A Study in Murder (37 page)

Watson didn’t turn. ‘Steigler?’

‘Indeed, Major. How fortunate that I was in the bone room, making a bit of space for Peacock. The acid doesn’t dissolve them completely, you know. But it makes them more . . .
manageable. But now, what a pretty pickle you have got yourself into. All you had to do was go to the border and you’d be free of all this. But no . . .’

‘I think the gallows will find space for you, too, Steigler.’

‘I think not. I think Henry here and I will be heading for Switzerland sometime soon. The first genuinely successful escape from Harzgrund. And a blot on Kügel’s record. How
sad.’

‘Hold on,’ said Hardie. ‘What about us?’

‘Your share will be waiting for you back at home,’ said Lincoln-Chance. ‘I’ll get all the legal gubbins out of the way.’

‘Isn’t it strange how lies ring like a cracked bell?’ said Watson.

‘These men trust me,’ Lincoln-Chance insisted.

‘We could all go,’ said Boxhall. ‘A mass break-out.’

‘Impossible,’ said Lincoln-Chance. ‘We’d never all make it to the border.’

‘Whereas Lincoln-Chance will have his old bobsleighing friend with him to guide him through,’ said Watson softly. ‘If that’s all he was. Just a friend.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Lincoln-Chance. ‘What are you suggesting?’

Watson gave an inward smile. He had riled him. And an angry man was sometimes a careless one. ‘Harry Kemp intimated to me that there was sex of some description in this camp. So it could
be you are setting yourselves up for life as a happy couple at the expense of everyone here.’

‘You are disgusting.’ Lincoln-Chance took a step forward, his fists clenched.

‘Henry!’ snapped Steigler from over Watson’s shoulder. ‘He is just trying to provoke you. I am afraid, Watson, you are barking up the wrong tree. Now will you please put
that gun down.’

Watson flicked on the safety and let it fall. The clang took seconds to die away. ‘Still, if I were Hardie, Boxhall and the others, I’d be wondering about what you were up to while
they languish here. Is there really honour among thieves? Among men who will do such terrible things to their countrymen?’

‘Aye, he has a point,’ said the priest.

‘There is only one point here,’ said Steigler, ‘and that is we have to make sure Major Watson disappears for ever, without trace. Is there another acid bath?’

‘Yes, one more,’ said Boxhall. ‘In the stores tunnel.’

‘Fetch it. We’ll make sure the disappearance of Watson is a mystery that even Sherlock Holmes couldn’t solve.’

Boxhall turned to leave and two things happened simultaneously. First there was a groaning from the roof of the tunnel and, in a shower of dust, Captain Peacock came hurtling through the
trapdoor, and at the same time Watson was enveloped by the boom of a pistol’s discharge and felt the punch of the round as it struck between his shoulder blades, sending him senseless towards
the cold and acid-streaked floor.

Ernst Bloch had considered writing a farewell letter to Hilde, but in the end thought better of it. The tone, he knew, would be pessimistic, sorrowful, and he didn’t want
his final missive to convey any form of sadness. He wanted to tell her how much she had meant to him and how he still cherished the thought of that one night in Brussels. He had fought day after
day to keep the details of those hours fresh in his mind, but in vain. The memory of her scent had faded and he viewed the room as though through gauze. But her face, her smile, the shine in her
eyes, they were still pin sharp.

Now he enjoyed one last cigarette in the twilight, crouched in a corner of the graveyard, his hand cupped over the end to hide the glow. Hide it from whom, he wasn’t sure. Carlisle and
Balsom were a few metres away, talking in low voices. They had his haversack, the rifle and the ammunition, which would be handed over to him at the last possible moment. They still didn’t
trust him. As if he had any alternative apart from going along with their scheme. Apart from when he had a full set of papers. Then he might just . . .

‘I can smell that cigarette from Eindhoven. Put it out.’

It was Jasper, the smuggler, with two other men. All three were dressed head to toe in black.

‘We aren’t over there yet.’

‘No, but there are KMar border patrols on this side,’ replied Jasper. ‘Not many, but you don’t want to be answering their questions about what you are doing in a
graveyard after dark.’

Bloch dropped the cigarette and stood on it. Jasper turned his attention to Carlisle and Balsom. ‘You have the money?’

Carlisle tossed over an envelope and Jasper caught it and shoved it in his jacket without counting the contents.

