Above Suspicion (31 page)

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.”

“We’ll find her,” Thornley said quietly.

Richard didn’t waste any more time. He spread the map before them.

“We’ll meet here,” he said, pointing to a part of the road as it touched the Berg Isel. “Bring a car, and all your things packed. And take this parcel and pack the things in it into your case. It’s our stuff for Italy.”

“I’ve arranged about the car,” said van Cortlandt. “That radio man agreed to an exchange. He’ll keep his mouth shut. He’s going to Vienna this afternoon, and is travelling the Jenbach road. I’ve already told the hotel I’m going back to Pertisau to look for my friends. It all fits in nicely.”

Richard looked at the American with respect. “That’s a pretty good effort, Henry. Well, that’s about all. Meet me at that place any time after four o’clock. That will let me get out there safely. And bring some chocolate and cigarettes.”

“Say half-past four,” said van Cortlandt. They shook hands.

“We’ll be seeing you,” he added, and followed Thornley back into the shop. Richard waited for Anni. She hurried into the store-room, and unlocked the back door.

“Goodbye, Herr Professor, and give the
gnädige Frau
my…” She bit her lip. “Please let me know when she is safe. Please.”

“Yes, Anni.”

“Please hurry, Herr Professor.”

“Yes, Anni.” What could he say to thank her enough for what she had done? Anni, sensing his difficulty, smiled sadly.

“I am only repaying your kindness in Oxford. The
gnädige Frau
was always so good to me.” She opened the door and motioned him out.

“Auf Wiedersehen,
Anni.” He gripped her hand and held it.

“Auf Wiedersehen.”
Her smile was quivering. And then the door closed behind him, and already his steps had taken him far enough away to keep Anni safe.

Here was the street corner, and the crowds. He loitered with them until he saw Thornley and van Cortlandt leave the shop. They were carrying two or three parcels. He watched them until they were lost in the crowd.

He felt suddenly hungry, but he had just enough money to take him to the Berg Isel by tramcar. That would save his legs for tonight’s climb. He and Thornley could get Frances over the frontier, and van Cortlandt could take their clothes by car, and meet them in Italy. On the Berg Isel, as he waited for the others, he would memorise that map which Anni had given him, and compare it with his own. He felt safe enough, partly because of the number of people on the streets, partly, because von Aschenhausen would be the only person in Innsbruck who could recognise him—and von Aschenhausen was with Frances. The German was playing a deep and subtle game. If he had taken Frances to Dreikirchen it was because her arrest must be unofficial until he had got the information from her which would help him to retrieve his failure. Frances knew enough to compensate him for the escape of Smith, and even that might be made temporary, if Frances could be persuaded… If Frances could be persuaded…

The journey to the Berg Isel, although dull and safe enough, was one which Richard would never forget.

Van Cortlandt and Thornley made their way as quickly as they could through the crowd. They stopped twice: once to buy some biscuits and chocolate and one to buy oranges. Van Cortlandt already had some brandy. In this matter-of-fact way, they quietly discussed their plans as they walked along to van Cortlandt’s hotel. Thornley, with unexpected pessimism, had not unpacked his bag and in any case he always travelled light. Van Cortlandt, although most of his belongings always remained in his trunk or suitcases, had a lot of odds and ends to clear up in his room. So it was Thornley who would have the job of ’phoning van Cortlandt’s broadcasting friend and of telling him the time they would meet him. He already knew the place where they were to exchange cars. Van Cortlandt had thought that out, this morning. Thornley was also to telephone Cook’s agent, and have him collect van Cortlandt’s heavier luggage, with the directions that it was to be sent on to Geneva.

Van Cortlandt was quite philosophic about it all.

“It was coming,” he said. “I’ve got to the stage when I can’t write at all. I’ve developed a sort of censorphobia. Every word I get down begins to look as if it won’t get through anyway. And it’s about time I changed my beat. If there are any surprises coming in the world’s history it won’t be from this direction. They are all set for Poland. I’d do better to go there myself. See it from the other angle.”

“I had a letter this morning,” Thornley said unexpectedly, and his tone made van Cortlandt look at him. “I’ll tell you about it later. It was from Tony, on his way home.”

“The girl?”

Thornley shook his head.

“Alone.”

Van Cortlandt was startled. He had never imagined that Thornley’s face could have such an ugly look.

“Pretty bad?” he asked.

Thornley only nodded.

They finished the journey in silence.

When he left van Cortlandt Thornley’s voice was normal again.

“I’ll see you at four,” he said.

