Pursuit of Passy

by David Moore Crook

CHAPTER XI

  CAFÉ DES DEUX FRÈRES

  THAT evening Giselle and I walked up into the old town. We had spent an anxious few hours working out my new identity and history. I had borrowed a grey flannel suit from d'Angelay (having removed the tailor's label “just in case” as Carnac remarked cheerfully) and a very English looking pin-stripe tie. My hair was parted on the other side and flopped across my forehead producing an almost Hitlerian effect, and finally I was wearing the same dark glasses that had proved so useful that morning. Altogether I think my appearance was changed considerably but despite this I was as jumpy as a cat.

  This was a sortie in broad daylight right under the enemy's nose and in addition just to make myself more conspicuous I had Gisselle with me. We hadn't gone a hundred yards before I realised that she attracted a great deal of attention, practically everybody who passed us glancing curiously at this graceful, clear-eyed girl. It struck me that the susceptible Hun would be no exception.

  As we walked on I kept repeating to myself with a sort of desperate urgency, “You're Eddy Broussard, you're an American, you've been driving for the American Ambulance unit,” because I knew that the only hope of getting away with this bluff was to have my new personality and story so clearly photographed on my mind that any questions and conversation would be answered naturally and without a trace of hesitation.

  I still hadn't any papers or an American passport and therefore had to rely entirely on being such a convincing American citizen that no German would think of questioning the fact. If they did notice anything wrong then three minutes intelligent cross-examination would show me up. I therefore thought hard about Eddy Broussard and began to feel that I knew the gentleman fairly well.

  Near the cathedral we paused outside a bar.

  “This will do to start with,” I said, and we went in and ordered a drink. There were a number of Germans of all ranks, still celebrating hard, but I couldn't see any Luftwaffe officers.

  I said in a low voice to Giselle, “When we see some Luftwaffe officers get into conversation with them.” She nodded. “And if we should see our friend I'll say Tally Ho as a signal.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It's an old English hunting cry,” I said, “but now it's the R.A.F. term meaning enemy in sight.”

  We had another drink and I began to feel a little more confident. So far so good. I had a good look round the room, but couldn't see anything that suggested the presence of the Gestapo though it was impossible to be sure.

  After about half-an-hour three Luftwaffe officers walked in. They took the bar stools next to Giselle, sat astride them and demanded champagne.

  In the mirror facing us I watched them casually. They were all young, sunburnt, hard looking and obviously out for a party. You could see that they were quite-nicely-thank-you already. I nudged Giselle softly and she replied with a barely perceptible nod. It was going to be very easy. I could see that two of them were glancing covertly at her already.

  She unfastened her bag, searched through it as though looking for something and then pulled out a purse, but as she opened it several coins dropped on the floor and rolled away. I dived after them and the Luftwaffe promptly and very gallantly did the same. It was a heaven-sent opening for them.

  We recovered the coins between us and they were restored with much bowing and heel clicking.

  “How clumsy of me!” said Giselle. “Thank you so much.” She smiled sweetly at them. More bowing. They had very nice manners.

  Would mademoiselle and I join them in a drink? Thank you very much, messieurs, we should be delighted. Garcon, another bottle!

  We introduced ourselves. Mademoiselle Saint Brie, Mr. Eddy Broussard of New York, Hauptmann Konrath and the other two whose names I forget. The bottle arrived and the cork was drawn with a resounding pop. We clinked glasses, and were now the greatest of friends and all set for a good party.

  “Are you staying in Laon, Mademoiselle?” (Yours is a pretty obvious technique my young friend, I thought.)

  “I am working at the military hospital,” said Giselle.

  “And M. Broussard is perhaps a doctor?”

  “No,” I said cheerfully, “just an ordinary American. I was driving for our ambulance unit, but I kinda lost them since the Armistice. This war's all over anyway. You people have swept the board. I'm going back to the States next week.”

  They seemed interested to meet an American, and Konrath for the moment stopped making passes at Giselle and wanted to know if I thought England would fight on now and what we Americans thought of the Nazis.

