He returned to the main office. Mademoiselle Lemas was now making low moaning noises. Weber had made Dieter impatient, and he decided to speed up the process. When Stephanie returned, he put the glass on the table, opened the bottle, and poured the beer slowly in front of the prisoner. Tears of pain squeezed from her eyes and rolled down her plump cheeks. Dieter took a long drink of beer and put the glass down. “Your agony is almost over, Mademoiselle,” he said. “Relief is at hand. In a few moments you will answer my questions; then you will find ease.”
She closed her eyes.
“Where do you meet the British agents?” He paused. “How do you recognize one another?” She said nothing. “What is the password?”
He waited a moment, then said, “Have the answers ready, in the forefront of your mind, and make sure they are clear, so that when the time comes, you can tell me quickly, without hesitation or explanations; then you can seek rapid release from your pain.”
He took the key to the handcuffs from his pocket. “Hans, hold her wrist firmly.” He bent down and unlocked the cuffs that fastened her ankle to the table leg. He took her by the arm. “Come with us, Stephanie,” he said. “We’re going to the ladies’ toilet.”
They left the room, Stephanie leading the way, Dieter and Hans holding the prisoner, who hobbled along with difficulty, bent at the waist, biting her lip. They went to the end of the corridor and stopped at a door marked Damen. Mademoiselle Lemas groaned loudly when she saw it.
Dieter said to Stephanie, “Open the door.”
She did so. It was a clean, white-tiled room, with a washbasin, a towel on a rail, and a row of cubicles. “Now,” said Dieter. “The pain is about to end.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Let me go.”
“Where do you meet the British agents?”
Mademoiselle Lemas began to cry.
Dieter said gently, “Where do you meet these people?”
“In the cathedral,” she sobbed. “In the crypt. Please let me go!”
Dieter breathed a long sigh of satisfaction. She had broken. “When do you meet them?”
“Three o’clock any afternoon, I go every day.”
“And how do you recognize one another?”
“I wear odd shoes, black and brown, now can I go?”
“One more question. What is the password?”
“‘Pray for me.’”
She tried to move forward, but Dieter held her tightly, and Hans did the same. “Pray for me,” Dieter repeated. “Is that what you say, or what the agent says?”
“The agent-oh, I beg you!”
“And your reply?”
“I pray for peace,’ that’s my reply.”
“Thank you,” Dieter said, and released her.
She rushed inside.
Dieter nodded at Stephanie, who followed her in and closed the door.
He could not conceal his satisfaction. “There, Hans, we make progress.”
Hans, too, was pleased. “The cathedral crypt, three p.m. any day, black and brown shoes, 'Pray for me,’ and the response 'I pray for peace.’ Very good!”
“When they come out, put the prisoner in a cell and turn her over to the Gestapo. They’ll arrange for her to disappear into a camp somewhere.”
Hans nodded. “It seems harsh, sir. Her being an elderly lady, I mean.”
“It does-until you think of the German soldiers and French civilians killed by the terrorists she sheltered. Then it seems hardly punishment enough.”
“That does throw a different light on it, yes, sir.”
“You see how one thing leads to another,” Dieter said reflectively. “Gaston gives us a house, the house gives us Mademoiselle Lemas, she gives us the crypt, and the crypt will give us… who knows?” He began to think about the best way to exploit the new information.
The challenge was to capture agents without letting London know. If the thing was handled right, the Allies would send more people along the same route, wasting vast resources. It had been done in Holland: more than fifty expensively trained saboteurs had parachuted straight into the arms of the Germans.
Ideally, the next agent sent by London would go to the crypt of the cathedral and find Mademoiselle Lemas waiting there. She would take the agent home, and he would send a wireless message to London saying all was well. Then, when he was out of the house, Dieter could get hold of his code books. After that, Dieter could arrest the agent but continue to send messages to London in his name-and read the replies. In effect, he would be running a Resistance circuit that was entirely fictional. It was a thrilling prospect.
Willi Weber walked by. “Well, Major, has the prisoner talked?”
“She has.”
“Not a moment too soon. Did she say anything useful?”
“You may tell your superiors that she has revealed the location of her rendezvous and the passwords used. We can pick up any further agents as they arrive.”
Weber looked interested despite his hostility. “And where is the rendezvous?”
Dieter hesitated. He would have preferred not to tell Weber anything. But it was difficult to refuse without giving offense, and he needed the man’s help. He had to tell him. “The cathedral crypt, afternoons at three.”
“I shall inform Paris.” Weber walked on.