‘It’s all there,’ said Carlisle.

‘It better be.’ From another pocket Jasper took out a folded set of papers. ‘Here you are. Proof of entry.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bloch.

‘Your luggage?’

‘They have it.’

Carlisle held up the haversack. ‘We hand it over at the border.’

‘You are not coming to the border,’ said Jasper firmly. ‘We take it from here.’

‘What sort of fool do you take me for?’ hissed Carlisle. An owl seemed to answer the question with a hint of derision in its hooting.

‘No kind of fool,’ said Jasper. ‘Simply that this isn’t your country or your river. Bastian and Karel here, they know the way down to the water, how to get across, where
to land the boat, the path to take, how the wire fence swings open. Everything. What would you be? Ballast?’

Carlisle made to speak, but Jasper held up a hand. ‘Look, we have entered into a contract. We are to deliver your friend over there. Why, we don’t know and don’t care. You have
paid a fair price, we will deliver a fair service. Now, it might be that your German friend here decides he doesn’t want to go across after all. It does happen. People change their mind, get
an attack of nerves . . .’

The Dutchman’s eyes seemed to bore into Bloch.

‘But you have paid us. Therefore we will get him into Germany even if we have to cosh, gag and bind him. Understand?’

‘But we have to take your word for that,’ said Sergeant Balsom.

‘Yes, you have to take my word for that. The word of a . . .’ he spat a few shreds of tobacco from his tongue, ‘. . . Dutchman. You might think it doesn’t have as much
currency as an Englishman’s, but I have only survived doing this because I am as good as my word. Now, you can wait here if you like. We won’t cross until it’s fully dark in about
. . .’ he looked at the sky, which still had a faint glow in the west, ‘. . . about one hour, maybe a little more. We’ll be gone for another three hours doing our other business.
So if you don’t mind being cold, you are welcome to stand around. Or there is a little tavern three hundred metres to the left of the church. Nothing fancy, but you can stay warm and have a
drink while you wait.’

‘We’ll be here,’ said Carlisle, to the obvious disappointment of Balsom, who was already imagining the glow of the tavern’s fire and the taste of its beer.

‘Hand over the luggage, then.’

Jasper took the rifle and pack and gave one to each of his men. ‘Best be going. I’ll see you back here. You,’ he pointed at Bloch, ‘stick close to Karel, the one with
your rifle.’

Bloch wasn’t sure why, but he shook hands with Carlisle and Balsom as if this were a parting of old friends, rather than gaolers and prisoner, and set off after Karel. Jasper was behind
him. As they emerged from the graveyard onto a cinder track that led towards the river, he felt the Dutchman’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Just so we’re clear, German, what I said back
there was mostly true.’ A blade glinted with starlight in the corner of Bloch’s eye and he stiffened. ‘Relax, I’m just showing it to you. And just making the
point.’

‘What point?’ Bloch asked as they slipped into the darkness between two tall, gabled houses.

‘That if you do anything stupid, anything that might betray us to your fellow Germans, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.’

Watson was drowning, water cascading over his face, streaming up his nose and down his throat. He spluttered and coughed and ejected a stream of it into the air. He rolled to
one side and dry retched.

‘There you are, Dr Watson.’

It was Harry, cradling him in his arms. He tried to struggle upright but the servant held him tight.

‘Careful, sir, you’ve had a bit of a shock. I was just washing the acid off your face.’

‘Hell, we’ve all had a bit of a shock.’

Watson blinked and tried to focus on the figure looming above him in the dim light, the man who had just spoken. It was Kügel.

‘What happened?’ Watson asked. ‘How is Peacock?’

‘Dead,’ said Harry. ‘Whatever they gave him to mimic death didn’t mimic at all, it was the real King’s Shilling. He landed on Captain Boxhall. Broke Boxhall’s
arm.’

‘Good.’ Watson managed to sit up and look around. The tunnel was empty except for the two other men, a pair of German guards and a body lying face down in a pool of liquid, the acid
softly sizzling as it digested the flesh. ‘Who is that?’

‘Steigler,’ said Kügel.

Watson felt a stab of pain in his back. ‘He shot me?’

‘No, I shot you,’ said Kügel.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘One of your two prisoners escaped from the truck: the driver, I believe. He came around to the camp gate and raised the alarm. I couldn’t understand what the hell you were doing
back here so I followed the man around to the truck, with some of my guards. I saw the entrance, and then I heard that fool Steigler talking and had some idea that he’d been fleecing
me—’

Watson had to laugh at that. ‘It was a damn sight more than fleecing. It was murder.’

