When Harald cooled down, he saw that Karen's decision to postpone their flight for a day was not completely mad. He put himself in her place by imagining that he had been offered the chance to perform an important experiment with the physicist Neils Bohr. He might have delayed the escape to England for the sake of such an opportunity. Perhaps he and Bohr together would change mankind's understanding of how the universe worked. If he were going to die, he would like to know he had done something like that.
Nevertheless he spent a tense day. He checked everything on the Hornet Moth twice. He studied the instrument panel, familiarizing himself with the gauges so that he could help Karen. The panel was not illuminated, for the aircraft was not designed to be used at night, so they would have to shine the torch on the dials to read the instruments. He practiced folding and unfolding the wings, improving his time. He tried out his in-flight refueling system, pouring a little petrol through the hose that led from the cabin, through the smashed-out window, into the tank. He watched the weather, which was fine, with patchy cloud and a light breeze. A three-quarter moon rose late in the afternoon. He put on clean clothes.
He was lying on his ledge bed, stroking Pinetop the cat, when someone rattled the big church door.
Harald sat upright, putting Pinetop on the floor, and listened.
He heard the voice of Per Hansen. "I told you it was locked."
A woman replied, "All the more reason to look inside."
The voice was authoritative, Harald noted fearfully. He pictured a woman in her thirties, attractive but businesslike. Obviously she was with the police. Presumably she had sent Hansen to look for Harald at the castle yesterday. Clearly she had not been satisfied with Hansen's inquiries and had come herself today.
Harald cursed. She would probably be more thorough than Hansen. It would not take her long to find a way into the church. There was nowhere for him to hide except the trunk of the Rolls-Royce, and any serious searcher was sure to open that.
Harald was afraid he might already be too late to exit by his usual window, which was just around the corner from the main door. But there were windows all around the curved chancel, and he quickly made his escape through one of those.
When he hit the ground, he looked around warily. This end of the church was only partly concealed by trees, and he might have been seen by a soldier; but he was in luck, and no one was nearby.
He hesitated. He wanted to get away, but he needed to know what happened next. He flattened himself against the wall of the church and listened. He heard Hansen's voice say, "Mrs. Jespersen? If we stand on that log we could get through the window."
"No doubt that's why the log is there," the woman replied crisply. She was obviously a lot smarter than Hansen. Harald had a dreadful feeling she was going to learn everything.
He heard the scrape of feet on the wall, a grunt from Hansen as, presumably, he squeezed himself through the window, then a thud as he hit the tiled floor of the church. A lighter thud followed a few seconds afterward.
Harald crept around the side of the church, stood on the log, and peeped through the window.
Mrs. Jespersen was a pretty woman of about thirty, not fat but well rounded, smartly dressed in practical clothes, a blouse and skirt with flat shoes and a sky blue beret over her blond curls. As she was not in uniform, she must be a detective, Harald deduced. She carried a shoulder bag which presumably had a gun in it.
Hansen was red-faced from the exertion of getting through the window, and he looked harassed. Harald guessed the village policeman was finding it a strain dealing with the quick-thinking detective.
She looked first at the bike. "Well, here's the motorcycle you told me about. I see the steam engine. Ingenious."
"He must have left it here," Hansen said in a defensive tone. Obviously he had told the detective that Harald had gone away.
But she was not convinced. "Perhaps." She moved to the car. "Very nice."
"It belongs to the Jew."
She ran a finger along the curve of a mudguard and looked at the dust. "He hasn't been out in it for a while."
"Of course not - its wheels are off." Hansen thought he had caught her out, and looked pleased.
"That doesn't mean much - wheels can be put on quickly. But it's difficult to fake a layer of dust."
She crossed the room and picked up Harald's discarded shirt. He groaned inwardly. Why had he not put it away somewhere? She sniffed it.
Pinetop appeared from somewhere and rubbed his head against Mrs. Jespersen's leg. She stooped to stroke him. "What are you after?" she said to the cat. "Has someone been feeding you?"
Nothing could be hidden from this woman, Harald saw with dismay. She was too thorough. She moved to the ledge where Harald slept. She picked up his neatly folded blanket, then put it down again. "Someone's living here," she said.
