They had not talked about the fiasco in the hotel on Bornholm. Peter was too embarrassed to raise it. He was not going to apologize-that would just be further humiliation. But a plan was forming in his mind, something so dramatic he preferred to think about it only vaguely.
“Here she comes,” said Tilde.
Peter looked across the square and saw a group of young people emerging from the theater. He picked out Karen immediately. She was wearing a straw boater at a jaunty angle and a mustard yellow summer dress with a flared skirt that danced enticingly around her knees. The black-and-white photograph had not shown her white skin and flaming red hair, nor had it done justice to the spirited air that was obvious to Peter even at a distance. She looked as if she were making an entrance on the stage of the theater, rather than merely walking down the steps outside.
She crossed the square and turned into the main drag, the Stroget.
Peter and Tilde stood up.
“Before we go,” Peter said.
“What?”
“Will you come to my apartment this evening?”
“Any special reason?”
“Yes, but I’d rather not explain.”
“All right.”
“Thanks.” He said no more, but hurried after Karen. Tilde followed him at a distance, by prearrangement.
The Stroget was a narrow street crowded with shoppers and buses, frequently blocked by illegally parked cars. Double the fines and ticket every car and the problem would go away, Peter felt sure. He kept Karen’s straw hat in sight. He prayed she was not simply heading for home.
At the end of the Stroget was the town hall square. Here the group of students dispersed. Karen walked on with just one of the girls, chatting animatedly. Peter drew closer. They passed the Tivoli Garden and stopped, as if about to part company, but continued their conversation. They looked pretty and carefree in the afternoon sunshine. Peter wondered impatiently how much more two girls could have to say to each other after having spent all day together.
At last Karen’s friend walked toward the main railway station and Karen went the opposite way. Peter’s hopes rose. Did she have a rendezvous with one of the circle of spies? He followed her, but to his dismay she approached Vesterport, a suburban railway station from which she could catch a train to her home village of Kirstenslot.
This was no good. He had only a few hours left. Clearly she was not going to lead him to one of the circle. He would have to force the situation.
He caught up with her at the entrance to the station. “Excuse me,” he said. “I must speak to you.”
She gave him a level look and kept walking. “What is it?” she said with cool politeness.
“Could we talk for just a minute?”
She passed through the entrance and started down the steps to the platform. “We’re talking.”
He pretended to be nervous. “I’m taking a terrible risk just speaking to you.”
That got to her. She stopped on the platform and glanced around nervously. “What’s this about?”
She had wonderful eyes, he noticed: a striking clear green. “It’s about Arne Olufsen.” He saw fear in those eyes, and was gratified. His instinct had been right. She knew something.
“What about him?” She managed to keep her voice low and even.
“Aren’t you a friend of his?”
“No. I’ve met him-I used to go out with a friend of his. But I don’t really know him. Why are you asking me?”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
She spoke firmly, and he thought with dismay that she looked as if she was telling the truth.
But he was not yet ready to give up. “Could you get a message to him?”
She hesitated, and Peter’s heart leaped with hope. He guessed she was wondering whether to lie or not. “Possibly,” she said after a moment. “I can’t be sure. What sort of message?”
“I’m with the police.”
She took a frightened step back.
“It’s all right, I’m on your side.” He could tell that she did not know whether to believe him. “I’m nothing to do with the Security Department, I do road accidents. But our office is next to theirs, and sometimes I hear what’s going on.”
“What have you heard?”
“Arne is in great danger. The Security Department know where he’s hiding.”
“My God.”
Peter noted that she did not ask what the Security Department was, or what crime Arne was supposed to have committed, and she showed no surprise about his being in hiding. She must therefore know what Arne was up to, he concluded with a sense of triumph.
On that basis, he could arrest and interrogate her. But he had a better plan. He put a note of dramatic urgency into his voice. “They’re going to arrest him tonight.”
“Oh, no!”
“If you know how to reach Arne, please, for God’s sake, try to get a warning to him in the next hour.”
“I don’t think-”
“I can’t risk being seen with you. I have to go. I’m sorry. Do your best.” He turned and walked rapidly away.
At the top of the steps he passed Tilde, who was pretending to read a timetable. She did not look at him, but he knew she had seen him, and she would now follow Karen.
Across the street, a man in a leather apron was unloading crates of beer from a wagon drawn by two big horses. Peter stepped behind the cart. He took off his trilby hat, stuffed it inside his jacket, and replaced it with a peaked cap. He knew from experience that this simple switch effected a remarkable change in his appearance. It would not defy careful scrutiny, but at a casual glance he looked like a different person.
Standing half concealed by the wagon, he watched the station entrance. After a few moments, Karen came out.
Tilde was a few paces behind her.
Peter followed Tilde. They turned a corner and walked along the street that lay between the Tivoli and the main railway station. On the next block, Karen turned in to the main post office, a grand classical building of redbrick and gray stone. Tilde followed her in.
She was going to make a phone call, Peter thought with exhilaration. He ran to the staff entrance. He showed his police badge to the first person he met, a young woman, and said, “Bring the duty manager, quick.”
A few moments later, a stooped man in a well-worn black suit appeared. “How may I help you?”
“A young woman in a yellow dress has just entered the main hall,” Peter told him. “I don’t want her to see me, but I need to know what she does.”
The manager looked thrilled. This was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened in the post office, Peter thought. “My goodness,” said the man. “You’d better come with me.”
He hurried along a corridor and opened a door. Peter could see a counter with a row of stools facing small windows. The manager stepped through the door. “I think I see her,” he said. “Curly red hair and a straw hat?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’d never have guessed she was a criminal.”
“What is she doing?”
“Looking in the telephone directory. Amazing that someone so pretty-”
“If she makes a call, I need to listen.”
The manager hesitated.
Peter had no right to listen to private phone calls without a warrant-but he was hoping the manager would not know that. “It’s very important,” he said.
“I’m not sure I can-”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take responsibility.”
“She’s putting the phone book down.”
Peter was not going to let Karen phone Arne without listening in. If necessary he would pull his gun and threaten this dozy post office clerk, he decided. “I must insist.”
“We have rules here.”
“Nevertheless-”
“Ah!” said the manager. “She’s put the book down, but she’s not coming to the counter.” His face cleared with relief. “She’s leaving!”
Peter cursed with frustration and ran for the exit.
He cracked the door and peeped out. He saw Karen crossing the road. He waited until Tilde emerged, following Karen. Then he tagged along.