After receiving wishes of luck from their colleagues, Hogan and Newkirk headed off for Paris late in the night, dressed in civilian clothes to avoid second glances by anyone on the street. Schultz and Langenscheidt took turns driving, and while Hogan managed to get a little bit of sleep, Newkirk went through yet another sleepless night as he stared blankly out the window, lost in another world.
They reached Paris in the afternoon, due to numerous checkpoints; Newkirk, who really had LeBeau's address in his head, gave it to the two Germans.
"That's the building," Newkirk said, pointing it out as he paid careful attention to the street signs. "Louis 'as a flat on the second floor; let's just 'ope that 'e's in."
"I don't know…" Hogan said, trailing off as Schultz got out of the car. "Schultz, you'd better wait here with Langenscheidt; you don't want anyone stealing the car."
"I have orders from Colonel Klink to keep a watch on you at all times," the big man replied, with a shrug. "Once in a while, I should listen to him, ja?"
"Fine," Hogan said, rolling his eyes at Klink's paranoia of an escape. If they had to, they could ditch Schultz; it wasn't even a challenge.
Newkirk led the way, having memorized the apartment number.
"This is the one, Sir," he said, pressing the doorbell. "Oi, Louis! Open up!"
There was no answer, nor was there any sound of movement inside.
"Pick the lock, Newkirk," Hogan ordered, frowning.
The Englishman bent over the lock to do so, but paused as he had a better look.
"Someone's already broken the lock," he said, pushing the door open. His eyes widened as the sight before them was a ransacked apartment. Furniture had been uprooted, cabinets and drawers had been flung open and emptied of their contents, and several sets of footprints were visible in the layer of dust on the floor.
Wordlessly, the three walked inside, looking around. Schultz placed his rifle against the wall and walked towards the kitchen. It, too, had not been spared.
"These prints are pretty recent; you can see the muddy water from the melted snow on their boots," Hogan said. "It's a safe bet that either Hochstetter or Mullenberg, if not both of them, were here."
"The Louis must be…" Newkirk trailed off, horrified.
"Don't jump to any conclusions," Hogan instructed. "LeBeau's a lot smarter than what Hochstetter's giving him credit for. Think about it. Hochstetter knows his address; this would be the first place he'd look. You think LeBeau wouldn't have figured that out? He might've used reverse psychology and stayed away from here."
"Colonel Hogan, I do not think LeBeau was ever here," Schultz declared, indicating the dusty stovetop. "He would have had cooked something; my nose tells me that nothing has been cooked here in years—nothing!"
"Well, I'm willing to trust Schultzie's nose," Newkirk replied. "Maybe there's a clue around 'ere that'd tell us where Louis might be 'iding."
Schultz obligingly began to go over the kitchen, picking up the recipe cards that the previous intruders had tossed to the floor.
"Hochstetter might have already thought about looking up his old girlfriends," Hogan said, picking up some love letters. "Here; take a look through these."
"Blimey; you can still smell the perfume on these… Oi, this one is actually in English!" Newkirk said, looking through the mostly-French letters. "'My Dear Louis, it is with great fondness that I recall our picnics by the Seine—'"
"Newkirk, get your priorities in order!" Hogan said, rolling his eyes.
"Right, Sir," Newkirk responded, but soon found another hiccup. "Sir, the envelopes are gone! Hochstetter might 'ave the girls' addresses!"
"Maybe not," said Hogan, upon discovering that his half of the stack didn't have any envelopes with them, either. "Think about it; would you hang on to the letters and the envelopes? The letters are what you want; LeBeau doesn't have the room in this little apartment to store the envelopes, too, no matter how perfumed they are."
"Oi, 'ang on a minute!" Newkirk said, picking up another stack of letters. "These are from family. 'is mum lives in Paris, too; I remember the address that Louis uses to write to 'er. I'll wager she might know some places where Louis might 'ide!"
"Oh, sure; as if she would give the locations of her son's haunts to two total strangers," Hogan responded. "We have no way of proving that we're LeBeau's friends. I think we should stick with the original plan."