"Perhaps it's a vagrant."
"And perhaps it's Harald fucking Olufsen."
Hansen looked shocked.
She turned to the Hornet Moth. "What have we here?" Harald watched in despair as she pulled off the cover. "I do believe it's an airplane."
That's the end, Harald thought. It's all over now.
Hansen said: "Duchwitz used to have a plane, I remember now. He hasn't flown it for years, though."
"It's not in bad condition."
"It's got no wings!"
"The wings are folded back - that's how they got it through the door." She opened the cabin door. Reaching inside, she moved the control stick, looking at the tailplane at the same time, seeing the elevator move. "The controls seem to work." She peered at the fuel gauge. "The tank is full." Looking around the little cabin, she added, "And there's a four-gallon can behind the seat. And the locker contains two bottles of water and a packet of biscuits. Plus an axe, a ball of good strong cord, a flashlight, and an atlas - with no dust on any of them."
She withdrew her head from the cabin and looked at Hansen. "Harald is planning to fly."
"Well, I'm damned," said Hansen.
The wild thought of killing them both occurred to Harald. He was not sure he could kill another human being in any circumstances, but he immediately realized he could not overpower two armed police officers with his bare hands, and he dismissed the thought.
Mrs. Jespersen became very brisk. "I have to go into Copenhagen. Inspector Flemming, who's in charge of this case, is coming in by train. Given the way the railways are nowadays, he could arrive any time in the next twelve hours. When he does, we'll come back. We'll arrest Harald, if he's here, and set a trap for him if he's not."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Stay here. Find a vantage point in the woods, and watch the church. If Harald appears, don't speak to him, just phone the Politigaarden."
"Aren't you going to send someone to help me?"
"No. We mustn't do anything to scare Harald off. If he sees you, he won't panic - you're just the village policeman. But a couple of strange cops might spook him. I don't want him to run away and hide somewhere. Now that we've tracked him down, we mustn't lose him again. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
"On the other hand, if he tries to fly that plane, stop him."
"Arrest him?"
"Shoot him, if you have to - but don't for God's sake let him take off."
Harald found her matter-of-fact tone absolutely terrifying. If she had been overdramatic, he might not have felt so scared. But she was an attractive woman speaking calmly about practicalities - and she had just told Hansen to shoot him if necessary. Until this moment, Harald had not confronted the possibility that the police might simply kill him. Mrs. Jespersen's quiet mercilessness shook him.
"You can open this door, to save me scrambling through the window again," she said. "Lock it up when I've gone, so that Harald won't suspect anything."
Hansen turned the key and removed the bar, and they went out.
Harald jumped to the ground and retreated around the end of the church. Moving away from the building, he stood behind a tree and watched from a distance as Mrs. Jespersen walked to her car, a black Buick. She looked at her reflection in the car's window and adjusted her sky blue beret in a very feminine gesture. Then she reverted to cop mode, shook hands briskly with Hansen, got into the car, and drove away fast.
Hansen came back, and disappeared from Harald's view, screened by the church.
Harald leaned against the trunk of the tree for a moment, thinking. Karen had promised to come to the church as soon as she got home from the ballet. If she did that she might find the police waiting for her. And how would she explain what she was doing? Her guilt would be obvious.
Harald had to head her off somehow. Thinking about the best way to intercept her and warn her, he decided the simplest thing would be to go to the theater. That way he could be sure he would not miss her.
He felt a moment of anger toward her. If they had taken off last night they might be in England now. He had warned her that she was putting them both in danger, and now he had been proved right. But recriminations were fruitless. It was done, and he had to deal with the consequences.
Unexpectedly, Hansen came walking around the corner of the church. He saw Harald and stopped dead.
They were both astonished. Harald had thought Hansen had gone back into the church to lock up. Hansen, for his part, could not have imagined that his quarry was so close. They stared at each other for a paralyzed moment.
Then Hansen reached for his gun.
Mrs. Jespersen's words flashed through Harald's mind: "Shoot him, if you have to." Hansen, a village constable, had probably never shot at anyone in his life. But he might jump at the chance.
Harald reacted instinctively. Without thought for the consequences, he rushed at Hansen. As Hansen drew his pistol from the holster, Harald cannoned into him. Hansen was thrown back, and hit the church wall with a thud, but he did not lose his grip on the gun.
