They were handed over to Major Wilhelm, who was awaiting them outside. He received his instructions standing stiffly at attention, then, bidding the sham Bavarians accompany him, led them to a large car which was awaiting him below. The driver was in the uniform of a storm trooper, as was the man who sat by his side. Major Wilhelm with a sergeant took seats in the tonneau opposite the new witnesses. The speedy run to Potsdam was not marked by any more eagerness on the part of Major Wilhelm to enter into conversation with the men under his charge than before. For the most part he sat moodily silent, only occasionally addressing a curt word to the sergeant by his side. Sir Leonard and Cousins maintained an attitude of anxious discomposure as though feeling a guilty dislike for the task to which they were committed. Once or twice they essayed to speak to each other about the country through which they were passing, only to lapse almost immediately into silence again apparently having no heart for such a topic.
The Wannsee Prison had been itself a castellated palace before the Great War, but it had nothing of the stillness and lifelessness of its fellows. The high walls half hiding it looked grim and forbidding, the powerful iron gates menacing, the towers, rearing their grey bulk to the sky, suggestive of stern, unrelenting restraint. As a palace it must have been an unpleasant kind of place in which to reside; as a prison it certainly appeared to be fulfilling its real object. It was; in fact, the very building in which political prisoners would be expected to be confined. As he viewed it, Sir Leonard’s lips pursed a little. If Hanni’s attempt failed, the chances of getting the baroness away seemed very slender.
Major Wilhelm was subjected to a good deal of questioning and his orders carefully scrutinised before the gates were opened, and the car allowed to proceed. A powerful guard, with sentries posted every few yards it seemed, was on duty; in fact, the whole place simply bristled with armed men. Wallace had not expected anything quite like that. He wondered if von Strom possessed any suspicions that an attempt might possibly be made to rescue the Baroness von Reudath. To hold a secret trial, and then send a large body of Nazis to keep guard seemed a contradictory state of affairs. The very presence of the armed force was enough to rouse interest and excitement, thereby promoting rumours which would naturally spread like wild-fire, and rumour is ever apt to be dangerous. The German press was muzzled, of course, but matters which cause exceptional curiosity have a habit of percolating out of even the most guarded country. The Supreme Marshal certainly would not wish foreign newspapers to get hold of half a truth and from that deduct and publish an exaggerated report which would attract the suspicious eyes of Europe to his country.
Within the walls there remained more indication of the old glories of the palace that had become a prison. The courtyard still contained marble fountains, while the exterior cornices of the buildings, enclosing it on three sides, were supported on geometrically positioned pilasters. Through an open doorway beyond, Wallace and Cousins caught sight of flowers and hedges in stiff patterns, lilac and laburnum trees, festoons of bourgainvillea and lavender and white acacia. Further on terraces, still trim and neat, could be seen descending to the bank of the Wannsee. But neither the Chief of the British Secret Service nor his companion were particularly interested in searching for signs of ancient dignity and beauty just then. Their eyes were occupied, though not appearing to be thus engaged, in absorbing a picture of their surroundings and imprinting it on their minds for future reference. Not an item escaped them. The positions of the sentries, the guardhouse, everything likely to be of possible use, was noted, and all in the space of a few minutes during which the car traversed the broad courtyard and drew up on the farther side by the door of a great grim tower that seemed entirely out of keeping with the fountains and pavilions surrounding it and the masses of blooms beyond. Here, without doubt, the baroness and Dora Reinwald had been confined, here also, it appeared, they were being tried.
Wilhelm stepped out of the car, and curtly bade the supposed Bavarians follow him. They passed through the frowning portal between more guards into a great stone hail. There they were left in the charge of the sergeant and storm trooper, while the major disappeared through a doorway to the right of the hall. The formality of searching them was gone through despite their indignantly voiced protests. Fortunately, anticipating such a procedure, neither of them carried weapons. Sir Leonard and Cousins listened intently to every scrap of conversation they could catch, but none of it was of any interest to them until two men descended the broad curving staircase to their left and, passing close by them, entered the room whither Major Wilhelm had gone. They were clothed in the sombre garments of lawyers.
