back of his neck with a rag of a handkerchief. The Pole, still sitting on the chair beside him, cursed the Germans for what they were in a steady, even flow.
Other footsteps were hurrying through the courtyard, now. Olszak looked at the little group in the doorway as he opened the gate.
“You’ve heard?” Henryk called after him. Olszak nodded. His quick footsteps died away on the pavement outside. “That’s another friend of Korytowski’s,” Henryk explained. “He’s an editor of a paper that no one buys. He’s probably rushing to write an editorial that no one wants to read. Say, what are you going to do, yourself?”
The man said dully, “Can’t leave this job until they get another man set.”
Ten minutes later, Henryk’s ’phone rang.
“Someone wants to know if the man waiting in the street outside this building can be brought to the ’phone,” Henryk announced with a grin. “Better not tell them you’ve been warming your back on my chair.”
The man rose and went to the ’phone. He did the listening. Elzbieta had to wait until he returned to the doorway before her curiosity was satisfied.
“Got to go now,” he said.
“What about—?” Henryk motioned with his head in the direction of Korytowski’s flat.
“That’s taken care of. Another man is set across the road, now that the daylight has come.” He stopped at the gate. “I wouldn’t say anything about this,” he advised. “These Germans are wary birds. She’ll fly at the first sign.”
Henryk nodded. “I’ll say nothing. I’m too busy to notice anything.” He pulled out the hosepipe onto the pavement. He called back to his wife. “Get some clothes on. We’ll have breakfast when I’ve finished this job.”
The unobtrusive man had already disappeared round the corner of the street, as Henryk started playing the jet of water round the roots of the chestnut trees.
* * *
Sheila, in her bedroom, heard the cheerful hiss of the water. Someone down there was whistling quietly to himself.
“What has he got to whistle about?” she said savagely to her white face in the grey mirror. The mirror only answered her with unhappy eyes and trembling lips.
The weight was pressing on the back of her neck, now. Her hands were hot, her spine was cold. The bed linen was as icy as a midwinter pond. She started to shiver.
8
ESCAPE
When she awoke, the room was dark and stifling. If this were night again, then she hadn’t much to show for today. She could remember a man, one of those who had met her in the living-room last night, sitting beside her bed. He had taken her temperature, felt her pulse. He had made her swallow some small, square-shaped pills. Uncle Edward had stood watching her silently. The apartment no longer had any voices. She had thought, dismally, everyone had gone home: everyone, except herself. And she had started to shed a sympathetic tear for herself, and then she must have fallen into a sleep so deep that she couldn’t even gauge its length. Later, when the sun filtered through the leaves outside to cast moving shadows on the wall, someone had wrapped her in a blanket and propped her in a chair. It was a woman, she had noticed dimly, a woman with a straight wisp of hair over staring eyes. And the woman had talked, low quick words. Sheila remembered feeling aliveenough only for a brief space to mumble, “ Ja, jawohl ...” in answer to a repeated question. It must have been asked in German, although she hadn’t realised that at the time. She had been too busy watching the shadows on the wall. One had turned into a fox’s face. It chased the other shadows up and across the wall, and then it would suddenly drop back to its original position and the fox’s mask would start its chase all over again. The woman hadn’t believed her even when she pointed out the exact position of the cunning face, had helped her firmly into bed, had covered her with sheets that were all smooth and cool once more.
But now the sun had
Other footsteps were hurrying through the courtyard, now. Olszak looked at the little group in the doorway as he opened the gate.
“You’ve heard?” Henryk called after him. Olszak nodded. His quick footsteps died away on the pavement outside. “That’s another friend of Korytowski’s,” Henryk explained. “He’s an editor of a paper that no one buys. He’s probably rushing to write an editorial that no one wants to read. Say, what are you going to do, yourself?”
The man said dully, “Can’t leave this job until they get another man set.”
Ten minutes later, Henryk’s ’phone rang.
“Someone wants to know if the man waiting in the street outside this building can be brought to the ’phone,” Henryk announced with a grin. “Better not tell them you’ve been warming your back on my chair.”
The man rose and went to the ’phone. He did the listening. Elzbieta had to wait until he returned to the doorway before her curiosity was satisfied.
“Got to go now,” he said.
“What about—?” Henryk motioned with his head in the direction of Korytowski’s flat.
“That’s taken care of. Another man is set across the road, now that the daylight has come.” He stopped at the gate. “I wouldn’t say anything about this,” he advised. “These Germans are wary birds. She’ll fly at the first sign.”
Henryk nodded. “I’ll say nothing. I’m too busy to notice anything.” He pulled out the hosepipe onto the pavement. He called back to his wife. “Get some clothes on. We’ll have breakfast when I’ve finished this job.”
The unobtrusive man had already disappeared round the corner of the street, as Henryk started playing the jet of water round the roots of the chestnut trees.
* * *
Sheila, in her bedroom, heard the cheerful hiss of the water. Someone down there was whistling quietly to himself.
“What has he got to whistle about?” she said savagely to her white face in the grey mirror. The mirror only answered her with unhappy eyes and trembling lips.
The weight was pressing on the back of her neck, now. Her hands were hot, her spine was cold. The bed linen was as icy as a midwinter pond. She started to shiver.
8
ESCAPE
When she awoke, the room was dark and stifling. If this were night again, then she hadn’t much to show for today. She could remember a man, one of those who had met her in the living-room last night, sitting beside her bed. He had taken her temperature, felt her pulse. He had made her swallow some small, square-shaped pills. Uncle Edward had stood watching her silently. The apartment no longer had any voices. She had thought, dismally, everyone had gone home: everyone, except herself. And she had started to shed a sympathetic tear for herself, and then she must have fallen into a sleep so deep that she couldn’t even gauge its length. Later, when the sun filtered through the leaves outside to cast moving shadows on the wall, someone had wrapped her in a blanket and propped her in a chair. It was a woman, she had noticed dimly, a woman with a straight wisp of hair over staring eyes. And the woman had talked, low quick words. Sheila remembered feeling aliveenough only for a brief space to mumble, “ Ja, jawohl ...” in answer to a repeated question. It must have been asked in German, although she hadn’t realised that at the time. She had been too busy watching the shadows on the wall. One had turned into a fox’s face. It chased the other shadows up and across the wall, and then it would suddenly drop back to its original position and the fox’s mask would start its chase all over again. The woman hadn’t believed her even when she pointed out the exact position of the cunning face, had helped her firmly into bed, had covered her with sheets that were all smooth and cool once more.
But now the sun had
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