.‘
Audley shook his head slowly ’Enno von Mitzlaff – scholar and dummy4
soldier . . . Langer, Hagemann . . . and, of course, old Professor Schmidt himself – ex-Cambridge and Bristol Universities, friend of Mortimer Wheeler.‘ Audley paused. ’Dead, or “missing, presumed dead”, or still missing . . . but mostly dead, they are.‘
But not in battle, thought Fred. Because the military wrecks and the elderly civilians in the photograph were plainly not cannon-fodder. ‘How dead?’
‘Franz Langer was killed in the bombing. And we think Stoerkel was in Dresden when the RAF took it off the map – that’s near enough certain, the Crocodile says.’ No nod this time, just a stare.
‘And Enno von Mitzlaff was strung up on piano wire by the Nazis after the Hitler bomb of July 20, in spite of all his battle honours –
he was one of Rommel’s bright young men . . . And Willi Hagemann – Dr Hagemann being Number 13 ... he was unlucky, too: he was run over by a Russian staff car just as we were about to pick him up, would you believe it?’
‘Unlucky?’ There was something very wrong about this litany.
‘Yes. Apparently he didn’t look where he was going.’ Audley’s expression became curiously blank. ‘But then,
Fred remembered Osios Konstandinos. ‘But they’re not all dead
– ?’
‘No, not
Never-Been-Kissed”! And we’re going for Number 21 – “Key-of-the-Door” – this very night ... in the wee small hours, when he shouldn’t be expecting us. And Number 21 is rather important in the scheme of things, I suspect.‘
‘Why?’ Fred hit the question-button quickly, and therefore naturally; although as he did so he knew that it was another attempt on The Crucial Question, from what Audley had just let slip.
‘
‘Because he knows Number 16.’ Audley looked down. ‘You’ve finished your drink ... so now we’ll go – right?’
Fred looked down. ‘Yes – yes, of course – ’
The rain still slanted down in the courtyard, and the wet smell of earth and darkness mingled with the enveloping sounds of rainwater dripping off roofs and cascading over blocked guttering all around them.
Fred shivered, although it wasn’t really cold – although it wasn’t really cold, through the thickness of battle- dress, even remembering how it would be now under the stars on the beach in Greece, this night. Because the cold was inside him now.
‘This way,’ Audley pointed. ‘And let me do the apologizing.’
‘Of course.’ He shivered again, involuntarily. ‘What’s so important about Number 16, David?’
‘I rather think that he’s the only one we’re really interested in.’
Audley pointed again, towards a bright doorway. ‘“Sweet Sixteen”
– let’s hope he lives to be kissed!’
Fred slowed deliberately. ‘Why do we want him?’
dummy4
‘God only knows!’ For the first time Audley touched him, trying to propel him into the light. ‘Nobody tells me anything – I just do as I’m told.’
‘But you must have some idea.’
‘Oh yes!’ Audley grinned at him conspiratorially. ‘A lot of people hunting Germans these days – it’s open season on Nazis, of course.’
Fred frowned. ‘But you said . . . these were decent chaps, David?’
That’s right.‘ The grin widened. That’s what makes it interesting: we seem to be trying to
3
Fred hunched himself miserably under David Audley’s umbrella, in the midst of utter darkness and the enveloping noise of the rain descending through the forest canopy above, which damped down every other sound, just as the young dragoon had promised.
‘
He lowered the umbrella for a moment to let the rain refresh him –
mustn’t go to sleep . . . must think of something, anything – even the madness of dinner –
Dinner . . . dinner under candlelight winking silver-gold on cut dummy4
glass and heavy cutlery, served off delicate bone china boasting a many-quartered coat of arms, which were not the arms of any British unit, least of all TRR-2!