‘It will be all over tonight, without a doubt,’ one was saying.
‘And the verdict?’ questioned the other.
‘You will get it, of course, my friend. Guilty! It is a pity – they are very lovely women.’
Major Wilhelm reappeared, beckoned peremptorily to them. They promptly joined him, and entered the room with him. They found themselves in a long bare dining room, in which half a dozen men, all garbed in legal gowns, were eating at a table in the centre. Apparently the midday recess was on, though to Cousins and Wallace it seemed a trifle early for the meal. They were taken to a man who sat close to the head of the table, making unpleasant noises of enjoyment as he swallowed prodigious quantities of sauerkraut. He was a coarse-looking fellow with small, shrewd eyes, and thick, sensual lips. He looked up at the newcomers and nodded curtly.
‘So! You are the two Bavarians of whom we have been told,’ he commented with his mouth disgustingly full. ‘Your evidence will be taken after the recess, though it is not needed,’ he added with a leer. ‘I could have closed my case with perfect satisfaction this morning, if I had not known you were coming.’
‘We do not wish to testify if it is not necessary,’ Herr Minck declared eagerly.
The other laughed roughly.
‘It has nothing to do with you,’ he returned. ‘You are here to obey orders, not to say what you do or do not wish to do, Guertner!’ he called.
A man a few places away looked up.
‘Yes, Herr Doctor?’ he asked.
‘Take these two men up to see the prisoners, before the court sits. They are further witnesses for the prosecution, and I want them to be sure that they have not made a mistake.’ He turned his eyes back to Wallace and Cousins. ‘It would not do for you to enter the court, and then discover that the people you thought were Sophie von Reudath and Dora Reinwald in Budapest were not they at all. It may seem a little irregular to you to be taken to the prison cell to view the defendants, but it is best to make sure first that you will be giving evidence against the right people.’
It was irregular, most irregular, thought the two, but they were glad. They were being given an unexpected opportunity of finding out where the cell of the baroness was situated and how it could be reached.
‘There can be no doubt concerning them,’ remarked Herr Franz Minck, ‘unless you have the wrong people here. We are quite sure we met the Baroness von Reudath in Budapest.’
‘So am I, but the law requires proper identification.’
‘Surely that would take place in court,’ put in Wallace.
‘Enough, I have my reasons for wishing you to see them before the trial is resumed. You had better go into the witnesses’ room and obtain food. Herr Guertner will call for you there.’
They were conducted to a room on the floor above where a dozen men and women sat eating. They gave the impression of being out on a holiday, and the two Englishmen felt disgusted with the lack of any concern in their faces. Engaged in swearing away the lives of two innocent young women, through a mass of perjured evidence, they yet had no guilty thought, no regret for the crime they were committing. They were eating and drinking away as though their only concern was food. It has to be reported that Herren Keller and Minck quite failed to compare with their companions either as trenchermen or imbibers of beer, neither did they present the same self-satisfied, unconcerned front. It was a relief to them to get away from the noisy eating, the ribald remarks about the prisoners, above all from the neighbourhood of creatures so utterly vile who, for the sake of gain, were prepared to swear innocent victims into cruel oblivion.