  I was beginning to enjoy this, aided perhaps by the champagne, and replied in no uncertain terms that we didn't think very much of the Nazis, and even less of the Italians.

  I was careful, however, to be polite and good-humoured about it and avoid any slighting references to the Fuehrer which I knew would start trouble immediately. They took it very well, protesting that we misunderstood them, that the facts had been wilfully distorted by the Jews and the English who were afraid that Germany would rise again to be a great power. But England was finished now, just as France was, and the young and virile nations were going to have their turn. And so on, in the approved Nazi style, ad. lib., ad. infinitum.

  “Do you think England is really finished?” I asked at length.

  Konrath's face hardened and he banged the bar with his glass.

  “Of course they are!” he said loudly. “But for that Churchill they would have made terms long ago. Now they will have to be taught their lesson. England will be Kaput-geschlagen. When the bombing starts we shall be over there in a fortnight—you'll see. And then—”

  He laughed. It wasn't a very pleasant laugh. I should hate to see Konrath and his type in a vanquished England. There would be no mercy.

  One of the other Germans turned to me.

  “Have you always lived in America, monsieur?”

  “No,” I said, “I've lived in England for some years. I used to work there.”

  “I thought so,” he replied, speaking for the first time in very good English. “You have really no American accent.”

  I stiffened instinctively. It was a good thing I mentioned working in England.

  “No?” I said. “I suppose I must have got out of it in the last few years. It's amazing how quickly one does.”

  “Yes,” he said, “isn't it? At first I should have taken you for an Englishman.”

  This was getting on to dangerous ground and it struck me that a change in the conversation would be a good thing so I ordered another bottle of champagne. It was pretty poor stuff despite the price; no doubt the wily proprietor was palming off some dud stock on his Teuton guests in the well-founded belief that they would not be discerning judges.

  I paid for it and was secretly amused to think that the Chancellor of the Exchequer might not approve much of German officers being treated to champagne on the British taxpayers' money. Not that it worried me much. It was a cheaper alternative than having to pay a pension to the dependants of the late Flying Officer Peter Claydon and it had helped to cover up a rather awkward moment.

  Konrath meanwhile was deep in conversation with Giselle. Evidently the American's girlfriend was fair game for a Luftwaffe officer and he was determined to cut me out. Giselle sat forward on her stool, twirling the narrow stem of a glass between her fingers and playing up magnificently to the amorous Konrath. A bit too magnificently, I thought with a tinge of annoyance.

  We all clicked glasses again, but this time I drank very sparingly and left it to the three Germans to finish the bottle, which they did with the greatest of ease. I intended to keep a clear head.

  For a second I caught Giselle's eye and then blew my nose vigorously. This was the signal to move on elsewhere and a few minutes later she set her glass down firmly and announced that she wanted to move on. The Luftwaffe rose as one man just as I had hoped. Could they show us some other place in the town? They would be very honoured by our company. (You mean Giselle
's company, I thought to myself. You'd be only too pleased to lose me.) I looked at Giselle, with an' air of doubt. She nodded her head with alacrity. Yes, messieurs, we should be delighted if that is not too much trouble. No trouble at all, mademoiselle, we assure you.

  We marched happily out of the bar, one of those occasions, I think, when everybody was happy. I certainly was; we were making now for the Deux Frères (though the Luftwaffe didn't realise it yet), and that was the danger spot because it was probably still under observation from the Gestapo, and I reckoned that going there in the company of German officers might allay suspicion. I was beginning to realise the truth of Carnac's saying that the impudent and unexpected plan is the one best calculated to deceive the wily Hun.

  Outside the evening air was cool and pleasant and the setting sun cast long shadows across the street and touched with gold the lofty spire of the cathedral above our heads. We paused for a moment. “Where would you like to go now, mademoiselle?” said Konrath. Giselle thought and then said, “Let's go to the Deux Frères—it's quite near here.”

