On that basis, he could arrest and interrogate her. But he had a better plan. He put a note of dramatic urgency into his voice. “They’re going to arrest him tonight.”
“Oh, no!”
“If you know how to reach Arne, please, for God’s sake, try to get a warning to him in the next hour.”
“I don’t think-”
“I can’t risk being seen with you. I have to go. I’m sorry. Do your best.” He turned and walked rapidly away.
At the top of the steps he passed Tilde, who was pretending to read a timetable. She did not look at him, but he knew she had seen him, and she would now follow Karen.
Across the street, a man in a leather apron was unloading crates of beer from a wagon drawn by two big horses. Peter stepped behind the cart. He took off his trilby hat, stuffed it inside his jacket, and replaced it with a peaked cap. He knew from experience that this simple switch effected a remarkable change in his appearance. It would not defy careful scrutiny, but at a casual glance he looked like a different person.
Standing half concealed by the wagon, he watched the station entrance. After a few moments, Karen came out.
Tilde was a few paces behind her.
Peter followed Tilde. They turned a corner and walked along the street that lay between the Tivoli and the main railway station. On the next block, Karen turned in to the main post office, a grand classical building of redbrick and gray stone. Tilde followed her in.
She was going to make a phone call, Peter thought with exhilaration. He ran to the staff entrance. He showed his police badge to the first person he met, a young woman, and said, “Bring the duty manager, quick.”
A few moments later, a stooped man in a well-worn black suit appeared. “How may I help you?”
“A young woman in a yellow dress has just entered the main hall,” Peter told him. “I don’t want her to see me, but I need to know what she does.”
The manager looked thrilled. This was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened in the post office, Peter thought. “My goodness,” said the man. “You’d better come with me.”
He hurried along a corridor and opened a door. Peter could see a counter with a row of stools facing small windows. The manager stepped through the door. “I think I see her,” he said. “Curly red hair and a straw hat?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’d never have guessed she was a criminal.”
“What is she doing?”
“Looking in the telephone directory. Amazing that someone so pretty-”
“If she makes a call, I need to listen.”
The manager hesitated.
Peter had no right to listen to private phone calls without a warrant-but he was hoping the manager would not know that. “It’s very important,” he said.
“I’m not sure I can-”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take responsibility.”
“She’s putting the phone book down.”
Peter was not going to let Karen phone Arne without listening in. If necessary he would pull his gun and threaten this dozy post office clerk, he decided. “I must insist.”
“We have rules here.”
“Nevertheless-”
“Ah!” said the manager. “She’s put the book down, but she’s not coming to the counter.” His face cleared with relief. “She’s leaving!”
Peter cursed with frustration and ran for the exit.
He cracked the door and peeped out. He saw Karen crossing the road. He waited until Tilde emerged, following Karen. Then he tagged along.
He was disappointed, but not defeated. Karen knew the name of someone who could get in touch with Arne. She had looked that name up in the phone book. Why the hell had she not phoned the person? Perhaps she feared- rightly-that the conversation might be overheard by police or German security staff doing routine surveillance.
Still, if she had not wanted the phone number, she must have been looking for the address. And now, if Peter’s luck was in, she was heading for that address.
He let Karen get out of sight but kept Tilde in view. Walking behind Tilde was always a pleasure. It was good to have an excuse to watch her rounded rear. Did she know he was staring at her? Was she exaggerating the sway of her hips deliberately? He had no idea. Who could tell what was in a woman’s mind?
They crossed to the small island of Christiansborg and followed the waterfront, with the harbor on their right and the ancient buildings of the government island on their left. The sun-warmed air of the city was refreshed here by a salty breeze from the Baltic Sea. The broad channel of water was lined by freighters, fishing boats, ferries, and ships of the Danish and German navies. Two young sailors fell in behind Tilde and cheerfully tried to pick her up, but she spoke sharply to them and they peeled off immediately.
Karen walked as far as the palace of Amalienborg, then turned inland. Following Tilde, Peter crossed the wide square formed by the four rococo mansions where the royal family lived. From there they headed into Nyboder, a neighborhood of small houses originally built as cheap accommodation for sailors.
They entered a street called St. Paul’s Gade. Peter could see Karen in the distance, looking at a row of yellow houses with red roofs, apparently searching for a number. He had a strong, exciting feeling of being close to his quarry.
Karen paused and looked up and down the street, as if checking whether she was observed. It was far too late for that, of course, but she was an amateur. In any case, she did not appear to register Tilde, and Peter was too far away to be recognized.
She knocked on a door.
As Peter caught up with Tilde, the door opened. He could not see who was there. Karen said something and stepped inside, and the door closed. It was number fifty-three, Peter noted.
Tilde said, “Do you think Arne is in there?”
“Either him, or someone who knows where he is.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Wait.” He looked up and down the street. On the opposite side was a corner shop. “Over there.” They crossed the road and stood looking in the window. Peter lit a cigarette.
Tilde said, “The shop probably has a phone. Should we call headquarters? We might as well go in in force. We don’t know how many spies might be in there.”
Peter considered summoning reinforcements. “Not yet,” he said. “We’re not sure what’s happening. Let’s see how this develops.”
Tilde nodded. She removed her sky blue beret and put a nondescript patterned scarf over her head. Peter watched her tuck the curls of her fair hair under the scarf. She would look somewhat different when Karen came out of the house, so that Karen was less likely to notice her.
Tilde took the cigarette from Peter’s fingers, put it to her own mouth, drew in smoke, and handed the cigarette back. It was an intimate gesture, and he felt almost as if she had kissed him. He sensed that he was blushing, and looked away, toward number fifty-three.
The door opened and Karen came out.
“Look,” he said, and Tilde followed his gaze.
The door closed behind Karen and she walked away alone.
“Damn,” Peter said.
“What do we do now?” Tilde asked.
Peter thought fast. Suppose Arne was inside the little yellow house. Then Peter needed to summon reinforcements, bust into the house, and arrest him and anyone with him. On the other hand, Arne might be somewhere else, and Karen could be on her way there-in which case Peter needed to follow her.
Or she might have failed in her quest and decided to give up and go home.
He made a decision. “We’ll split up,” he told Tilde. “You follow Karen. I’ll call headquarters and raid that
