Assignment Gestapo (31 page)

He opened the door, went out, turned and put his head back in again.

‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘This friend of yours with the ugly mug . . . he looks like the sort that would use a knife?’

Lt. Ohlsen nodded.

‘That’s right. He’s a dab hand with a knife, the Legionnaire . . .’

Stever slammed the door and tottered on weak legs down the passage to the lavatory. He ran the cold water tap over his head for a few minutes, feeling suddenly sick and faint.

Lt. Ohlsen, alone in his cell, contemptuously brushed the blanket where Stever had been sitting, then stretched out full length on the bed, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling with a smile on his lips. The revenge had already begun and he himself was able to take a hand in it.

Stever left the lavatory with his hair dripping water and hurried back along the passage to Stahlschmidt’s office. He burst in without troubling to knock at the door.

‘Did you see number nine’s visitors, Stabsfeldwebel? Did you see that little guy with the scars? Did you see the look in his eyes? Did you—’

‘Calm down, Stever. Calm down.’ Stahlschmidt gazed across at his subordinate through eyes that had narrowed to two calculating slits. ‘I saw them, but there’s nothing whatever to worry about. They’re people of total non-importance. And as for the one with the scars, in my opinion he was quite obviously drunk. Stark raving drunk. I watched him going down the passage. He was singing some sentimental rubbish about death.’

‘Death?’ whispered Stever.

‘Well, either he was drunk,’ said Stahlschmidt, ‘or else he’s suffering from shell shock. I shouldn’t wonder if that was it. He was practically bent double under all the decorations he was wearing. These front line heroes are usually pretty unstable types.’

Stever wiped his sleeve across his forehead and sank into a chair.

‘I don’t know about unstable . . . sodding mad, if you ask me . . . and dangerous with it! That man is dangerous, you mark my word! Christ almighty, with a face like that, he ought to be locked up . . . Did you see that scar he had? Running right down his face? It kept changing colour, I swear it did! And his hands, I’ve never seen anything like them!’

Stahlschmidt shrugged his shoulders.

‘You have a very vivid imagination, Stever. They just looked like hands to me.’

‘Hands that were made for strangling,’ said Stever, hoarsely.

Stahlschmidt made an impatient noise somewhere down the back of his throat and picked up the visitors’ permit that was lying on his desk.

‘Willie Beier and Alfred Kalb,’ he murmured.

That’s it!’ cried Stever. ‘Alfred Kalb! That’s him, I recognize the name!’

‘All right, there’s no need to shout.’

Stahlschmidt sat down and examined the permit through his magnifying glass. His face suddenly twitched.

‘Take a look at that signature,’ he said.

‘What’s the matter with it?’ asked Stever, squinting slightly.

Stahlschmidt looked up in annoyance.

‘Obergefreiter Stever, I have always regarded you as a reasonably intelligent person. Not brilliant, but not altogether moronic. You do have a certain semblance of brain. If you hadn’t, I’d have had you sent packing to a disciplinary company long ago. However, that’s beside the point. The point is, I don’t like working with idiots. They dull the intellect and they slow the reactions. And if you’re going to start fumbling and muttering and scratching your arse every time I put a simple question to you, then you might just as well get out of here right now before I throw you out.’

Stever licked his lips, nervously.

‘Let me have another look,’ he begged. ‘I’m – I’m not quite myself today.’

He snatched up the paper and examined it under the glass. He turned it this way and that, he took it to the window, he closed each eye in turn, he almost stood on his head, but still he could see nothing very remarkable about the signature.

‘Well?’ said Stahlschmidt.

‘Yes!’ Stever laid down the paper and the magnifying glass and stepped back a pace. ‘Yes, now you come to mention it there is something rather odd about it. I’m afraid my eyes aren’t quite as quick as yours. I’d never have noticed it if you hadn’t pointed it out to me.’

‘Hm! It’s taken you long enough to get there. Either you need glasses or your brain’s starting to go soft . . . You’ll have to get to bed earlier at night. Have a good eight hours’ sleep and don’t drink so much. Make sure your bowels are in good working order.’

Stahlschmidt opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out a bottle of whisky and filled two glasses.

‘Still, I’m glad you tumbled it in the end. The signature has almost certainly been forged. It’s a good thing you spotted it.’

Stever’s eyes widened. His hand, which had automatically been stretching out for the whisky glass, wavered a moment, then changed direction and picked up the permit once more. For the life of him he could still see nothing wrong with the signature.

