“Appears almost derelict, Wolf,” remarked McFarlane.
Rahn nodded. “The SS tried to burn it down before they fled but failed, although the North Tower did lose its roof. The authorities seem very reluctant to carry out restoration work.”
The final stop on the tour was the North Tower. Kelly smiled at Rahn as the custodian struggled to turn the big key in the lock in the door of the Generals’ Hall. It was tempting to suggest that Wolf use his key, but probably better not to.
The room was quite different from how Rahn remembered it. Gone was the table upon which had rested the golden goblet containing its obscene contents. Gone were the huge black and scarlet SS banners. As a consequence, light flooded in, shining on the mosaic of the black sun. McFarlane strode around the room, drinking in the atmosphere. How many oaths of allegiance had been sworn in here, many by SS men now long dead? How many marriages and baptisms? In this very room, Himmler and Heydrich had discussed the ‘Final Solution’ before revealing it to the other senior party members. The room was not just steeped in history, it was also drenched in blood!
“Take us to the crypt,” suggested Rahn to the custodian.
“Ah, excuse me, unfortunately we do not allow access to the crypt,” said the custodian, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“We do now,” responded McFarlane, quietly but decisively.
The little man’s face was a picture of anguish and dismay as he led the party to a narrow staircase. The crypt was directly below the Generals’ Hall, but by contrast was grimy, smelling of mould and decay. Small windows high on the wall allowed a small amount of light to filter in, but not enough to dispel the overwhelmingly gloomy appearance and feel of the room. In the centre was a depression, the floor of which had been either tiled or painted; in the gloom, it was not clear which. Whatever had been depicted had now been obscured, perhaps by age but more likely by the Allies when they captured the castle.
Rahn tapped McFarlane on the shoulder and pointed upwards. Directly above the depression, beautifully carved into the domed ceiling, was an elaborate swastika. McFarlane grimaced but said nothing.
Sybilla was busily investigating a number of old wooden chests which rested against the walls around the crypt. All were empty, with the exception of the last one she checked. In it, she found several rolls of fabric. Extracting one, she started to unfurl it. It was fashioned in the form of a long banner and coloured scarlet and black. As she unrolled it further, the SS runes came into view, and a little further up, the sign of the swastika. McFarlane turned to Schneider and raised his eyebrows.
The little man spluttered and stuttered. “I have no knowledge of this, Herr General, I … I … perhaps they have been here since the war, yes, that’s it! I … I expect that’s it.”
“They look in remarkably good condition to be that old,” suggested Sybilla.
McFarlane turned to Kranz. “I’ll leave this matter in your hands, Hauptmeister. We have more important matters to attend to.”
Turning to Schneider he said, “We would now like to look at your booking ledger.”
The little man looked frightened. “You cannot do that Herr General. That is confidential information.”
Hauptmeister Kranz strode forward and stood defiantly in front of Schneider. Taking a document from his pocket, he unfolded it and held it directly in front of the custodian. “Do you understand?” he asked curtly.
Schneider nodded glumly. “Yes, yes, it is in order.”
He led them up the stairs and along the same corridor that only a few days previously had resounded to the crash of jackboots, and into his tiny office. Opening a locked drawer, he produced the ledger. McFarlane scanned through it. Effectively it was a page-to-a-day diary. Each entry listed the name of the organisation, the purpose of the visit, the number of attendees and the name and contact details of the person making the booking.
He turned to 27 October, the date Rahn had witnessed the ritual. The page was missing!
Examining the ledger carefully, McFarlane found that the page had been removed close to the spine, probably using a razor blade. Anyone not looking specifically for 27 October, or 28, the date on the back of the missing sheet, would never notice that the ledger was a page short.
“There is a page missing. What happened to it? Where is it?” he asked Schneider.
Schneider was visibly shaking now. “I have no idea, Herr General, I left the ledger on my desk all day yesterday, anyone could have interfered with it.”
The look McFarlane gave him required no additional words. Instead, after a pause, he moved to the window and appeared to be examining the next remaining page, 29 October, in minute detail. Placing his handkerchief over the page, he gently closed the book.
“There are slight indentations on the next page. Hauptmeister Kranz, do you have a forensic expert who can decipher them?”
“Yes, Herr General, in Paderborn.”
Turning to Schneider, McFarlane said, “We are sequestering this document as evidence.”
“But Herr General,” protested the custodian, “what if I have a booking?”
Obermeister Schmidt was writing something in his notebook. On completion, he tore the page out and handed it to Schneider. “This is a receipt for the ledger. Please feel free to use the back of the page to write down any bookings that come in while we have it.”
The cynicism was lost on poor Schneider, who looked decidedly unhappy.
Outside, McFarlane looked back at the castle. “Creepy place,” he remarked to Rahn.
“Did the Allies ever find anything of interest here when they took the castle, Wolf?” asked
