Pursuit of Passy

by David Moore Crook

  ******

  For two days we waited on tenterhooks, as the saying goes. d'Angelay warned us not to walk about the hospital as it might cause questions, and so we remained cooped up in that stuffy little room, having our meals brought in by a discreet orderly, trying to read and then giving it up and staring out of the window like a pair of caged animals. To make matters worse the weather remained perfect and the green lawn beneath our window shimmered in the sun and wounded poilus lay out there on stretchers smoking incessantly while the lazy hum of conversation drifted up to us.

  Sometimes Giselle would come in to see us for a few moments though I could never talk to her alone as Carnac was always there. It was only for these brief visits that I would have dispensed with his company; for the rest he was the same gay and ardent companion that he had always been.

  So Giselle would come and I would stand there unhappily, trying to appear normal and unconcerned and all the time my heart was full of the things I longed to say to her. I could never tire of watching the way her hair curled like a delicate fern against her neck, or drinking in the dark beautiful candour of her eyes and the pale perfection of her oval face. She was so very lovely, so fresh and clean in her Red Cross uniform that she seemed like the breath of spring in our stuffy little Room.

  On the second day she brought disquieting news. She had slipped out of hospital that morning to buy a few things in the town and she had been followed almost as soon as she left the hospital grounds. The man hadn't spoken to her nor had he taken much care to avoid being seen, but he had sauntered along behind her till she returned to hospital. Carnac merely grunted at the news, but when she left the room I saw how concerned he was. We came to the conclusion that although the Gestapo were reasonably satisfied with her story they had decided to watch her in the hope of picking up some connection with Eddy Broussard. Knowing their endless patience I felt sure that this surveillance would continue for some time, and it was bound to complicate matters if ever we managed to draw Passy back. Giselle was the bait we were relying on: I knew perfectly well that this was the case though I hated admitting it even to myself.

  This new development was also unwelcome because it showed that the Germans were still investigating the matter. We discussed the whole affair from their point of view in an attempt to foresee their probable reactions.

  They would realise that something mysterious was going on in Loon; first of all two unknown persons walked into their carefully laid trap, killed five men and vanished without trace, and then a week later a mysterious American called Broussard was seen in the town and subsequently on a train bound for Germany, evidently up to some mischief because as soon as he was questioned he jumped off the train and vanished again. It was quite possible that they thought Broussard was one of the men involved in the earlier incident, and they were very anxious to catch him. They knew that Broussard had been an acquaintance of Mlle. Saint Brie, who worked at the emergency hospital, and although they interviewed her immediately her story seemed fairly convincing; she knew very little about him. Nevertheless they weren't satisfied and they now followed her in the hope that she might make a slip and give herself away.

  But sooner or later their attention was bound to focus on the hospital and they might remember that during the previous search there had been a badly burned French airman whose face and papers they never saw, largely because a French Army doctor, Capitaine d'Angelay, had been rather obstructive on the subject. That would call for further investigations now and we decided that any day their search might narrow down to the one vital spot where we were hiding. As it turned out our deductions were remarkably accurate.

  It seemed awful to sit there helplessly while all the time the net tightened inexorably round us, but it was just impossible to leave. We hated to stay in Laon till the Passy affair was finished one way or the other and if we were in danger in the hospital we should be even more so if we went out to hide somewhere else in the town. As Carnac said, probably the only reason we'd escaped so far was that we had kept out of sight so carefully and hardly sallied forth at all. To emerge from cover now would be fatal. The only hope was to lie low till the very last moment and then pounce, and it struck me that it was going to be touch-and-go whether we got Passy before the Gestapo got us.

  On the third day I could hardly bear it any longer. We knew that if all went to schedule Dalkeith would have been picked up in the Channel at dawn that morning and would now be in London. Group Captain Leighton would have our message and if there was anything in Passy's history that might be of help then I knew the whole resources of the British Secret Service would be available to ferret it out. Somewhere in a Whitehall office now the telephones would be chattering urgently and perhaps in an hour or two a B.B.C. announcer would be staring curiously at an item in the French news bulletin that just didn't make sense….

  The afternoon dragged on. The doctor brought in a small portable wireless, smiled encouragingly at us and vanished again. Carnac, with his usual appearance of cool detachment, started to play cards. I paced up and down the room. I must have walked miles.

  Towards seven o'clock Giselle and d'Angelay slipped into the room. Carnac placed the wireless on the table and switched it on quietly; listening to the B.B.C. was a popular but verboten pastime. Despite his cool manner I could see that he was very excited. He kept tapping the instep of his boot with his other heel, an unconscious little mannerism that I had noticed once before without realising the suspense that caused it.

