Andrew Taylor - The Second Midnight

Later that evening Madame Hase came to their room unexpectedly; most people, both staff and guests, were watching Hitler’s imperial entry into Prague. She was flushed with excitement and looked happier than Hugh had ever seen her.

‘You must leave the hotel at once. The staff will have registered your arrival with the police. Checking on foreign visitors is one of the first things the Gestapo will do.’

Alfred Kendall shrugged. ‘Does it matter? Britain’s not at war with Germany. My papers are all in order. I’ve a perfectly legitimate reason for being here.’

‘Fool!’ Madame Hase drew herself up to her full height of five foot two. ‘Half the staff in this hotel are Nazis. If they weren’t before, they will be now. Servants talk, my friend, and my name is bound to come up. Have you never heard of guilt by association?’

Her urgency infected Kendall and Hugh. While Kendall paid their bill, she helped Hugh pack; they were out of the hotel within ten minutes of her arrival.

She directed the taxi across the river to Mala Strana, a part of Prague that lay just south of the castle; Hugh had never been there. On the way, she explained that she could not take them to her home – that would be too dangerous. They would go to the house of one of her cousins; the cousin was away but the servants knew her and would do whatever she asked.

The house came as a surprise to Hugh. It was built round a cobbled courtyard and covered an area of roughly the same size as the entire apartment block where Dr Spiegel lived.

There were only two servants, an old man and his wife, who grudgingly agreed to open up a few rooms for Madame Hase and her guests. The palace had been shut up since the previous autumn. The furniture was shrouded in dustsheets and cobwebs. Candles were the only form of light available, which made the huge rooms seem still larger.

They ate an impromptu supper in a dining room whose ceiling was so far away that it might just as well not have been there. Scratches and rattles came from the walls.

‘Rats,’ said Madame Hase. ‘One gets used to them in an old barn like this.’

Shortly after the meal, Hugh was sent to bed. He lay there, trying not to listen to the sounds behind the skirting boards and wondering whether there were many more communists like Madame Hase.

They spent the whole of the next day at the palace. In the afternoon, Jan and Bela arrived in the butcher’s van at the tradesmen’s entrance. They joined Kendall and Madame Hase in a large room that had been a library before part of the ceiling collapsed. It was not a comfortable place to sit but its windows covered the whole of the courtyard, including the great entrance gates, and it had the additional advantage of a small staircase which led down to a side entrance. As Madame Hase said, they could not afford to be careless.

Without consulting Kendall, she sent Hugh to sit in the anteroom before the library. Kendall stood in the doorway and watched as she settled him down on a tiny chair upholstered with dusty velvet. Opposite them was a grimy, twelve-foot-high mirror. Their reflections swam in the murky world behind the glass. For an instant Hugh’s eyes met his, and then looked away. Kendall felt an inexplicable sense of loss; since it was inexplicable, he ignored it.

As if by prearrangement, the four adults veered away from the easy chairs around the smouldering fire and sat round the table in the centre of the room. Above their heads a chandelier creaked and tinkled faintly in the draught.

Kendall tried to seize control of the meeting. ‘We must review the situation,’ he began. ‘Events have moved so quickly that—’

‘Perhaps I should do it, Alfred,’ Madame Hase interrupted. ‘I am the only person here who is fluent in both English and Czech.’

Kendall winced. It was the first time she had called him by his Christian name. He was both offended and thrilled by the careless intimacy it implied. He was the natural person to chair this meeting; but, on the other hand, Madame Hase was the cousin of the Slovakian countess whose husband owned this immense place.

Madame Hase briskly reviewed the military and political situation. Bohemia and Moravia were solid with German troops, particularly in the major cities and along the frontiers. Slovakia, now nominally independent, had asked for Hitler’s ‘protection’; the Wehrmacht, ever obliging, was already crossing the border. A new government had been announced which consisted solely of Nazis from Berlin or the Sudetenland.

‘And you, my friend,’ she said to Kendall, ‘are going to find it very difficult to leave the country. It will be just like Austria after the Anschluss. Foreigners will be one of the first targets the Gestapo choose. And you have already compromised yourself by your activities in the last few weeks.’

As she translated what she had said to Jan and Bela, Kendall gnawed his lower lip. He felt a pleasant sense of superiority: the others were so afraid of the Germans – and of the Gestapo in particular. No doubt they posed a problem, but there was no need to be theatrical about it. When Madame Hase had finished, he leaned forward, tapping the table to draw their attention.

‘Look here, it’s about time you decided whether or not you’re going to trust me. You can’t dither any longer. You need funds and England can supply them. But we must have cooperation in return. And that means information, not to mention a way of getting me out of your blasted country.’

Madame Hase blinked. She talked rapidly in Czech for a moment.

Jan shrugged his heavy shoulders and said slowly in the same language, ‘We need money now, not promises, Pan Kendall. I trust you as far as I can see you. Maybe we can get you out of the country – but how do we know you will come back?’

‘Very well.’ Kendall had only one thing left to offer. ‘I can give you three more diamonds. And I give you my word as an English gentleman that I will be back within a few weeks.’

Jan’s head was lowered. He shook it slowly from side to side. Bela glanced quickly round the table and then out of the window.

‘Good faith – that’s what it comes down to.’ Madame Hase’s beringed hand wrapped itself around Kendall’s wrist. ‘Alfred! I have an idea. There’s only one way you can prove to our friends that you really mean to return. Leave the boy behind in Prague.’

High above him, from the ridge of Hradcany, the great bell of St Vitus’ Cathedral tolled midnight. In the still air, he could hear other bells broadcasting the same message. Tomorrow had already become today.

Kendall shivered and stepped from the balcony into his bedroom. He closed the window with difficulty – the wood was warped – and drew the heavy curtains. The room seemed as cold as the outside world. He knew he should try to sleep but the bed, despite its imposing appearance, was as hard as concrete; he had already discovered that the sheets were damp.

It was hardly worth going to bed in any case – Bela would be collecting him at four-thirty. Kendall preferred not to think about the journey ahead of them. For the first time in his brief secret service career, he would be adopting a disguise and actually breaking the law.

For the first time, he was afraid.

The plan was very simple. Bela, though he had lived and worked in Prague and Brno for many years, was a Slovakian. The authorities were used to him paying regular visits to his family in Presov. Kendall, suitably equipped with false papers, was to play the part of Bela’s half-witted cousin. Once they reached Presov, Bela would be in his home territory; he had access to the smuggling routes through the mountains into Hungary.

It was obvious that the faster they moved, the better their chances would be. Germany’s control over its new Protectorate and its Slovakian satellite was not yet complete. In a way, Kendall was glad that they had to hurry – it left less time for reflection.