Chapter 7: Parisian Walkways : France, December 1941

The Mercedes pulled away. Clegg sat back watching the early morning light creep across the French countryside. Sandy pulled a Gauloise from a pack lodged in the pouch on the back of the seat in front of her. She offered one to Freddie. He shook his head. It was too early in the morning to have the skin taken off his throat.

"How do you come to be working with the French Resistance?" Freddie asked.

"Well I was somewhat upset by the loss of the Château as you can imagine. Besides, I thought it was rather appropriate, given my interests, Freddie. I'm a sort of Maquis De Sade."

Clegg winced at the pun. He'd never got used to Sandy's rather cavalier attitude to the business that they both were in. He'd always favoured a quieter, more personal approach to the business of abducting and trading women as slaves. The flamboyance of Sandy's European operation wasn't for him, although he had to confess fond memories of some of the parties she had thrown for her clients.

The car motored on. Sandy's blonde driver did a competent job of steering the car round the occasional pot hole left by the fighting from the previous year. Mostly they'd been filled in. The Germans were good at that sort of thing. Clegg saw the sign for Versailles. 10 or 12 miles from here he thought. They'd made good time. A motor cycle overtook them, the rider not giving Sandy a second glance. Clegg began to feel more comfortable.

As they swept through the old city wall at the Porte d'Issy an old Frenchman scowled at the passing car while a squad of soldiers came to a halt as their Obergefreiter threw an enthusiastic "Sieg Heil". It was obviously a good enough disguise, Clegg decided.

They drove on. They passed the Ecole Militaire and red, white and black swastika flags hanging limply from masts in the Champ De Mars. driving in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower as it looked down with what seemed sullen disapproval at the grey clad troops marching around its base and the the Champ de Mars. They crossed the Pont D'Iena and turned along the bank of the Seine, the Trocadero on their right. They drove on into Passy. Finally the car turned through gates with the sign "Notre Dame De Grace".

Dear heavens, Clegg thought, she's set up shop in a convent.

They stopped. Sandy and her driver got out and Clegg followed them. One of the nuns emerged and drove the car away to park it in what Clegg took to be the convent's stable block.

"You'll want to press on with your task," Sandy said as she showed Clegg through into the rooms she had arranged for him. Clegg nodded.

"I need to track down a girl," he said. "Well, three of them actually."

"How very unusual," responded the Comtesse with heavy irony. "Well, let me know if I can help."

"Thanks," said Clegg. "I will." He spent the morning tramping the streets of Paris, getting the feel of the place once more. He went back up to Montmartre. The Belle Aurore was deserted. There was no sign that it had been opened since the Germans had arrived. He thought maybe he could make use of the cellar if things didn't work out with Sandy's operation but it would be a whole lot easier with her help and she seemed willing enough so far at least.

He headed back towards the Seine. He was lucky. Passing the Trocadero he saw a poster. The Orchestre de la Société des Concerts du Conservatoire were performing that night. Clegg decided to treat himself to an evening's culture.

Wagner, Beethoven, Bruckner. The programme was predictable, Clegg guessed, given the sea of grey uniforms in the audience and certainly better than Hindemith. The Beethoven and the Bruckner were fine, thought Clegg but when it came to the Wagner he agreed with Mark Twain. When he'd said that Wagner's music was better than it sounded he'd hit the nail on the head.

The concert gave Clegg the chance to study Tereza Aucune. From his seat in the circle, peering through his opera glasses, he could clearly see the girl, staring fixedly at the conductor, fingering the strings and bowing her cello with intensity. From what he could see the Major was evidently a man of taste. But then Freddie knew that already from Annette and Louise.

The concert ended. Clegg was in the street by the stage door as Tereza emerged, hefting her instrument. Keeping his distance he followed her as she searched in vain for a taxi. Giving up, she decided to walk. It wasn't an easy task given the size of the cello but she had evidently had the practice. Clegg felt a bit guilty but then helping women out of difficulties wasn't really his style.

