The Gestapo officer, Major Diessen, looked at him scornfully.
'And now,' he said. 'If you had been able to return to England, what would you have done with all these children?'
Howard said: 'I meant to send them to America.'
'Why?'
'Because it is safe over there.
Because this war is bad for children to see.
It would be better for them to be out of it.'
The German stared at him.
'Very fine words.
But who was going to pay to send them to America, may I ask?'
The old man said: 'Oh, I should have done that.'
The other smiled, scornfully amused.
'And what would they do in America?
Starve?'
'Oh no.
I have a married daughter over there.
She would have made a home for them until the war was over.'
'This is a waste of time,' the German said.
'You must think me a stupid fellow to be taken in with such a tale.'
Nicole said: 'Nevertheless, m'sieur, it is quite true.
I knew the son and I have known the father.
The daughter would be much the same.
American people are generous to refugees, to children.'
Diessen turned to her. 'So,' he sneered, 'mademoiselle comes in to support this story.
But now for mademoiselle herself.
We leam that mademoiselle was a friend of the old English gentleman's son.
A very great friend...' He barked at her suddenly. 'His mistress, no doubt?'
She drew herself up.
'You may say so if you like,' she said quietly.
'You can call a sunset by a filthy name, but you do not spoil its beauty, monsieur.'
There was a pause.
The young Tank officer leaned across and whispered a word or two to the Gestapo officer.
Diessen nodded and turned back to the old man.
'By the dates,' he said, 'you could have returned to England if you had travelled straight through Dijon.
But you did not do so.
That is the weak point of your story.
That is where your lies begin in earnest.'
He said sharply:
'Why did you stay in France?
Tell me now, quickly, and with no more nonsense.
I promise you that you will talk before tonight, in any case.
It will be better for you to talk now.'
Howard was puzzled and distressed.
'The little girl,' he turned and indicated Sheila, 'fell ill in Dijon.
I told you so just now.
She was too ill to travel.'
The German leaned across the table to him, white with anger.
'Listen,' he said. 'I warn you once again, and this for the last time.
I am not to be trifled with.
That sort of lie would not deceive a child.