‘Out of all the permits we’ve had in this office,’ continued Stahlschmidt, ‘have you ever seen one that’s been signed by Standartenführer Paul Bielert in person? Not printed or rubber stamped, but actually written by him in pen and ink?’ He shook his head. ‘Of course you haven’t! The Standartenführer wouldn’t so degrade himself as to sign his name in person to every fiddling farting little bit of paper that came his way . . . Even I don’t, so I’m quite sure he wouldn’t. Even I use a rubber stamp.’ Stahlschmidt looked up at Stever and his lips twisted in what might have been a smile. ‘And so do you on occasion, don’t you, Stever? A rubber stamp with my signature on it . . .’

‘Me?’ gasped Stever, in tones of outrage. ‘I’ve never done that in my life!’

Stahlschmidt raised one derisive eyebrow.

‘No? Well, perhaps you’ve not been aware of it at the time . . . perhaps you suffer from amnesia? Sudden blackouts? Dizzy spells? I give you the benefit of the doubt, you see, because it’s obviously a very serious offence to use another man’s signature without his knowledge and authorization.’

‘Of course it is!’ exclaimed Stever, self-righteously. ‘That is why I would never, never—’ He broke off. ‘I mean, why on, earth should I?’ he demanded.

‘Oh, my dear Stever, I can think of a dozen, reasons.’ Stahlschmidt sprawled back in his chair with his legs spread out under his desk, enjoying the sensation of having Stever at his mercy. ‘Perhaps you had some gambling debts? Perhaps you wanted to requisition some article that you could sell on the black market? I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you all the things a rubber stamp can be used for! As I already said, you’re a person of fair intelligence, and people of intelligence are the biggest scoundrels on earth.’

‘But Stabsfeldwebel, you’re a person of great intelligence yourself!’ burst out Stever, triumphantly.

This time, Stahlschmidt raised both eyebrows together, aa high as they would go.

‘Watch what you’re saying, Stever. Just remember your position. You’re only an Obergefreiter, don’t go putting on airs and graces . . .’ He reached out for the permit again. ‘Let’s have another look at this forged signature. With a bit of luck, Willie Beier and Alfred Kalb will soon be joining their friend the Lieutenant in our cells.’

Stever rubbed his hands together and snatched eagerly at his whisky glass.

‘God, if that happened I swear I’d mend my ways! I would, really! I’d feel that Him up There was kind of saying, Well, I do exist, this is proof of it . . . Know what I mean? And I’d go to mass at least once a – once a month. Yes, I would. Once a month I’d go. To EARLY mass,’ said Stever, impressively.

‘You don’t think that’s rather excessive?’ murmured Stahlschmidt.

‘I’d do more than that, I’d go down on my knees and pray!’ shouted Stever. ‘God, if I had that little scarred bastard in here I’d – I’d put his eyes out for him!’

‘You mean, like Greinert did to that Major he took such a dislike to?’

‘Exactly! I’d do it with my thumbs, just like he did . . . stuff a bit of rag into his mouth so’s nobody would hear, and dig both his eyes out . . .’

‘It sounds too delightful,’ murmured Stahlschmidt. ‘But I wonder, would you really have the guts to do it, when it came to the point?’

‘With that rat, yes!’ Stever tossed off his whisky and set the glass back on the table with a jaunty flourish. ‘I feel more like myself again, now . . . I can already see those two being marched through the doors under escort . . .’

Stahlschmidt nodded and smiled. He looked again at the forged signature and he felt very sure of himself. And even if he were proved wrong, he could always blame Stever. He picked up the telephone and dialled a number.

‘I want the Commissariat. Feldwebel Rinken. This is Stahlschmidt here, Stabsfeldwebel Stahlschmidt of the garrison prison . . . oh, that is you, is it, Rinken? Why don’t you announce yourself, for God’s sake? I could be talking to anybody, couldn’t I? Listen, I’ve got a job for you, I want you to -What? What’s that you say?’ He remained silent a moment, then exploded down the receiver. ‘You’ll bloody well do what I tell you and no questions asked! I don’t doubt you’re busy, and so are we, working our bollocks off doing all the stuff you should have done and haven’t, so don’t try that one! In any case, it’s perfectly simple and straightforward, a piece of piss, I just want you to arrange for two men to be picked up and brought over here as soon as possible. You got a pencil? Good. Make a note of their names . . . Willie Beier and Alfred Kalb . . . all right? You got that? Good. They came to visit one of the prisoners here and I don’t like the look of them. Particularly the Kalb man. He’s either suffering from shell shock or else he was as pissed as a newt. Anyway, the point is, they got in here on a forged pass, so I want them brought in for questioning as soon as possible, and—’ He broke off, suddenly suspicious. ‘What are you laughing at?’

