Dieter entered a large, gracious room with elegant but shabby furnishings: heavy curtains that had not been cleaned for years, a worn carpet, a long dining table and a matching set of twelve chairs. The terrified household staff were standing at the near end of the room: the maid who opened the door, an elderly man who looked like a butler in his threadbare black suit, and a plump woman wearing an apron who must have been the cook. A Gestapo man held a pistol pointed at them. At the far end of the table sat a thin woman of about fifty, with red hair threaded with silver, dressed in a summer frock of pale yellow silk. She had an air of calm superiority.
Dieter turned to the Gestapo man and said in a low voice, “Where’s the husband?”
“He left the house at eight. They don’t know where he went. He’s expected home for lunch.”
Dieter gave the woman a hard look. “Madame Laperriere?”
She nodded gravely but did not deign to speak. Dieter decided to puncture her dignity. Some German officers behaved with deference to upper-class French people, but Dieter thought they were fools. He would not pander to her by walking the length of the room to speak to her. “Bring her to me,” he said.
One of the men spoke to her. Slowly, she got up from her chair and approached Dieter. “What do you want?” she said.
“A group of terrorists from England escaped from me yesterday after killing two German officers and a French woman civilian.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Madame Laperriere.
“They tied the woman up and shot her in the back of the head at point-blank range,” he went on. “Her brains spilled out onto her dress.”
She closed her eyes and turned her head aside. Dieter went on, “Last night your husband sheltered those terrorists in your cellar. Can you think of any reason why he should not be hanged?”
Behind him, the maid began to cry.
Madame Laperriere was shaken. Her face turned pale and she sat down suddenly. “No, please,” she whispered.
Dieter said, “You can help your husband by telling me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything,” she said in a low voice. “They came after dinner, and they left before dawn. I never saw them.”
“How did they leave? Did your husband provide them with a car?”
She shook her head. “We have no gas.”
“Then how do you deliver the champagne you make?”
“Our customers have to come to us.”
Dieter did not believe her. He felt sure Flick needed transportation. That was why Michel had borrowed a van from Philippe Moulier and brought it here. Yet, when Michel got here, Flick and the Jackdaws had gone. They must have found alternative means of transport and decided to go on ahead. No doubt Flick had left a message explaining the situation and telling Michel to catch up with her.
Dieter said, “Are you asking me to believe they left here on foot?”
“No,” she replied. “I’m telling you that I don’t know. When I woke up, they had gone.”
Dieter still thought she was lying, but to get the truth out of her would take time and patience, and he was running out of both. “Arrest them all,” he said, and his angry frustration injected a petulant note into his voice.
The phone rang in the hall. Dieter stepped out of the dining room and picked it up.
A voice with a German accent said, “Let me speak to Major Franck.”
“This is he.”
“Lieutenant Hesse here, Major.”
“Hans, what happened?”
“I’m at the station. Michel parked the van and bought a ticket to Marles. The train is about to leave.”
It was as Dieter had thought. The Jackdaws had gone ahead and left instructions for Michel to join them. They were still planning to blow up the railway tunnel. He felt frustrated that Flick was continuing to stay one step ahead of him. However, she had not been able to escape him completely. He was still on her tail. He would catch her soon. “Get on the train, quickly,” he said to Hans. “Stay with him. I’ll meet you at Marles.”