She didn't have too far to go. Clegg watched as she stopped outside a house in Passy. She wrestled her cello up the short flight of steps to the building's columned portico. As she reached the top of the steps the front door of the house opened. Waiting to welcome her in, highlighted in the glow of a light within the hall, was a young blonde woman. As she stood the doorway, Clegg could see she was wearing a black skirt, white shirt and black tie. On her arm she wore a red armband that carried the Nazi insignia of a white disk and black swastika. "Ah," thought Clegg as Tereza went inside, "that could make things more complicated."

Clegg took a good look around the outside of the house, avoided a squad of German troops as they marched by, and then headed back to the convent. Sandy was as good as her word when Clegg asked if she could arrange some a surveillance of the Passy house and its occupants. Late the following afternoon, Sister Sarah was able to offer Clegg the results of her visit.

"It is a very grand house," she said. "Occupied by a Major Strasser." Clegg was pleased by that piece of information at least. "It had been commandeered from a French family, of course, but they are no longer there."

"You had a good chance to look around?"

"Oh yes. Tereza Aucune is a good catholic girl. She was only too happy to see me when she heard I was collecting alms for the convent. Major Strasser is away but Mademoiselle Aucune continues to live there. There are two others in the house. Two of Major Strasser's people. Heidi and Helga they are called. Whether they are babysitters, or guards I could not say."

"How easy would it be to enter the house unobserved?"

"Not so difficult, I think. The gardens at the rear are not overlooked — Mademoiselle asked me to take tea with her there. There is a conservatory that opens off the lounge. But any action you plan will need to be taken soon. I suspect that the occupants are about to leave."

"For what reason?"

"Who can say. All I can tell you, Monsieur Clegg, is that the house is full of boxes, crates, packing cases. And Mademoiselle Aucune is very upset. While I was there a despatch rider arrived bringing a telegram. I was just leaving. I heard Mademoiselle Aucune crying, weeping, sobbing. Distraught. I offered to comfort her but Heidi, I think it was, asked me to leave."

Clegg was pleased with the report but concerned at the urgency that the turn of events at the Passy house seemed to urge. "Thank you, Sister," he said as the young nun took her leave. Clegg turned to the Comtesse. "I will need a van," he said. "And two men, if you can spare them."

Sandy provided everything that Freddie had asked for. The van was a small Citroen; rusting, non-descript and unlikely to attract attention. The two men, Jacques and Jules, both long standing members of Sandy's team, turned up with a bored manner that Freddie found comforting. He hated enthusiastic amateurs.

Freddie found himself in the garden of the Passy house with Jacques. Jules was around the side of the house in the van waiting for their signal. As Sister Sarah had said, there was little effort needed to get inside. Clegg easily slipped the catch on the conservatory and the two of them were soon through it and into the lounge. The darkened room was filled with crates and half packed boxes just as Sarah had told them.

They heard a voice from the corridor outside. "Ich setze es in das Hinterzimmer ein, Helga. Im großen Fall."

That will be Heidi, Clegg thought and she's coming in here to put something in that big case. A moment later, only just giving Clegg and Jacques enough time to get behind the door, Heidi came in. As she groped for the light switch Clegg grabbed her wrist, pulled her into the room and pushed her back against the wall. The papers that she was carrying went flying. He had his hand over her mouth before she could cry out. Jacques, helpfully jammed the barrel of his pistol against her throat. Heidi understood what was required of her and froze staring in terror at the two men. Clegg pulled a scarf from his pocket, knotted it and pushed the knot between Heidi's teeth. He tied the scarf tightly in place, forcing a moan from the girl.

Jacque kept the pistol pointing at her as Clegg grabbed her arms and pulled her wrists behind her back. A handy length of rope from the one of the packing cases served to bind her wrists, ankles, knees and arms. Clegg pushed the helpless Heidi to the floor and then jerked her ankles up to her wrists to leave her hog-tied. He smiled at Jacques and gave him a thumbs up sign, then pointed to the door and upwards indicating that their next quarry would probably be on the first floor. Jacques nodded and smiled in response and then followed Clegg as the two of them slipped carefully out of the lounge and onto the main staircase of the house. From above they could hear the sound of a cello, its plaintive air filling the house.