Eric Ambler - The Schirmer Inheritance

“As she has said, Johann had no head for-”

Frau Gresser hesitated again and was silent. Her plump face had become red and shiny with embarrassment. At last she spoke.

“She would prefer not to discuss the matter,” said Miss Kolin.

“All right. Ask her about Franz Schirmer. Does she know what happened to him?”

He saw the relief in Frau Gresser’s face when she understood that the subject of Friedrich Schirmer’s departure was not going to be pursued. It made him curious.

“Franz was reported missing in Greece in 1944. The official letter addressed to his mother was forwarded to Frau Gresser.”

“The report said: ‘missing, believed killed.’ Did she ever receive official confirmation of his death?”

“Not officially.”

“What does she mean?”

“One of Franz’s officers wrote to Frau Schirmer to tell her what had happened to her son. That letter also was forwarded to Frau Gresser. Having read it, she had no doubt that Franz was dead.”

“Did she keep the letter? Is it possible for us to see it?”

Frau Gresser considered the request for a moment; finally she nodded and, going to a chest of drawers shaped as if to reduce its wind resistance, brought out a tin box full of papers. After a long search the officer’s letter was found, together with the original army casualty notification. She handed both documents to Miss Kolin, making some explanation as she did so.

“Frau Gresser wishes to explain that Franz neglected to report to the army authorities that his parents had been killed and that it was the postal authorities who forwarded the letters.”

“I see. What’s the letter say?”

“It is from Lieutenant Hermann Leubner of the Engineer Company, Ninety-fourth Garrison Regiment. It is dated the 1st of December 1944.”

“What’s the date that Franz was reported missing on that army notification?”

“October 31.”

“All right.”

“The Lieutenant writes: ‘Dear Frau Schirmer: You will, no doubt, already have been notified by the army authorities of the fact that your son, Sergeant Franz Schirmer, has been listed as missing. I write as his officer to tell you of the circumstances in which this sad occurrence took place. It was on the 24th of October-’ ” She broke off.

“They were pulling out. They wouldn’t trouble to send casualty returns every day,” George said.

Miss Kolin nodded. “It continues: ‘The regiment was moving westwards from Salonika towards the Greek frontier in the general direction of Florina. Sergeant Schirmer, as an experienced soldier and a responsible man, was sent with three trucks and ten men to a gasoline dump several kilometres off the main road near the town of Vodena. His orders were to load as much of the gasoline as he could on to the trucks, destroy the remainder, and return, bringing the troops who had been guarding the dump with him. Unfortunately, his detachment was ambushed by one of the Greek terrorist bands that had been attempting to hinder our operations. Your son was in the first truck, which exploded a mine laid by the terrorists. The third truck was able to stop in time to avoid most of the machine-gun fire of the terrorists, and two men from it were able to escape and rejoin the regiment. I myself led a force immediately to the place of the ambush. Your son was not among the dead we found and buried, nor was there any other trace of him. The driver of his truck was also missing. Your son was not a man to surrender unwounded. It is possible that he was rendered unconscious by the explosion of the mine and so captured. We do not know. But I would be failing in my duty if I encouraged you to hope that if he were captured by these Greeks he would be alive. They have not the military code of honour of us Germans. It is, of course, also possible that your son evaded capture but was unable to rejoin his comrades immediately. If so, you will be informed by the authorities when there is news of him. He was a brave man and a good soldier. If he is dead, then you will have the pride and consolation of knowing that he gave his life for his Führer and the Fatherland.’ ”

George sighed. “That all?”

“He adds: ‘Heil Hitler,’ and signs it.”

“Ask Frau Gresser if she heard any more about it from the army authorities.”

“No, she did not.”

“Did she make any attempt to find out more? Did she try the Red Cross?”

“She was advised that the Red Cross could do nothing.”

“When did she ask them?”

“Early in 1945.”

“And not since?”

“No. She also asked the Volksbund Deutsche Kriegsgräberfürsorge -that is, the war-graves organization-for information. They had none.”

“Was any application ever made to have him presumed dead?”

“There was no reason for such action.”

“Does she know if he married?”

“No.”

“Did she ever correspond with him?”

“She wrote a letter of sympathy to him when his parents were killed, but received no more than a bare acknowledgment from him. He did not even ask where they were buried. He showed a want of feeling, she thought. She sent a parcel soon afterwards. He did not trouble to write to thank her for it. She sent no more.”

“Where did his reply come from in 1942?”

“From Benghazi.”

“Did she keep the letter?”

“No.”

Frau Gresser spoke again. George watched her plump face quivering and her small, resentful eyes flickering between her two visitors. He was getting used now to interpretation and had learned not to try to anticipate the conversation while he waited. He was thinking at the moment that it would be unpleasant to be under any sort of obligation to Frau Gresser. The rate of emotional interest she would charge would be exhorbitantly high.

“She says,” said Miss Kolin, “that she did not like Franz and had never liked him even as a child. He was a sullen, sulky boy and always ungrateful for kindness. She wrote to him only as a duty to his dead mother.”

“How did he feel about foreigners? Had he any particular girl-friends? What I’m getting at is this-does she think he’d be the kind of man to marry a Greek girl, say, or an Italian, if he had the chance?”

Frau Gresser’s reply was prompt and sour.

“She says that, where women were concerned, he was the sort of man who would do anything that his selfish nature suggested. He would do anything if he had the chance-except marry.”

“I see. All right, I think that’s about the lot. Would you ask her if we can borrow these papers for twenty-four hours to have photostats made?”

Frau Gresser considered the request carefully. Her small eyes became opaque. George could feel the documents suddenly becoming precious to her.

“I’ll give her a receipt for them, of course, and they’ll be returned tomorrow,” he said. “Tell her the American Consul will have to notarize the copies or she could have them back today.”

Frau Gresser handed them over reluctantly. While he was writing the receipt, George remembered something.

“Miss Kolin, have another try at finding out why Friedrich Schirmer left the business at Essen.”

“Very well.”

He lingered over the writing-out of the receipt. He heard Miss Kolin put the question. There was a momentary pause; then Frau Gresser replied with a positive volley of words. Her voice rose steadily in pitch as she spoke. Then she stopped. He signed the receipt and looked up to find her staring at him in a flustered, accusing sort of way. He handed her the receipt and put the documents in his pocket.

“She says,” said Miss Kolin, “that the matter is not one which can be discussed in the presence of a man and that it can have no bearing on your inquiries. She adds, however, that if you do not believe that she is telling the truth, she will make the explanation confidentially to me. She will say no more on the subject while you are here.”