A Good Day's Work
Any plans for the day were now thrown out of the window. The first priority became finding out what von Stalhein was up to. Ginger was astonished at the man's powers of recovery. It seemed barely yesterday since they had left him severely injured. He must have an iron constitution, he mused.
The object of their curiosity, blithely unaware that he was under investigation, crossed the road and made his way up the hill toward the town. As one, Ginger and Cub hastened down the steps and collected their horses.
They mounted and walked slowly up the hill in pursuit. There was one advantage, thought Ginger. Von Stalhein had never met Cub and was highly unlikely to recognise him, Ginger, on horseback.
They managed to keep a respectable distance behind their quarry who continued on his way to the town centre. Ginger noticed that the man was walking with a pronounced limp, the legacy of his injuries in the Argentine, he presumed, but it in no way impeded his progress. His mouth went dry with shock as he remembered what the gypsy had told him. He had good reason to beware of von Stalhein.
On the way up the hill, Ginger looked for the man von Stalhein had been talking to, but he had vanished. It did cross his mind that perhaps they should have split up and one of them ought to have followed him, too, but his mind was in such a whirl at the sight of the German that he had not been thinking straight. He wondered what had been in the parcel von Stalhein had handed over.
At the top of the hill, von Stalhein stopped to admire the castle ruins. 'Damn the man,' thought Ginger, 'he has no business acting like a tourist. What is he playing at?' It left him in a bit of a quandary. Cub and he had to keep walking or it would look very suspicious. Recognising their predicament, Cub dismounted and lifted his horse's hoof, examining it for stones. Out of the corner of his eye, Ginger saw von Stalhein glance their way but obviously he saw nothing suspicious in two country boys out for a ride and having problems with one of the horses, for his gaze did not linger. Instead, he continued to look up and down the street. Evidently satisfied by what he saw, he turned on his heel and headed up the High Street.
Cub put the hoof down and remounted. "Neat work, Cub," complimented Ginger. "He didn't give us a second glance."
"We won't get away with that again, though," said Cub. "If he's in a branch of the Intelligence Service, he will be nobody's fool." Briefly, Ginger filled him in with von Stalhein's background.
Von Stalhein walked briskly up the main street before abruptly crossing back over the road toward an hotel. The George was an old coaching inn, a square, Georgian building with a portico supported on four massive columns. They watched as von Stalhein headed for the door, expecting to see him disappear into the lobby.
To Ginger's dismay, the German looked round before he went in and saw them. He altered his course and crossed the road, heading their way.
"He's coming over!" exclaimed Ginger in something of a panic. "He must have suspected something."
"Keep calm," said Cub tensely. "Get a grip of yourself. It may not be as bad as you think. He's not very likely to recognise you in this context, especially if you don't say anything. Bluff it out."
Von Stalhein barely gave the grey horse and her anxious rider a glance. Instead he came up to Cub and put his hand on the mare's neck.
"Nice animal," he remarked admiringly. The mare sidled away from him.
"She's a bit flighty," said Cub conversationally while Ginger felt the beads of perspiration break out on his brow. "You know what chestnut mares are like."
Von Stalhein agreed that he did, but averred that when one found a good one, she was very good indeed. "There is a lot of prejudice against redheads," said von Stalhein casually.
Ginger fumed. 'That's rich,' he thought. 'He'll be saying there's a lot of prejudice against Jews soon!' He bit his tongue.
"Did I see you have a problem just now?" continued von Stalhein.
Cub admitted that the mare had felt a bit lame, so he had got off to check out her hoof. "Everything is fine, now, though," he continued. "No harm done. She must have just stood on a stone."
"I'm glad to hear it," remarked von Stalhein. "It would be a terrible pity for such a magnificent animal to go lame."
Cub informed him that she was particularly valuable as she had good blood lines and moreover she was broken to harness, thus making her even more useful.
Ginger could have kicked him because von Stalhein then started to discuss breeding and the problems of breaking thoroughbred horses to harness. All the time he was getting more and more anxious, thinking that the German would be sure to look at him and realise that beneath the soft cap and riding clothes there was someone that he had good cause to know well. Cub seemed to be positively enjoying the encounter while Ginger's instincts were to remove himself as far as possible as quickly as possible. If he could have made his escape without drawing attention to himself, he would have.
Eventually, with a final admiring pat on the mare's neck, von Stalhein broke off the conversation and headed back across the road to the George.
As he watched the German disappear, Ginger felt quite weak from reaction. "I thought he'd never go," he exclaimed, letting out his pent-up breath in a long sigh.
Cub's lips twitched, thinking back to the tricks he had played on the Germans with his comrades of Les Poux Gris du Nord. "I've had more practice dealing with Jerries at close quarters than you have," he reassured him. "You massage their egos and you can have them eating out of your hand. They are so arrogant it makes them stupid."
"Von Stalhein is anything but stupid, remember that," Ginger warned him.
Cub looked at him sombrely. "Don't worry," he reassured his companion. "I'm not likely to forget it. He certainly knew what he was talking about, anyway." He paused, looking across at the old coaching inn reflectively. Then he seemed to make up his mind. Abruptly, he dismounted and handed his reins to Ginger. "Wait there," he instructed. "I'm going to see what I can find out." Before Ginger could protest, he crossed the road and after hesitating a moment on the threshold, went into the inn.
With what fever of impatience Ginger awaited his return it would be hard to describe. Cub seemed to have been gone for hours, but in reality it was no more than ten minutes. Finally, to Ginger's relief, he emerged, smiling.
"Well?" demanded Ginger when Cub had remounted and they were on their way along the High Street.
"He's posing as a Dutchman, a Mr van der Schans. He's in room 10."
Ginger eyed his companion with amazement. "How on earth did you find that out?" he wanted to know.
Cub smiled. "I said that I was passing and I saw a gentleman drop something and I wanted to give it back to him. I described him and the woman at the desk told me his name and room number."
"You didn't go up and talk to him again, did you?" said Ginger, aghast.
"No, of course not!" replied Cub scornfully. "I didn't have anything I could give him to account for the story. I just went up the stairs, waited until they were busy in reception and came back out again."
Ginger grinned at his companion. "Very smart," he commented. "Biggles would have approved of that. It's just the sort of thing he would do."
"Praise indeed," remarked Cub as they reached the end of the street and turned their horses' heads towards home. "A good day's work, I think."
Ginger could only agree.
