The Legion of the Lost, стр. 46

‘The sirens—’ he started, then stopped, gulped and forced a laugh at himself. ‘No, no, I joke!’ he assured them. ‘I joke.’

But his voice trembled.

He began a tour of Berlin’s night spots which left Palfrey with a feeling of nausea and seemed to delight only the German.

There were few places open and the black-out was at least as good as London’s. Very few people were in the streets, but the little signs indicating air-raid shelters seemed to be everywhere. Stolte put his pursuit of pleasure even above his fears of being caught out in a raid, although every unaccustomed sound made him start.

Near the huge Scala Cinema, a shrouded mass of cement, he took them along a side street, through a narrow doorway and then down a flight of narrow steps. The lighting in the room which opened out in front of them was poor. A few dozen tables were dotted about the room and some ‘girls’ who had long since passed the prime of life were putting on a leg-show: they were trying to imitate the Folies Bergères, failing singularly, for they were scrawny, scraggy creatures. A few members of the Party were sitting about, glum-faced. Thin beer was brought to their table – it had a foul, bitter taste. There was no hope of getting Schnapps here, Stolte told them, but he knew a place – yes, he knew a place! Meanwhile, perhaps the men would like to dance? He and Fräulein Berg would make fine partners, he was sure.

Palfrey said stiffly: ‘None of us will dance here.’

‘No, no, of course not, Herr Professor,’ said Stolte. He swilled down the remainder of his drink. ‘You do not like it, no? Ah, there is a place—such a place!’

And so it went on.

Tawdriness, beastliness! Stolte was obviously well known, but he paid mammoth prices for what little drink he obtained – the ‘Swiss’ declared themselves to be abstemious although Palfrey was tempted to soak the German as heavily as he could; the trouble was that it would take years of practice to get used to the stuff called beer in Berlin. Inwardly Palfrey felt exhilarated; the evidence of the decline of morale even amongst the Party men was good to see.

It was early morning when Stolte, quite unaffected by rebuff after rebuff, stood up from a table and declared: ‘Now, now I take you to the great place of Berlin! It is good—so good you will hardly believe it. It is in the Unter den Linden. You are not too tired?’ He shook his head to answer himself before leading them out again into the dark night. On the street he whispered: ‘This is the Palace of Gold. It is wonderful, so wonderful—only those who are well-favoured can gain admittance. You admit I do you well, yes?’

‘You do your best,’ said Palfrey grudgingly.

He would have preferred to be at the little apartment house, but it was necessary to go with Stolte, to get acclimatised to Berlin. Although every place to which they went increased the risk of their being seen and recognised, they had to take the chance.

Outside a door Stolte said: ‘I am instructed to take you to this place at four o’clock, otherwise we should have come earlier. Ah-ha, you will wait to see!’ He went through the necessary formalities at the door, led the way down a wider flight of stairs than at any of the previous places, and into a foyer which was better lighted than any he had seen. Through swing doors came music which sounded gayer, more like the real Berlin which Palfrey had known in the days of peace, It was a Strauss waltz, light, lilting and lovely. But he was wary now – there was probably a reason for this visit.

He heard laughter when the doors were opened – the first time he had heard anyone laugh freely since he had been in Berlin. He was dazzled by the bright yellow light which came through the doors when Stolte held them open. It was mostly reflected light but gave some justification for the name ‘Palace of Gold’. The tables were freshly painted, there was a prosperous air about the place. Palfrey, gradually getting accustomed to the light, saw that, although it was crowded, the air did not have the fetid smell which had sickened him in the others.

One thing grew obvious immediately.

There were few Germans there – and what few he saw were all in S.S. uniform. Most of the people were foreigners – French, Italian, he fancied he saw Greeks, was sure that there was a party of Croats, also fair-haired Danes and Norwegians. It was a melting-pot of the conquered nations – but there was no gloom. A smartly-dressed orchestra sat on a raised dais, where a plump little man conducted. The women dancing were well dressed, some few of them in evening gowns. It was like a breath of new life – or of the old life, come back to them. There was gaiety and light-heartedness, and Palfrey was at a loss to understand it.

‘A fine place, yes?’ whispered Stolte.

An old, white-haired man led them to a large table where places were reserved for them; three other places were set at the table and on one chair was a woman’s handbag. Palfrey, wondering who their companions were to be, ordered beer and was surprised when it came quickly and had a good head.

It was the nearest thing which had approached on the tour to good German lager.

He watched the dancing, idly at first, vaguely aware of the fact that they had an appointment, although they did not know with whom. He tried to tell himself that he should be more on the qui vive, yet failed to take the warning too seriously. He fancied that the others felt the same.

The dancing stopped and the crowd on the small floor broke up. Three or four couples made their way to Palfrey’s table. Palfrey suddenly went hot and cold,