We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [127]
Ten minutes later they were all downstairs in the gray early-morning light, shivering and silent. There were three more policemen, all with guns. Madame and Monsieur were there, too, bristling with anger because they had been made fools of, their hospitality abused. Madame, her puffy face gray, her hair in a thin braid over her shoulder, glared at Joseph in particular and spat, her loathing too deep for words.
The man who seemed to be in charge, who was narrow-shouldered and tall, assumed that Joseph was the leader, since he appeared to be the oldest in uniform. Mason he disregarded, and Schenckendorff was the focus of his suspicion.
“You say you are taking information back to London. That’s absurd. Doesn’t take six of you, and women, to do that. And if it’s urgent, as you say, you wouldn’t go in an ambulance that’s old and ready to fall to bits. You’ve got no papers of authority, no money, no supplies, no extra fuel. If you were on genuine army business, you would be properly equipped. Now tell me the truth and we might believe you.”
Joseph looked across at Matthew. At least nothing had been said about desertion. They might have one chance left, but it would be only one.
Judith was next to Lizzie, so close as to be almost supporting her. Joseph could only guess how ill Lizzie must feel at this hour.
Schenckendorff moved his weight from one foot to the other to ease the pain. He looked as if he was trying to decide whether to speak or not.
Mason smiled as if the whole thing was faintly ridiculous. But under the bravado his shoulders were stiff, and the graceful posture was only half convincing.
“What on earth is it you think we’re doing?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Last week of the war, and after four years here we’re deserting now? We’d still be shot, you know. As lunatics, if nothing else.”
Joseph winced at mention of deserting. Was it a piece of bravado too far?
“We know what you’re doing!” the narrow-shouldered man replied. “You’ve captured a German commandant and you want him for yourselves. He’s plundered our works of art, paintings, reliquaries, ornamental weapons, and if you spare his life he’ll give them to you. Well, we’ve caught you, and after we’ve tried you and you’ve told us where you’ve hidden our material treasures, we’ll execute you as thieves, and him as the murderer he is.”
Matthew looked at Joseph, then at Schenckendorff. A single thought had occurred to them all.
“There may be such a man,” Matthew said in a voice that was very nearly level. Only Joseph, who had known him all his life, heard the fear in it. “It is not Colonel Schenckendorff, who I admit is German. But he is a senior officer in Berlin, and at no time was part of the occupation of Belgium. I am Major Reavley of British Secret Intelligence Service, and I am bringing him back to London, where he can expose certain collaborators we have of our own. We are doing it this way, in an ambulance and without papers of authority, because the collaborators concerned have spies in many places, and are attempting to stop us naming them even now. If you attempt to prevent us, I can only assume that you are in league with these collaborators yourselves. Perhaps you owe your own people a more detailed account of your part in the occupation of your country than you have given them so far?”
The narrow-shouldered man was startled. A counterattack was the last thing he had expected. He was thrown off balance.
“By all means try us,” Matthew pressed his advantage. “We shall try each other!”
The Belgians looked confused.
“Don’t listen to them!” Madame said bitterly.