The Schirmer Inheritance by Eric Ambler

seek some of the consolations of religion. It was when they had to find the courage to face death or mutilation, after they had seen what those things were, that theneed seemed to come. Then the elaborate materialism of the intelligent among them proved as useless and sterile as the hero myths they had brought with them from the Hitler
Jugend
. They found that they needed something else, and sometimes they went to a priest to look for it.” He smiled faintly. “Of course, it never appeared as simple as that at the time. They came to me for many commonplace reasons, these young men—to talk about their families, to ask advice on some material problem, to borrow a book or a magazine, to show photographs they had taken, to enjoy the privacy of a garden. But the outward reason was unimportant. Though they might not always realize it, what they wanted was, in some way, to come to terms with me as a priest. They wanted something that in their hearts they thought I might be able to give them—an inner peace and strength.”
    “And Schirmer’s grandson was one of them?”
    Father Weichs shrugged. “I was not sure. Perhaps, yes. But I will tell you. He had been sent to the school for special training. He was a—”
    He broke off, hesitating, and then, glancing at Miss Kolin, said the word
Fallschirmjäger
.
    “He was a paratrooper,” she said.
    The priest nodded. “Thank you, yes. He came to see me one day in September or October—I do not quite remember. He was a tall, strong-looking young man, very much a soldier. He had been wounded in Belgium in the attack on the fortress of Eben-Emael, and was not yet well enough to return to combat duty. He came to ask me if I knew of his grandfather, Friedrich Schirmer.”
    “Did he say where his home was?” asked George quickly.
    “Yes. He came from Köln.”
    “Did he say what his father’s occupation was?”
    “No. I cannot remember that he did.”
    “Had he any brothers or sisters?”
    “No, he was the only child.”
    “Did he know when he came that his grandfather was dead?”
    “No. It was a great disappointment to him. When he was a boy the grandfather had lived in his parents’ house and been kind to him. Then one day there had been a quarrel and the old man had gone.”
    “Did he say how he knew that the old man had lived at Bad Schwennheim?”
    “Yes. The quarrel had been serious, and after Friedrich left, his name was never mentioned by the boy’s parents. But the boy loved his grandfather. Even before he went to school the old man had taught him how to write and to rule his exercise books properly. Later the grandfather helped him with arithmetic problems and talked to him much of commercial affairs. You knew Friedrich Schirmer was a bookkeeper?”
    “Yes.”
    “The boy did not forget him. When he was about fourteen his parents received a letter from the old man saying that he was retiring to live at Bad Schwennheim. He had heard them discussing it. They destroyed the letter, but he remembered the name of the town, and when he was sent to the army school there he tried to find his grandfather. He did not know until I told him that, by a strange chance, he was living in the building where the old man had died.”
    “I see.”
    Father Weichs looked down at his hands. “You would not have thought to see him or speak with him that he was a young man whom it was necessary to protect from disillusion. I think I failed him. I did not understand him until it was too late. He came to see me several times. He asked many questions about his grandfather. I saw afterwards that he wanted to make a hero of him. At the time I did not think. I answered the questions as kindly as I could. Then one dayhe asked me if I did not think that his grandfather Friedrich had been a fine and good man.” He paused and then went on slowly and carefully as if choosing words in his own defence. “I made the best answer I could. I said that Friedrich Schirmer had been a hard-working