He raised the gun to point it. Harald knew he had only a fraction of a second to save himself. He drew back his fist and hit Hansen on the point of the chin. The blow had the force of desperation behind it. Hansen's head jerked back and hit the brickwork with a sound like the crack of a rifle. His eyes rolled up, his body slumped, and he fell to the ground.
Harald was dreadfully afraid the man was dead. He knelt beside the unconscious body. He saw immediately that Hansen was breathing. Thank God, he thought. It was horrifying to think he might have killed a man - even a vicious fool such as Hansen.
The fight had lasted only a few seconds, but had it been observed? He looked across the park to the soldiers' encampment. A few men were walking around, but no one was looking Harald's way.
He stuffed Hansen's gun into his pocket then lifted the limp body. Slinging it over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, he hurried around the church to the main door, which was still open. His luck held, and no one saw him.
He put Hansen down, then quickly closed and locked the church door. He got the cord out of the cabin of the Hornet Moth and tied Hansen's feet together. He rolled the man over and tied his hands behind his back. Then he picked up his discarded shirt, stuffed half of it in Hansen's mouth so the man could not cry out, and tied string around Hansen's head so that the gag would not fall out.
Finally he put Hansen in the trunk of the Rolls-Royce and closed the lid.
He looked at his watch. He still had time to get to the city and warn Karen.
He lit the boiler on his motorcycle. He might well be seen driving out of the church, but there was no longer any time for caution.
However, he could get into trouble with a policeman's gun making a bulge in his pocket. Not knowing what to do with the pistol, he opened the right door of the Hornet Moth and put it on the floor, where no one would see it unless they got in the aircraft and trod on it.
When the motorcycle engine had a head of steam he opened the doors, drove the bike out, locked up from inside, and exited by the window. He was lucky, and saw no one.
He drove into the city, keeping a nervous eye out for policemen, and parked at the side of the Royal Theatre. A red carpet led up to the entrance, and he recalled that the King was attending this performance. A notice informed him that Les Sylphides was the last of three ballets on the program. A crowd of well-dressed people stood on the steps with drinks, and Harald gathered that he had arrived during the interval.
He went to the stage door, where he encountered an obstacle. The entrance was guarded by a uniformed commissionaire. "I need to speak to Karen Duchwitz," Harald said.
"Out of the question," the commissionaire told him. "She's about to go on stage."
"It's really important."
"You'll have to wait until afterward."
Harald could see that the man was immovable. "How long is the ballet?"
"About half an hour, depending how fast the orchestra plays."
Harald remembered that Karen had left a ticket for him at the box office. He decided he would watch her dance.
He went into the marble foyer, got his ticket, and entered the auditorium. He had never been in a theater before, and he gazed in wonder at the lavish gilded decoration, the rising tiers of the circle, and the rows of red plush seats. He found his place in the fourth row and sat down. There were two German officers in uniform immediately in front of him. He checked his watch. Why did the ballet not start? Every minute brought Peter Flemming nearer.
He picked up a program that had been left on the seat beside him and flicked through it, looking for Karen's name. She was not on the cast list, but a slip of paper which fell out of the booklet said that the prima ballerina was indisposed and her place would be taken by Karen Duchwitz. It also revealed that the lone male dancer in the ballet would also be played by an understudy, Jan Anders, presumably because the principal man had also fallen victim to the gastric illness that had spread through the cast. This must be a worrying moment for the company, Harald thought, the leading roles being taken by students when the King was in the audience.
A few moments later he was startled to see Mr. and Mrs. Duchwitz take their seats two rows in front of him. He should have known they would not miss their daughter's big moment. At first he worried that they would see him. Then he realized it no longer mattered. Now that the police had found his hiding place, he did not need to keep it secret from anyone else.
He remembered guiltily that he was wearing Mr. Duchwitz's American sports jacket. It was fifteen years old, according to the tailor's label in the inside pocket, but Karen had not actually asked her father's permission to take it. Would Pa Duchwitz recognize it? Harald told himself he was foolish even to think about it. Being accused of stealing a jacket was the least thing he had to worry about.
