Peter ignored him and spoke to Harald. “Well, well,” he said in the satisfied tone of a man who has been proved right at last. “I wondered, when I saw the name on the overnight arrest list. Could Harald Olufsen, graffiti writer and drunk, be Harald Olufsen, son of the pastor of Sande? Lo and behold, they are one and the same.”
Harald was dismayed. Just when he had started to hope that this dreadful incident could be kept secret, the truth had been discovered by one who had a grudge against his whole family.
Peter turned to the sergeant and said dismissively, “All right, I’ll deal with it now.”
The sergeant looked resentful. “There are to be no charges, sir, the superintendent has decided.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Harald felt he could weep. He had been on the point of getting away with it. This seemed so unfair.
The sergeant hesitated, seeming disposed to argue, and Peter said firmly, “That will be all.”
“Very good, sir.” He left.
Peter stared at Harald, saying nothing, until at last Harald said, “What are you going to do?”
Peter smiled, then said, “I think I’ll take you back to school.”
They entered the grounds of Jansborg Skole in a police Buick driven by a uniformed officer, with Harald in the back like a prisoner.
The sun was shining on the old redbrick buildings and the lawns, and Harald felt a stab of regret for the simple, safe life he had lived here over the last seven years. Whatever happened now, this reassuringly familiar place was not going to be a home to him much longer.
The sight aroused different feelings in Peter Flemming, who muttered sourly to the driver, “This is where they breed our future rulers.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said neutrally.
It was the time of the midmorning sandwich, and the boys were eating outside, so most of the school was watching as the car drove up to the main office and Harald got out.
Peter showed his police badge to the school secretary, and he and Harald were immediately taken to Heis’s study.
Harald did not know what to think. It seemed Peter was not going to hand him over to the Gestapo, his worst fear. He was reluctant to let his hopes rise too soon, but all the signs were that Peter regarded him as a mischievous schoolboy, not a member of the Danish Resistance. For once he was grateful to be treated as a child rather than a man.
But in that case, what was Peter up to?
As they walked in, Heis unwound his lanky frame from behind his desk and stared at them, with vague concern, through the glasses perched on his beaky nose. His voice was kindly, but a tremor betrayed his nervousness. “Olufsen? What’s all this?”
Peter did not give Harald the chance to answer the question. Jerking a thumb in his direction, he said to Heis in a grating tone, “Is this one of yours?”
The gentle Heis flinched as if he had been struck. “Olufsen is a pupil here, yes.”
“He was arrested last night for defacing a German military installation.”
Harald realized that Peter was enjoying the humiliation of Heis, and was determined to make the most of it.
Heis looked mortified. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“He was also drunk.”
“Oh, dear.”
“The police have to decide what to do about it.”
“I’m not sure I-”
“Frankly, we’d rather not prosecute a schoolboy for a childish prank.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. .”
“On the other hand, he can’t go unpunished.”
“Indeed not.”
“Apart from anything else, our German friends will want to know that the perpetrator has been dealt with firmly.”
“Of course, of course.”
Harald felt sorry for Heis, but at the same time wished he were not such a weakling. So far, he had done nothing but agree with the bullying Peter.
Peter went on, “So the outcome depends on you.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“If we let him go, will you expel him from school?”
Harald immediately saw what Peter was up to. He wanted to be sure that Harald’s transgression would become public knowledge. He was only interested in the embarrassment of the Olufsen family.
The arrest of a Jansborg schoolboy would make headlines. The shame of Heis would be exceeded only by that of Harald’s parents. His father would be volcanic and his mother suicidal.
But, Harald realized, Peter’s enmity toward the Olufsen family had blunted his policeman’s instincts. He was so happy to have caught an Olufsen drunk that he had overlooked a greater crime. He had not even considered whether Harald’s dislike of the Nazis went beyond slogan-daubing to espionage. Peter’s malice had saved Harald’s skin.
Heis showed the first sign of opposition. “Expulsion seems a bit harsh-”
“Not as harsh as a prosecution and possible jail sentence.”
“No, indeed.”
Harald did not enter the argument himself, because he could see no way out of this that would enable him to keep the incident secret. He consoled himself with the thought that he had escaped the Gestapo. Any other punishment would seem minor.
Heis said, “It’s almost the end of the academic year. He wouldn’t miss much schooling if he were expelled now.”
“Then it will not permit him to avoid much work.”
“Something of a technicality, considering that he is only a couple of weeks away from leaving.”
“But it will satisfy the Germans.”
“Will it? That’s important, of course.”
“If you can assure me that he will be expelled, I can release him from custody. Otherwise, I’ll have to take him back to the Politigaarden.”
Heis threw a guilty look at Harald. “It does seem as if the school has no real choice in the matter, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Heis looked at Peter. “Very well, then. I will expel him.”
Peter gave a satisfied smile. “I’m glad we’ve resolved this so sensibly.” He stood up. “Try to keep out of trouble in future, young Harald,” he said pompously.
Harald looked away.
Peter shook hands with Heis. “Well, thank you, Inspector,” Heis said.
“Pleased to help.” Peter went out.
Harald felt all his muscles relax. He had got away with it. There would be hell to pay at home, of course, but the important thing was that his foolishness had not compromised Poul Kirke and the Resistance.
Heis said, “A dreadful thing has happened, Olufsen.”
“I know I’ve done wrong-”
“No, not that. I think you know Mads Kirke’s cousin.”
“Poul, yes.” Harald tensed again. Now what? Had Heis somehow found out about Harald’s involvement with the Resistance? “What about Poul?”
“He has been in a plane crash.”
“My God! I was flying with him a few days ago!”
“It happened last night at the flying school.” Heis hesitated.
“What. .?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Poul Kirke is dead.”
10
“Dead?” said Herbert Woodie with a squeak in his voice. “How can he be dead?”
“They’re saying he crashed his Tiger Moth,” Hermia replied. She was angry and distraught.
“The damn fool,” Woodie said callously. “This could ruin everything.”
Hermia stared at him in disgust. She would have liked to slap his stupid face.
They were in Woodie’s office at Bletchley Park with Digby Hoare. Hermia had sent a message to Poul Kirke, instructing him to get an eyewitness description of the radar installation on the island of Sande. “The reply came from Jens Toksvig, one of Poul’s helpers,” she said, making an effort to be calm and factual. “It was sent via the British Legation in Stockholm, as usual, but it wasn’t even enciphered-Jens obviously doesn’t know the code. He said the crash was being passed off as an accident, but in fact Poul was trying to escape from the police and they shot at the aircraft.”
“The poor man,” said Digby.
“The message came in this morning,” Hermia added. “I was about to come and tell you, Mr. Woodie, when you sent for me.” In fact she had been in tears. She did not cry often, but her heart was touched by the death of Poul, so young, handsome, and full of energy. She knew, too, that she was responsible for his being killed. It was she who had asked him to spy for Britain, and his courageous assent had led directly to his death. She thought of his parents, and his cousin Mads, and she had wept for them, too. Most of all, she longed to finish the job he had started, so that his killers would not prevail in the end.