Herr Guertner came for them long before they would have had time to have partaken of a meal if they had desired it. He was one of the men they had overheard speaking in the hall below, and appeared to be assistant prosecutor. He was quite a presentable young man who showed a disposition to be friendly. Leading them along a corridor and up a further flight of stone steps he spoke engagingly of Bavaria of which he seemed to have an excellent knowledge. Neither of his companions listened or replied with a great deal of interest, however. They were too much engaged in taking into those receptive minds of theirs every detail of their progress to the upper storeys. They ascended three further flights of stairs which brought them to the fifth floor. On the way they had hardly encountered a soul, but now they again found themselves in the presence of half a dozen well-armed Nazis, standing at intervals along a narrow stone passage in which every few yards appeared iron-studded doors. Although at such a height from the ground, the place was dark and gloomy as well as badly ventilated and stiflingly hot. A contemptuous smile appeared fleetingly at the corner of Herr August Keller’s lips. The precautions taken to guard two delicate, inoffensive women struck him as ludicrous. It would have been amusing had it not been so tragic for them. How it would ever be possible to rescue them from the fate that threatened them was a greater mystery than ever now, and it appeared that there was only one night to do it in. If the two girls were found guilty and sentenced that day the chances were that they would be executed next morning. Sir Leonard had almost given up hope that the scheme he had arranged with Hanni would succeed. The more he had seen of Wannsee Prison, the more impossible it appeared that Sophie von Reudath would be able to walk out unsuspected as her own maid. He marvelled now that the girl had agreed to undertake such a foolhardy enterprise as to endeavour to change places with her mistress. He could only think that she was so desperate at thought of what she considered she had done that she was willing to risk anything and face whatever consequences might befall.
Guertner explained the reason for his coming with the Bavarians to the man in charge of the guard, and after a considerable amount of discussion, a door about halfway along the passage was unlocked and thrown open. Guertner beckoned to Wallace and Cousins to approach. They obeyed. Inside a tiny room, with small barred windows, bare except for a table, chair and little iron bedstead, was Sophie von Reudath, dressed neatly and elegantly as ever. She had been standing looking out of the aperture when the door had been opened. Now she turned and confronted them, her head raised almost with queenly dignity. They noticed, however, that her hands at her side were tightly clenched. Guertner asked her courteously to step out into the corridor in order that the men with him could have a good view of her face. She obeyed apathetically as though the hopelessness of her position had taken her in its grip. When she left her cell, however, she seemed to become aware of the two sham Bavarians for the first time, and started violently.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Guertner. ‘I see you recognise them.’ He turned to the pair. ‘This, I presume, is the lady you met in Budapest.’
‘Without a doubt,’ responded the bogus Keller, as he bowed to the baroness.
His heart went out to her. He would have given anything at that moment to have been able to whisper a few words of comfort and encouragement in her ear. Her ordeal had done nothing to impair her beauty, but the dark rings under her lovely eyes told their own tale.
‘It is strange to meet you here, Herr Keller,’ she murmured, ‘and you also, Herr Minck, but I do not understand. Why are you here? Why have they brought you to see me?’
‘Alas, Baroness!’ interposed Guertner, before either could reply. ‘They are here to give evidence against you.’
Cousins felt he could have shaken him by the hand for the note of contempt he detected in his voice.
‘Give evidence against me!’ she cried. ‘How can that be possible?’ She swung round on the two, her voice raised in outraged indignation. ‘Surely, you two, who seemed men of honour, are not also going to add to the lies that have been told about me and poor Dora Reinwald. All the morning it has been lies, lies, lies. Mother of God! Surely it is not to continue. Is there nobody I can trust in this world? Nobody but one?’ she added, as though correcting herself, and the watchers noticed the soft light that came into her eyes.
She was gently requested to return to her cell by Guertner, and a guard locked the door. Another was then opened, and sitting in an almost identical room, was Dora Reinwald. She rose slowly at their entrance, her burning gaze fixed on Cousins and Wallace. She showed no surprise at their appearance, and it became evident that she had overheard what had transpired. Her large eyes were smouldering with an unaccustomed fire in their depths, her face was as serene as ever. Her gracefulness as she walked slowly from her room to face them, drew a sigh of admiration from the lawyer.
‘So!’ Her words came quietly, but with an intensity of bitter contempt. ‘You come all the way from Budapest to identify Sophie and me, and bear false witness against us. You are devils, not men, like all the rest of them from that hypocritical, bullying, lying Marshal of State down—’
‘S’sh!’ warned Guertner. ‘Compose yourself, fraulein!’