He touched the roll of film in his pocket and wondered if there was any chance he and Karen could still escape in the Hornet Moth. A lot depended on Peter Flemming's train. If it came in early, Flemming and Mrs. Jespersen would be back at Kirstenslot before Harald and Karen. Perhaps they could avoid getting caught, but it was hard to see how they could get access to the aircraft with the police watching over it. On the other hand, with Hansen out of the way there was no guard on the aircraft at the moment. If Flemming's train did not get in until the early hours of the morning, perhaps there was a chance they could yet take off.
Mrs. Jespersen did not know that Harald had seen her. She thought she had plenty of time. That was the only thing in Harald's favor.
When would the damn show start?
After everyone was seated in the auditorium, the King came into the royal box. The audience stood up. It was the first time Harald had seen King Christian X in person, but the face was familiar from photographs, the downturned moustache giving it a permanently grim expression that was appropriate to the monarch of an occupied country. He was in evening dress and stood very upright. In pictures the King always wore some kind of hat, and now Harald saw for the first time that he was losing his hair.
When the King sat, the audience followed suit, and the lights went down. At last, Harald thought.
The curtain rose on twenty or more women motionless in a circle and one man standing at the twelve o'clock position. The dancers, all dressed in white, posed in a pale bluish light like moonlight, and the bare stage disappeared into dark shadows at its edges. It was a dramatic opening, and Harald was fascinated despite his worries.
The music played a slow, descending phrase, and the dancers moved. The circle widened, leaving four people motionless upstage, the man and three women. One of the women lay on the ground as if asleep. A slow waltz began.
Where was Karen? All the girls were in identical dresses, with tight bodices that left their shoulders bare, and full skirts that billowed as they danced. It was a sexy outfit, but the atmospheric lighting made them all look the same, and Harald could not tell which was Karen.
Then the sleeping one moved, and he recognized Karen's red hair. She glided to the center of the stage. Harald was taut with anxiety, fearing she would do something wrong and spoil her great day; but she seemed assured and controlled. She began to dance on the tips of her toes. It looked painful, and made Harald wince, but she seemed to float. The company formed patterns around her, lines and circles. The audience was silent and still, captivated by her, and Harald's heart filled with pride. He was glad she had decided to do this, no matter what the consequences.
The music changed key and the male dancer moved. As he leaped across the stage, Harald thought he seemed uncertain and remembered that he, too, was an understudy, Anders. Karen had danced with confidence, making every move seem effortless, but there was tension in the boy's movements that gave his dancing a sense of risk.
The dance closed with the slow phrase that had opened it, and Harald realized there was no story, the dances would be as abstract as the music. He checked his watch. Only five minutes had passed.
The ensemble dispersed and re-formed in new configurations that framed a series of solo dances. All the music seemed to be in three-four time, and very melodic. Harald, who loved the discords of jazz, found it almost too sweet.
The ballet fascinated him, but nevertheless his mind wandered to the Hornet Moth, and Hansen tied up in the trunk of the Rolls, and Mrs. Jespersen. Could Peter Flemming have found the only punctual train in Denmark? If so, had he and Mrs. Jespersen gone to Kirstenslot yet? Had they found Hansen? Were they already lying in wait? How could Harald check? Perhaps he would approach the monastery through the woods, in the hope of spotting any ambush.
Karen began a solo dance, and he found himself more tense about her than about the police. He need not have worried: she was relaxed and self-possessed, swirling and tiptoeing and leaping as happily as if she were making it up as she went along. He was astonished at how she could perform some vigorous step, running or jumping across the stage, then come to an abrupt stop in a perfectly graceful pose, as if she had no inertia. She seemed to flout the laws of physics.
Harald became even more nervous when Karen began a dance with Jan Anders. It was called a pas de deux, he thought, although he was not sure how he knew that. Anders kept lifting her dramatically high in the air. Her skirt would billow up, showing her fabulous legs. Anders would hold her up, sometimes with one hand, while he struck a pose or moved around the stage. Harald feared for her safety, but again and again she came down with ease and grace. Nevertheless Harald was relieved when the pas de deux ended and the ensemble began. He checked his watch again. This must be the last dance, thank God.
