Alistair Maclean by Where Eagles Dare (V1.1)

Author:Where Eagles Dare (V1.1) [Txt] [Dare, Where Eagles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

From the other side of the table Smith flung down in front of the three men the little notebooks that Anne-Marie had brought. Then he produced his own elastic-banded notebook from his pocket and laid it on the small table beside Kramer. ‘If they are who they claim to be,’ Smith said quietly, ‘it would be reasonable, would it not, my dear Kramer, to expect them to be able to write the names and the addresses or contacts of our agents in England and of the British agents who have been supplanted on the Continent by our men.’ He paused significantly. ‘And then compare their lists with the genuine one in my book there.’

‘It would indeed,’ Kramer said slowly. ‘Proof at one stroke. Masterly, my dear Captain Schmidt — Smith, I mean.’ He smiled, almost wanly. I’m afraid I’m not myself tonight. But tell me, Captain.’ He touched the banded notebook by his side. ‘This list of agents — I mean, carrying it around on your person. Does this not contravene every rule we have?’ ‘Of course it does. Rules can only be broken by the man who ‘made them. You think that even I would dare without his authority? Admiral Walter Canaris will be in his Berlin office now.’ Smith nodded towards the telephone.

‘What do you take me for.’ Kramer smiled and turned to the three men at the table. ‘Well, you heard.’

‘There’s something terribly far wrong — ‘ Carraciola began despairingly.

“There is indeed,’ Kramer interrupted bleakly. ‘I don’t doubt Smith’s bona-fides.’ Carraciola was almost in anguish now. ‘Not any more. But there’s been some ghastly mistake — ‘

‘You are the ones who have made it,’ Smith said curtly.

‘Write,’ Kramer commanded. ‘Sergeant Hartmann.’ Sergeant Hartmann stepped forward, his leather-thonged blackjack at the ready. The three men bent their heads and wrote.

The armoury was almost deserted now. Some time previously, a couple of sergeants had entered, moved around among the coffee tables and taken at least a score of grumbling men away for unspecified duties. Mary did not have to guess at what those unspecified duties might be. She glanced secretly at her watch for what must have been the twentieth time, rubbed her forehead wearily, rose to her feet and smiled palely at von Brauchitsch.

‘I’m so sorry, Captain. I must go. I really must go. A most dreadful headache.’

‘I am sorry, my dear Maria.’ A troubled contrition had replaced his habitual smile. ‘You should have told me earlier. You don’t look at all well. A long journey from the Rhineland, then all this Schnapps — ‘

‘I’m afraid I’m not used to it,’ Mary said ruefully. ‘I’ll be all right when I’ve lain down.’

‘Of course, of course. Come, my dear, let me escort you to your room.’

‘No, no!’ Then, realising she had spoken with uncalled-for vehemence, she smiled again and touched his hand. ‘I’ll be all right. Really I will.’

‘Captain von Brauchitsch knows what’s best.’ The face was serious but friendly, the voice authoritative but with an underlying tone of humour, and Mary knew there was no answer to it.

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