"What do we do, Sir?" Newkirk asked.
"There are still a couple of places we could look," Hogan went on. "There's that Russian café where we met Marya; she might have left Paris a while ago, but it could be a place where LeBeau might've stopped to rest." He glanced over at Schultz, who was still looking through the recipes. "Here's what I want you to do, Newkirk; I want you to keep Schultz busy in that café while I slip out and try to contact one of Tiger's agents."
"I'll do me best, Sir," Newkirk promised.
"I know you will," the colonel replied. "Schultz, we're leaving."
The big man sighed, placing the recipe cards back in their box. If they did find LeBeau, he would have to ask him to make some of those dishes at some point.
"We're going to stop off at that Russian café for a quick snack," Hogan said. "Care to come along?"
"Ja, I could do with some crackers und caviar…" Schultz answered.
"You'll 'ave to pay for it with your own money; you do know that, right, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked, smirking.
"…Suddenly, I am not as hungry," Schultz said, shaking his head in dismissal. He headed for the door, wishing he could afford it.
"Oh, Schultz…" Hogan said. "You've forgotten something." He jerked his head towards the rifle that was still leaning against the wall.
Mumbling in his own tongue about the rifle not being loaded, the sergeant frantically retrieved his weapon as the American and the Englishman exchanged amused and exasperated glances.
After arriving at the café, it did not take much effort from Newkirk to keep Schultz occupied; he convinced him to have some tea as Hogan slipped out the back way. The colonel returned about twenty minutes later, looking flustered.
Newkirk made sure that Schultz was deeply engrossed in his tea before asking Hogan what had happened.
"Tiger's agent told me that they found the remaining two fliers early this morning," the colonel said. "Apparently, the 'short Frenchman' they were with led them to the Underground, but opted out of making the last leg of the journey with them. Those two are on their way to England now; we don't have to worry about those Stalag 6 boys any longer. It all comes down to LeBeau."
"He didn't go?" Newkirk repeated. "I know Louis was 'omesick, but…"
"My sentiments exactly," Hogan said. "I don't get how LeBeau could be smart enough to avoid staying at his own apartment but be stupid enough to stay in Paris."
Newkirk's eyes narrowed as an explanation came to him, but he kept it to himself. He didn't want to say anything for fear of tempting fate.
"Finding LeBeau is going to be a long shot," the colonel went on. "I have to admit that Tiger might be the only one who can do it, but…"
"You don't want her to get recaptured by Backsheider," Newkirk finished. "Sir, I know 'ow much you think of Tiger, but ol' Louis ain't going to be much better if Backsheider finds 'im."
"You think I don't know that?" Hogan retorted. "If anything, it'll be worse for LeBeau because Backsheider now knows that 'Marcel Chalet' is a fake and that LeBeau and I played him for a fool!"
"You are looking for the little Frenchman, da?" a new voice said. "He was here last night."
Newkirk looked up, surprised to see the café doorman, Antonovich. He had never met him personally, but Newkirk knew that he was on their side, having helped Hogan rescue Tiger from Backsheider.
"Looking for Marya, was 'e?" the Englishman asked.
"Nyet; he was looking for a place to stay. He said that it would not be possible for him to stay at home or in a hotel, and asked to be hidden here," the doorman answered. "If Marya was here, she would have accommodated him, so I agreed to hide him. He spent the night in the kitchen and left when I opened the café this morning. He came by for lunch; you missed him by just a few hours."
"Just our luck," Hogan responded. "I don't suppose he told you where he was going?"
"Nyet; he was being very secretive."
"Thanks anyway," the colonel said. "If he comes by again, tell him to stay here, and that we're looking for him. And have a few spots ready in that kitchen; Newkirk and I will be needing a place to stay tonight if we don't find him."
"Da, I understand."
"Schultz, come on; we're leaving," Hogan said, as he got to his feet.
"Where are we going?" the big man asked, puzzled.
"I don't really know," Hogan admitted. "Just have Langenscheidt drive us until we find somewhere that looks like a hiding place. Newkirk?"