Anders performed several spectacular leaps during the last dance, and reprised some of his lifts with Karen. Then, as the music built to a climax, disaster struck.
Anders lifted Karen again, then held her in the air with his hand in the small of her back. She stretched out parallel to the ground. Her legs curved forward with pointed toes, and her arms reached backward over her head, making an arch. They held the pose for a moment. Then Anders slipped.
His left foot shot out from under him. He staggered and fell flat on his back. Karen tumbled to the stage beside him, landing on her right arm and leg.
The audience gasped with horror. The other dancers rushed to the two fallen figures. The music played on for a few bars then died away. A man in black trousers and a black sweater came on from the wings.
Anders got to his feet, holding his elbow, and Harald saw that he was crying. Karen tried to get up but fell back. The figure in black made a gesture, and the curtain came down. The audience burst into excited chatter.
Harald realized he was standing up.
He saw Mr. and Mrs. Duchwitz, two rows in front of him, get to their feet and push urgently along the row, excusing themselves to the people they were passing. They were obviously intending to go backstage. Harald decided to do the same.
It was painfully slow getting out of the row of seats. In his anxiety, he had to restrain himself from simply walking along everyone's knees. But he reached the aisle at the same time as the Duchwitzes. "I'm coming with you," he said.
"Who are you?" said her father.
Her mother answered the question. "It's Josef's friend Harald, you've met him before. Karen is sweet on him, let him come."
Mr. Duchwitz grunted assent. Harald had no idea how Mrs. Duchwitz knew that Karen was "sweet" on him, but he was relieved to be accepted as part of the family.
As they reached the exit, the audience fell silent. The Duchwitzes and Harald turned at the door. The curtain had come up. The stage was empty but for the man in black.
"Your Majesty, ladies and gentlemen," he began. "By good fortune, the company doctor was in the audience tonight." Harald guessed that everyone associated with the ballet company would want to be present for a royal performance. "The doctor is already backstage, and is examining our two principals. He has told me that neither appears to be gravely injured."
There was a scatter of applause.
Harald was relieved. Now that he knew she was going to be all right, he thought for the first time about how the accident might affect their escape. Even if they could get at the Hornet Moth, would Karen be able to fly it?
The man in black resumed. "As you know from your program, both lead roles were played by understudies tonight, as were many of the other parts. Nevertheless, I hope you agree with me that they all danced wonderfully well, and gave a superb performance almost to the very end. Thank you."
The curtain came down, and the audience applauded. It came up again to reveal the cast, minus Karen and Anders, and they took a bow.
The Duchwitzes went out, and Harald followed.
They hurried to the stage door. An usher took them to Karen's dressing room.
She was sitting with her right arm in a sling. She looked stunningly beautiful in the creamy white gown, with her shoulders bare and the rise of her breasts showing above the bodice. Harald felt breathless, and did not know whether the cause was anxiety or desire.
The doctor was kneeling in front of her, wrapping a bandage around her right ankle.
Mrs. Duchwitz rushed to Karen, saying, "My poor baby!" She put her arms around Karen and hugged her. It was what Harald would have liked to do.
"Oh, I'm all right," Karen said, though she looked pale.
Mr. Duchwitz spoke to the doctor. "How is she?"
"She's fine," the man said. "She's sprained her wrist and ankle. They'll be painful for a few days, and she must take it easy for at least two weeks, but she'll get over it."
Harald was relieved that her injuries were not serious, but his immediate thought was, Can she fly?
The doctor fastened the bandage with a safety pin and stood up. He patted her bare shoulder. "I'd better go and see Jan Anders. He didn't fall as hard as you, but I'm a bit worried about his elbow."
"Thank you, Doctor."
His hand lingered on her shoulder, to Harald's annoyance. "You'll dance as wonderfully as ever, don't you worry." He left.
Karen said, "Poor Jan, he can't stop crying."
Harald thought Anders should be shot. "It was his fault - he dropped you!" he said indignantly.
"I know, that's why he's so upset."
Mr. Duchwitz looked at Harald with irritation. "What are you doing here?"
Once again it was his wife who answered. "Harald has been living at Kirstenslot."
Karen was shocked. "Mother, how did you know?"
