A Study in Murder by Robert Ryan Read Free Book Online Page A

it,’ Watson said gloomily.
    ‘You gave your word—’ Halbricht began.
    ‘Perhaps Hanson was right. Perhaps such words are meaningless in war.’
    Halbricht shook his head. ‘The man was deranged. You know he wouldn’t have got very far. The villagers would have flushed him out in a second. He would only have brought down
retribution on his fellow Englishmen. Even I have to be seen to play by the rules. Lose a man for even twenty-four hours and the local army command wants to know how and why and who is going to
pay. Too many escapes and then you can look forward to a new job as foreman of a slate mine. Like most of the men in the camp, I am just biding my time here, waiting for the war to end.’
    ‘And yet poor Hanson is dead,’ Watson reminded the commandant.
    ‘And this is not your fault.’
    ‘Not technically. Morally, perhaps.’
    The Englishmen’s voices during the argument and subsequent tussle had carried through the trees, drifting over to the camp. The moon-faced guard with the Mauser had gone along to
investigate and arrived just in time to see Hanson about to dash Watson’s brains out with a stone. He had shot Hanson in the chest, killing him instantly.
    ‘What will the report say?’ Watson asked.
    ‘That Hanson was shot while trying to escape. No mention will be made of the exact circumstances. His family will be satisfied he was doing his duty as an officer. My superiors will be
pleased that I prevented a hue and cry for a POW. And you . . .’
    The pause grew.
    ‘You can take some comfort in being an officer and a gentleman who is as good as his word.’
    Watson threw back his drink. To his surprise, Halbricht topped him up. He didn’t refuse, despite his unease at the fraternization. ‘It’s scant comfort.’
    ‘It was the devil and the deep blue sea,’ said Halbricht. ‘And I face the same dilemma.’
    Something in the tone halted Watson’s slide into self-pity. The cosy room, the port, the cigarette. He was being softened up for an announcement of some description. He pushed himself
upright in the chair. ‘What is it,
Hauptmann
?’
    The man looked pained, as if he were the one who had suffered a beating. ‘There is no easy way to break this news. I was hoping the drink might help. But it has made it more difficult,
this moment of . . . camaraderie.’
    ‘We’re not comrades. Not yet. I am still an enemy officer. I am afraid no amount of port will alter that.’
    Halbricht nodded, his expression hangdog. ‘You are right, of course.’ He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the blow he was about to deliver. ‘Major Watson, I regret to
inform you that you have been refused a place on the repatriation list.’
    It was only at that moment that Watson appreciated how much he had been banking on getting out of Krefeld. Perhaps that was why he had been so adamant about stopping Hanson, he had been –
subconsciously – worried it might jeopardize his own release. And now this. It made him all the more wretched. He felt a crack zigzag across the dam that was holding back the waters of
despair. He struggled to keep his voice even. ‘And was any reason given?’
    ‘They don’t have to give explanations, Major. “Request denied” and a rubber stamp is all they require.’
    ‘You could ask why,’ said Watson. ‘And put in an appeal. You could also petition the Red Cross.’
    As the
Hauptmann
nodded his features collapsed into what looked like pity. ‘The devil and the deep blue sea, as I said, Major. I could object, kick up a fuss, as you say. But I know
there are those in the Army Group that runs this sector who consider me too soft. Too considerate. To be a lover of all things British. I am tainted, in their eyes, by my years in Oxford. My sense
of honour, such as it is, tells me I should try my damnedest to get a man like you out of here. My sense of survival tells me not to rock the boat. Unlike you, Major Watson, I am not a brave
man.’
    ‘Brave? Me? I