Heil Harris!

managed—”
    “ You managed?”
    Steed laughed. “Well, I must admit that I failed to kill Colonel Hayburn.”
     

11

Harris kaput
     
    “If we hurry,” said Steed, “we should reach that farmhouse before Harris leaves.”
    “Why don’t we let him go,” Emma asked. “I’m sure that when he reaches Germany he’ll disrupt the whole right wing movement. He’d be as good as a secret weapon.”
    The parade ground was filled with swirling crowds of grey-uniforms, officers shouting “Stand at ease!” and “Attention!” with nobody seeming to hear. The word mutiny had got around, and voices clamoured with excuses now that Hayburn was dead. Steed lowered himself gingerly into the tiny Lotus and allowed himself to be driven away from the scene. Let the army sort out its own muddle.
    “I wonder why people are always plotting revolution and scheming for power,” he reflected. The sun was shining this morning and the hills were green with corn. If only more people would take up gardening, or fishing.... “I don’t understand people like Hitler.” Emma laughed. “I think it’s time you abandoned that autobiography. It seems to be turning your mind.” He considered the matter. He had been relishing the phrase ‘so, one is tempted to ask, what?’ and he’d thought up a splendid footnote. ‘The three corpses in Hitler’s bunker were never identified, but we have reason to believe they were three stooges.’ But perhaps it would all have to be sacrificed.
    “Remind me on our way home,” he said, “to stop at a hardware, shop and buy a spade.”
    The farmhouse appeared to be deserted. Emma drove straight up to the house and they knocked on the door.
    “Do you know,” Steed said as they waited, “I almost thought for a while that Harris was really Adolf Hitler.” Emma laughed.
    “Perhaps you’d better climb through the window,” Steed said eventually, “He clearly doesn’t intend to answer the door.”
    He watched Emma swing gracefully on to the porch roof and disappear through an upstairs window. There were no gun shots and no sound of breaking furniture. Steed waited peacefully, plucked a green carnation for his button-hole and waved to a buxom young lady going past on a tractor.
    “Come in,” said Emma. She held the door open looking grim. “I’ve found something that should interest you.”
    “Splendid.” He followed her into the house. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Can you remind me to advertise for a good gardener instead?”
    “Down in the basement.”
    Steed followed her into the concrete air raid shelter beneath the house. “My God,” he murmured. He looked at the bodies on the floor. “This reminds me of the day when...” Three of the corpses were identical. They all looked exactly like Ludwig Harris.
    “How do you account for that?” asked Emma.
    “I don’t,” he pronounced. “But at least we have a triple certainty that he is dead.”