“We are neutral now. Armed but neutral.”
“Do you think you’re safe?”
“I think we’re safer than the British.”
Maisie moistened her lips with her tongue and spoke again. “The young men who left, I wonder, did you know them? Or I should say, know of them? Their names were Frederick Addens and Albert Durant.”
Martin looked down at his hands, now clasped together, and ran his thumbs around each other, as if creating a small wheel that might drive his thoughts. Maisie knew he was debating how much he should tell her. At last he placed both hands on the arms of the chair and rose to his feet. As he walked closer to the fireplace, his limp was quite distinct. This man had fought in the war.
“Addens and Durant left because they had to leave. If the Germans had caught them, they would have killed them—and the Germans were looking. Addens and Durant were engaged in resistance work—all those things I mentioned. Addens, especially, showed a talent for anything mechanical, and taught himself to make explosives. They were responsible for actions that led to the deaths of German soldiers and the destruction of a significant amount of ordinance. They left because they had to—there would have been more death.”
“They were very brave.”
“Very brave—they were little more than children when they began. And know this—our women fought too.”
“La Dame Blanche,” said Maisie.
“Yes—that came later. You know, then.”
“Yes, I know.”
Maisie broke the silence with another question. “Do you recognize the names Carl Firmin and Lucas Peeters?”
Martin looked at Maisie. “These men are both dead too?”
“One of them.”
“Do you think they were known to Addens and Durant?”
Maisie nodded. “I do. I believe they might have been involved in the resistance efforts together, or might have met each other on the journey to the coast, and then on to England.”
“Yes, I suppose it’s possible.”
“But what I want to know is why a killer targeted these men.”
Martin shrugged. “I cannot help you, Madame Dobbs. They were our heroes. All our townspeople—men, women, boys, and girls—they were all heroes. I hope they don’t have to become martyrs again.”
Maisie came to her feet and walked towards Martin. “Thank you for your time, M’sieur Martin. I am grateful for your assistance.”
The man shrugged. “It was only a little information, for you to have come so far to receive.”
“It was enough.”
“You know, there was another lad, the same age as Frederick. His name was Xavier Bertrand. He was one of those who had to leave with his family. The Germans were after him too.”
Maisie shook her head. “No, that’s not a familiar name. I’m sorry.”
Martin took her outstretched hand. “I wish you a safe journey home, madame.”
“And I wish you well in the months to come.”
As Maisie left the residence and descended the steps towards Lawrence in the motor car, she knew she was closer. There had been a sensation in her body, almost a shiver, though she had given away nothing in the meeting with the mayor. If she were with Maurice, she would have described a feeling that began in the center of her being, and flooded out from there. And he would have said, “Go on, Maisie. Trust your instinct. And then prove it. Always, you must have your proof.” Xavier Bertrand. Now she had to find out how, exactly, this name would fit into the puzzle. But she knew, as if by instinct, that she was already halfway there.
Lawrence drew the motor car alongside a dour gray stone building that Maisie thought she could have easily picked out as the police station. The man known only as Janssens came to meet her, inviting her into a small square office, with a single window offering light but no view.
“Please sit down, madame. May I offer you refreshment?” Janssens remained standing.
“Just a glass of water, please.”
The police officer gave a brief nod, turned to a tray on a sideboard behind his desk, and poured water from a carafe into a fresh glass. He placed it in front of Maisie, who thanked him. Janssens sat down, pulled his chair in close to the desk, and clasped his hands on top of a file of papers before him.
“You are interested in men who were boys when they left for England due to the occupation of our town.”
“Yes,” said Maisie.
Janssens nodded. “It would have been better had they returned, instead of remaining in a foreign country. We could have done with their help.”
“They were all at that age, I suppose, when it’s easier to put down roots, and by the time the war ended, they had become entrenched in life in England.”
Janssens nodded. “Yes, that’s true. And they were all brave young men.”