which I think it necessary to hold her, and they speak for themselves. Only Miss Barber had the opportunity of committing the murder, so far as we yet know. Of the others, only the boy Felse was also present at the chapel, the others clearly knew nothing about it until afterwards. They will all be invited to record statements, but they will not be held. Miss Barber did have the opportunity, and as you have heard on her own admission, she gave a false account of what happened. She must be held. I have my duty to do.”
It was at this moment that Ondrejov chose to look up at his chief and say ingenuously: “Perhaps, Comrade Major, it would be as well if young Felse made his statement next. Then I can start him off to collect their things from the Riavka, while the other two tell us what little they do know. They’ll be wanting their clothes and night things.”
“Certainly,” said Kriebel. “Call him in. And gentlemen, if you wish to remain…?”
Now why did he make them that gratuitous offer, she wondered? Not because he owed it to them, not because he felt pressed; on the contrary, he was more at ease every moment. He wanted to see what their response would be, whether they would jump at the chance of staying to make sure that Dominic’s account would bear out Tossa’s, and frowning him away from any undesirable revelations; and he wanted to observe their reactions if there were indiscretions—and indeed, even if there were none.
Three of them relaxed, cautiously but perceptibly. “That’s very considerate of you,” said Freeling. “We have a duty to all four of these youngsters, we shall be glad to stay.”
Only Paul Newcombe got to his feet, thick and glossy and lowering like a prize bull. “My job is to look after Miss Barber. Do I understand that she must continue in custody?”
“I regret that she must,” said Kriebel crisply.
“I would remind you that I’ve had no opportunity yet to talk to her, and that I’m here at her mother’s request. May I have a quarter of an hour with her, at least?”
The glance that flickered back and forth between Ondrejov and his superior was almost too rapid to be visible, but Tossa caught it.
“If you go down with her now, you may have a short interview with her, by all means.”
Paul jumped at it, was even surprised into expressions of appreciation; they were being almost excessively correct. Tossa wondered about these concessions herself, until she had been led helplessly past the anxious three fidgeting in the outer room, and down the stairs to her cell. Then she understood. The plain-clothes escort who opened the door for them and followed them in was Miroslav Zachar; if Paul had anything of interest to say to her, it certainly wasn’t going to be missed.
Ondrejov, ushering Dominic into the inner office, smiled fatly to himself, and sharpened his pencil with a leisurely, enjoying deliberation.
The twins, frayed into nervous silence, were admitted together into the inner room, and Dominic went down the stairs with Ondrejov’s hand on his shoulder. Every step seemed to him to be on eggs; or else there was a slack rope under him. He didn’t even know whether he’d said the right things, telling half the truth like that, suppressing the other half, with one eye cocked on the anxious, dignified, admonitory English faces, and the other on this gross, earthy, ordinary soul who tramped solidly at his heels. He hadn’t even known who they were, those three hanging on his words. They couldn’t all be from the embassy, could they?
Mirek had made it necessary to tell the truth about the actual circumstances of Welland’s death, to admit that Tossa had gone there to meet him, and had expected him to have something to tell her about her stepfather’s accident. As for the rest, he had objected to answering for anything that wasn’t known to him personally; hearsay evidence wasn’t good in English law, anyhow.
The van was standing in front of the Hotel Slovan, a small, decrepit, gabled house, its portal withdrawn under the arcade of the square.
“Drive carefully,” said Ondrejov at his shoulder. “You know the road?”
“I drove here. I know the road.”
“You’d do well to eat your dinner there, it’ll be time. And on the way back,
“Who was the other one?” Dominic asked abruptly. “The one who went off with Tossa?”
“You don’t know? A Mr. Newcombe. It seems he feels himself to be in the place of a father. I assume her mother is thinking of marrying him.”
“Oh! I see!” His tone indicated that he did not see very clearly. He climbed into the driving seat of the van, and inserted the key. The engine quivered into life. “She isn’t alone, is she?” he asked, his mind suddenly very clear and very calm. “She won’t be alone?”
“She won’t be alone at all. I have two daughters, my boy. I have a grand-daughter. You can be easy.”
The miracle was that he instantly felt easy. He started the van moving. It rolled across the cobbles of the square, towards the neatly patterned width of roadway, sailed decorously into it, and vanished between the step- gabled facades at the far end.
Mirek Zachar materialised at Ondrejov’s elbow, large and placid from the shadow of the arcades, buckling his crash-helmet under his chin.
“This man Newcombe’s booked in here, at the Slovan. All right, I can keep the kid in sight, don’t worry. I know these roads better than he does. You’ll be at the bend by Kral’s, in case?”
“Or someone else will. We’ll be keeping constant watch there. If anything goes wrong, if there’s anything even questionable, telephone.”
“Surely!” said Mirek, and straddled his Jawa and kicked it into life before it was out of the arcade.
“If you lose him,” threatened Ondrejov, raising his voice peremptorily above the din, “I’ll have your hide for a jacket!”
