Korsch found a suitable vantage point in one of the bedrooms, returned to the kitchen, where he grabbed what food he could find, then returned to the window he had chosen and took up his vigil.

For an hour or two he sat. He did not see the woman again. Still there was little activity to be seen about the place next door.

When dusk was well advanced, he rose and left the farmhouse by the back door, and walked toward the row of parked cars.

Something told him he had stumbled into a mystery it behooved him to get to the bottom of. He would not arouse undue suspicion if he could avoid it. But he had to get the number of that license plate. Some of his more impertinent colleagues in the Gestapo would have marched straight to the front door with their bluster and threats and demanded the information point-blank. If they did not receive it, intimidation and arrest might well follow.

Sometimes such tactics were necessary. But he liked to keep stealth and secrecy on his side. He would make his move with lightning speed when the time was right. But he did not like to tip his hand too soon.

When he had covered about half the distance, suddenly the door of the school building opened. Two men emerged.

Immediately he turned around and began to saunter nonchalantly back the way he had come. In another moment, he heard a car door open, then slam shut two or three seconds later.

An engine roared. He knew it was the Mercedes.

He quickened his pace, hid behind the wall of the farmhouse, then watched as the Mercedes backed up, pulled out, and came straight toward him. Keeping out of sight, he was just able to make out the plate as the car passed. He ran for his car, got in, grabbed his notebook, wrote down the number, waited another minute or two, then turned his own key, pulled the car into gear, and sped off.

He had seen all he needed to see.

He would order the raid. In the meantime, he would find out who was the visitor in the Mercedes.

Meanwhile, in pain and paralyzed with fear, the poor woman inside remained crouching in the corner of her daughter’s bedroom for another hour, when her husband returned home from Stettin to find the entire house dark, silent, and the back door wide open.

23 Husband and Wife

23

Husband and Wife

Baron von Dortmann and his wife sat together in the sitting room adjacent to their bedroom. The evening was well advanced and most of the servants had retired. They had said good night to Sabina an hour earlier.

“Are there any developments at Finkenwalde?” Marion asked. Her husband had only returned from the seminary two or three hours earlier.

“Dietrich fears the Nazis are closing in.”

“Is there danger? Their lives are not being threatened?”