Read Online The Poellenberg Inheritance by Evelyn Anthony - Free Book Online

didn’t look German, but on closer inspection wasn’t typically English either. He sat down in the chair once taken by Black, and produced his cigarette case. He had given the name of a French manufacturing company when he made the appointment. People were none too pleased to give interviews to private detectives. He was prepared to be thrown out when he revealed himself.
    â€˜What can I do for you, Mr. Fisher?’ A pleasant voice, an attractive smile. It would very soon be wiped away when he produced his identification card. There was no point in wasting time. He walked over and put the Agency wallet on her desk. His photograph was on it.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Mrs. Stanley. I’m here under false pretensions. I’m from the Dunston Fisher Investigating Agency. I’m making enquiries for a client and I hoped you might be able to help.’
    Paula looked up at him. ‘You said you were from Levée Frères,’ she said. ‘If this is the normal way of getting in to see people, Mr. Fisher, I don’t think much of it.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘But you wouldn’t have given me an appointment otherwise. People are very cagey with investigators. It makes our life that much more difficult.’
    â€˜I feel very sorry for you,’ she said coldly. ‘Now either you can tell me very quickly what you want, or you can leave. I have exactly five minutes to spare.’
    â€˜Make it ten.’ Fisher grinned at her. ‘And stop looking so angry. It won’t take very long and it might even interest you. You’re General Paul Bronsart’s daughter, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Yes.’ By God, he said to himself, that had hit her where it hurt.
    â€˜I plan to talk to your mother, but as you’re in London I thought I’d come and see you first.’
    â€˜Why?’ Paula kept her voice calm: she put her hands below the level of the desk. The man had sharp eyes, they ranged over everything, noting detail, storing it away. She didn’t know why she was nervous or why he mustn’t see it. ‘I never knew my father. He was killed in the war. What is the enquiry about?’
    Fisher made a snap decision. His friend at Interpol Bonn had emphasised this point. ‘If the bastard is alive, and coming out of cover, he’ll go to the daughter, if he goes to anyone. The mother’s remarried, he won’t contact her. The daughter could be the key. If there’s anything in it at all …’
    â€˜The enquiry,’ Fisher said, ‘is on behalf of German clients, and I’m not allowed to give their name. They want to trace your father.’
    â€˜But I told you,’ Paula said. ‘He’s dead. He was killed in Russia in 1944.’
    â€˜Mrs. Stanley.’ Fisher got up. ‘I don’t want to raise any hopes on your part, but it’s just possible that he’s alive. Would you let me give you lunch and I can tell you about it? It’s a long story, and you only have five minutes.’
    An hour later they were sitting side by side at the Caprice. It was Fisher’s favourite restaurant; he was well known there and was given a banquette table, close to a large party where a famous theatrical knight was holding court. It gave Paula something to look at; the first few moments when they met in the bar had been difficult. Fisher had tried talking, but she found herself unable to make conversation.
    â€˜Marvellous looking man, isn’t he?’ Fisher said. ‘I saw him play Othello, and it was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen on the stage. Did you see it?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Paula said. She and James had gone. She remembered that they had enjoyed the evening. She hadn’t thought of James for a long time. She wished desperately that he were with her now. There was something about this man sitting beside her which made her uncomfortable. He was tough. That was it; she