A Crisis of Discovery
A C RISIS OF D ISCOVERY
A FEW DAYS LATER the tap-tap on the glass came right at the stroke of midnight. There was something mystical about that hour, Oliver thought as he slowly walked to the door. Both in the pages of a book, and sometimes in real life.
Oliver drew aside the blackout curtains and saw Cedric standing there. He unlocked the door and motioned him in, but put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Please keep very quiet, I have others here with me.”
“I know that you do, Ignatius,” hissed Cedric. “And I do not like it.”
Oliver led Cedric to the study, closed the door, and turned to his visitor. “Well?”
“What are those children doing here?” demanded Cedric.
“Don’t worry. I’m looking for a place for them. Now, tell me about Mrs. Macklin.”
“Who?” said Cedric.
“Busybody across the alley who ran the tea shop.”
“What of her?”
“She’s dead. Someone stabbed her.”
“Interesting.”
“You’re saying you know nothing of it?” said Oliver incredulously.
“Well, if someone did kill her, you might have already struck upon the reason. Perhaps she saw things that had nothing to do with her. And something had to be done before she could take her foul suspicions and do damage with them. Damage to you , I might add. I am, of course, just speculating here. I really know nothing of the matter.”
“Do you really think she suspected me?” asked Oliver.
“Let me put it this way. If certain inquiries were made, discreet ones, and those inquiries indicated that the woman might have been preparing to alert the authorities about certain things she had seen, certain people she had witnessed doing certain suspicious-looking things, then, yes, I think there was the potential for important plans to be disrupted. And, of course, that could not be allowed.”
“I see. Well, the police did come. And the questions were very uncomfortable.”
“And what do the police think?” Cedric wanted to know.
“I told them about the attempted robbery of my business. But it would have helped if her till had been raided.” He stared pointedly at Cedric. “That would have made my theory more plausible.”
Cedric shrugged and gave a superior smile. “I never thought of that. You see, there is no crime in Germany. Der Führer will not allow it.”
“How commendable. So what do you want now?”
“As you know, D-Day caught us by surprise. And now with the Allies having retaken France, Belgium, and most of the Netherlands, we have lost nearly the whole of western Europe. And your latest offerings have not been particularly illuminating. You must, how do you say, enhance your performance.”
“Firstly, the German debacle at D-Day was not my fault. My previous reports strongly hinted at the correct location of the attack all along.”
“Only we did not see the hints until it was too late. Next time be more direct .”
“ Secondly , if I am too direct it’ll be my head in a noose on the gallows, and I’ll be of no use to you a’tall.”
“But an Allied offensive began in September in the Baltics and is ongoing, and the odds are not looking good for Germany. If that campaign succeeds, the only thing standing between the Red Army and Germany is Poland.”
Oliver stared grimly at the man. “Ironic, as Poland was the first victim of Der Führer’s Blitzkrieg. But I see your dilemma. The Americans take POWs. The Russians shoot them.”
“If Stalin defeats Germany we’ll all be communists,” retorted Cedric brusquely.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
Cedric said, “So, the intelligence I seek, do you have it?”
“I think your superiors will be very pleased. Indeed, I believe this will turn a blundering negative into a brilliant strategic triumph and forevermore enshrine you in the hallowed halls of German spycraft. I congratulate you, Herr Cedric Axmann.”
“You English are such fine orators. Put a British accent on an idiot and he sounds like he quotes Shakespeare, or better yet, Goethe.”
Oliver smiled. “Yes, but then he’s still an idiot.”
“Now, the information? I am in a hurry.”
Oliver strolled over to the bookcase, pulled down the Jacques novel, and handed it to Cedric, who glanced at the spine.
“Another book by George Sand, the French female?” Cedric said derisively.
“Imogen was quite partial to her.”
“I do not much care for her affinity for the French, but your wife is missed.”
“Yes, Imogen is. Very much,” replied Oliver, his casual manner vanishing.
Cedric tensed, then rushed over to the door and wrenched it open.
And there stood a terrified Charlie and Molly.