They went down to the hall. Martineau said, “Seven o’clock.”
As he opened the front door, the cook corporal from the night before walked across the courtyard. Baum said, “I’ll see you later then, Standartenfuhrer.”
He turned and walked back inside to the living room and the corporal followed. “At your orders, Herr Field Marshal.”
“Something simple,” Baum said. “Scrambled eggs, toast and coffee, I think. Just for me. Major Hofer isn’t feeling too well. He’s having a rest before we leave.”
In Gallagher’s cottage, he and Martineau eased Kelso into the Kriegsmarine uniform while Sarah stayed discreetly out of the way in the kitchen. Gallagher cut the right trou-ser leg so that it would fit over the cast.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Not bad.” Kelso hesitated then said awkwardly, “There’s a lot of people putting themselves on the line because of me.”
“Oh, I see,” Martineau said. “You mean you deliberately got yourself blown over the rail of that 1ST in Lyme Bay?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then stop agonizing,” Martineau told him and called to Sarah: “You can come in now.”
She entered from the kitchen with two large bandage rolls and surgical tape. She went to work on Kelso’s face and head, leaving only one eye and the mouth visible.
“That’s really very professional,” Gallagher said.
“1 am a professional, you fool,” she told him.
He grinned amiably. “Jesus, girl, I bet you look great in that nurse’s uniform.”
Martineau glanced at his watch. It was almost six o’clock. “We’ll go up to the house now, General. You keep an eye on him. I’ll be back with the Kubelwagen in an hour.”
He and Sarah left, and Gallagher went into the hall and came back with a pair of crutches. “Present for you.” He propped them against the table. “See how you get on.”
Kelso pushed himself up on one leg, got first one cruteh under an arm and then the other. He took one hesitant step forward, paused, then moved on with increasing confidence, until he reached the other side of the room.
“Brilliant!” Gallagher told him. “Long John Silver to the life. Now try again.”
“Are you certain?” Muller asked.
“Oh, it’s quite definite,” Speer said. “I’ll show you.” The brain slopped about in the enamel basin and he turned it over in gloved hands. “See the pink discoloration at the base? That’s blood, and that’s what gave me the clue. Something sharp sheared right up through the roof of the mouth into the brain.”
“Is it likely such an injury would be explained by the kind of accident he was in?”
“Oh, no,” Speer said. “Whatever did this was as razor sharp as a scalpel. The external flesh of the face and neck is badly burned and I can’t be certain, but if you want my opinion, he was stabbed under the chin. Does that make any kind of sense?”
“Yes,” Muller said. “I think it does. Thanks very much.” He nodded to Greiser. “Let’s go.”
As he reached the door and opened it, Speer said, “Oh, one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You were quite right. He had been drinking heavily. I’d say, from the tests, about a bottle and a half of spirits.”
On the steps outside the main entrance of the hospital, Muller paused to light a cigarette. “What do you think, Hen-Captain?” Greiser asked.
“That another word with Standartenfuhrer Vogel is indicated, Ernst, so let’s get moving.”
He got into the passenger seat of the Citroen. Greiser slid behind the wheel and drove away.
In the kitchen at de Ville Place, Sarah, Helen and Marti-neau sat round the table. The door opened and Guido came in with a bottle. “Warm champagne,” he said. “The best I can do.”
“Are you certain the place is empty?” Sarah asked. “Oh, yes. Bruno was the last to leave. They’re all on tonight’s convoy to Granville. Kriegsmarine Headquarters haven’t come up with a new assignment for me yet.”
He pulled the cork and poured champagne into the four kitchen glasses Helen provided. She raised hers. “What shall we drink to?”
“Better days,” Sarah said.
“And life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” Guido added, “not forgetting love.”