Death Has Deep Roots by Michael Gilbert Page B

questioning.”
    “Was there any first – hand evidence that Lieutenant Wells was taken?”
    “None. Such raids were almost always carried out at dusk or just before dawn. They were very quickly and efficiently conducted. Any prisoners were taken away separately, in closed cars. It was part of the German policy that no one should know who had been taken.”
    “It was known, though, that the prisoner, Miss Lamartine, was taken on this occasion?”
    “Yes. The Germans had left a guard hidden in and around the farm. The people who were sent to warn Mademoiselle Lamartine – she was away on an errand – missed her and she walked into the trap. Our people, however, actually saw her taken, though they were just too late to stop her.”
    “How soon did Major Thoseby learn of this?”
    “Two days afterward. In fact, I spoke to him of it myself.”
    “What were his reactions?”
    For the first time in his evidence Commissaire Lode paused before answering. “Major Thoseby was not a man who showed his emotions easily. Indeed, from a man in his position you would not expect it.”
    “You did not notice any reaction?”
    “I did not say that. I said that he did not show his feelings easily. I, who knew him well, realised that he was shaken.”
    “Thank you,” said Mr. Summers. “May we turn now to the time following the Liberation and the expulsion of the Germans from France. Did you see the prisoner again?”
    “Not at once. The Germans, when they left, had taken a number of their special prisoners with them. I believe that the prisoner was taken.”
    “Yes. Well, no doubt she will tell us about that herself. I am afraid you must confine yourself to your own observation. When did you see the prisoner again?”
    “In November or December of that year. I remembered her, of course. I was, I think, a little surprised to see her alive. I did what I could to help her, but I had at that time no official position. It was a very hard winter.”
    “Had she her child with her at this time?”
    “Yes.”
    “You saw him?”
    “I did. A tiny, thin child, of about six months. Very serious – but complaining little. I should say a child of natural fortitude.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Monsieur, if you had been in France that winter you would not ask. The Germans did more damage in their departure than they had done in four years of occupation. There was no electricity for lighting or heating, little fuel, a great scarcity of food.”
    “I understand. Can you describe the child?”
    “Most children of six months look alike, I think. He had what we call ‘ tête d’anglais. ’”
    “You mean he had an English look.”
    “Anglo-Saxon, yes. Light hair and very light blue eyes. At that age most French children would have dark eyes and dark hair.”
    “I see. You mentioned just now that you did what you could to help the prisoner. What particular help did she ask for?”
    “She wanted somewhere to live, some money. We were able to supply her with the necessities of life. All knew what she had suffered, and many were generous.”
    “Did she ask you for anything else?”
    “Yes. She asked me to see if I could put her in touch with Major Thoseby.”
    “Were you surprised at this request?”
    “No, I don’t think I was.”
    “Why did you imagine she had made it?”
    “I imagined, at that time, that she had thought that he would be in a position to help her.”
    Monsieur Lode gave this answer clearly and quietly and for a moment everyone in the court considered it, turning the words over to see what they could make of them. Macrea had his head cocked like a man who has sipped a fine brandy and is about to pronounce judgment on it. The prisoner was leaning forward with strained attention for counsel’s next question.
    “Thank you,” said Mr. Summers, “that is all.”
    “Monsieur Lode,” said Macrea, “I want to ask you a question which I put as one of my first questions to another witness. You knew Major