"Do you think nobody noticed how the leftovers disappeared from the kitchen every night? We mothers aren't stupid, you know."
Mr. Duchwitz said, "But where does he sleep?"
"In the disused church, I expect," his wife replied. "That would be why Karen was so keen to keep it locked."
Harald was horrified that his secret had been so easily unveiled. Mr. Duchwitz was looking angry but, before he could explode, the King walked in.
Everyone fell silent.
Karen tried to stand up, but he stopped her. "My dear girl, please stay just where you are. How do you feel?"
"It hurts, Your Majesty."
"I'm sure it does. But no permanent damage, I gather?"
"That's what the doctor said."
"You danced divinely, you know."
"Thank you, sir."
The King looked inquiringly at Harald. "Good evening, young man."
"I'm Harald Olufsen, Your Majesty, a school friend of Karen's brother."
"Which school?"
"Jansborg Skole."
"Do they still call the headmaster Heis?"
"Yes - and his wife Mia."
"Well, be sure to take good care of Karen." He turned to the parents. "Hello, Duchwitz, it's good to see you again. Your daughter is marvelously talented."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. You remember my wife, Hanna."
"Of course." The King shook her hand. "This is very worrying for a mother, Mrs. Duchwitz, but I'm sure Karen will be all right."
"Yes, Your Majesty. The young heal fast."
"Indeed they do! Now, then, let's have a look at the poor fellow who dropped her." The King moved to the door.
For the first time, Harald noticed the King's companion, a young man who was assistant, or bodyguard, or perhaps both. "This way, sir," said the young man, and he held the door.
The King went out.
"Well!" said Mrs. Duchwitz in a thrilled voice. "How very charming!"
Mr. Duchwitz said, "I suppose we'd better get Karen home."
Harald wondered when he would get a chance to speak to her alone.
Karen said, "Mother will have to help me out of this dress."
Mr. Duchwitz moved to the door, and Harald followed him, not knowing what else to do.
Karen said, "Before I change, do you mind if I have a word alone with Harald?"
Her father looked irritated, but her mother said, "All right - just be quick." They left the room, and Mrs. Duchwitz closed the door.
"Are you really all right?" Harald asked Karen.
"I will be when you've kissed me."
He knelt beside the chair and kissed her lips. Then, unable to resist the temptation, he kissed her bare shoulders and her throat. His lips traveled downward, and he kissed the swell of her breasts.
"Oh, my goodness, stop, it's too nice," she said.
Reluctantly, Harald drew back. He saw that the color had returned to her face, and she was breathless. He was amazed to think his kisses had done that.
"We have to talk," she said.
"I know. Are you fit to fly the Hornet Moth?"
"No."
He had feared as much. "Are you sure?"
"It hurts too much. I can't even open a damn door. And I can hardly walk, so I couldn't possibly operate the rudder with my feet."
Harald buried his face in his hands. "Then it's all over."
"The doctor said it would only hurt for a few days. We could go as soon as I feel better."
"There's something I haven't told you yet. Hansen came snooping around again tonight."
"I wouldn't worry about him."
"This time he was with a woman detective, Mrs. Jespersen, who is a lot smarter. I listened to their conversation. She went into the church and figured out everything. She guessed that I'm living there and that I'm planning to escape in the aircraft."
"Oh, no! What did she do?"
"Went to fetch her boss, who happens to be Peter Flemming. She left Hansen on guard and told him to shoot me if I try to take off."
"To shoot you? What are you going to do?"
"I knocked Hansen out and tied him up," Harald said, not without a touch of pride.
"Oh, my God! Where is he now?"
"In the trunk of your father's car."
She found that funny. "You fiend!"
"I thought we had just one chance. Peter is on a train and she didn't know when he would get in. If you and I could have got back to Kirstenslot tonight before Peter and Mrs. Jespersen, we could still have taken off. But now that you can't fly . . ."
"We could still do it."
"How?"
"You can be the pilot."
"I can't - I've only had one lesson!"
"I'll talk you through everything. Poul said you had a natural talent for it. And I could operate the control stick with my left hand some of the time."
"Do you really mean it?"
"Yes!"
"All right." Harald nodded solemnly. "That's what we'll do. Just pray for Peter's train to be late."