  We set off briskly, Konrath walking in front with Giselle, the other two bringing up the rear with me. They were all in excellent form and walked very straight and with the intense concentration of the slightly boozed. Konrath talked in a low voice to Giselle. I thought he was probably making what a Frenchman would call “des propositions.” Poor Giselle—it wasn't turning out a very pleasant affair for her, but she struck me as being a young woman quite capable of keeping amorous airmen at bay.

  We reached the Deux Frères. I drew a deep breath and followed the others inside, feeling rather as the early Christians must have felt on entering the lion's den. More faith than hope.

  It looked exactly the same as when Carnac and I were there; the mirrors on the yellow wall, the array of gaily coloured bottles on the shelf and the same field-grey mass of Germans drinking themselves stupid, with here and there an odd civilian.

  Konrath ordered more champagne. I glanced quickly round the room. Passy wasn't there; we had drawn blank again. I continued my search. The Gestapo man who had read a newspaper by the door certainly wasn't there either, but that didn't mean that they were not watching the place because any one of the crowd present might have been a member of the secret police. I was conscious of a strange inward tension.

  The champagne arrived and we clinked glasses again. I drank a little private toast to the hope that Konrath and his two friends would soon meet a hero's death over England. Not that I wished them any harm; they were pleasant enough in their rather arrogant way, but very, very sure of themselves and quite fanatical in their desire to see England made to grovel in the dust.

  Giselle evidently thought it was time to start a few discreet enquiries. She said to Konrath, “I was in here a few nights ago and saw a Frenchman I met once in Abbeville. Do you know him?—he was here with some Luftwaffe officers. I think his name was Passy.”

  Konrath stared at her for a moment before replying. He was distinctly tight but the question had made an impression and I knew that we had made a mistake.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. “I may have met him. May I ask, mademoiselle, why you are interested in him?”

  “I'm not really,” said Giselle calmly. “It's just that I was rather surprised to see him again in here the other night.”

  “So,” said Konrath. There was an awkward pause. I could see he wasn't satisfied and I thought quickly of some way of turning the conversation.

  We were standing now in a small circle and I had my back to the bar and was facing the entrance. Suddenly the door swung open and Passy walked in. His appearance was so quick and unexpected that for an instant I stared at him in utter stupefaction and then I felt a great surge of comprehension and excitement. We had found our quarry at last.

  He was just the same as I remembered him from that brief meeting at Abbeville, tall, somehow rather dissolute-looking with his sensual face and cruel mouth, and yet his expression was quick and alert. An unpleasant customer, you'd say at a glance, but certainly no fool.

  He glanced round the room and then made for the bar; we were now not more than six paces apart, but I was still the only one of our little group who had seen him. I had to warn Giselle quickly. Having said that she knew Passy it would be fatal now if she didn't recognise him.

  I raised my glass to her.

  “Tally Ho, my dear,” I said, and stared intently over her shoulder at Passy.

  She picked it up beautifully, raised her glass as though acknowledging my toast and then quite casually glanced round at the mirror on the wall and her eyes rested for a second on Passy. I knew she was bound to recognise him once I pointed him out; he was the only civilian near us and I had described him very fully to her.

  She turned back to Konrath. “Why, there he is now,” she said in surprise. “I never saw him come in.” She walked over to Passy, touched him on the arm, and said, “Do you remember me, monsieur?”

  Passy turned round in surprise and looked at her. We had counted on his weakness for the opposite sex and we had not been wrong. Confronted by this striking looking girl, he did what most of us males would do and fell for the deception beautifully.

  “Mais certainement, mademoiselle,” he replied slowly. “I remember you but I cannot think at the moment exactly where we met.”

  “It was at Abbeville, in April,” said Giselle calmly. “Do you remember one evening at the Père Jacques when you won a bet from an English soldier for drinking beer? I was there then and I saw you in here the other night. How funny to meet again” —and she chatted on gaily.

