‘Bremen General, sir. They did some tests, and they said I’d got cancer. In the stomach. I thought that was my lot, see?’
‘It usually is one’s lot,’ observed the lawyer drily.
‘Well, that’s what I thought, sir. Only apparently it was caught at an early stage. Anyway, they put me on a course of drugs, instead of operating, and after some time the cancer went into regress.’
‘So far as I can see, you’re a lucky man. What’s all this about being recognised?’
‘Yes, well, it was this hospital orderly, see? He was Jewish, and he kept staring at me. Every time he was on duty he kept staring at me. It was a funny sort of look, see? And it got me worried. The way he kept looking at me. With a sort of “I know you” look on his face. I didn’t recognise him, but I got the impression he knew me.’
‘Go on.’ The lawyer was showing increasing interest.
‘So about a month ago they said I was fit to be transferred, and I was taken away and put in a convalescent clinic. It was the employees’ insurance scheme at the bakery that paid for it. Well, before I left the Bremen General I remembered him. The Jew-boy I mean. It took me weeks, then I got it. He was an inmate at Flossenburg.’
The lawyer jack-knifed upright.
‘You were at Flossenburg?’
‘Yes, well I was getting round to that, wasn’t I? I mean, sir. And I remembered this hospital orderly from then. I got his name in the Bremen hospital. But at Flossenburg he had been in the party of Jewish inmates that we used to burn the bodies of Admiral Canaris and the other officers that we shot for their part in the assassination attempt on the Fuehrer.’
The lawyer stared at him again.
‘You were one of those who executed Canaris and the others?’ he asked.
Miller shrugged.
‘I commanded the execution squad,’ he said simply. ‘Well, they were traitors, weren’t they? They tried to kill the Fuehrer.’
The lawyer smiled.
‘My dear fellow, I’m not reproaching you. Of course they were traitors. Canaris had even been passing information to the Allies. They were all traitors, those army swine, from the generals down. I just never thought to meet the man who killed them.’
Miller grinned weakly.
‘The point is, the present lot would like to get their hands on me for that. I mean, knocking off Jews is one thing, but now there’s a lot of them saying Canaris and that lot, saying they were sort of heroes.’
The lawyer nodded.
‘Yes, certainly that would get you into bad trouble with the present authorities in Germany. Go on with your story.’
‘I was transferred to this clinic and I didn’t see the Jewish orderly again. Then last Friday I got a telephone call at the conval
escent clinic. I thought it must be the bakery calling, but the man wouldn’t give his name. He just said he was in a position to know what was going on, and that a certain person had been and informed those swine at Ludwigsburg who I was, and there was a warrant being prepared for my arrest. I didn’t know who the man could be, but he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. Sort of official-sounding voice, if you know what I mean, sir?’
The lawyer nodded understandingly.
‘Probably a friend on the police force of Bremen. What did you do?’
Miller looked surprised.
‘Well, I got out, didn’t I? I discharged myself. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t go home in case they were waiting for me there. I didn’t even go and pick up my Volkswagen, which was still parked in front of my digs. I slept rough Friday night, then on Saturday I had an idea. I went to see the boss, Herr Eberhardt, at his house. He was in the telephone directory. He was real nice to me. He said he was leaving with Frau Eberhardt for a winter cruise the next morning, but he’d try and see me all right. So he gave me the letter and told me to come to you.’
‘What made you suspect Herr Eberhardt would help you?’
‘Ah, yes, well, you see, I didn’t know what he had been in the war. But he was always real nice to me at the bakery. Then about two years back we was having the staff party. We all got a bit drunk, see? And I went to the men’s room. There was Herr Eberhardt washing his hands. And singing. He was singing the Horst Wessel Song. So I joined in. There we was, singing it in the men’s room. Then he clapped me on the back, and said, “Not a word, Kolb,” and went out. I didn’t think no more about it till I got into trouble. Then I thought, “Well, he might have been in the SS like me.” So I went to him for help.’
‘And he sent you to me?’
Miller nodded.