Maisie feigned surprise. “Well, at least I have managed to reunite one daughter with her father. I just wish I could be reunited with mine.”
“Patience, Fr?ulein Donat. Patience.” Berger leaned forward. “Our concern is not that she has returned to England to see her very rich father, but that one of her young men, a fellow officer, has not reported for duty.”
“I—I beg your pardon, Major, but I don’t understand.”
The officer made a point of looking at Maisie’s clothing, at her dull jacket and her plain hat. “No, you probably wouldn’t. I am sure you were never a frivolous young girl.”
“I would never have disappointed my mother and father, Major,” said Maisie. She wondered if his changed attitude toward her, so different from their meeting in the Residenz, might be bravado in front of the junior officer.
There was a pause, during which Berger turned every single page again before finally shuffling them together. He slipped them into an envelope and passed the envelope to Maisie.
“Present these to the Kommandant at Dachau. He will be expecting you. But be warned, it is his job to check every document again before relinquishing the prisoner. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it is.” Maisie stood up.
“And one more thing, Fr?ulein Donat.”
“Yes?” said Maisie.
“Thank your government very much. On behalf of the Führer, we wish to extend our gratitude to you for paying Herr Donat’s fines, and for their generous contribution to our wounded soldiers’ fund.”
Maisie nodded and tapped the papers she held to her chest. “Thank you, Major.” She turned and walked to the door already held open by the junior officer.
“Oh, I almost forgot, Fr?ulein Donat.” Berger was standing now, putting on his cap. “If by any chance you see Miss Otterburn, do ask her to be in touch. We are concerned about our brother officer.”
“Of course. But I doubt I will ever see her again, Major. She was never a friend of mine.”
“Thank God. Now let’s get out of here and on to Dachau. You were longer than I thought.” Leslie checked his watch, took the papers from Maisie, and ushered her from the building. The driver was holding open the official vehicle’s door, and they stepped in. Almost before she was settled, the motor car had moved off into traffic.
“This all looks in order,” said Leslie.
“I should hope so,” said Maisie.
“Any problems?”
“He asked about Elaine Otterburn.”
“He knows you saw her, so not surprising. Let’s try not to worry about that—at this stage I would hope the Otterburn woman presents nothing more than a distraction, now we are on the way to Dachau.” Leslie placed the papers back into the envelope. “Hopefully they might assume the pair have gone off for a nice long dirty weekend.”
Maisie said nothing at first. The driver was negotiating traffic with speed, weaving in and out between slower vehicles, pressing down on the accelerator when the road was clear. “I’d tell him to calm down a bit if I were you,” she said. “We don’t want any problems at this stage, and reckless driving isn’t the way to respect our hosts.”
Leslie tapped on the window separating the passengers from the driver, and made a hand signal to slow down.
“So, the British government paid to have my father released.”
“It’s not unusual, just not widely known. Not sure it will go on for long, but money talks between nations whose leaders are still in somewhat polite conversation—though the issue with the Sudetenland is going to be a bit of a problem.”
Maisie was quiet again, only breaking her silence to speak her mind. “There’s something wrong, Mr. Leslie. I cannot put my finger on it, but this is all too easy. I’m worried.”
“Three visits to those Nazis? Easy?”
“No, it was all show. They were playing us as if we were marionettes with strings to tweak. I just know they think we have paid money for old rope. Never mind that the Führer is impressed by my father’s aristocratic connections—there is something else going on. There’s not exactly a search party out looking for Elaine Otterburn—it could be her father’s associations here, and she is a socialite, after all. But I keep thinking they are giving us all enough of that old rope to hang ourselves.”
“If I may say so, Fr?ulein Donat, you are not sounding very much like the shy daughter of a wealthy man.”
She turned to Leslie. “Call it a woman’s intuition, then—and what a woman looks like has nothing to do with it.”
The motor car jolted to a halt, and Leslie tapped on the window again. “Get around this holdup, Boyle. And forget the bloody traffic police—just get us to Dachau by the quickest route.”