Read Online While Still We Live by Helen MacInnes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Helen MacInnes
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heard that an envelope with money was to be delivered to someone who was to call at the business address of a man who faces charges of being a traitor? Especially when the person who called was a blonde young woman of medium height, with brown eyes? Especiallywhen some of us believe that the rumour of Koch’s departure for Germany and America was merely, a fake, to cover her continued presence in Warsaw? What would you have done in our place?”
Sheila, watching the secretary’s face as he returned with a slip of paper which he handed to the man with the black moustache, watching that man reading it with interest, said slowly, “I’d arrest her, of course, in a time like this. And then I’d find out who she was. And then I’d check her story. And then I’d release her and apologise.”
The slip of paper had now been passed to the French general. He read it with one eyebrow raised.
“What if,” he continued still more coldly, “a London directory of business firms lists all men who have any important positions in the various firms; lists Matheson, Walters and Crieff, and all its directors; but doesn’t mention a John Matthews? Or is he now an unimportant clerk, so that we can’t check on his name?”
Sheila said, “But he is important.” Remembering Uncle Matthews’ clothes, his house, his friends, she added lamely, “At least, he had money enough.”
“Have you visited his office?”
“No.” Uncle Matthews didn’t approve of that. “But I’ve ’phoned there, often enough, to leave a message for him. His secretary always took the message.”
“For Mr. Matthews?”
“Yes. For Mr. Matthews. For Mr. John Matthews.”
“I see. What if we have found the record of Charles Matthews, found that he was murdered along with Andrew Madalinski by the Germans, but that there was no mention of any child?It was known to his friends that he had a wife and a brother, who doesn’t happen to be named on this report. But there is absolutely no mention of either the wife’s death, or of a child.”
Sheila sat very still. She could only think: he didn’t know, he didn’t know I even existed... He didn’t know.
The man was talking again. She tried to listen, but her thoughts were with her father. For him, she had never existed. If the men in this room had tried their best to find some argument to end her resistance, they couldn’t have succeeded more brilliantly, more cruelly. Suddenly, as her silence remained unbroken, they realised something had had an effect.
The man with the moustache pressed home the advantage. He said quickly, “If Koch, knowing that she was in danger of being discovered, and yet knowing that her work in Poland was still to be finished, wanted an excellent and safe means of returning here, what could be better than to become the daughter of a man who died for Poland some twenty odd years ago? Then she could enter a Polish family of good standing, and as their guest she could spend the summer safely and quietly until the time came for her to finish her work. And that time is now. Now, with war threatened...”
Sheila roused herself. She said tonelessly, “But I didn’t seek out any member of a Polish family. He had a letter of introduction to my uncle. He was invited to our house.”
“That will be checked.”
“That’s all I want.” But, she wondered, would things be checked quickly in a time of national emergency? Andrew had left Warsaw with his regiment that morning. Professor Korytowski could only say that he had met her as a friend of his nephew’s.
“Look here,” she said in desperation. “Why don’t you take me back to Mr. Hofmeyer’s place? That girl at the desk told a lie when she identified me as this Koch woman. The other employees there could tell you I am a complete stranger to them all.” The conviction that she had at last given them an unassailable piece of proof added confidence to the last sentence. She was almost cheerful again, as she ended the
Sheila, watching the secretary’s face as he returned with a slip of paper which he handed to the man with the black moustache, watching that man reading it with interest, said slowly, “I’d arrest her, of course, in a time like this. And then I’d find out who she was. And then I’d check her story. And then I’d release her and apologise.”
The slip of paper had now been passed to the French general. He read it with one eyebrow raised.
“What if,” he continued still more coldly, “a London directory of business firms lists all men who have any important positions in the various firms; lists Matheson, Walters and Crieff, and all its directors; but doesn’t mention a John Matthews? Or is he now an unimportant clerk, so that we can’t check on his name?”
Sheila said, “But he is important.” Remembering Uncle Matthews’ clothes, his house, his friends, she added lamely, “At least, he had money enough.”
“Have you visited his office?”
“No.” Uncle Matthews didn’t approve of that. “But I’ve ’phoned there, often enough, to leave a message for him. His secretary always took the message.”
“For Mr. Matthews?”
“Yes. For Mr. Matthews. For Mr. John Matthews.”
“I see. What if we have found the record of Charles Matthews, found that he was murdered along with Andrew Madalinski by the Germans, but that there was no mention of any child?It was known to his friends that he had a wife and a brother, who doesn’t happen to be named on this report. But there is absolutely no mention of either the wife’s death, or of a child.”
Sheila sat very still. She could only think: he didn’t know, he didn’t know I even existed... He didn’t know.
The man was talking again. She tried to listen, but her thoughts were with her father. For him, she had never existed. If the men in this room had tried their best to find some argument to end her resistance, they couldn’t have succeeded more brilliantly, more cruelly. Suddenly, as her silence remained unbroken, they realised something had had an effect.
The man with the moustache pressed home the advantage. He said quickly, “If Koch, knowing that she was in danger of being discovered, and yet knowing that her work in Poland was still to be finished, wanted an excellent and safe means of returning here, what could be better than to become the daughter of a man who died for Poland some twenty odd years ago? Then she could enter a Polish family of good standing, and as their guest she could spend the summer safely and quietly until the time came for her to finish her work. And that time is now. Now, with war threatened...”
Sheila roused herself. She said tonelessly, “But I didn’t seek out any member of a Polish family. He had a letter of introduction to my uncle. He was invited to our house.”
“That will be checked.”
“That’s all I want.” But, she wondered, would things be checked quickly in a time of national emergency? Andrew had left Warsaw with his regiment that morning. Professor Korytowski could only say that he had met her as a friend of his nephew’s.
“Look here,” she said in desperation. “Why don’t you take me back to Mr. Hofmeyer’s place? That girl at the desk told a lie when she identified me as this Koch woman. The other employees there could tell you I am a complete stranger to them all.” The conviction that she had at last given them an unassailable piece of proof added confidence to the last sentence. She was almost cheerful again, as she ended the
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