  “Good,” he agreed at last. “Now where? In Dol? Café de la Grande-Rue, as usual?”

  The man was pleased at the choice of locality. He nodded almost amiably, and marked a neat cross in his diary. “I’ll inform the others,” he said decisively.

  I bet you will, thought Hearne. He said, “Any other particular news? You must have been busy in the last month.”

  The man nodded, holding his head to one side so that the curling cigarette smoke would avoid his eyes. Then suddenly he began to talk. The temptation to show the speech-making Corlay just how little he knew about what was going on couldn’t be resisted. He plunged into long details mixed with complaints and boasts. Hearne listened, his face set in an expressionless mask. Whenever the man slackened in his descriptions, Hearne would look only half convinced, even sceptical. That was enough to start the flow again. But at the end he gave the man the satisfaction of seeing a Corlay who was visibly impressed by the importance of the small town of Dol and its surroundings.

  At last Hearne rose. “Musn’t stay too long in the hotel meanwhile,” he explained.

  The man nodded. “It is sort of funny too, to see you again. We all thought you were missing for good. Marbeuf said the last he saw of you was someone dying on a wharf at Dunkirk with a couple of English soldiers lying beside him.”

  “Marbeuf? And how, did he get away?” Good old Marbeuf, Hearne thought, whoever Marbeuf was. But he obviously wasn’t someone who had stopped to see how he could help Corlay.

  “A French boat took him off. How did you get away?”

  “On the next French boat. I wasn’t so good at using my elbows as Marbeuf. And tell him I wasn’t dying. A shell exploded too near me, but I was lucky and the most I got was a bad shock. Sorry to disappoint you all.”

  “Same old Corlay, aren’t you?”

  “Only more so.” Hearne stared fixedly at the same thin man.

  “All right, all right,” he said hastily. “Believe me, I am delighted to find that Marbeuf was wrong.”

  “You aren’t half as delighted as I am.”

  “All right, all—” And then the restaurant door was opened, and two German officers marched in. They halted their stride as they saw the two men at the table. The smaller officer was Traube, the auctioneer’s clerk who had surveyed the Corlay farm. He was peering uncertainly through his glasses, and then nodded as he recognised Hearne.

  “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Traube,” Hearne said confidently. “I hope you are well, and Captain Deichgräber, too.”

  “Yes, yes. Captain Deichgräber is away at present, but he will be back shortly. I see you and Vuillemin have been taking the opportunity to have a little talk.”

  “Quite right, Lieutenant Traube.” Vuillemin, Vuillemin... Something was wrong somewhere.

  The other officer didn’t trouble to conceal his impatience. He said quickly to the strangely silent Frenchman beside Hearne, “You are leaving now? Good. It would be better not to come to Saint-Déodat again until you receive definite instructions to do so.” He nodded abruptly, and continued his way to another table. He slapped its top with his gloves. “Service!” he called loudly as he sat down, seemingly quite unaware now of the two Frenchmen. Traube nodded in turn, looked embarrassed, and joined the other officer.

  Hearne noted that all the confidence had left his companion. As he rose to leave the restaurant and the loud foreign voices, he was still silent. Hearne glanced at his face, and felt satisfied. The small thin man had not failed to mark the Germans’ contempt for an ally. He returned Hearne’s look, and that seemed to depress him even more, as if Hearne’s set expression only verified his own fears.

  “So then, until the twentieth!” Hearne said at the door.

  The man nodded. He looked smaller, thinner. He wasn’t paying any attention to Hearne. His eyes were fixed on the restaurant door which he had closed behind him.

  By the time Hearne had reached the end of the hotel street the Frenchman had disappeared. Hearne paused. And then, quickly, he turned and retraced his steps.

  In the restaurant, the two German officers halted their conversation only as he reached their table. Hearne stood beside them and waited for them to finish their phrases. Traube cocked his head inquiringly.

  “Herr Lieutenant Traube...” Hearne began in a low voice.

  “Yes?”

  The other officer wasn’t even looking at Hearne.

  “That man from Dol...”

  “Yes?” Traube blinked his eyes anxiously.

  “He’s behaving strangely. Doesn’t like taking orders.”

  “So.” Traube glanced nervously at his companion, as if asking for help.

  The other German poured himself some more wine. “I had noticed that,” he said in his precise voice. “I had noticed that. Pity he should be at Dol, of all places. How long can you control him?”

