iron pirate by Unknown Author Read Free Book Online Page B

other things, cheese and butter, Danish bacon and eggs which might bring a smile to her lips. She had enough to worry about without the damned shortages.
    He had written to her several times since that last, unnerving leave. She had only replied once, a loose, rambling letter which had told him very little. Britta was never a great writer of letters. Their leaves spent together had always made up for that. He quickened his pace. This time it would be all right again. Just like all those other times. It must be.
    Whatever his personal worries might be, Theil was a professional to his fingertips. He had noted all the recent happenings, not least the arrival of the rear-admiral, an officer whose face and reputation were rarely absent from the newspapers.
    It might be his chance. The Prinz Luitpold was obviously earmarked for something important. That meant dangerous, but you took that for granted.
    Perhaps he had been hard on Britta, or had written something in a letter which had upset her without intending it.
    She had to understand, and be seen to be with him, no matter what. It was bad about her parents, but then he had never really got to know them. They should have considered her before they became involved with some political or subversive activity.
    It was so unfair that because of it, his future might be endangered and her health also.
    He thought of the ship lying up there in Danish waters. He knew the Prinz better than any of them. They would all need him when they were really up against it.
    He turned on to the quiet road which led to his house; it was the last one in a line of five. Nothing was changed, and the flowers and shrubs in every garden made a beautiful picture after grey steel and the Gulf of Riga.
    They would have three, maybe four days together. Then he would go back to the ship. As second-in-command he must be on time even at the expense of losing a day or so. But the leave would be just right. Like a reminder and a memory. A hope too for the future.
    He thought he saw a woman in the neighbour's house, bending perhaps to pick up some flowers. When he looked again she had gone. He was glad. He did not want to loiter and discuss the war, rationing, and all the other complaints.
    Theil reached the gates to his own garden and shifted his grasp on the heavy case. He squared his shoulders and wondered if anyone was watching. 'He's back.' He could almost see himself in his best uniform with the decorations and the eagle across his right breast.
    He looked at the garden and hesitated. It was not like Britta to allow it to become so neglected. It was dry, and dead flowers drooped over the neat driveway, running to seed. It was unheard of. He held back a sudden irritation and strode to the main door. He fumbled with his key, expecting at any moment for the door to open and for her to stand there staring up at him. Her flaxen hair might be untidy but he would see it as before. Her dress would be for doing jobs about the house, but to him it would be like the silk one he had once brought her from France.
    The house was so quiet that he stood stock-still within feet of the open door. Without looking further he knew it was empty. The sunlight which streamed through the back windows was dusty, and there were dead flowers in a vase near the framed picutre taken on their wedding day. He paused by it, off-balance, uncertain what to do. He stared at the photo, her arm through his, the faces in the background. That one was Willi, who was lost in the Atlantic two years back.
    Theil put down his case and flexed his fingers. What did he feel? Angry, cheated, worried? All and none of them.
    Perhaps she had gone away? He stared at the dead flowers. Where? He turned away, a sick feeling running through him. She had left him.
    He walked about the house, opening doors, shutting them again, then went upstairs and looked out at the neighbours' house. So quiet and deathly still.
    He opened a wardrobe and touched her clothes,