‘You!’ Rinken’s loud gaffaws could he beard at the far side of the room,’ and Stever looked up, inquiringly. ‘Really, Stahlschmidt, have you lost your grip or something? What the devil have these two madmen got to do with me? They’re your pigeon and you’re welcome . . . under Heeresarmeevorschrift
¹⁵
number 979 of 26th April, 1940, para. 12, clause 8, it’s exclusively your concern if something like that occurs in your territory, and you’re obliged to make a report on . . . And until we’ve got your report our hands are tied . . . All I can say is, I hope for your own sake you’ve made a mistake. It’s not going to sound too good, is it? A couple of men allowed to walk into your prison as bold as brass with forged papers that no one checks? Visiting a prisoner under your very nose when they had no right to be there . . .’He made a soft clucking noise of disapproval with his tongue. ‘I shouldn’t care to be in your shoes right now, and that’s a fact! You ought to have pinched ’em before they left the prison.’

^*
Army Bulletin

Stever, who had crept up to the desk and been listening, sprang away at these words and stood, white and trembling, by tie door, as if prepared for instant flight.

Stahlschmidt drummed his fingers on the desk and screwed his neck a few inches out of his collar.

‘Look here, Rinken, don’t be bloody absurd! There’s no need to throw a tantrum over this thing! Strictly off the record, I only rang you up because I’m not altogether SURE that the pass was forged . . . I THINK it is, but I want to check, and I want you—’

‘Like hell! A second ago you were telling me to have them picked up because they’d quite definitely got in on a forged pass—’

‘No, no, I said I THOUGHT they had-’

‘Thought, my anus!’ said Sinken, crudely. ‘No use trying to wriggle out of it, Stahlschmidt, I’ve got a witness who’ll testify if necessary. He’s listening in on the extension.’

‘Sod the witness!’ roared Stahlschmidt. ‘You don’t think I care for any lousy witness, do you?’

‘Whether you do or not,’ said Rinken, darkly, ‘I’ve already explained that the affair is nothing to do with us. You’ll have to put in an official report. Time and again you’ve told us that what goes on in your nick is your business and no one else’s. If you’d had any sense at all you’d already have this couple under lock and key. But since you haven’t, and since the matter has now been brought to my notice, I suppose I shall have to get in touch with Lt. Col. Segen and put him in the picture. We’ll have the two men brought in for questioning and we’ll soon get to the bottom of the story . . . but I still want a written report.’

Stahlschmidt kicked savagely at his waste paper basket and forced himself to speak calmly. Perhaps he had been a trifle precipitous. The affair was not progressing as he had anticipated.

‘Look, upon reflection, Rinken, you’re quite right It’s my affair and I shouldn’t have bothered you with it. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I—’

‘That’s quite all right.’ Rinken’s voice purred down the receiver, full of cream and honey and general complacency. ‘we all make mistakes. I don’t mind having a word with Segen about it. Just let me have your written report, that’s all I ask.’

‘Well, but look, it’s really not worth your while—’

‘One thing I should be interested to know,’ interrupted Rinken. ‘Whose signature had they forged?’

‘Bielert’s.’

‘Bielert’s? I see. In that case, the matter really is serious. I’ll take it up without delay, written report or not.’

‘But look here—’

‘Incidentally, Stahlschmidt, did you know they’re forming a new disciplinary infantry regiment? I hear they’re crying out for experienced N.C.O.S. Why don’t you put your name forward?’

‘Rinken, please!’ Stahlschmidt forced himself to be humble. With a great effort of will, he induced a note of supplication to enter his voice. ‘Don’t go bothering Colonel Segen about it. Let the matter drop. To be perfecdy honest I don’t really have any idea whether or not the damned pass is forged, it was just an idea that occurred to me. But in any case, the two men are no longer in the area, they—’

‘No longer in the area?’ repeated Rinken, joyously. ‘Really, Stahlschmidt, don’t you have any method of controlling people’s exits and entrances? It sounds to me as if the public at large can wander in and out as if you’re running an art gallery rather than a nick . . . Who let these men in, in the first place? Who let them out again? Who checked their credentials?’