Jüttner looked at his watch.

“Twenty-five past two, Lockhart! I think it’s time we went over to the camp theater. Are you ready?”

Lockhart smiled back.

“Oh yes, Herr Major, as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good!” said Jüttner, wiping his mouth clean and standing up. “Let’s go, then.”

Lockhart drained a third glass of wine and got up. He felt a little drunk, but he’d rather have been comatose. He flashed Jüttner an ironic smile.

“Well, this should be fun,” he said, dusting the top of his cap.

Jüttner grinned, causing his moustache to elongate. He might have looked a bit of an ass, thought Lockhart, but his eyes hinted at a deeper perspicacity. The grin dropped and he started speaking slowly.

“I’m sure you have a good reason for putting yourself through this, Lockhart. You are certainly no National Socialist, and you are certainly not the stuff of traitors.”

“I think you’re being too clever, Herr Major.”

“Clever enough to recognize a cleverer man.”

With that, Jüttner came up very close to Lockhart.

“I’m not going to ask you why, but I cannot pretend I’m not curious. I don’t think you would tell me, and besides, I wouldn’t want to be burdened by your secrets. If, like me, you are trying to get through this war alive—at any cost—then you are a coward. Yes, Lockhart, I am a coward. That is why I am running a POW camp rather than being on the front line—I have come to accept my nature, and that is my problem. But if your reason is more noble than self-preservation, then I wish you all the luck in the world. I would like to help you, but as I say, I am a coward. Nevertheless, I will cheer you on, and perhaps one day, if you succeed, you might tell me your reason. Yes?”

Lockhart looked back at Jüttner, astonished. That the words that might give him some extra resolve should emanate from the commandant of a POW camp was bizarre, outlandish even.

“Yes, Herr Major,” said Lockhart quietly. “I would like to tell you one day. I hope I’ll be able to.”

Jüttner nodded, looking at Lockhart’s face, studying it.

“I think you will. No, I’m sure you will.”

Lockhart and Jüttner walked across the frozen parade ground to the camp theater. Pugh, Worstead and Butcher had fallen in behind them, and the plan was for the five men to stride up the central aisle and mount the stage, whereupon Jüttner would introduce them and Lockhart would give his talk, followed by Pugh. Lockhart had told Strasser that any speech by Pugh would be counterproductive, but Strasser had enigmatically replied that it was not up to him whether Pugh spoke.

As they neared the entrance to the theater, Lockhart developed an uncontrollable urge to go to the lavatory.

“Major,” he said, “I’m sorry about this, but I really must take a leak.”

“What—now?” said Jüttner.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Nervous, eh?”