  Big Ben chimed seven. A voice said, “Ici Londres,” and then continued in French. “Before I read the news here is a message for Peter Pan.” I saw the others stiffen suddenly. “Hallo, Peter Pan, we received and understood your message. Reference to an affair in Belfort seventeen years after your birth in England might do the trick.” He repeated this slowly. “That is all we can suggest. Good luck, Peter Pan, good luck.”

  Carnac switched off the wireless quickly and looked round at us. His eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  “So Dalkeith got through safely. That's very good. Well, what do you make of that? I don't think the Boche Intelligence will get very far with it—that's a good way of giving the date. Your birth in England—when were you born, Peter?”

  “1916. Seventeen years later—that makes it 1933. Now what the hell can have happened in Belfort in 1933 to persuade Passy to return to Laon?”

  “God only knows,” said Carnac. “Apparently we don't have to. We just say ‘Belfort in 1933,’ and he comes back!”

  “Too easy,” I retorted sarcastically. “Well, it looks now as though we've got to draft a letter for Giselle to write to Berlin which suggests to Passy that we possess some very dangerous knowledge about him.”

  “Difficult,” said the doctor, “very difficult to suggest that we know something without betraying the fact that we know nothing. Anyway, to whom is this knowledge dangerous if revealed?”

  “It can't be the French authorities,” said Carnac thoughtfully. “They must realise in London that at present we have no power to touch a man under German protection. Therefore I think Passy must be afraid of this information reaching the Boche. What do you think, Peter?”

  “It looks like it but on the other hand he must know that he's far too valuable to the enemy for them to take any action against him.”

  “Yes, now. But after they have sucked his brain dry—what then? He knows the Boche, he knows that when he is no further use they will do anything that suits them. No, I think we have got to suggest to him somehow that unless he returns to Laon the Boche is going to hear of an incident in Belfort in 1933.”

  “But what reason can we suggest for returning to Laon?” There was silence.

  “I think I know,” said Giselle at length. She borrowed a pencil from the doctor, sat down at the table and started to write, pausing now and again for reflection, and then starting off again. When she finished she read it through carefully and handed it over to us.

  It ran as follows:

&n
bsp; Mon cher Edouard,

  How are you getting on? I think of you often and wonder when you will come back here. Life is so dull at the moment!

  But this is not why I write to you so soon. Yesterday I was in the Deux Frères when a man came up to me—French, middle-aged, tall, he looked like a soldier, but I don't know him. He was very angry in a quiet way and told me that I was mixing with the Boches and also with Frenchmen who were helping the Boches.

  I said not but he insisted that it was true and then mentioned your name and asked where you were. Of course I said nothing, so he said, “Tell your friend-of-the-Boche that I know more about him than he thinks. It was once my business to deal with these matters and I was concerned with l'affaire Belfort in 1933. Tell him that and say that unless he does something for me now I shall tell his friends of this incident. They will be very interested.” I asked him what he wanted, but he replied that he would only tell you personally and he refused to write a message. He said he would see me again and hoped to get your answer. Then he left. What does he mean? I cannot understand it. But please write and tell me what to say if he speaks to me again.

  Yours,

  G. St. B.

  “I think that is good,” said Carnac. “But has it struck you at all that this is the riskiest move we've made yet?”

  “I don't see that.”

  “Yes. It is the first time we have threatened him openly. Though he's been in danger before he's never realised it, but he will now. For the first time we are revealing ourselves to him and if our friends in London have made any mistake about l'affaire Belfort and he has a clear conscience in the matter, then he will merely hand this blackmailing letter to his friend the Boche and ask them to deal with the sender. And it bears Giselle's signature—it must do. Even if we send an anonymous letter it would make very little difference because it has to go to this Berlin address and probably Giselle is the only person to whom he gave his new address. He'd soon remember that, and then the Gestapo will be round in five minutes, they'll find that this man who made threats in the Deux Frères is just an invention, and then—finish.”

  “Yes,” said d'Angelay, “I hadn't thought of that. Much depends on London being right. But assuming they are right —what then? If we have really touched him on a tender spot and he is afraid of this information reaching the Bache, what will he do?”

  “He certainly can't ignore it,” I said. “Probably he won't dare to negotiate in writing because of the censorship so he will try to come here in person and meet this man that Giselle mentions.”

  “I hope you're right,” said Carnac. “It seems the most likely move certainly. But what will he bring with him—money to pay this blackmailer? Never! He will bring a revolver.”

  “Why?”

  “To kill the man who threatens him, of course. Once his mouth is shut, there's nothing for Passy to worry about—the Boche won't say much about one Frenchman killing another, particularly when the killer is so valuable to them.”

  “It wouldn't be his first murder either,” I said. “Well, are we going to send this letter? I think it's just right—it suggests a lot and says very little, and for the rest we'll just have to trust to luck. I think it's rather a clever move.”

  Giselle looked at me for a moment in silence.

  “No, not clever,” she said quietly. “The most hateful thing I have ever done.”