Traitor's Gate Read Online Free Page B

bundled into the back of the green van. Fifteen minutes later he was dragged out on to the pavement beside a grandiose grey Wilhelmine building. There was no sign advertising what lay within, but Conrad could see a number eight beside the imposing entrance.
    It was 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, the headquarters of the Gestapo.

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    The entrance hall was a large room with a vaulted ceiling and high domed windows, watched over by two SS guards and a pair of crimson swastika banners. As Conrad climbed the stairs he was told to keep to the wall with his escort on the outside, presumably so that he wouldn’t throw himself over the banisters. On the third floor he was taken along a corridor and shown into a tiny waiting room. He sat on a bench, and a tall guard took a seat beside him. He waited.
    Exhilaration that Joachim had escaped faded. Now Conrad was inside their notorious headquarters, his initial certainty that the Gestapo would have to release him untouched seemed optimistic. He had no idea what the Gestapo would do to him; he tried to dismiss images of torture chambers and concentration camps from his mind.
    He pulled himself together. It was Joachim they wanted, not him. He was innocent, he was no spy; they would release him – as long as he could maintain an aura of confidence. He would deny everything, and they would have to let him go. After all, His Britannic Majesty requested and required it.
    At least Joachim was free.
    After about three-quarters of an hour a large, ungainly man appeared, wearing steel-rimmed spectacles and a scruffy, ill-fitting suit. ‘Herr de Lancey?’ he said to Conrad, holding out his hand.
    ‘Yes.’ Conrad rose to his feet and shook it.
    ‘My name is KriminalratSchalke.’ He smiled. It was a strange, lop-sided grin, which exuded what seemed to be genu­ine friendli­ness. ‘Come through.’
    Conrad followed Schalke into an office, or rather interview room. Schalke sat on one side of the desk and Conrad sat on a chair a few feet back on the other. A female stenographer came in and settled herself at a machine on a table just behind Conrad.
    Schalke leaned back, smiled and opened his hands. ‘Herr de Lancey. It was very foolish of you to assault two of my officers.’
    ‘I know,’ said Conrad. ‘And I am sorry.’ The time for uncon­trolled histrionics was over; he needed to be cooler now. ‘But they were arresting me without cause. I objected. I still object.’
    Schalke smiled again, that appealing uneven grin. ‘Without cause? Surely the cause is obvious.’ The man had the slow aden­oidal twang of a Saxon, Conrad noticed. He also had a very slight stutter.
    ‘Not to me,’ said Conrad.
    ‘You were discussing a plot to overthrow the Führer with a member of our diplomatic corps.’
    ‘I was doing no such thing,’ said Conrad. He made no attempt to hide his surprise.
    ‘You were. Our man saw you.’
    ‘The man with the buck teeth? The man who was pretending to be deaf? He was too far away, even if he could hear.’
    ‘Oh, he wasn’t pretending,’ Schalke said. ‘He is deaf. He’s an accomplished lip-reader.’
    Schalke smiled again.
    ‘In that case he will know that we didn’t discuss Hitler at all,’ Conrad said.
    ‘But you did discuss General von Fritsch.’
    ‘We did.’ A thought occurred to Conrad. ‘Does your man speak English? Or rather lip-read in English? It must be very difficult to lip-read in a foreign language.’
    Schalke seemed to accept Conrad’s point. ‘So, what did Herr Mühlendorf tell you?’
    ‘I demand that you let me go,’ Conrad said as evenly as pos­sible. ‘I’m a British citizen. I demand to see someone from the embassy.’
    ‘I think you are a spy,’ said Schalke, reasonably. ‘It is quite possible to be a British citizen and a spy.’
    ‘I am no such thing!’
    ‘Then why were you discussing a plan to overthrow the Führer? And for that matter why do you speak such perfect German?’
    ‘I am good at languages,’ Conrad