Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/281

This took place in the cellar of a school building where an active branch of the Resistance had established headquarters. Lamarque knew the danger of Berger's attempt to dash into the night. His wife's rescue could only be achieved through calm planning. Berger made another attempt to escape. When he was finally overpowered, Lamarque mixed a drink with knockout drops, forced it down his comrade's throat.

A few days passed, but Berger was still in no condition to listen to reason. Bound to a pillar he set quietly staring into nothingness.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breathing. A thin white foam showed on his lips. He was trying to to imagine what Gertrude's situation could be now-and lost himself in a phantasmagoria of nightmarish images. She lies writhing under the brutal Nazi whips, wailing, "Mother, save me!" Like a terrified child-over and over, until her breath is exhausted. And now the scorching whips stop-the wound flames like hell fire.

"Where is your husband?" He could hear the cold question repeated time after time in a callous and emotionless tone. The question batters against Gertrude's senses, over and over-"where is your husband?"

"I don't know," she sobs hopelessly.

Morris breathed heavily, his muscles straining against the ropes. Flecks of white foam sprayed from his lips.

Later in the evening Anna arrived. She looked about her excitedly but could find no trace of Berger. He was hidden in the deep shadows, completely oblivious of his surroundings.

"Where's Berger?" she turned towards Lamarque. He looked up. "Haven't we met before?" he said calmly. "You're Morris' cousin, aren't you?"

"Yes," she puffed breathlessly. "Where is he?"