  The slightly puzzled look on Passy's face cleared immediately. He was obviously quite ready to believe that they met before and Giselle brought him across to our little group and introduced him. He and Konrath must have met before because they certainly recognised each other, but Konrath merely bowed coldly and said nothing.

  Now it was my turn.

  “Mr. Eddy Broussard of New York.” Passy and I looked at each other for an instant and bowed, and then he turned back to Giselle. There had not been even a flicker of recognition in his face.

  The conversation began to drag somewhat. Konrath sulked; he was obviously annoyed that Giselle had brought Passy into the party and even more annoyed that she paid so much attention to him. The other two Germans were now glassy-eyed and seemed more or less speechless and I stood quietly by myself, thinking very hard.

  We had completed the first phase of the operation and made contact with our man. So much would depend now on Giselle and the way she managed to handle him, but as far as I could see she was doing very well. Passy was obviously interested and talking away to her and gesticulating hard. Soon, if he ran true to form, he would be arranging to meet her again. And Giselle knew the answer to make—tomorrow night. Tomorrow night….

  You may wonder why, with this man standing by me, I didn't try to kill him there and then. There were several reasons—first that I had not got a revolver because the Germans had already announced the death penalty for carrying firearms, and as we hadn't considered when we left the hospital that there was any real chance of meeting Passy it seemed like taking a very unnecessary risk. Also, in real life it is not half so easy to kill people as might be imagined—witness the number of attempted assassinations that go astray. Merely to wound Passy would be useless; I should be overpowered in a few seconds and there would be no second chance for Carnac or anybody else. Lastly and most important, we had made up our minds that whatever happened to us we had got to keep Giselle out of the storm of trouble that was bound to follow Passy's death. She had come to help us at our request, and it was unthinkable that we should leave her to face the baffled fury of the Gestapo. But tomorrow night….

  I bought another bottle of champagne (the Luftwaffe seem to regard this as the very essence of French luxury and sophistication and refused to drink anything else) and we started to knock this one back also. We all clicked glasses and as we did so I becam
e aware that Passy was suddenly looking at me hard. Something had struck him. It didn't worry me much; I felt pretty safe behind my dark glasses.

  After a moment he said casually, “Have we met before, M. Broussard?”

  “No, I don't think so,” I replied. “Why?”

  “Just that your face is vaguely familiar,” he said slowly. “I feel sure that I've seen you somewhere before.” He tried to think it out for a moment but the champagne was too much for him.

  “Maybe in Paris,” I said. “I used to go there quite a lot before the war.”

  His brow cleared. “That would be it,” he said. “Yes, that would be it—in Paris.” And he renewed his conversation with Giselle.

  In the near future—perhaps tomorrow night—you are going to realise exactly where you have seen me before, I said to myself viciously. But then it will be too late for you to do anything about it. If only you had killed me at Abbeville after you finished murdering that inoffensive Englishman all your black little schemes would probably have succeeded without any trouble at all.

  Giselle looked at her watch and decided she had to get back to the hospital. It was nearly curfew anyway. Passy protested but she smiled at him, said goodbye to the sulky Konrath, acknowledged the rather shaky bows of the other two Germans and walked outside with me.

  “Well, how did you get on?” I asked.

  “Very well,” she said in a voice entirely void of expression. “That man is a devil. You were quite right about him. He has a horrible mind. He thinks—oh, never mind.” She made a gesture of disgust. “But I promised to meet him tomorrow night.”

  “Wizard,” I said. “At last we'll be able to do something.”

  She made no reply. I knew what she was thinking and after a moment I said gently, “Poor old thing, I know how you hate all this lying and deception and unpleasant advances from these men, but there's just no other way, is there? It will be a terrible thing if this man succeeds. We must stick it out.”

  “I know,” she said miserably, “but it seems a terrible thing to lead a man on to his death, however bad he is.”

  I slipped my arm through hers and we walked on in silence till we reached the hospital.

  Carnac was waiting in our room anxiously. “Well?” he asked quickly.

  “We've found him,” I said, and watched his face light up with relief and excitement.