Sir Arthur leaned forward with his hands folded on the table, a pained expression on his face. “Exactly what is there about them that makes them so suspicious?”
“Miss Reville did seem to be playing up to Rudolf Wagner a bit.” It was Nigel Pack who had spoken, and Basil Cole shifted in his chair.
Sir Arthur said, “Well, Wagner did have a bit of a reputation for womanizing, didn’t he? He’d been having it off with Grieban, hadn’t he?”
Basil Cole said, “Well, hadn’t just about everyone? We know the woman for an easy mark. For a while there she was out on the streets. Her dossier tells us she sold her body to everyone but science.”
“She was a good operator.” And for Sir Arthur, that was the supreme accolade. “Aren’t Miss Reville and Hitchcock engaged to be married?” Cole nodded. “Neither one of them has been previously involved?”
“That’s right,” said Cole.
“So I hardly think it likely Miss Reville was trying to arouse Wagner’s sexual interest.”
Nigel Pack picked up the thread of conversation. “But she did trouble to memorize the melody, and that’s most bothersome.”
“It’s a charming melody,” said Sir Arthur. “I’d hate to lose it.”
“It’s safe,” said Cole.
“You mean so far it’s safe,” said Pack.
“At any rate, Reville did recommend Wagner’s talent as a composer to the director Fritz Lang.”
“Well, that’s what’s bothering me,” said Sir Arthur, suddenly getting to his feet and pacing the room. “His wife’s quietly active with this Hitler movement. She’s a known anti-Semite.”
“We’re not without those in our own midst,” said Cole. “But not as virulently active as she is. That woman could be dangerous. Do you suppose she tried to recruit Hitchcock and Reville?”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” said Pack, “but they’ll bear closer watching in the future. They’re staying on in Munich for another film. And that’s a rather sudden decision.”
“Not all that sudden,” said Basil Cole. “Balcon’s operation…”
“Balcon?” snapped Sir Arthur.
“Michael Balcon. Hitchcock’s producer and very good friend.” Basil Cole was now referring to some papers on the table in front of him. “Balcon’s operation is a hand-to-mouth existence. He makes his deals where and when he can. Apparently the German side is quite pleased with Hitchcock’s work and opted to continue with a second film. This one’s to be called The Mountain Eagle.”
“This could all be part of a clever plot to provide Hitchcock and Reville with a cover to keep them in Munich without arousing any suspicion, couldn’t it?” Sir Arthur was having trouble with his pipe and seemed about to declare war on the bowl of tobacco, which refused to remain ignited.
“It could,” said Cole, “but somehow, I seem to feel Hitchcock and Reville are actually innocent bystanders.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but I say we continue to keep them under close surveillance. That’s a dangerous witch’s caldron brewing over there in Germany. So we’ll keep after Mr. Hitchcock and Miss Reville, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, not at all, sir,” said Cole and then, unable to resist, commented, “And thereby hangs a trail.”
He understood the stony silence that followed.
Two weeks later in Munich, Hitchcock sat in his small office in the studio talking on the telephone to Michael Balcon in London. The connection as usual was terrible, and both were shouting.
“I said we did the last shot half an hour ago!” shouted Hitchcock. “The film is completed! Thank God it’s completed!” He listened. “I didn’t get that! What? What?”
“Congratulations! Is it any good?” shouted Balcon.
“I’ll know better after the rough assemblage! Alma and I will get together with the editor first thing tomorrow morning and get cracking on it!”
“You’ll have to work fast! The Mountain Eagle is scheduled to shoot in mid-July!”
“Well make the date, not to worry. I say, Mickey, we’re a bit short of cash here!”
“What did you say?”
“I said we’re a bit short of cash!”
“Oh cash, cash, of course, that bothersome trifle. I expect to transfer a bank draft to you by next Monday.”
“Sooner than that! We’re existing on credit!”
“Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine!”
Alma entered and took a seat. Hitchcock shot her a “heaven help us” look and shouted into the telephone, “It is unpleasant being short of funds!”
“What about the police?”
“I wouldn’t dream of borrowing from them!”
“You nit, have they any fresh leads on the murders?”
“I don’t know. Detective Farber hasn’t been in touch in days.”
“Oh, yes, he has,” interjected Alma.
“What? What? Hold it, Mickey.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Is Farber here?”
“No, he got through to the stage. He wanted to speak to you, but I told him you were in a shouting match with Mickey Balcon in London, so he gave me the news.”
Hitchcock looked apprehensive. “He knows who did the killings?”
“Oh, no. There have been no miracles. It’s Rosie Wagner. She’s been spirited away from the sanatorium. She’s gone missing.”
“Good lord, but how?”
Alma shrugged. Hitchcock shouted the news to Mickey Balcon. Then he had to remind Balcon who Rosie Wagner was.
“I say, Hitch!” Balcon shouted. “Do you suppose all this has the making of a good thriller?”
“Don’t change the subject!” shouted Hitchcock. “Send the bloody cash or we hop the next train back to London!”
“Don’t you dare! The money’s on its way. Meantime, I’ll advise our people at the studio to advance you enough to get by on until it arrives. How’s Alma?”
“Hungry!” shouted Hitchcock, and slammed the receiver down on the hook. Bristling with anger, he leaned back in his chair. “What the hell do you suppose is going on?”
“Rosie’s disappearance?”
“To hell with Rosie, she was a total crashing bore. With us. You and me.”
“For heaven’s sake, Hitch, I still love you.”
“I know you do. That isn’t what I’m referring to. Mickey’s had a visitor from Whitehall. From British Intelligence. They cross-examined him about us”
Alma was delighted. “How marvelous! What have we done?”
“That’s what they’re trying to find out.” He leaned forward. “My dear, it seems there’s a suspicion that we’re clandestinely up to no good. That
