“I heard it was filled with precious objects—at least that was the rumour,” interposed Manteufel.
“That was certainly rumoured,” confirmed Rahn. “Himmler was obsessed with religious relics. He considered them to have occult powers, so he raided all the museums and removed anything he felt fitted the bill. He even sent out expeditions in search of the lost treasures of Solomon’s temple. In fact, he once sent a research team to Tibet to find the lost tribe of Aryans. The treasure he sought most was the Holy Grail, and it was rumoured that he had found it and stored it in a vault in Wewelsburg Castle along with the Spear of Longinus, a piece of the real cross and so on and so on. When the Allies took over the castle, they found the vault, but it was empty.”
“So, what happened to the artefacts?” asked Sybilla.
Rahn raised both arms high and, as he did so, the wind swirled his white hair in every direction. With staring eyes, he slowly lowered one arm and pointed to the mountains. “Out there, Billa, the Holy Grail is waiting to be found!”
A Conversation with the Vril Maiden
The reception accorded McFarlane in Paderborn was entirely at odds with that which he had received in Wewelsburg. Being a British garrison town, the German police were in constant contact with the British Military Police and their detective branch, the SIB. The two organisations were quite used to working hand in hand. McFarlane was met by Polizeioberrat Krüger, who was at pains to extend as much assistance as he could.
Krüger assigned one of his best forensic scientists to examine the ledger, which was taken to a laboratory and the relevant page photographed from a number of different angles and in different lights. The film was then packed in a transit envelope and sent for immediate development, marked ‘most urgent’.
Later that same afternoon, McFarlane was summoned to police HQ, where the scientist revealed his findings. From the many photographs he had taken, he had managed to extract a piece from here, another piece from there, to produce a composite picture. It showed:
Taufe,
Enge Familie und Freunde, ca. 15 Personen
Frau H**ga vo* Sind***dor*
Leng***esser St***se, Bad Tö**, Bay***
4**96*6*12
The stars indicated letters and numbers that were not decipherable.
McFarlane cursed silently. A baptism. Close family and friends, about 15 people, but the crucial part, the name and address, had been impossible to decipher.
Sensing McFarlane’s frustration, the scientist was quick to reassure. “The name and address will not be difficult to determine. Look,” he said, pointing, “the first name has to be ‘Helga’, followed by ‘von’, surname we don’t have yet, but the last letter must be ‘f’ as in dorf. Street name we don’t have but it’s clearly followed by ‘Strasse’. Now, look at the last word. That can only be ‘Bayern’, and the only ‘Bad Tö’ in Bayern is ‘Bad Tölz’ near the Austrian border. See? We’re nearly there. Hans is currently going through the telephone company files for Bad Tölz to match what we have of the surname to what we have of the telephone number. It’s a slow job, but Hans is very meticulous. He will match them.”
As if on cue, there was a gentle tap on the door. A young man opened it a fraction and asked, “Is now good, Professor?”
“Yes, yes, Hans, do you have it?”
“It’s here, Professor,” he answered, handing over a sheet of paper.
“Thank you, Hans.” A look of intense satisfaction spread over the scientist’s face. “The person you seek, Herr General, is Helga Maria von Sindelsdorf. Her address is Lenggriesser Strasse 141, Bad Tölz. Hans has very helpfully added some notes which may help you find the house—it appears to be a detached residence in a rural area—and he’s also included the telephone number in case you require it.”
McFarland shook his head and smiled broadly. “Sheer genius, Professor, either that or magic, I’m not sure which.”
“Neither.” The professor tried to appear self-deprecating, but couldn’t help looking slightly smug. “Hours and hours of study followed by years of practice. Dedication, application and determination, Herr General; it’s the German way!”
The woman who answered a knock on her door at Lenggriesser Strasse 141, Bad Tölz, stood for a moment, silently appraising her visitors. A tall, strongly built man, clearly in charge. Beside him, a tough-looking man with a military air, behind him a priest with wild eyes and even wilder hair, and just to the side, taking a keen interest in the upper floor of the house, a woman of remarkable beauty. Thirty years ago, the woman mused, I looked just like this lady.
Her reverie was interrupted by the man in charge, who was holding an identity card out to her. The woman didn’t deign to look at it. “Colonel Kelly, British security,” he said, then indicating the others, “Horst Manteufel and Sybilla Thorstaadt, also British security, and Father Wolfgang Rahn, French security.” Bob McFarlane, having had to return to London, had left Kelly in charge of the investigation.
“Am I addressing Frau Helga Maria von Sindelsdorf?” he asked.
“Not out here on the front step, Colonel, you must all come inside.”
She led them into her living room where a log fire was roaring in the grate.
“Herr Manteufel, will you help me carry in more chairs?”
Manteufel raised his eyebrows in surprise but obediently followed the woman into an adjacent room, returning with three dining chairs which the woman arranged around the fire.
“You men will sit in the hard chairs. Myself and this lovely young lady”—she indicated Sybilla— “will take the easy chairs. That way if I tire at looking at the gruesome faces of you men, I can rest my eyes on her beautiful countenance.”
Sybilla didn’t quite know whether to be flattered or embarrassed and opted for both, but dutifully took her seat on the other side of the fireplace from the woman.
“Frau Orsic,” said Rahn, “Maria if I may, the years have been kind to you.”
“Father, that is an excellent strategy. Flattery will always gain you an