  “How long do you want him to be controlled?” Hearne’s voice was that of a dutiful, eager, and ambitious man. But he still kept his words low. Hurry, he was saying to himself; hurry, or that little shrimp from Dol will be in here on top of you.

  It was Traube who said quickly, “Until the fifteenth of August. There must be no trouble before then. After the fifteenth we shall have more time to deal with him, if he doesn’t behave more rationally.”

  “The fifteenth,” Hearne said thoughtfully. “The fifteenth... it isn’t so long until then.”

  “It isn’t so long,” Traube’s companion said. His lips were actually smiling. Then he was serious again. “But if you have definite suspicions about that man, then remove him at once. We can’t risk any treachery.”

  “I’ve no proof. I only had a feeling today that he was a waverer. With the proper supervision, he should be safe.”

  “Well, give him that supervision.” The German’s voice was irritable once more. “See that he’s satisfied.” He turned to Traube. “Would it be difficult to replace him now?”

  Traube said, “Well, he knows a lot. He’s been trained under us for two years. And he has done some good work in the past.”

  “In that case, keep him working with us. Promise him anything. Later, when we are less occupied with important plans...” The officer removed a thread from his sleeve.

  Hearne knew he was dismissed. “Very good.” He clicked his heels as he took one step back. “Then you suggest I should pay an unexpected visit to our little friend at Dol? I shall make a report on that visit.”

  The captain nodded. Traube, watching him anxiously, said, “Yes, yes. You will be held responsible if you cannot control him. And when you visit Dol, see Major Kalb of the Schutzstaffel. He is in charge of the organisation of that town.”

  Hearne raised his arm in the approved salute, barked the magic words, wheeled neatly towards the door.

  The captain’s voice, speaking in German now, carried farther than he had intended. Or perhaps he thought that this man Corlay wouldn’t know much German, anyway. “...set a Frenchman to catch a Frenchman,” he was saying. “But I advise you to set one of Ehrlich’s men, too, Traube. And advise Deichgräber on his return, of course.” Traube was mumbling a reply. “Deichgräber...Ehrlich.” was all that Hearne could catch as he stepped out into the deserted street.

  Hearne walked quickly back to the farm, arranging in his mind the information he had learned in the last hour, so that the facts which he had sifted would go neatly and easily down on
to paper. It was at the dovecote that he halted, as he suddenly remembered. His subconscious mind had at last yielded up the name which had been haunting him. “Vuillemin,” he repeated. It wasn’t Vuillemin. The man was Number 8 from Dol, and the name was Bruneau. Bruneau, not Vuillemin. Vuillemin was Number 9. Now the reason for the man’s worry became quite clear. The German ally had not only shown his contempt: he had even not considered it necessary to learn the right name. And the fear which Hearne had sown in the man’s mind would be strengthened. What chance was there for proper rewards and recognition for Bruneau, when he was just as easily called Vuillemin?

  But Hearne hadn’t time to be amused. He was too busy thanking his stars that his caution with names had prevented him from imitating the German. “So then, Vuillemin, until the twentieth.” That would have sounded well enough at the time. But it would have been an unsatisfactory way to end one’s career.

  He was concentrating on the facts he had learned from Bruneau as he climbed towards the Corlay farm. That was one way to stop thinking about the thinness of the ice over which he had performed such an elaborate outside edge. And then he realised that it wasn’t his stars he should thank: it was Matthews.

  15

  THE GOLDEN STAR

  As the crow flew, it was fourteen miles to Saint-Servan, sixteen to Saint-Malo. But it took Myles and Hearne from sunset in Saint-Déodat to the cold grey sky of the heartless hour before dawn to reach the outskirts of Saint-Servan. They had avoided the villages and the roads, had skirted farms and isolated houses.

  It had been a strange journey, with the tall American, dressed in the corduroy trousers and blue smock and round black felt hat of Madame Corlay’s uncle, plodding determinedly beside an equally silent Hearne. When they had to speak, they spoke softly, abruptly, and in French. That had been Hearne’s advice. He had also stipulated that, if by some stroke of bad luck or piece of carelessness they were intercepted, the American must then forget he had ever seen the Corlay farm. He would have to produce his own story. Hearne, in his turn, would have to admit that he had never seen the American before: that they had met only by the sheerest accident in that field or that wood over there. With Bertrand Corlay’s name attached to him, they would eventually believe him; and the excuse to Elise for this night journey would have to be tied up with the name of one of the men on Corlay’s list. He was to have a free hand in his decisions, she had said. He was to keep his business meetings secret from the Bretons. Elise would believe him, too.