It was four o’clock exactly when Thornley arrived at the garage. Van Cortlandt was already there, examining his car. The mechanic had lost interest and was busy with some other work. He had overhauled the car this morning and had found nothing seriously wrong although they seemed to have had a lot of trouble last night. These Americans! If only they’d take the
trouble to learn about the insides of a machine, they would save themselves a lot of money… But then they were all millionaires and that ruined them. Now, it was said, they were all starving in the streets. What people had to suffer in other countries! Anyway, the car was perfect now; and he had been paid; and he had other work to do, plenty of it what with all the others at the parade. He had advised the American not to miss the processions: that was something to see. That was something to impress anyone. But the American had only smiled and nodded. Perhaps he couldn’t understand German. And now the American was pottering around his car pretending he knew all about the engine, looking for anything that had been left undone. Let him: there was plenty of more important work to be done. The money had been paid. The job was over.

Van Cortlandt motioned Thornley into the motor-car, but he himself didn’t enter. He kept his eyes fixed on the entrance of the garage. When a boy appeared carrying two suitcases van Cortlandt had the money read in his hand. The boy was gone as suddenly as he had arrived, the suitcases were in the car, and they were driving smoothly out of the door.

“Quick work,” said Thornley approvingly. “That was rather a brain wave of yours.”

Van Cortlandt grinned as he guided the car expertly through the traffic. “How did you manage?”

“It was easy enough,” Thornley said. “You know what a rabbit warren my hotel was—no lift, just staircases and passages. Well, I paid the bill, said I was leaving for Pertisau round about five, and went back to my room until then. I came down another staircase and took one of the back exits. I wasn’t even followed.”

“If I was, I lost him in the crowds. Processions have their uses. Helluva lot of uniforms today. They seem to crawl out from under every stone. Wonder what’s it all about?”

“Just any old excuse. It depresses me.”

“That was the Myleses’ reaction.”

“Isn’t it yours? It looks as if we shall all just have to learn to march too. No one can stop that spirit with arguments or good deeds.”

“Well, I must say I think it
needs
stopping. But I don’t think there’s a democracy left with the guts to do it. We are all tied to our mothers’ apron-strings—and big business keeps bleating about peace and prosperity. Between the apron-strings and the bleating, we’ll all hesitate until it’s too late. That is what depresses me.”

Thornley said nothing to that. There were things stronger than apron-strings and bleatings, he felt. But it was no good talking about courage: you could not prove it by talking about it. It was like a pudding: the proof was in the eating. He contented himself with watching the way in which van Cortlandt drove. The timing at the corners of the streets was perfect. If any car were following them it would be jammed by the traffic from the cross-streets. Van Cortlandt had forgotten his depression and was enjoying himself. He seemed particularly pleased when they crossed the bridge and turned west towards the Jenbach road. The two uniformed men on the bridgehead had noticed the car; this amused van Cortlandt particularly. By the time they had reached the beer garden the traffic had thinned and they could see that no car was following them.

Van Cortlandt’s eyes searched the few cars parked beyond the entrance to the garden. They widened suddenly.

“Good man,” he said with some satisfaction. “Space for us, and all.” He drove neatly in beside a dark-blue car. Its subdued colour made it almost invisible beside van Cortlandt’s. Its doors were unlocked, and Thornley slipped into the back seat. He found himself calmly handing out the suitcase he found there to van Cortlandt, who gave him their cases in exchange. The easiness of the whole business took his breath away.

A thin man in an American suit and hat was walking leisurely towards them. He threw his cigarette away as he reached his new car and gave van Cortlandt a sardonic grin as he opened its door.

Van Cortlandt got into the blue car. “Drive like hell,” he said to the steering-wheel.

“Sure,” the man said to himself. He backed the car smoothly in a half circle, so that it faced in the direction of Jenbach. Thornley looked after the speeding car and watched it disappearing round the trees. Anyone who might have been watching would have difficulty in knowing just what had happened. The only way in which he could see what man had got into what car would have been to walk past them. And no one had.

Van Cortlandt watched his car until it was out of sight, and then he swung back on the road by which they had just come.

“He’s all right,” he said, reading Thornley’s mind. “We are just two Americans who traded cars. So what? If there is anything phoney about that, then we just act dumb. He doesn’t know much about our game. He was a newspaperman himself, once, and he guessed I was on to a story. And he hates the Nazis’ guts. What’s more, he got a bargain in cars. We’re all happy.”

Thornley guessed that van Cortlandt was putting a very good
face on the whole business. He had been proud of that car. He was a strange mixture, thought Thornley: just as strange and unpredictable as van Cortlandt himself found the British. That would surprise him. Thornley smiled. Van Cortlandt saw it in the mirror.

“What’s the joke?” he asked. “I could do with one myself.”