"Sir?"
"You know LeBeau best out of anyone at Stalag 13; did he mention to you about any of his old haunts?"
"A few, Sir, but they were mainly the best places in town to take a girl you were trying to impress," the corporal said, as they headed back inside the car. "I doubt that Louis would return to any of them now."
"Then put yourself in his shoes. Where would you go?" Hogan asked.
"Well… I would stop in to see me mum, if only for a moment," Newkirk replied, thinking of his own dead mother. How fortunate LeBeau was, to still be able to send letters to his mother and father! Newkirk had never bothered sending letters to his estranged father; he had doubted that his father would even read them.
"I don't suppose it would hurt to ask; the worst she could do is close the door on us," Hogan decided, after thinking it over again. "Incidentally, what do you know about his father?"
"Divides his time between Paris and Èpernay to spend time with the missus when he ain't working," Newkirk said. "Louis doesn't like that his dad 'as to work at such an old age just to keep them going; it's one of the things that always made 'im think about going 'ome and getting 'old of all that back pay."
"You know all of that, and you still want him to come back to Stalag 13?" Hogan asked, incredulously.
"I reckon it is a bit selfish of me, Sir," Newkirk admitted. Deciding to change the subject, he gave the address of Madame LeBeau to Schultz and sat back in his seat, thinking about what would happen if they didn't find LeBeau.
Hogan might have his doubts about LeBeau's abilities to stay hidden, but Newkirk was willing to have a bit more faith. He could easily picture his friend working with Tiger in the French Underground. If that happened, there was always the possibility that his work might bring him back to Germany, where their paths could cross again. It didn't sound that bad to Newkirk, providing that LeBeau avoided capture.
On the other hand, LeBeau joining the French Underground didn't make sense. If that had been his decision instead of escaping to London, why wouldn't he tell Tiger's agent that instead of vanishing? Something didn't add up…
Newkirk was jolted out of his thoughts as Langenscheidt suddenly let out an exclamation in German, bringing the car to a sudden stop.
"This is the address, ja?" the German corporal asked, sounding nervous. "Is that not Major Hochstetter's staff car outside the front of the building?"
"Ach du lieber!" Schultz exclaimed. "Colonel Hogan, we must not stay here!"
"I've got to agree," said Hogan. "I'm sorry, Newkirk, but we can't ask her; we're going to have to search the city ourselves. Keep going, Langenscheidt."
Newkirk bit his lip, but said nothing. He knew that inside the building would be a battle of wills—one that he hoped Madame LeBeau would win.
Hochstetter, on the other hand, was certain that he would come out of this encounter successful as he stormed up the staircase. He had not found a trace of LeBeau or the fliers after a basic sweep of the city, not that he had expected to. And the search through the corporal's apartment had achieved nothing; LeBeau clearly had not used it since leaving Paris to join the French Air Force. But Hochstetter had seen the letters from LeBeau's family, friends, and girlfriends, and had known exactly what to do next.
After retrieving addresses from Backsheider's files, Hochstetter sent his men to the houses of those who had written the letters to question them, and he proceeded to arrive at the apartment of Madame Giselle LeBeau. He would question her personally.
Giselle had been all too used to the pounding on the door that heralded the arrival of an angry German. Hochstetter was just another one of many she had dealt with since the invasion.
"Ah, ciel!" she said, as she got up from her chair. "I am getting too old for this!"
"Frau LeBeau?" Hochstetter asked, sneering, as she opened the door. "I have some questions to ask you—"
"If you have come to ask me about my father's lost fortune, I will tell you as I have told others: I do not know where it is. Kindly leave me in peace!"
But Hochstetter invited himself inside, much to the lady's chagrin.
"I am not here to discuss trivial matters, Frau LeBeau; I am here to discuss the matter of your son, Corporal Louis LeBeau."
"What is there to say?" she asked. "You monsters shot him down near Salon and sent him to one of your cursed questioning facilities, and then to some Luft Stalag!"