‘Compose myself!’ echoed Dora, and laughed harshly. ‘What does it matter what I say or whether I compose myself or not? The result will be the same. When is this farce of a trial to end? You are an advocate – one of them – you know the result was decided upon before it began. Tell me why such a travesty of justice is permitted to take place? Where is the old German blood – the blood that was red and of men – real men? Where is it now? Has it become water under the squeezing of that monster who has forced himself to power on misery? Why are these two here? In Budapest I thought they were friends. Has not the farce gone on long enough?’
Her accusing eyes sought those of Cousins in a long, challenging look; then suddenly she started. He knew at once she had recognised that he was not the real Franz Minck, he had not spoken for fear of giving himself away for he had never heard Minck’s voice. As quick as thought he pushed her back into her cell.
‘You speak too much,’ he cried; ‘you harm yourself.’ For a precious moment they were apart from the others. ‘We’re disguised – trying to help you,’ he breathed in her ear in English. ‘Take no notice of what we say.’
It had all happened so quickly that he was out of the cell and with the others again before any of them, except Sir Leonard, who had been watching the girl intently, realised quite what he was doing.
‘You seem in a hurry to get away from her or rather to push her away from you,’ observed Guertner mockingly. ‘Is your conscience pricking you, Herr Minck?’
‘Why should my conscience trouble me?’ the stout little man demanded. ‘I did not ask to be brought here to give evidence. By talking in that hysterical manner she but damaged her own chances of acquittal.’
Guertner sighed. Almost he seemed to be sorry for her.
‘She has already done that beyond repair, I am afraid,’ he murmured, and signed to the men to close the door.
The last sight they had of Dora in her cell was a figure stiff and upright, immovable as a statue, but Sir Leonard thought to see a faint light of hope shining now from the depths of her great eyes. He had no means of knowing then, of course, but he wondered if, during the recent little episode, Cousins had managed to whisper a message of encouragement to her. Guertner conducted them down to the next floor, but not back to the room in which the witnesses had been given a meal. Instead he took them along a corridor and into a long unoccupied apartment. On a dais at one end were three large chairs placed behind a desk, below was a table covered by masses of documents and surrounded by chairs. Directly beyond this, and facing the dais, was a railed platform, and behind it were rows of forms reaching as far as the door at which the three men stood.
‘This is the room which is being used as the court,’ announced Guertner unnecessarily. ‘Sit over there,’ he pointed to a form near the improvised dock, ‘and wait. In a quarter of an hour proceedings will reopen.’
There was a stir as the Nazi Guards came to attention and other people rose to their feet. Into the court, led by an usher, solemnly passed the three judges. The Englishmen eyed them curiously, and were not attracted. Not one of them looked as though he possessed a vestige of humanity in him. Their faces were hard, even cruel. They might have been brothers by blood as well as by profession, if a similarity in facial expression were proof of relationship. They took their seats; then came the prisoners, closely guarded, entering the dock. The baroness was very pale, but she held her head high and, in her eyes, was an unmistakable look of contempt. Dora made no attempt to hide her feelings in the slightest. She stood as straight as a ramrod, her lips curled scornfully, her whole air undeniably that of one who felt nothing but the most bitter disdain for her judges and in fact the whole farcical business.
The prosecutor was quickly on his feet. His coarse face glowed with delight in his own importance as he informed the judges that he still had two witnesses to produce.
