There was a long moment of silence, as Hogan contemplated what Claudia Valensizi had just told him.
"Teppel was with the Abwehr," he said at last. "That organisation was dismantled a couple of months ago."
Valensizi sighed. "I am aware of the situation, Colonel Hogan. I've been in Berlin, it was all anyone talked about. That and the price of silk gloves," she added.
"So where does that leave Teppel?"
"In hiding," replied the prima donna. "But he's running out of time."
She glanced past him. "I don't think we can talk here. I don't suppose there's any chance you can come to my hotel room after the reception?"
"After the reception," observed Hogan, with evident regret, "I'll be heading straight back to Stalag 13. They saved a seat for me in the truck, I'd hate to miss my ride."
"Che peccato." Valensizi seemed equally regretful. "Then I shall have to take up Kommandant Klink's invitation to pay a visit. He seems very proud of the place. He kept telling me there has never been an escape."
"Yeah, he says that a lot. Sometimes I think he believes it." He was smiling faintly, but behind the pleasant expression his mind was working rapidly. If Morrison was still in Germany, it was a serious problem; the man not only knew about Stalag 13, he probably had inside knowledge of half the Allied intelligence network in the Third Reich. If he was captured, and broke under questioning, there would be hell to pay, for a whole lot of people. Besides, Hogan liked the man.
On the other hand, the prima donna could be lying. She could be working for the Gestapo. Morrison could already be in their hands.
Either way, Hogan knew he needed to find out more. "Okay, you call on the Kommandant, I'll try to come up with some way we can talk alone once you're there."
"From what the major told me, I have no doubt you will think of something...and that's why the soprano always sings before she dies." Valensizi's voice turned conventionally polite as she finished the sentence.
"Glad to have that cleared up," said Hogan meditatively. He turned his head, and added, "Oh, sorry, sir, were you looking for me?"
Klink peered at him suspiciously through his monocle. "Hogan, what are you doing out here?"
Hogan's gaze went back towards the soprano. "Just enjoying the view, Colonel."
She was looking over the garden again, and only the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth gave any indication she'd heard him.
"You are not to leave the ballroom for any reason. I have my eye on you, Hogan. Remember, there is nothing that escapes my notice," said Klink, in his most hectoring manner.
"I know, sir. It's almost uncanny," replied Hogan. "Signorina, may I...?" He held his arm out towards the soprano.
"I will escort the signorina, Hogan," growled Klink.
Valensizi ceased her contemplation of the rockery, and turned her head, a slow smile developing across her face. "Gentlemen, please. No need for a disagreement." She moved towards Klink, and laid one delicate hand on his arm; but the smile was directed towards Hogan. He returned it, and fell in behind Klink as the Kommandant returned to the ballroom with his prize.
Newkirk looked across as they entered, and gave a tiny nod, before turning back to Schultz, with whom he was apparently engaged in some kind of complicated argument, by way of keeping the guard distracted. There was no sign of LeBeau; presumably he'd already slipped out to make the pick-up. Hogan, stopping only to help himself to a glass of champagne from Carter, went off to socialise.
Almost immediately he was accosted by one of the other guests, a lady no longer of tender years, disconcertingly robed in pink. Gertrude Linkmeyer was an old acquaintance; Burkhalter's only sister, the widow of a Russian Front hero (though rumour continued to whisper that her beloved Otto had in fact defected, in order to escape a marriage which was even more purgatorial than the Eastern winter), she had for some time had her eye on Colonel Klink as a replacement. In consequence there was no friendly spirit in her eye, as she regarded his attentions towards Claudia Valensizi.
"You know, I hear she used to visit one of those cabaret clubs in Berlin, " she remarked, with a touch of malice. "She even sang there some nights. I don't understand how any respectable woman could lower herself."
"That would have been something to see," murmured Hogan. He didn't like Gertrude; she was a commonplace little woman, with commonplace interests, an embittered spirit and an entirely misaligned scale of principles. But he knew how lonely she was, and how afraid of growing old alone, and although he wasn't above making use of the weaknesses of her character for his own ends, sometimes he felt sorry for her.
His remark passed her by; she was already off on another tack. "Do you have any idea how much they're paying her to sing at that concert? Of course, it's all confidential, but Bertha - Albert's wife, you know - she's on the organising committee, and she told me. Two thousand marks. For three songs. It's scandalous."
Money well spent, thought Hogan, remembering the lady's recent performance
"And she still gets paid, even if it doesn't go ahead," added Gertrude, pursing her lips in disapproval. "So if the choir has to pull out..."
She trailed off, the hint of a spiteful smile crossing her face. Apparently Gertrude wouldn't be disappointed to see the whole affair fall apart. Hogan didn't care one way or the other, and he was about to change the subject, when a sudden realisation came to him. No concert meant no excuse for Valensizi to stay in Hammelburg; and right now, assuming she was on the level, she was the only link to Morrison. This could be a problem.
"Is it likely?" he asked, disinterestedly.
Gertrude dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. "Well, apparently..."
She got no further. There was a scuffle, and a flurry of protest, from the main door, before one of Burkhalter's aides burst in, dragging LeBeau by the collar of his shirt. Klink, with a muttered exclamation, scurried across the room, and Hogan followed.
"I found him in the corridor, Herr Kommandant," said Captain Baumann.
LeBeau, forced by Baumann's grip on his collar to stand on tiptoes, turned a fierce glare on him. "I felt sick," he replied angrily. "It's hot in here, I needed some air."
"You'll feel more than sick, when we get back to Stalag 13," hissed Klink. Then as Burkhalter trundled towards them, with a tetchy query on his lips, the Kommandant's tone changed. "No, General, no problem at all."
"I hope not, Klink," replied Burkhalter acidly. "If anything happens to spoil the party, the next reception you will attend will be one where the dress code includes snow shoes." He let that sink in, before he moved away.
Klink fulminated. "I'll deal with you later, cockroach," he muttered. "Get back to work. Captain..."
LeBeau dropped as Baumann let go of him, and shot an apologetic look at Hogan. The captain, with a last suspicious glare, strode off after the Kommandant.
"Sorry, mon Colonel," LeBeau whispered. "I was halfway along the corridor when I saw him coming. I tried to hide behind one of the potted palms, but it didn't work. They don't feed their plants enough," he added disapprovingly. "They're very weedy."
"Never mind," said Hogan. "Did you make the pick-up?"
"Yes, but..."
"LeBeau, what were you doing out there?" The interruption came from Schultz, who had waited only until Klink was out of hearing. "You could have got into so much trouble. The next time you want to go for a walk, let me know so I can keep watch."
LeBeau glanced at Hogan, then pinned an apologetic smile to his lips. "Sorry, Schultz. I don't know what I was thinking."
"You didn't think at all. That's the trouble with you, LeBeau. One of these days you will not think once too often, and when I think about what the Kommandant will think - well, I can't bear to think about it." Schultz heaved a sigh, and wandered off, waylaying Carter on the way in the interests of bolstering his own spirits with a little refreshment.
"I dropped the package behind the palm tree," murmured LeBeau.
Hogan sighed. "Great. We've got no hope of getting out there now, Klink's going to be watching every move we make." He glanced around the ballroom, frowning slightly as he considered the problem; and as his eye fell on Claudia Valensizi, the solution came to him.
He didn't know yet whether he believed her. But regardless of whether she was on the level or working for the other side, he knew she wanted to gain his trust. Either way, she had everything to gain by helping them out with this little problem. He gave LeBeau a grin, and made his way to the lady's side.
"Signorina," he said mildly, "I need to ask a favour."