‘That, too,’ said Kügel. ‘So I shot him. And I am afraid the bullet went through him and hit you. Hard, but not hard enough to penetrate.’

‘Badly bruised, probably,’ said Harry.

He’d happily take another bruise, Watson thought, rather than a bullet in the spine.

‘Lincoln-Chance and the others? Hardie? Boxhall? What will you do with them?’

‘I’ve put them to work, for the moment. But I’ll keep them in solitary until I can break them. I need to know how many prisoners knew what they were up to.’

Watson had considered this. ‘I am not sure Critchley did. He might be Senior Officer but he never struck me as particularly incisive. And he was in awe of Lincoln-Chance. Harry, did
you?’

‘No, sir, on my life. Blimey, I knew they was gettin’ people out but . . . no. Not this. Not murder.’

Watson hoped that was true. ‘How did you get down here, Harry?’

‘I was in the rec room when I heard the shots. From under the floor. I knew something had gone wrong but I honestly thought the guards must have discovered the escape route. I thought
about making myself scarce, but I also thought there might be wounded. So I crept down here just in time to see Cocky fall through and the commandant shoot you.’

‘You’re a good lad.’ He turned his face to Kügel. ‘There is someone else you need to speak to. Brünning.’

‘Feldwebel Brünning?’ Kügel asked in some astonishment.

‘Yes. There had to be a German dimension for this to work, more than just Steigler, someone who could make sure the tunnels weren’t discovered. But whether Brünning knew the
true extent of the enterprise and its ultimate aim, I can’t be certain.’

‘Either way, he is a traitor.’

‘I suppose he is. You’ll need me as a witness?’ Watson asked. ‘I think I can piece it all together.’

‘I will need a written statement, that is all. You won’t be here, Watson, to act as a witness.’

‘I’m not sure Dr Watson should be moved,’ said Harry. ‘He’s not a well man.’

‘He’ll have to be. Von Bork has been on the telephone and burning up the telegraph wires and the damned radio waves about your disappearance. You’ll have to be driven all
night, but he is insisting you are in Venlo by dawn.’

Watson groaned. The thought of hours in that truck was depressing. Then he remembered. ‘I think it might be damaged. The Horch. We crashed it into a snow bank.’

‘You can take my car, then. The Argus. It might be more comfortable, after all.’

There was no ‘might’ about it. ‘Thank you.’

‘No, thank you. I knew you would get to the bottom of this and unmask Steigler.’

‘What? You suspected Steigler all along?’

‘Of course. What kind of idiot do you take me for?’ Kügel gave a cruel smile and Watson knew he was busy rewriting his own version of the whole story. Another reason he was
happy to lend Watson the car, to ship him away as quickly as possible. With Steigler dead, every misdemeanour in the camp, from profiteering to pitiful rations, would be laid at the doctor’s
door when the Red Cross and the new commandant arrived. Mad Bill would be the hero. Only the British would dare contradict his new version. And who would believe them after how they treated their
own men?

‘If Lincoln-Chance or the others should be shot while escaping,’ warned Watson, ‘I would take a very dim view of it.’

‘You’d be sorry? After what they did?’

‘Justice has to be done, Kügel. Real justice. Not the summary kind. They murdered fellow countrymen. A British court should decide their fate.’

‘Wait until the end of the war, you mean?’

‘If need be,’ replied Watson.

‘You are assuming you know the outcome of this war. That Great Britain will win. It might be that all courts are German courts. Help the Major up, boy.’

He put his arm around Harry’s neck, struggled to his feet and they began a slow progress down the tunnel back towards the rec room. Above them he could hear rhythmic thumps into the earth,
sending down little fountains of soil. ‘What are you doing up there?’ Watson asked.

‘Excavating the graves.’

‘In this weather? It’ll take hours to make a dent in that ground. And it’s freezing. Your men won’t like it.’

‘My men? Oh, no, Hardie, Lincoln-Chance and the others have plenty of time. They’ll keep going until someone tells me the truth.’

‘There’s a good chance you’re going to work them to death.’

‘I doubt it. If one of them isn’t talking by tomorrow morning I’d be very surprised. A hot drink and a chance to save their own neck does wonders after a night of digging up
coffins.’