"Then perhaps it will interest you to know that your son recently escaped from a Luft Stalag and is in this very city even as we speak," Hochstetter snarled. His glare was piercing as Giselle turned to him with a stunned expression. "I wish to know if he has contacted you in any way!"
"He has not," she responded, truthfully. "But if he had, why would I tell you? Prisoners of war are expected to escape, non? And my Louis is a mere corporal, not an officer; why would you even bother with looking for him?"
Hochstetter smirked, clearly enjoying being able to push her buttons.
"It is because I have reason to believe that this 'mere corporal' is involved with activities of sabotage and espionage in spite of his imprisonment in a Luft Stalag!"
"It is impossible," Giselle said, shaking her head. Non, it is not. My Louis would be one to find a way to fight for France from within a prisoner-of-war camp.
"Impossible, you say?" Hochstetter questioned. He suspected that she truly was in the dark; no spy or saboteur would take the risk of informing his near and dear ones. But, perhaps, he could tire her until she revealed some likely hiding places that the corporal would use. Even though Hochstetter still had the bottle of truth serum in his pocket, he had to admit to himself that not even he would consider using it on an elderly woman; after all, he had other plans for this serum once the corporal was recaptured.
"Answer me this, Frau LeBeau… Why, after eyewitness reports have confirmed his presence in this city since yesterday, has he not contacted you—his own mother?"
"I cannot say," she admitted. "I am sure he has good reason for doing so."
"Ja, he knows that my men and I would be after him because of his ties to the Underground!" Hochstetter snarled. "And mark my words, once I find the proof to convict him, the next time you will see your son will be at his funeral!"
If looks could kill, it would have been Hochstetter lying dead at Giselle's feet.
"Oh, I ruddy give up!" Newkirk exclaimed, after hours of searching yielded no sign of his friend. "Louis 'as gone and pulled a disappearing act worthy of 'oudini!"
"We've got another day of searching ahead of us tomorrow," Hogan said, but even he was beginning to rationalize—and hope—that if they couldn't find LeBeau, then Hochstetter would be no closer than they were… assuming he got nothing out of Madame LeBeau. But knowing how patriotic Louis was, his mother was sure to be no different.
"Needle in a blooming 'aystack," the Englishman insisted. "I just 'ope that 'is mum can stand the questioning that nosy parker's drilling 'er with."
He wasn't sure as to how far Hochstetter would go; as far as he was concerned, the major didn't have a shred of good in him. Newkirk didn't want LeBeau's escape to come at the price of his mother's death. The Englishman frowned, once again recalling his own mother. It wasn't as though LeBeau didn't know the feeling of losing a family member he looked up to, also; he had mentioned his dead grandfather on more than one occasion.
Newkirk's eyes widened as he recalled the conversation with Hogan earlier.
"Put yourself in his shoes. Where would you go?"
"Well… I would stop in to see me mum…"
"Langenscheidt, stop the car!" Newkirk exclaimed.
"Was? Was?" the startled German corporal asked.
"Newkirk, what are you trying to do?" Hogan asked.
"Sir, I know where Louis is," the Englishman replied. "Only, I don't know the address of the ruddy place. Let me off 'ere; I'll find someone who can give me directions."
"Nein, I cannot let you go alone, Newkirk," said Schultz. "And it is only a half hour until curfew; there will be very few people out and about right now."
"Schultzie, please!" the Englishman replied. "I'll come back, upon me honor! Colonel… Sir…" Newkirk turned his pleading eyes towards Hogan. "Sir, I know you don't 'ave much of a reason to trust me, but let me go just this once!"
"You couldn't just tell me your hunch?" Hogan asked.
"There's no time, Sir. I doubt you'd know the place, and one bloke running around is sure to attract less attention than two."
Hogan stared at the corporal for a long moment.
"Let him go, Schultz; I'll take full responsibility for whatever happens."
"Colonel Hogan!" the big man protested. "My orders! The curfew!"
"Oh, come on, Schultzie; if I find Louis, it means you get to eat apple strudel again!" Newkirk countered. "I'll be back 'ere before curfew, don't worry!"
