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today. There will be a little fever to treat. Tell the doctor he fell upon his climbing axe. He won’t believe you, but there’ll be no bullet for him to beinquisitive about. Oh, and if you could find me a little petrol for my car …’
    It was five in the afternoon and almost dark again when Stephan woke me. The local doctor, he reported, as he set an enormous tray of food down beside the bed, had been, dressed the wound, prescribed, and gone. My car was filled up with petrol and awaited me below if I wished to drive to Zürich that night. Kurt was awake and could not be prevailed upon to sleep until he had thanked me.
    They were all there, grouped about the bed, when I went downstairs. Bruno was the only one who looked as if he had had any sleep.
    He sprang to his feet. ‘Here, Kurt,’ he said facetiously, ‘is the
Herr Doktor
. He is going to cut your leg off.’
    Only the woman did not laugh at the jest. Kurt himself was smiling when I bent over to look at him.
    He was a youngish-looking man of about forty with intelligent brown eyes and a high, wide forehead. The smile faded from his face as he looked at me.
    ‘You know what I wish to say,
Herr Doktor?
’
    I took refuge in professional brusqueness. ‘The less you say, the better,’ I said, and felt for his pulse. But as I did so his fingers moved and gripped my hand.
    ‘One day soon,’ he said, ‘England and the Third Reich will be at war. But you will not be at war with Germany. Remember that, please,
Herr Doktor.
Not with Germany. It is people like us who are Germany, and in our way we shall fight with England. You will see.’
    I left soon after.
    At nine that night I was in Zürich.
    Llewellyn was back in the room. I put the manuscript down. He looked across at me.
    ‘Very interesting,’ I said.
    ‘I’d considered sending it up to one of these magazines that publish short stories,’ he said apologetically. ‘I thought I’d like your opinion first, though. What do you think?’
    I cleared my throat. ‘Well, of course, it’s difficult to say. Very interesting, as I said. But there’s no real point to it, is there? It needs something to tie it all together.’
    ‘Yes, I see what you mean. It sort of leaves off, doesn’t it? But that’s how it actually happened.’ He looked disappointed. ‘I don’t think I could invent an ending. It would be rather a pity, wouldn’t it? You see, it’s all true.’
    ‘Yes, it would be a pity.’
    ‘Well, anyway, thanks for reading it. Funny thing to happen. I really only put it down on paper for fun. Have another brandy?’ He got up. ‘Oh, by the way. I was forgetting. I heard from those people about a week after war broke out. A letter. Let’s see now, where did I put it? Ah, yes.’
    He rummaged in a drawer for a bit, and then, tossing a letter over to me, picked up the brandy bottle.
    The envelope bore a Swiss stamp and the postmark was Klosters, September 4th, 1939. The contents felt bulky. I drew them out.
    The cause of the bulkiness was what looked like a travel agent’s folder doubled up to fit the envelope. I straightened it. On the front page was a lino-cut of a clump of pines on the shore of a lake and the word TITISEE . I opened out the folder.
    ‘ GERMAN MEN AND WOMEN, COMRADES !’ The type was worn and battered. ‘Hitler has led you into war. He fed you with lies about the friendly Polish people. In your name he has now committed a wanton act of aggression against them. As a consequence, the free democracies of England and France have declared war against Germany. Comrades, right and justice are on their side. It is Hitler and National Socialism who are the enemies of peace in Europe. Our place as true Germans is at the side of the democracies against Hitler, against National Socialism. Hitler cannot win this war. But the people of Germany must act. All Germans, Catholics, Protestants, and Jews, must act now. Our Czech and Slovak friends are already refusing to make guns for Hitler. Let