Double-Barrel (25 page)

‘SS Lieutenant-General Heinrich Müller.'

It made a good exit line.

‘Inspector van der Valk, Central Recherche, requests an interview with Mr Sailer.'

‘You mean this morning?'

‘It is extremely urgent. I can't put that strongly enough.'

‘I'll see what I can do,' rather astonished. ‘Will you wait?'

‘Yes.'

‘Mr Sailer will see you now.'

‘Ah. Van der Valk. Good morning. This is rather unusual. I take it a request of this sort is not made without grave reason?'

‘Very grave, sir. I need your advice, and I need your help.'

‘You have committed an imprudence?'

‘No sir. But I have done something from which I shall never be quite free.'

‘Connected with this affair in Drente?'

‘There are two affairs, sir. The first was simple – I have a report for you here, that I would have sent over by messenger this morning. But the other …'

‘A grave affair?'

‘Yes. And a headline – in every newspaper in the world.'

‘I am at your service. That, among other things, is what I am here for.'

‘At its briefest – I have, while in Drente, discovered, identified and arrested Gestapo Müller. He's in detention – no charge on the form, and under his assumed name – in the local bureau. I have notified the local inspector – he doesn't know what to do any more than I did. He agreed to wait until I had made a verbal report.'

Mr Sailer considered, in silence, my rather hysterical words.

‘Nobody, Van der Valk, need envy an incumbent of this chair. Very well. You had better relate me your tale in detail.'

‘… And for these reasons, and the fact that I know I am not altogether fitted for my responsibilities, I would like to offer my resignation. That's all, sir.'

There was a very long silence. Mr Sailer's head was upright, but his eyes rested on his hands, which were loosely clasped, upon his blotter. He raised them slowly; they stayed on me. I tried to meet them the way Müller had met mine.

‘Nothing can alter the course of the law,' very quietly.

‘I can't argue with you, sir. I certainly can't query a judicial opinion of yours. But if I'm no longer a policeman, I could say that the law makes no provision for a man like
that. As a man – even as a policeman – I can say that no man expiates crimes like that. Any way at all. It's something needed from the whole human race.'

‘Go on.'

But I had lost my grip on myself.

‘I can't help it. He's only a man. Not only because I talked to him, shook hands with him, liked him even. Ach, I'm no good for this job. He even said so himself – a fellow that knows something about policemen.'

‘That'll do.' There was another long pause. Mr Sailer was making up his mind.

‘You have earned respect by what you have done. And personally, I admire you.

‘A bad policeman – you will please allow your superiors to judge of that. Mr Müller's superiors' – in the voice like desert sand for which Sailer was known – ‘appear to have found him useful, but we would not – nor, I think, would they – recommend him as a textbook model.

‘Your responsibility does not reach as far as a case which, as you pointed out, has not been imagined, for which no provision has been made in the Criminal Code, for which there are no precedents in jurisprudence. Your conscience is not an official concern, nor is it mine. You have behaved with scrupulous exactitude in acting as you have and in making – shall I call it a confession? – to me. I approve your movements, unhesitatingly.

‘This responsibility is now mine. You may have a confidence in exchange for your own: I will endeavour to apply moral principles to my decision in this matter – as you did. The matter is from this moment out of your hands.'

Another pause, shorter.

‘Your resignation is refused. The State of the Netherlands, embodied at this instant in myself, will not accept the loss of a responsible public servant for the motives you have given me.'

Mr Sailer leaned forward slightly. His small healthy eyes impaled me.

‘I will recommend your promotion within a short term. In particular, your transfer to a department where, I think, your qualities will find use. I am thinking of the juvenile branch.

‘Lastly, I have, this morning, received a letter from the burgomaster of Zwinderen. He speaks of you in high terms, and sees fit to inform me that you were of personal service to himself in a situation placing a public official in a difficult position. I have, I think, no more to say. Have you?'

‘No sir.'

‘I have no doubt but that Mr Tak has plenty for you to do … You can leave your written report here.'

There is in Holland a comic strip – the drawings are good, and the text original, witty, sharp in grasp of character; a comic strip with character; that is very rare. It concerns a very stupid, snobbish, pleasant bear whose name is Olivier B. Bommcl. He is a nice fellow, very aristocratic. He lives in a castle called Schloss Bommelstein, where he has a butler who is an excellent cook. And, by sacred tradition, a Bommel adventure must always end with a festive, abundant dinner.

Arlette, who goes rather far, says that Bommel is the only readable literature in Holland; I have often been inclined to agree. I agree with the tradition, too. When I went home, quite as stupid and bewildered as Bommel ever is, Arlette had a very famous country dish: boiled ham with the four purees – apples, potatoes, celery and flageolet beans.

I did not tell her I had wanted to resign. Nor anything about General Müller. What would have been the point? Because I had not slept last night, should she not be allowed to sleep tonight?

It would have been a waste, too, of a good dinner. And my free weekend.

‘We seem to have got quite a hurrah letter from the burgomaster. And there was a hint that I may be promoted after all. There's a vacancy in the juvenile branch; I've been told it's me – unofficially. Post has rank of chief inspector. Good, hm?'

‘Oh, darling. Where could we go on holiday when you get a rise?'

‘Anyway, not beautiful Drente, wouldn't you agree?'

‘It wasn't that bad,' said Arlette,‘ – looking back, I quite enjoyed myself.'

This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London
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Copyright © Nicolas Freeling, 1964
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ISBN: 9781448207015
eISBN: 9781448206926
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