"But if you're not, you do realize it means getting arrested," Hogan reminded him. "I got lucky with getting Tiger out of Backsheider's grip, but lightning doesn't strike twice."
"I know, Sir," Newkirk said, quietly. He got out of the car, running.
"Sergeant!" Langenscheidt exclaimed, gesturing to the retreating Newkirk. "Are you not going to stop him?"
Schultz let out a defeated sigh.
"Karl," he said. "If there is one thing I have learned, it is that going along with Colonel Hogan's plans usually ends in positive results."
Newkirk was already out of sight of the car by the time Schultz has started talking. The big man had been right; there didn't seem to be anyone about. He had run a couple of hundred yards before he had finally spotted someone—a woman—walking ahead. He was about to call out to her when her face became visible in the streetlight.
Gretel! his mind exclaimed.
He didn't stop to wonder how or why she was in Paris; he merely dove into the shadows until she had gone. He had his suspicions; she was either here to find LeBeau on Backsheider's orders, or she was on a mission to seduce another poor member of the Underground and pump secret information from him, too. Whichever the reason, Newkirk pitied the next man doomed to fall to her wily ways.
After the coast was clear, Newkirk continued on his way. His time was getting more and more limited, but, at last, he saw an old couple walking towards him.
"Pardon," he said, mustering up all the knowledge of French that LeBeau had struggled to teach him. The result, however, was a broken mix of French and English. "Le cimetière… I'm trying to find le Vicomte de Chagny. Er, 'is grave, I mean. …Sa tombe, s'il vous plait."
The couple willingly gave Newkirk the directions he sought. Thanking them, and then running off again, he made it to the cemetery gates in another five minutes, not surprised to see them unlocked.
The snow had accumulated on the grass and the pathway through the spacious cemetery; Newkirk noticed the set of footprints already in the snow. Again, he wasn't surprised.
The night wind caused the Englishman to shudder, though it was also partly due to the prospect of being in a cemetery after nightfall. In their younger days, he and Mavis would sometimes dare each other to enter a local cemetery in the dark. These dares often ended with both of them going in, Mavis clutching his arm as trees and branches became faces with limbs, and as stone angels seemed to gain lives of their own as the moonlight cast an unearthly glow over their faces.
There was no moon tonight; only the dim light from the nearby buildings provided the light that prevented Newkirk from losing the trail of footprints ahead of him. The Englishman found himself to be a little bit too engrossed in his task of following the prints; he had let down his guard.
A figure emerging from the darkness within a cemetery was frightening enough. Newkirk found it a hundredfold worse as the figure clapped a cold hand over his mouth and placed an even colder gun to his temple.
"Qui êtes-vous?"
Newkirk calmed down. His muffled voice immediately responded with words that translated to "You blooming idiot!"
He was released in an instant; neither of the two corporals looked surprised to see the other there.
"What was the point in attacking me if you knew I was coming?" Newkirk asked.
"I had to make sure," LeBeau countered. "And you took long enough; it was so near curfew that I thought it was the caretaker!"
"I took long enough? You cheeky rascal! If you 'ad just gone on to London like you were supposed to, I wouldn't 'ave 'ad to drag meself out 'ere just to find you. What's the game, Louis?"
"I knew that once you received news about the ambush, le colonel would find a way to come to Paris, and I had a feeling you would, as well."
"Oh, and you didn't want us to 'ave a wasted trip?" Newkirk asked.
"Non; I… I had the chance to do some thinking," LeBeau replied. "I decided that I did not want to go to London after all."
"You can't stay 'ere, little mate; you know that, right?"
"Oui; I know."
The two exchanged glances, and Newkirk managed a wan smile. It was what he had predicted earlier, but had not wanted to say.
"There's still a bunk waiting for you at Stalag 13," he said. "Right where you left it."
LeBeau gave a nod. "It is what I had in mind."
"Good, but we've only got about fifteen minutes to get back to the Guv'nor," Newkirk replied. "Let's just 'ope we make it in time, or we'll both be in 'ot water."