Mischief …
Miraculously a crystal vase had escaped the blast, though the hothouse roses were coated with dust. The Baccarat or whatever went over, sending its little flood across the inlaid fruitwood of the King Louis-Whatever table the Ritz had felt suitable.
Startled, the Frenchman stiffened, and just for good measure the mirror relaxed, letting its shards rain on to the dressing-table.
Perfect! sighed Engelmann, grinning inwardly. ‘We must question the Generalmajor, Herr St-Cyr, and then his guest. Perhaps if you were the first to do so, I could come in at the end for another spin of the wheel.’
‘That safe was first opened using its combination lock.’
‘Did the woman the Generalmajor was expecting to entertain give it to another?’
‘Or did he foolishly write the combination down somewhere as so many often do?’
‘Perhaps we should look.’
‘I am and I have.’
There was a desk, ornate and gilded, but the Frenchman had already been over it. Still, the challenge was out and one had best have a look.
‘You will find it on his memo pad beside the photo of his children,’ said St-Cyr drolly. ‘“Erika’s birthday, 23/5/35; Johann’s is 18/1/40.”’
‘Did you try it?’ asked Engelmann.
Was the discovery such a surprise? ‘Alas, our Gypsy friend also used beeswax around the mechanism and blew the dial off. Only a check with the manufacturer will settle the issue if our victim remains silent on such an oversight, but I leave that to you since the safe is from Mannheim, from the firm of Leinweber und Friesen. They went out of business in 1908.’
‘He should have used something newer.’
‘It’s the shortages,’ interjected Kohler passionately as he rejoined them. ‘Everyone has to make do.’
They set to work. They fussed, they probed. Did the General-major swim or dine in his absence? Did the woman? Just what the hell had been in the safe and how had the Gypsy gained entrance and known the victim would be absent?
Everything pointed to the woman, but why had someone let Engelmann know of the job in the first place so that they would arrive after the fact?
‘Why prepare that little surprise for us and yourself, Herr Max?’ asked Louis.
‘Why, indeed,’ grimaced the visitor distastefully.
‘Who told you about it, and when?’ asked Kohler.
Engelmann drew in a tired breath, taking the time to size them up again before saying, ‘A little bird sang like a nightingale but unfortunately forgot to get the words straight. I received a telephone call at my hotel this evening from her conductor at 10.17, telling me the time and location of the robbery. He then contacted Srurmbannfuhrer Boemelburg, who then notified yourselves.’
‘And this little bird?’ asked Louis.
‘Will now have to answer for the mistake she has made in not letting us know sooner and in not warning us.’
Oh-oh. ‘Can’t you put a name to her?’ bleated Kohler.
‘That’s just not possible.’
‘Then who the hell is her “conductor”?’
‘That I cannot tell you either.’
Verdammt! ‘Perhaps she didn’t know the Gypsy would leave this little surprise for us, perhaps he lied to her about the timing,’ muttered Kohler, lost to it.
The visitor tossed his head as if struck. ‘Lighten her punishment – is this what you are suggesting?’
Ah damn. ‘Something like that, yes.’
Engelmann thumbed dust from his glasses. ‘Then please realize that when the cage is opened, the bird tastes freedom and rejoices. It is only understandable. But soon it realizes that if it fails to return, the hand that scatters grain will set snares and pluck its feathers.’
A mouton, then. Not a little bird at all. A prison informer who had been told what to do by her ‘conductor’.
When the Generalmajor Hans-Albrecht Wehrle arrived in grey flannels, shirt and tennis sweater with a towel still about his neck and badminton racket in hand, they were ready for him. He took one look at the safe, let his lower jaw drop and fought for words as his dark blue eyes flicked in panic over the carnage.
At last a dry whisper was heard. ‘The diamonds … Berlin … Berlin have been expecting them.’
Wehrle fought to comprehend the future, was sickened by the thought, blanched, gripped his forehead in distress and swore at last and loudly, ‘Mein Gott, it’s happened. I’ve been operating for over two years without a hitch. I wasn’t careless – one can’t afford to be, but …’
Louis plucked at Engelmann’s trench-coat sleeve to ask if he might begin. ‘Of course. It’s as we agreed, ja? You first und then myself.’
‘Generalmajor, you were expecting a guest?’
‘She has nothing to do with this.’
‘That’s what they all say. Her name, please?’
Ah damn the man! ‘Nana … Mademoiselle Theleme. She’s … she’s having her hair done. The hairdressers all work such odd hours due to the power outages. She … she’ll be along in a few minutes.’
‘We hope so,’ said the Surete flatly. As if on cue, the lift down the corridor sounded and they waited but the wretched thing went on and up to the second floor and then to the third.
‘Look, I … I can explain about her. It’s … it’s not what you think.’
‘Gut.’
Herr Max had grunted this. Sourly he indicated the dust-covered chairs and sofas, the small bar – all the comforts of home away from home – even to helping himself to the cigarettes and being greedy about it.
‘Oh, sorry. I’m forgetting myself.’ A bent cigarette was offered. Kohler took it, then on impulse just to drive the message of consideration for others home, broke the thing in half and gave one part to Louis. Herr Max didn’t even bother to notice.
They lit up and sat waiting and watching the victim. Hans-Albrecht Wehrle was fifty-six years old, a businessman who had made himself useful and had been granted the cover of a commission. The brow was high and deeply furrowed, the greying dark hair thin, well-trimmed and receding rapidly, the expression masked now that the reality of what had happened had fully registered.
Had he already found himself a window of escape? wondered Engelmann. Such people usually did. The look became grave, the blue eyes wary. How was it they had arrived so soon? – he could see Wehrle thinking this and then, yes, had his guest betrayed him to the thief?
The cheeks and chin were cleanly shaven, the chin dimpled. Deep cleavages slanted inwards emphasizing the bridge of a distinctly Roman nose. The build was good. A not unhandsome husband for his second wife and his mistress also, or was his association with this Nana Theleme really as he had claimed?
Herr Kohler had read those troubled eyes and had found them wanting, as had his partner but both would keep their counsel until prodded.
‘So, Herr Generalmajor, the contents of the safe. Let us begin with that,’ said Engelmann disregarding entirely that St-Cyr was to conduct the first interview.
‘The diamonds were both rough and finished. Some were gems but small and not very good, though all would have made cutting and bearing stones when the flaws had been removed. The industrials were for similar uses, others of them to be crushed and ground into grinding and polishing powders.’
‘And your task, your position?’ asked Louis, having been prodded well enough.
Nervously Wehrle gave a brief, self-conscious smile. ‘As a special attache to the Ministry of Production, my task is to find the diamonds without which our armaments industry would come to a halt.’
Diamonds were essential for cutting and grinding the hardest of materials but was he still worrying about his guest being involved in the robbery? ‘About how many diamonds – the weight?’ asked St-Cyr, favouring the bushy, dark brown moustache he had taken to wearing long before the Fuhrer had come to power.