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Hambledon sat still in a reverie so profound that the servant prepared to leave the room,

but at the sound of the door his master aroused himself.

“One moment, Franz.”

“Sir?”

“Get another glass out of the cupboard, will you? I should like you to drink with me.”

“It will be an honour, sir.”

“It will—but I am not sure to which of us,” said Tommy Hambledon.

Goebbels had been perfectly right when he told his friends of a Commission which was

going to Danzig. Ostensibly they were to discuss conditions of trade with leading Germans in the

Free City, actually they went to arrange with the Herren Foerster and Greiser for the complete

Germanizing of Danzig, and the stamping out, by fair means or foul, of any opposition to the

Nazi regime either from Polish sympathizers or from those who wished to see the once Free City

remain free. It would be necessary for a
coup d’etat
to have a large number of German troops in

the City, yet it would be unwise merely to march them in. Danzig, and especially its seaside

resort, Zoppot, cater for tourists. Very well, let there be tourists, thousands of them, some in

uniform and some not, but all S.S. men ready for action, for who holds the gate against the

carefree tourist? Very clever, and it worked admirably.

This, however, is anticipation, for when Klaus Lehmann was told to protect the

Commission against the enemies of the Reich, Danzig had not yet capitulated and there was

sometimes trouble in the narrow, ancient streets, for this was only July 1938.

The day before the Commission started for Danzig, Tommy Hambledon went to the

Record House to obtain, if possible, photographs and an official description of the man Schultz

for the information of his guards. Hambledon’s personal party consisted of Reck, acting

secretary, and two reliable men selected by himself from the police under his command, besides

a number of plain-clothes detectives whose business it was to look after the Commission. Schultz

seemed to have gone to ground since he came to Berlin from Aachen, but information had

trickled through to the police that he was going to Danzig at the same time as the Commission,

together with one Petzer.

Hambledon was lucky; there were official records of both men. Petzer did not seem a

particularly interesting person apart from his tendency to fight with a hock bottle—preferably

full—as a weapon, but it was noted that he was a native of Danzig. Evidently he had been

selected for his local knowledge, probably Schultz had never been there before. Hambledon took

down particulars of the appearance and habits of the two men and waited, chatting with Herr

Gerhardt, while copies of their photographs were found for him.

“You must have had a terrible task,” said the Chief of Police sympathetically, “reducing

chaos to order after the disastrous fire four months ago.”

“I cannot describe to you how dreadful it was. It may sound a curious thing to say, but the

task would have been easier if the destruction had been more complete. No one who watched

that awful blaze would have thought that anything in the building would survive, and yet, strange

to relate, there was really a vast mass of material comparatively undamaged.”

“That is odd,” agreed Hambledon, “yet we must all have discovered at some time how

difficult it is to burn a book.”

“Exactly, exactly. When the floors gave way they seem to have crushed out the fire

beneath them, and the immense number of valuable records were only charred at the edges, and,

of course, sodden with water. The dirt, the mess, my dear Herr Lehmann, if I may call you so,

words fail me to describe it. Believe it or not, I bought myself a set of workman’s overalls—

several sets—and wore them for weeks and weeks. My good wife looked in horror at my black

face and hands, and said she never meant to marry a chimney sweep.”

“Please convey my homage,” said Hambledon, wishing they would hurry up with those

photographs, “to the charming Frau Gerhardt and your delightful family. I shall hope to renew

my acquaintance when I return from Danzig.”

“When I tell her what you have said,” answered Gerhardt, beaming all over his round

face, “her gratification will be beyond measure. How kind you are, Herr Lehmann, how

condescending. But to return to the records, the labour was worth it. Only yesterday Herr

Goebbels was good enough to congratulate me upon the amount we have saved.” He spoke

rather acidly, and Hambledon gathered correctly that Herr Gerhardt did not like the sharp-

tongued Minister of Propaganda, probably he had been snubbed.

“So Goebbels was here yesterday, was he?” said Hambledon in a careless tone. “I

imagine there can be hardly one of the Government Departments which does not have to apply to

you for help at some time or another.”

“That is so, and it is our pride as well as our duty to produce whatever information may

be required accurately, fully, and instantly. There was an odd coincidence about Herr Goebbels’

inquiries which might interest you.”

“Indeed! What was that?”

“Your Excellency will remember that a short time before our fire you yourself sent us

some fingerprints for identification if possible. One set were on a glass, I think. We identified

one set as those of a certain Hendrik Brandt, a Dutchman, who during the last war had an

importer’s business in Cologne. Herr Goebbels came yesterday with a set of prints which also

proved to be those of Hendrik Brandt.”

Hambledon had naturally seen the course which Gerhardt’s story was taking, and was not

even mildly surprised. “The coincidence is probably more apparent than real,” he said. “It is

quite possible for the same man to attract the attention of several Departments at once-it all

depends what he’s been up to,” he added lightly.

“Of course, of course. We had to have—it was very insubordinate of us, of course, but we

experts must have our private jokes—we had to have a little laugh at Herr Goebbels. When he

was told to whom his prints belonged, he stared and said he didn’t believe it; and when further

we assured him that there was no possible doubt about it, he actually queried the reliability of the

whole fingerprint system. He seemed to think we were making a fool of him, he was quite angry,

we really had to have a quiet laugh about it-after he had gone, of course.”

“I think it was extremely funny and I don’t wonder you laughed,” said Hambledon

truthfully, for indeed the idea of Goebbels getting hold of that damning piece of evidence and

refusing to believe it was almost farcical. “Ah, here are my photographs, I think.”

He exchanged with Gerhardt the stately courtesies in which the German’s soul delighted,

walked thoughtfully home and went along the passage to Reck’s room.

