Read Online While Still We Live by Helen MacInnes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Helen MacInnes
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man behind the desk continued. “You speak very calmly of your father’s death.”
“Well, after all, I never saw my father.” And Uncle Matthews wouldn’t talk about him, either. “All I can feel,” Sheila added honestly, “is pride, and curiosity, and regret that I never knew him.”
“Who was responsible for your education?”
“My father’s only brother, John Matthews.”
“Profession?”
“He is a business-man. His firm is Matheson, Walters, and Crieff. Exporters.”
Her interrogator nodded. “Verify that,” he said to the secretary. And then he continued, “Any other relatives?”
“None. My uncle is unmarried. My mother had two brothers, but they were killed in the war. France and Gallipoli.”
“How is it that you came to visit Poland at this time?”
“I came at the end of June, on an invitation. I stayed longer than I should have.”
“Why are you still here at this time?”
Sheila shrugged her shoulders. There were so many explanations to that, all little, all very personal, that it seemed useless to start listing them.
“Who invited you?”
There was a sound of the door behind her being opened, and closed; of footsteps which halted just inside the room, so that she couldn’t see the newcomers. Her eyes seemed to be stuck at the desk. She couldn’t look over her shoulder.
“Who invited you?” The question was sharper, this time.
“A Polish family.” Sheila wondered desperately how she could keep the Aleksander name out of this stupid mess. She probably couldn’t without rousing more suspicion. She told them quickly of Andrew Aleksander’s visit to London last winter on a Purchasing Commission; of her visit here this summer at the invitation of Madame Aleksander; of her stay at Korytów.
“How did Aleksander come to meet you in London?”
“His aunt, Pani Marta Korytowska Madalinska, had given him a letter of introduction to my uncle. Her husband was killed by the Germans along with my father.” Sheila felt more confident again. All these facts could be checked, and her story would be proved. But the next question left her gasping.
“Then why did you visit Hofmeyer’s shop, today? Why did he leave money for you in an envelope? Quite a large amount?”
“Why don’t you ask Mr. Hofmeyer?” Sheila said angrily. Surely she didn’t have to start explaining all that, too...
“Unfortunately, Mr. Hofmeyer disappeared half an hour before our men arrived to arrest him. He has been in contact with German agents. He met one of them—who has sincebeen arrested and given us the necessary information about Hofmeyer—at Lowicz yesterday evening. Lowicz is near Korytów. We have traced his visit to you there. Yes, you may look dismayed, Miss Koch. When we arrest him, which should happen any minute now, you may find he is less thoughtful of you than you have been of him.”
“But I am not this woman Koch. I am Sheila Matthews.”
“Koch used many names, sometimes English or American ones. Matthews would have been an excellent one to choose.” He said to the secretary, “Now check all these main points in her story.” The man rose obediently, and hurried through the communicating door.
The man who looked like a French general was watching Sheila coldly. He picked up the black leather folder: “‘Margareta Koch, age twenty-five, born at Grünwald near Munich, medium height, slender, straight fair hair, brown eyes, for three months employed by Johann Hofmeyer (Polish citizen) as secretary. Disappeared without trace on March 17, 1939. Believed to have returned secretly to Germany, and then to the United States.’ Complete evidence on her undeniable guilt as an organiser of diversionist activities and of spying then follows...”
“But my hair isn’t straight,” was all that Sheila could say with complete inadequacy.
The uniformed man waved her silent. “Forgetting about permanent waving, Miss Koch, or Miss Matthews, what course of action would we take when we
“Well, after all, I never saw my father.” And Uncle Matthews wouldn’t talk about him, either. “All I can feel,” Sheila added honestly, “is pride, and curiosity, and regret that I never knew him.”
“Who was responsible for your education?”
“My father’s only brother, John Matthews.”
“Profession?”
“He is a business-man. His firm is Matheson, Walters, and Crieff. Exporters.”
Her interrogator nodded. “Verify that,” he said to the secretary. And then he continued, “Any other relatives?”
“None. My uncle is unmarried. My mother had two brothers, but they were killed in the war. France and Gallipoli.”
“How is it that you came to visit Poland at this time?”
“I came at the end of June, on an invitation. I stayed longer than I should have.”
“Why are you still here at this time?”
Sheila shrugged her shoulders. There were so many explanations to that, all little, all very personal, that it seemed useless to start listing them.
“Who invited you?”
There was a sound of the door behind her being opened, and closed; of footsteps which halted just inside the room, so that she couldn’t see the newcomers. Her eyes seemed to be stuck at the desk. She couldn’t look over her shoulder.
“Who invited you?” The question was sharper, this time.
“A Polish family.” Sheila wondered desperately how she could keep the Aleksander name out of this stupid mess. She probably couldn’t without rousing more suspicion. She told them quickly of Andrew Aleksander’s visit to London last winter on a Purchasing Commission; of her visit here this summer at the invitation of Madame Aleksander; of her stay at Korytów.
“How did Aleksander come to meet you in London?”
“His aunt, Pani Marta Korytowska Madalinska, had given him a letter of introduction to my uncle. Her husband was killed by the Germans along with my father.” Sheila felt more confident again. All these facts could be checked, and her story would be proved. But the next question left her gasping.
“Then why did you visit Hofmeyer’s shop, today? Why did he leave money for you in an envelope? Quite a large amount?”
“Why don’t you ask Mr. Hofmeyer?” Sheila said angrily. Surely she didn’t have to start explaining all that, too...
“Unfortunately, Mr. Hofmeyer disappeared half an hour before our men arrived to arrest him. He has been in contact with German agents. He met one of them—who has sincebeen arrested and given us the necessary information about Hofmeyer—at Lowicz yesterday evening. Lowicz is near Korytów. We have traced his visit to you there. Yes, you may look dismayed, Miss Koch. When we arrest him, which should happen any minute now, you may find he is less thoughtful of you than you have been of him.”
“But I am not this woman Koch. I am Sheila Matthews.”
“Koch used many names, sometimes English or American ones. Matthews would have been an excellent one to choose.” He said to the secretary, “Now check all these main points in her story.” The man rose obediently, and hurried through the communicating door.
The man who looked like a French general was watching Sheila coldly. He picked up the black leather folder: “‘Margareta Koch, age twenty-five, born at Grünwald near Munich, medium height, slender, straight fair hair, brown eyes, for three months employed by Johann Hofmeyer (Polish citizen) as secretary. Disappeared without trace on March 17, 1939. Believed to have returned secretly to Germany, and then to the United States.’ Complete evidence on her undeniable guilt as an organiser of diversionist activities and of spying then follows...”
“But my hair isn’t straight,” was all that Sheila could say with complete inadequacy.
The uniformed man waved her silent. “Forgetting about permanent waving, Miss Koch, or Miss Matthews, what course of action would we take when we
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