They waited thus for over half an hour. The children, apprehensive and docile at the first, became bored and restless. Pierre said, in his small voice: 'Please, monsieur, may I go out and play in the square?'
Sheila and Ronnie said in unison, and very quickly: 'May I go too?'
Howard said: 'Not just now. You'll have to stay here for a little while.'
Sheila said mutinously: 'I don't want to stay here. I want to go out in the sun and play.'
Nicole stooped to her and said: 'Do you remember Bahar the Elephant?'
The little girl nodded.
'And Jacko the Monkey? What did he do?'
Laughter, as at a huge, secret joke. 'He climbed up Babar's tail, right up on to his back!'
'Whatever did he do that for?'
The stolid, grey-faced Germans looked on mirthlessly, uncomprehending. For the first time in their lives they were seeing foreigners, displaying the crushing might and power of their mighty land. It confused them and perplexed them that their prisoners should be so flippant as to play games with their children in the corridor outside the very office of the Gestapo. It found the soft spot in the armour of their pride; they felt an insult which could not be properly defined. This was not what they had understood when their Führer last had spoken from the Sport-Palast. This victory was not as they had thought it would be.
The door opened, the sentries sprang to attention, clicking their heels. Nicole glanced upwards, and then stood up, holding Sheila in one hand. From the office Feldwebel cried, 'Achtung!' and a young officer, a Rittmeister of the Tank Corps came out. He was dressed in a black uniform not unlike the British battle-dress; on his head he wore a black beret garnished with the eagle and swastika, and a wreath-like badge. On his shoulder-straps an aluminium skull and crossbones gleamed dull on the black cloth.
Howard straightened up and Focquet took his hands out of his pockets. The children stopped chattering to stare curiously at the man in black.
He had a notebook and a pencil in his hand. He spoke to Howard first. 'Wie heissen Sie?' he asked. 'Ihr Familien-name und Taufname? Ihr Beruf?'
Somebody translated into indifferent French and the particulars of all the party were written down. As regards nationality, Howard declared himself, Sheila, and Ronnie to be English; there was no use denying it. He said that Willem and Mar jan were of nationality unknown.
The young officer in black went into the office. In a few minutes the door was flung open again and the party were called to attention. The Feldwebel came to the door.
'Folgen Sie mir! Halt! Rührt Euch!' They found themselves in the office, facing a long table. Behind this sat the officer who had interrogated them in the passage. By his side was an older man with a square, close-cropped head and a keen, truculent expression. He held himself very straight and stiff, as if he were in a straight waistcoat, and he also wore a black uniform, but more smartly cut, and with a shoulder-belt in black leather resembling the Sam Browne. This man, as Howard subsequently learned, was Major Diessen of the Gestapo.
He stared at Howard, looking him up and down, noting the clothes he wore, the Breton casque on his head, the stained rust-coloured poncho jacket, the dirty blue overall trousers.
'So,' he said harshly, but in quite good English. 'We still have English gentlemen travelling in France." He paused. 'Nice and Monte Carlo,' he said. 'I hope that you have had a very nice time.'
The old man was silent. There was no point in trying to answer the taunts.
The officer turned to Nicole. 'You are French,' he said, fiercely and vehemently. 'You have been helping this man in his secret work against your country. You are a traitor to the Armistice. I think you will be shot for this.'
The girl stared at hun, dumbfounded. Howard said: There is no need to frighten her. We are quite ready to tell you the truth.'
'I know your English truth,' the Gestapo officer replied, 'I will find my own, even if I have to whip every inch of skin from her body and pull out every finger-nail.'
Howard said quietly: 'What do you want to know?'
'I want to know what means you used to make her help you in your work.'
There was a small, insistent tug at the old man's sleeve. He glanced down and it was Sheila, whispering a request.
'Presently,' he said gently. 'You must wait a little.'
'I can't wait,' she said. 'I want to go now.'
The old man turned to the Gestapo officer. 'There is a small matter that requires attention,' he said placidly. He indicated Rose. 'May this one take this little girl outside for a minute? They will come back.'
The young Tank Corps officer smiled broadly; even the Gestapo man relaxed a little. The Rittmaster spoke to the sentry, who sprang to attention and escorted the two little girls from the room.
Howard said: 'I will answer your question so far as I can. I have no work in France, but I was trying to get back to England with these children. As for this young lady, she was a great friend of my son, who is now dead. We have known each other for some time.'
Nicole said: 'That is true. Monsieur Howard came to us in Chartres when all travelling to England had been stopped. I have known Focquet here since I was a little girl. We were trying to induce him to take monsieur and these children back to England in his boat, but he was unwilling on account of the regulations.'
The old man stood silent, in admiration of the girl. If she got away with that one it let Focquet out completely.
The officer's lips curled. 'I have no doubt that Mister Howard wanted to return to England,' he said dryly. 'It is getting quite too hot here for fellows of his sort.'
He said suddenly and sharply: 'We captured Charenton. He is to be executed tomorrow, by shooting.'
There was a momentary silence. The German eyed the party narrowly, his keen eyes running from one to the other. The girl wrinkled her brows in perplexity. The young Rittmeister of the Tank Corps sat with an impassive face, drawing a pattern on his blotting-pad.
Howard said at last: 'I am afraid I don't understand what you mean. I don't know anybody called Charenton.'
'No,' said the German. 'And you do not know your Major Cochrane, nor Room 212 on the second floor of your War Office in Whitehall.'
The old man could feel the scrutiny of everybody in the room on him. 'I have never been in the War Office,' he said, 'and I know nothing about the rooms. I used to know a Major Cochrane who had a house near Totnes, but he died in 1924. That is the only Cochrane that I ever knew.'
The Gestapo officer smiled without mirth. 'You expect me to believe that?'
'Yes, I do,' the old man said. 'Because it is the truth.'
Nicole interposed, speaking in French. 'May I say a word. There is a misunderstanding here, truly there is. Monsieur Howard has come here directly from the Jura, stopping only with us in Chartres. He will tell you himself.'
Howard said: 'That is so. Would you like to hear how I came to be here?'
The German officer looked ostentatiously at his wristwatch and leaned back in his chair, insolently bored. 'If you must,' he said indifferently. 'I will give you three minutes.'