Woodbine cigarettes, buttered toast and condensed milk. Douglas remembered it from when he was a young detective, its counter buried under slabs of bread pudding; heavy as lead and dark as thunder. Now the tea-urn, its plating worn brassy, provided only ersatz tea, and there wasn’t enough warmth in the place to glaze its window with condensation.
‘We have four platoons of infantry in reserve,’ Huth told Douglas. ‘I’m keeping them out of sight. The rest of the men have the block surrounded.’ Douglas went to the door of the café and looked out. The men were in full combat order, from battle-smocks to stick grenades in the belt. There were lorries in Lisson Grove, and standing alongside them were the mass-arrest teams, complete with folding tables, portable typewriters and boxes of handcuffs.
Douglas knew that it was official German policy to make ‘the enforcement of law and order a demonstration of the resources available to the occupying power’ but he didn’t expect this.
‘You should have let me do this alone,’ Douglas told Huth.
‘I want to show these people that we mean business,’ he replied. ‘Let’s go and get him, shall we?’
The men walked across the road. A soldier laughed. Douglas looked back to where the assault teams were standing together in those relaxed postures that soldiers assume the moment they’re given the chance. He wondered if the SS soldiers would obey an order to open fire on the school. If he knew anything of children, they’d be pressing their noses against the windows by now – or fretting for permission to do so. Anxiously he looked for his son’s face but didn’t see him.
As they stepped into the entrance hall, a fussy porter came to greet them. There was a false calm in the air, as if the school had been ordered to ignore the military activity in the street outside.
‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ said the porter.
‘Get out of my way!’ said Huth. ‘Where’s the headmaster – hiding under his desk?’
Douglas said to Huth, ‘Standartenführer, this man is the subject of my inquiries. I must insist that his civil rights are not infringed. I will be the one to take him into custody.’
Huth smiled. ‘We’re not going to shoot him “while he tries to escape” if that’s what your little speech is about.’ He stepped forward, opened the swing doors through which the porter had disappeared, and shouted, ‘Hurry yourself, headmaster, damn you!’ into the dim corridors. Then he turned back to Douglas Archer and said, ‘Too many questions remain unanswered for him to be endangered at this stage of the game.’
The headmaster arrived in a fast walk that would not have disgraced an athlete. ‘Now what is the meaning of this interruption?’ he asked in the sort of voice Douglas had not heard since he was at school.
Huth turned to look at the headmaster. Then he took his silver-topped stick and reached forward until it touched the man’s chest. ‘Don’t,’ said Huth, pausing for a long time during which the silence was broken only by the headmaster’s heavy breathing, ‘…talk to me…’ Huth spoke very slowly, prodding him to emphasize the most important words, ‘…or to my police officers like that. It provides a poor example for your pupils.’
The headmaster’s eyes popped open very wide, and the measured speech, and dignified tone, gave way to a gabble. ‘Is this about the Spode fellow? Wish I’d never given him a job. He’s been nothing but trouble, and I’m not sure he’s been loyal to me…’
‘Where is he?’ said Huth, still speaking as if to a small child.
‘Spode?’
‘Who else could I mean? Do you think I’d pop in and consult you about the whereabouts of Reichsmarschall Göring?’ – a long pause – ‘…or about the whereabouts of the King of England, the Queen and the two Princesses?’
‘No, indeed. Very amusing, Herr Colonel. The King…well, ha, ha! I know the King is at Windsor with the Royal
‘We have four platoons of infantry in reserve,’ Huth told Douglas. ‘I’m keeping them out of sight. The rest of the men have the block surrounded.’ Douglas went to the door of the café and looked out. The men were in full combat order, from battle-smocks to stick grenades in the belt. There were lorries in Lisson Grove, and standing alongside them were the mass-arrest teams, complete with folding tables, portable typewriters and boxes of handcuffs.
Douglas knew that it was official German policy to make ‘the enforcement of law and order a demonstration of the resources available to the occupying power’ but he didn’t expect this.
‘You should have let me do this alone,’ Douglas told Huth.
‘I want to show these people that we mean business,’ he replied. ‘Let’s go and get him, shall we?’
The men walked across the road. A soldier laughed. Douglas looked back to where the assault teams were standing together in those relaxed postures that soldiers assume the moment they’re given the chance. He wondered if the SS soldiers would obey an order to open fire on the school. If he knew anything of children, they’d be pressing their noses against the windows by now – or fretting for permission to do so. Anxiously he looked for his son’s face but didn’t see him.
As they stepped into the entrance hall, a fussy porter came to greet them. There was a false calm in the air, as if the school had been ordered to ignore the military activity in the street outside.
‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ said the porter.
‘Get out of my way!’ said Huth. ‘Where’s the headmaster – hiding under his desk?’
Douglas said to Huth, ‘Standartenführer, this man is the subject of my inquiries. I must insist that his civil rights are not infringed. I will be the one to take him into custody.’
Huth smiled. ‘We’re not going to shoot him “while he tries to escape” if that’s what your little speech is about.’ He stepped forward, opened the swing doors through which the porter had disappeared, and shouted, ‘Hurry yourself, headmaster, damn you!’ into the dim corridors. Then he turned back to Douglas Archer and said, ‘Too many questions remain unanswered for him to be endangered at this stage of the game.’
The headmaster arrived in a fast walk that would not have disgraced an athlete. ‘Now what is the meaning of this interruption?’ he asked in the sort of voice Douglas had not heard since he was at school.
Huth turned to look at the headmaster. Then he took his silver-topped stick and reached forward until it touched the man’s chest. ‘Don’t,’ said Huth, pausing for a long time during which the silence was broken only by the headmaster’s heavy breathing, ‘…talk to me…’ Huth spoke very slowly, prodding him to emphasize the most important words, ‘…or to my police officers like that. It provides a poor example for your pupils.’
The headmaster’s eyes popped open very wide, and the measured speech, and dignified tone, gave way to a gabble. ‘Is this about the Spode fellow? Wish I’d never given him a job. He’s been nothing but trouble, and I’m not sure he’s been loyal to me…’
‘Where is he?’ said Huth, still speaking as if to a small child.
‘Spode?’
‘Who else could I mean? Do you think I’d pop in and consult you about the whereabouts of Reichsmarschall Göring?’ – a long pause – ‘…or about the whereabouts of the King of England, the Queen and the two Princesses?’
‘No, indeed. Very amusing, Herr Colonel. The King…well, ha, ha! I know the King is at Windsor with the Royal
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