The corporal looked confused, his eyebrows knitting together.

“What’s in it?”

Lockhart looked at the man. Could he trust him? He didn’t know, but he admired his pluck, his ability to take a risk—it wasn’t every POW who would willingly assault an SS officer. Just as Lockhart was about to tell him more, he heard the sound of running footsteps approaching. It was now or never, thought Lockhart; he might not get such a good chance again.

“Just take it!” he said, holding the letter out to the corporal. “Put your name on the bottom of it and send it off. Do it!”

The corporal eyed him suspiciously.

“Please,” Lockhart begged. “You have to do this.”

He pushed the letter against the man’s chest.

“Take it,” Lockhart hissed.

The footsteps got closer—they were now just outside the door.

The corporal obviously found something in Lockhart’s demeanor that made him trust him, because just before the door burst open, he stuffed the letter inside his tunic. Two NCOs stormed in, their rifles at the ready, a puffing Jüttner behind them.

“What’s going on here, then?” panted Jüttner. “Lockhart? Are you all right?”

“Quite so,” said Lockhart, mustering as much calm as possible. “The corporal and I were just having a little chat.”

“So why’s he on the floor? Did he attack you?”

Lockhart shook his head.

“No, Herr Major, I think he must have slipped.”

Jüttner came up to Lockhart.

“Lockhart,” he said, “you don’t have to protect this man. Corporal Stafford is a bad sort, a persistent troublemaker. That’s why he’s on almost permanent latrine duty. Isn’t that right, Stafford? And stand up!”

Stafford stood. Jüttner went up to him and slapped him around the face, hard enough to make Lockhart and the two NCOs start.

“I think,” said Jüttner, turning to Lockhart with a broad smile under his Prussian moustache, “you’ve found your first potential recruit, Hauptsturmführer Lockhart. Congratulations! It looks as though, with your blessing, Stafford’s punishment will be to join you in Hildesheim.”

Lockhart looked at Stafford’s bewildered face.

“Sorry about that, old boy,” he said.

At last, he thought, at last he had someone he could rely on. The team was taking shape.

Lockhart could hear the hubbub of the POWs inside the theater, obviously excited, looking forward to a break in the arduous camp routine. Jüttner had assured Lockhart and his men that they would be safe—he had positioned thirty heavily armed soldiers in and around the building, and at the slightest physical disturbance they were under orders to shoot. Lockhart was both reassured and repelled by the idea. He did not wish to have the blood of innocently protesting POWs on his hands, and told Jüttner as much. Jüttner doubted that it would come to that, but Hauptsturmführer Lockhart should prepare himself for some heavy barracking.