you, Mr. Kenton?”
The journalist was silent.
Colonel Robinson smiled slightly.
“I think you do. But I will make myself quite clear. I am going to place you in a room by yourself for twelve hours. If at the end of that time you have not decided to be frank with me, then I shall hand you over to Captain Mailler and his assistants for interrogation.” He nodded to the Captain. “All right, Mailler, put him in the top room.”
“Get up,” said Mailler.
Kenton got up. His face was white with fatigue, his swollen eyelids were twitching with the pain in his head; but his mouth had set in an obstinate line.
“Your name might actually be Colonel Robinson,” he said. “I doubt it. But whatever your name is, you are, in my opinion, a nit-wit. At one stage in this conversation I was not unwilling to wash my hands of the entire business and hand over the photographs to you. You made the mistake of supposing that I could be successfully intimidated. It is a mistake that quite a number of persons of yourkidney are making in Europe to-day. The Nazi concentration camps and the Italian penal islands are full of men who have refused to compromise with violence. To compare my present attitude with their amazing courage is absurd, but I find now that I have an inkling of their point of view. I used to wonder how they could suffer so much for the sake of such transitory things as political principles. I realise now that there’s more in it than that. It’s not just a struggle between Fascism and Communism, or between any other ‘-isms.’ It’s between the free human spirit and the stupid, fumbling, brutish forces of the primeval swamp—and that, Colonel, means you and your kind.”
Mailler’s fist with the truncheon in it dashed into his face. He reeled backwards, caught his foot in the chair and went down. For a moment he lay still; then he crawled slowly to his feet.
Blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. His face was deadly white, but he was smiling slightly.
“You, too, Captain,” he said.
Mailler knocked him down again and this time Kenton had to haul himself up by the chair. Mailler went to the door and called two men in. Next, he went over to Kenton, pulled the chair from under his hand and gave him a shove that sent the journalist sprawling. Then he gave the two men a sharp order in bad German and Kenton was dragged to his feet and taken out. At the foot of the stairs he fell down again and was carried to a room at the top of the house, where he was dumped on the floor. The shutters were pulled to and fastened with a padlock and chain. Then the door slammed and a key was turned in the lock.
For a time Kenton remained where he had been dropped. At last he raised his head painfully and looked round.
The sun was sending long, slanting bars of light through the shutters. By its reflection, Kenton could see that there was no furniture in the room. For a moment he contemplatedthe pattern of sunlight on the floor thoughtfully. Then, resting his head in the crook of his arm, he lay back and closed his eyes.
A minute or two later he was asleep and on his lips was the slight, contented smile of the man who remembers work well done.
8
THE TRUNCHEON
W HEN Kenton awoke the sun had gone.
The room was in almost complete darkness and for some seconds he did not realise where he was. Then he remembered and got stiffly to his feet. His face felt badly bruised, and when he put his hand to his mouth he found that his lower lip was swollen. His head, however, though extremely sensitive to the touch, was no longer aching. He struck a match and went to the window. By crouching down he could see a black sky through the slats. He had taken off his watch in the Hotel Werner, but it was evidently quite late. Colonel Robinson’s ultimatum must expire very soon.
Sleep is not always an unmixed blessing. It brings reliefto the nerves and strength to the body; but it also brings cold sanity to shatter the flimsy emotional
The journalist was silent.
Colonel Robinson smiled slightly.
“I think you do. But I will make myself quite clear. I am going to place you in a room by yourself for twelve hours. If at the end of that time you have not decided to be frank with me, then I shall hand you over to Captain Mailler and his assistants for interrogation.” He nodded to the Captain. “All right, Mailler, put him in the top room.”
“Get up,” said Mailler.
Kenton got up. His face was white with fatigue, his swollen eyelids were twitching with the pain in his head; but his mouth had set in an obstinate line.
“Your name might actually be Colonel Robinson,” he said. “I doubt it. But whatever your name is, you are, in my opinion, a nit-wit. At one stage in this conversation I was not unwilling to wash my hands of the entire business and hand over the photographs to you. You made the mistake of supposing that I could be successfully intimidated. It is a mistake that quite a number of persons of yourkidney are making in Europe to-day. The Nazi concentration camps and the Italian penal islands are full of men who have refused to compromise with violence. To compare my present attitude with their amazing courage is absurd, but I find now that I have an inkling of their point of view. I used to wonder how they could suffer so much for the sake of such transitory things as political principles. I realise now that there’s more in it than that. It’s not just a struggle between Fascism and Communism, or between any other ‘-isms.’ It’s between the free human spirit and the stupid, fumbling, brutish forces of the primeval swamp—and that, Colonel, means you and your kind.”
Mailler’s fist with the truncheon in it dashed into his face. He reeled backwards, caught his foot in the chair and went down. For a moment he lay still; then he crawled slowly to his feet.
Blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. His face was deadly white, but he was smiling slightly.
“You, too, Captain,” he said.
Mailler knocked him down again and this time Kenton had to haul himself up by the chair. Mailler went to the door and called two men in. Next, he went over to Kenton, pulled the chair from under his hand and gave him a shove that sent the journalist sprawling. Then he gave the two men a sharp order in bad German and Kenton was dragged to his feet and taken out. At the foot of the stairs he fell down again and was carried to a room at the top of the house, where he was dumped on the floor. The shutters were pulled to and fastened with a padlock and chain. Then the door slammed and a key was turned in the lock.
For a time Kenton remained where he had been dropped. At last he raised his head painfully and looked round.
The sun was sending long, slanting bars of light through the shutters. By its reflection, Kenton could see that there was no furniture in the room. For a moment he contemplatedthe pattern of sunlight on the floor thoughtfully. Then, resting his head in the crook of his arm, he lay back and closed his eyes.
A minute or two later he was asleep and on his lips was the slight, contented smile of the man who remembers work well done.
8
THE TRUNCHEON
W HEN Kenton awoke the sun had gone.
The room was in almost complete darkness and for some seconds he did not realise where he was. Then he remembered and got stiffly to his feet. His face felt badly bruised, and when he put his hand to his mouth he found that his lower lip was swollen. His head, however, though extremely sensitive to the touch, was no longer aching. He struck a match and went to the window. By crouching down he could see a black sky through the slats. He had taken off his watch in the Hotel Werner, but it was evidently quite late. Colonel Robinson’s ultimatum must expire very soon.
Sleep is not always an unmixed blessing. It brings reliefto the nerves and strength to the body; but it also brings cold sanity to shatter the flimsy emotional
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