He turned to Bruno Feldt. “We’ll use your cabin for a few minutes, if we may.”
He seemed so reasonable, Sarah thought, so polite, when very obviously most of those standing around were frightened to death of him. Not Guido, of course, who smiled and squeezed her arm. “I’ll wait for you, cara, and if the colonel doesn’t arrive you can come up to my billet at de Ville Place. I have a very superior landlady. She’ll look after you, 1 promise. All very high class. Only naval officers.”
She went down the companionway and back into Lieutenant Feldt’s cabin. Muller followed her in and Kleist leaned against the open door.
“So, mademoiselle.” Muller sat on the bed, turned the handbag upside down and emptied it. Her papers fell out, her makeup case, powder compact and comb, and also the Walther. He made no comment. He opened her French identity card, examined it, the German Ausweis and the ration cards. He replaced them carefully in the bag and lit a cigarette. Only then did he pick up the Walther, a finger through the trigger guard. “You are, I’m sure, aware that there is only one penalty for a civilian caught in possession of any kind of firearm?”
“Yes,” Sarah said.
“This is yours, I take it?”
‘Certainly. It was a gift from a friend. He was concerned for my safety. These are troubled times. Captain.”
“And what kind of friend would encourage you to break the law so flagrantly? Would it not make him as guilty as you?”
From behind, a cold voice said in German, “Then perhaps you should address that question to me?”
Harry Martineau stood in the doorway. Guido just behind him in the corridor. He presented a supremely menacing figure in the SS uniform and black leather trenchcoat, the silver death’s-head in the crumpled cap.
Karl Muller knew the devil when he met him face-to-face and got to his feet very fast indeed. “Standarten-fuhrer ”
“You are?”
“Captain Karl Muller, in charge of Geheime Feldpolizei here in Jersey. This is my second in command, Inspector Kleist.”
“My name is Vogel.” Martineau took out his SD pass and handed it over. Muller examined it and passed it back. Martineau produced the Himmler warrant. “Read that- both of you.”
Muller did as he was told. Kleist, peering over his shoulder, was awestruck and gazed at Martineau in astonishment. Muller took it much more calmly, folded the letter and handed it back. “In what way can I serve you, Standar-tenfuhrer?”
“Mademoiselle Latour travels under my protection.” Martineau picked up the Walther and put it back in her handbag. “She has done me the honor of choosing my friendship. There are those among her countrymen who do not approve. I prefer that she should be in a position to defend herself should any unfortunate situation arise.”
“Of course, Standartenfuhrer.”
“Good, then kindly wait for me on deck.”
Muller didn’t even hesitate. “Certainly, Standartenfuhrer.” He nodded to Kleist and they went out.
Martineau closed the door and turned. He smiled suddenly, turning Vogel into Harry. “You look awful. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thanks to Guido.”
“Guido is it?”
“He saved my life, Harry. It wasn’t good when we went down. Burning oil, men dying.” She shuddered. “And the MTBs machine-gunned us in the water. I thought it was only the Germans who were supposed to do that?”
“Only at the cinema, sweetheart.” He gave her a cigarette. “In real life everybody does it.”
“We’ve got a problem,” she said. “At one point when we were in the water I spoke to Guido in English.”
“Good God!”
She put up a hand defensively. “It was pretty confusing out there to put it mildly. Anyway, he speaks good English himself. It seems he went to Winchester.”
“Stop!” Martineau said. “It gets worse.”
“Not really. After we were saved he told the officer commanding the ship that I only spoke French. And he knows about the Walther and kept quiet about that.”
“You have been careless.”
“He’s no Fascist, Hany. He’s an Italian aristocrat who doesn’t give a damn about politics, stuck here because he happened to be in the wrong place when the Italian government capitulated.”