“When we leave to-morrow, old horse,” said Hambledon, “we’ll kiss Berlin a final good-

bye. Goebbels has had my fingerprints identified.”

“The devil he has!”

“Yes, and the funny thing about it is that he didn’t believe it. Me, the Chief of Police, a

suspected agent of a foreign power! Why, he’s known me for years. It does sound a bit tall,

doesn’t it?”

“He’ll believe it when he comes to think it over,” said Reck with conviction.

“Doesn’t matter much now, he’s made arrangements with Schultz,” said Hambledon,

“and an automatic in the hand is worth a dozen fingerprints in the Record House any day.”

The commission travelled to Danzig by the ordinary train, not a special, and merely had

compartments reserved for them since they did not wish to be more conspicuous than was

unavoidable. Hambledon and Reck had one compartment to themselves, as soon as the train had

settled into its swing the Chief of Police sent for his two plain-clothes men and addressed them

in private.

“There are two men somewhere on this train among the ordinary passengers, their names

are Schultz and Petzer. Here are their official descriptions and photographs, you had better,

perhaps, study them here and now.” He lit a cigar and sat in silence, looking out of the window,

till the men handed him back the papers. “Schultz and Petzer are going to Danzig. On arrival at

the station, you will follow these men and see everything they do. When they have found

quarters for the night, one of you will come back to me and report but the other will remain on

the watch. They are not to be lost sight of, night or day, or the consequences may be very

serious.”

“If they should part company while only one of us is on duty, which are we to follow?”

“Schultz. Now go and identify them, but don’t come back here, it would be disastrous if

they saw you with me. You know where I shall be staying in Danzig.”

When the men had gone, Hambledon turned to Reck and said, “You’re very quiet, what’s

the matter?”

“I have lived in Germany,” said Reck, without looking at him, “since 1901, that’s thirty-

seven years. What shall I do in England?”

“It’s odd you should say that, I was thinking much the same myself. I’ve been here

almost continually since ’14, and for fifteen years I believed I was a German.”

“I am one,” said Reck, “in everything but birth.”

“Yes. Latterly, you know, when things have been getting a little too exciting for comfort,

I’ve thought how wonderful it will be to live in England again and sleep in peace with no fatal

secret—that sounds well—in the background waiting to blow me sky-high.”

“No Gestapo,” said Reck, in a tone of forced cheerfulness.

“No concentration camps.”

“No S.S. troopers swaggering about, no bumptious Hitler youths.”

“No Goebbels. Sounds like heaven, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. But d’you realize I’ve almost forgotten the language?” said Reck.

“Oh, it’ll soon come back, I’ve got a strong German accent myself, but it’ll wear off. You

know, if you don’t like the Government in England, you can stand up on a soap-box in Hyde

Park and say so—”

“In a strong German accent?”

“And if anybody tries to knock you off it the police will arrest him.”

“Sounds just too marvellous,” said Reck sardonically, “that is, for anybody who wants to

stand on a soap-box and abuse Chamberlain. But what else is there to do?”

“I tell you one thing there’ll be to do,” said Hambledon cheering up. “Go to the Foreign

Office and collect twenty years’ arrears of pay.”

Reck brightened up a little. “Do you think they will pay it? We didn’t do much for them

for fifteen years, you know.”

“We’ll tell them we spent the time making useful contacts,” said Hambledon, “and

heaven knows we succeeded. It’ll be fun trying to make ’em pay up, anyway. By the way,

following the example of most of my revered colleagues, I put away a tidy sum of my savings

where I can get at it presently.”

“You won’t starve, anyway,” said Reck. “But what I still want to know is, what shall we

do all day?”

“Oh, we shall find some trouble to get into, I expect. Moreover, if German Intelligence

spots us, we shan’t have to find trouble, it’ll find us. I think I’ll live quietly in the country and

grow pigs.”

They arrived in Danzig towards evening, and Hambledon was busy arranging for the

protection of his Trade Commission from battle, murder, and sudden death. There were sundry

conferences arranged, some in Danzig itself and one out at Zoppot, where Hambledon passed the

time wandering about the Casino. The baccarat room fascinated him, with its Moorish arches

outlined with electric lights, the unreal landscapes painted on the walls and the vast open fire-

place. He learned with awe that baccarat was only played from 5 p.m. till 8 a.m., whereas

roulette could be played all day long, why, he never discovered.

The police reported that Schultz and Petzer had taken rooms in a not too reputable

apartment house behind the Heilige-Geist Kirche, near the Fischmarkt, and one morning when

the Commission was escorted round the sights of Danzig, he was led away from the party at the

Butter Tor and had the house pointed out to him.

The Commission was to stay in Danzig for a week, and Hambledon’s idea was to take

rooms for himself and Reck in some sailors’ boarding-house down by the docks and slip away

when the rest of the party went back to Berlin. He was never a believer in having plans very cut

and dried beforehand, because too much prearrangement only gave scope for things to go wrong.

“Some scheme,” he would say, “will doubtless present itself,” and it usually did. “When I have

seen all my little lambs safely into their fold, I shall have time to deal with Schultz. Till then, my

police can keep these two in order.”

“Little lambs,” grunted Reck, who was not impressed by the Trade Commission. “Old

goats, most of ’em. What do you propose to do with Schultz?”

“He is guilty of murder,” said Hambledon quietly. “He killed a man named Ginsberg who

worked for me and trusted me, so Schultz is going to die. I think I’ll ask him to go for a little

drive with me in my fine car”—the Danzig Nazis had provided cars for the Trade Commission

and Hambledon had one for his own use—”take him out somewhere in the forests round here