Harald was about to hurry away when another figure appeared, slouching along the cobblestones with a familiar gait. It was Luther. He stopped a few yards from the police car and leaned against the wall, like an idle bystander waiting to see what would happen.
Presumably he had told the police of Harald’s planned flight to Sweden. No doubt he hoped to be paid for the tip-off. How wise Betsy had been-and what a good thing Harald had acted on her advice.
The police came out of the club after a few minutes. Peter Flemming talked to Luther. Harald could hear the voices, for they both spoke angrily, but he was too far away to make out the words. However, it seemed that Peter was reprimanding Luther, who kept throwing his hands in the air in a gesture of helpless frustration.
After a while the two policemen drove away, and Luther went inside.
Harald walked quickly away, shaken by his narrow escape. He found his motorcycle and drove off in the last of the twilight. He would spend the night in the ruined monastery at Kirstenslot.
Then what would he do?
Harald told Karen the whole story the following evening.
They sat on the floor in the disused church, while evening darkened outside and the draped shapes and boxes around them turned to ghosts in the twilight. She sat with her legs crossed, like a schoolgirl, and hiked the skirt of her silk evening gown above her knees, for comfort. Harald lit her cigarettes, and felt he was becoming intimate with her.
He told her about getting into the base on Sande, then pretending to be asleep while the soldier searched his parents’ house. “You’ve got such nerve!” she exclaimed. He was pleased by her admiration, and glad she could not see the dampness in his eyes as he told how his father had told a lie to save him.
He explained Heis’s deduction that there would be a major air raid at the next full moon, and his reasons for thinking the film had to get to London before then.
When he related how a police sergeant had answered the door of Jens Toksvig’s house, she interrupted him. “I got a warning,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“A stranger came up to me at the railway station and told me the police knew where Arne was. This man was a cop himself, in the traffic department, but he happened to have overheard something, and he wanted to let us know because he was sympathetic.”
“Didn’t you warn Arne?”
“Yes, I did! I knew he was with Jens, so I looked Jens up in the phone book then went to his house. I saw Arne and told him what had happened.”
It sounded a bit odd to Harald. “What did Arne say?”
“He told me to leave first, and said he was going to get out immediately after me-but obviously he left it too late.”
“Or your warning was a ruse,” Harald mused.
“What do you mean?” she said sharply.
“Maybe your policeman was lying. Suppose he wasn’t sympathetic at all. He might have followed you to Jens’s place and arrested Arne the minute you left.”
“That’s ridiculous-policemen don’t do things like that!”
Harald realized that once again he had run up against Karen’s faith in the integrity and goodwill of those around her. Either she was credulous or he was unduly cynical-he was not sure which. It reminded him of her father’s belief that the Nazis would not harm Danish Jews. He wished he thought they were right. “What did the man look like?”
“Tall, handsome, heavy, red hair, nice suit.”
“A kind of oatmeal tweed?”
“Yes.”
That settled it. “He’s Peter Flemming.” Harald did not feel bitter toward Karen: she had thought she was saving Arne. She was the victim of a clever ruse. “Peter is more of a spy than a policeman. I know his family, back on Sande.”
“I don’t believe you!” she said hotly. “You’ve got too much imagination.”
He did not want to argue with her. It pierced his heart to know that his brother was in custody. Arne should never have got involved in deception. There was no slyness in his nature. Harald wondered grievingly if he would ever see his brother again.
But there were more lives at stake. “Arne won’t be able to get this film to England.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to take it myself, but I can’t figure out how.” He told her about the jazz club and Betsy and Luther. “And perhaps it’s just as well that I can’t get to Sweden. I’d probably be jailed for not having the right papers.” It was part of the Swedish government’s neutrality agreement with Hitler’s Germany that Danes who traveled illegally to Sweden would be arrested. “I don’t mind taking a risk, but I need a better-than-even chance of success.”
“There must be a way-how was Arne going to do it?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t tell me.”
“That was silly.”
“In retrospect, perhaps, but he probably thought the fewer people who knew, the safer he would be.”
“Someone must know.”
“Well, Poul must have had a means of communication with the British-but it’s in the nature of these things that they’re kept secret.”
They were silent for a while. Harald felt depressed. Had he risked his life for nothing?
“Have you heard any news?” he asked her. He missed his radio.
“Finland declared war on the Soviet Union. So did Hungary.”
“Vultures scenting death,” Harald said bitterly.
“It’s so maddening to be sitting here helpless while the filthy Nazis are conquering the world. I just wish there was something we could do.”
Harald touched the film canister in his trousers pocket. “This would make a difference, if I could get it to London in the next ten days. A big difference.”
Karen glanced at the Hornet Moth. “It’s a pity that thing won’t fly.”
Harald looked at the damaged undercarriage and the torn fabric. “I might be able to repair it. But I’ve only had one lesson, I couldn’t pilot it.”
Karen looked thoughtful. “No,” she said slowly. “But I could.”
20
Arne Olufsen proved surprisingly resistant to interrogation.
Peter Flemming questioned him on the day of his arrest, and again on the following day, but he pretended to be innocent and revealed no secrets. Peter was disappointed. He had expected the fun-loving Arne to break as easily as a champagne glass.
He had no more luck with Jens Toksvig.
He considered arresting Karen Duchwitz, but he felt sure she was peripheral to the case. Besides, she was more use to him roaming around freely. She had already led him to two spies.
Arne was the prime suspect. He had all the connections: he knew Poul Kirke, he was familiar with the island of Sande, he had an English fiancee, he had gone to Bornholm which was so close to Sweden, and he had shaken off his police tail.
The arrest of Arne and Jens had restored Peter in General Braun’s favor. But now Braun wanted to know more: how the spy ring worked, who else was in it, what means they used to communicate with England. Peter had arrested a total of six spies, but none of them had talked. The case would not be wound up until one of them cracked and revealed all. Peter had to break Arne.