‘In the light of the overwhelming evidence that has already been offered against the prisoners,’ he added, ‘additional testimony may hardly seem necessary. I have proved, I think, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the women now being tried for treason are guilty. My learned friend who has the extremely difficult task of finding a defence where there is no defence, has in vain attempted to shake the evidence of the numerous witnesses you have had before you. He tried very hard –’ this was said with a sneer which drew laughter from one or two ‘– but his task was a hopeless one. The two fresh witnesses, however, have an importance that we cannot overlook. They spent some time in the company of the prisoners in Budapest; they came to Berlin to visit them, as is evidenced by the fact that their first thought was to purchase scent for them. From that it will be gathered that they have a friendly interest in them. They have no desire to testify against them, but the law can take no denial and their evidence will serve to convince you finally that Sophie Wera von Reudath has viciously betrayed a great, a precious confidence, has acted with the utmost treachery against the country of which she is a subject, and that her willing tool, her aider and abettor has been Dora Reinwald.’
He called the name of August Keller, and Sir Leonard stepped to the witness stand. He gave the impression of a man who was performing something utterly distasteful to him as he repeated, on demand from the prosecutor, what he had already told von Strom and Gottfried. Although his evidence sounded innocent enough in itself, was in fact calculated to show that the baroness had spoken only out of admiration for the Chancellor, the shrewd prosecutor succeeded in putting a suggestion of traitorous cunning into every word Sophie was reputed to have said. The baroness watched with an expression of utter indignation and horror on her face. Once or twice she seemed on the point of interrupting. Not so Dora. The latter seemed, if anything, a trifle amused. Her eyes never left Sir Leonard’s face. The advocate for the defence made a sorry show of his cross-examination. It was perfectly obvious that he was making no real effort on behalf of his clients.
Cousins followed, and apologetically told the same story. Under examination he appeared to grow confused, sometimes contradicted himself. He deliberately got himself into difficulties, and in any honest court of law his evidence would have been regarded as utterly useless. Once or twice the prosecutor’s gross face became suffused with rage, but he glossed over every mistake, insisted on his own interpretation of certain remarks being recorded. The defending counsel abjectly allowed him to go unchallenged, his cross-examination of the distressed Franz Minck was as inept as that of August Keller had been. Guertner gave evidence that they were actually the two who had been with the baroness and Fraulein Reinwald in Budapest, describing the manner in which steps had been taken to prove identity. Sir Leonard and Cousins appreciated the fact that he made no mention of Dora’s remarks. Carl Schwartz was called to substantiate identity; told how he had seen the men often in the company of the companions of the baroness and, on occasion, with her and her English friend. After that the prosecution rested, and the attorney who had conducted it sat down with a self-satisfied smirk on his ugly face.
The only witnesses for the defence were the prisoners themselves. They, poor ladies, were badly handled by the man who was supposed to be there to prove their innocence. The prosecutor cross-examined them with ruthless cruelty. With diabolical cunning he strove to make it appear that their gentleness, their womanliness, even their beauty, were cloaks for the hearts of female Iscariots. Sophie von Reudath protested in vain against his innuendoes, Dora angered him by refusing to answer his questions, regarding his shouts and threats and the passionate antics into which her indifference threw him with an insolent mocking smile. The final speech by the defending counsel was as listless as all his other efforts on behalf of his clients had been; that of the prosecutor a thunderous, violent denunciation, a diatribe that was intended to make the two women appear the lowest of the low. Through it all ran his insistent demand for the death penalty. The judges conferred together for a brief period; they did not leave the court. Then they gave their verdict of guilty. The accused were asked if they had anything to say, whereupon Sophie made an impassioned appeal for her companion. With tears in her eyes she declared to the judges that whatever guilt might rest at her door, Dora Reinwald was utterly, entirely innocent. She declared she was willing to suffer whatever penalty they cared to impose on her, but begged them to exonerate the girl. Her plea was calculated to touch the hardest heart. It failed, however, to have any effect on the inhuman monsters who had presided over that pathetic farce of a trial. Only too well did they carry out the orders of the man who had succeeded in getting such a pitiless stronghold on Germany.
Sophie Wera von Reudath and Dora Reinwald were condemned to death. They were to be beheaded in the courtyard of the prison, at sunrise on the following morning.