The Dragonfly Pool

“Alive. They’re bringing him in now. A fisherman found him in the river, tied in a sack. The sack got caught on a shallow bank of gravel. He can’t have been in the water more than a few minutes.”

And to Matteo, the police station, with its slow clerks and the ticking clock, looked suddenly like a room in Paradise.

Kit was carried in wrapped in a red blanket; his soaked clothes had been taken away to be dried. When he saw Matteo he stretched out his arms to him, and as Matteo took him, he began at once to pour out his adventures. Surprisingly this boy who was afraid of almost everything did not seem to be in a state of shock. It was as though he realized that he had become a person of immense importance, and sitting in the constable’s office, with an interpreter taking down his words, Kit told his story clearly and well. What he described most chillingly were the two men who had kidnapped him.

“One had pale eyes and a scar on his lip and you could see his gold tooth glinting. And the other one was huge and he had only one ear. When he bent over you, you could just see a horrible hole.”

“You can take him back now,” said the constable when Kit had finished. “We’ve got a good account of the men; they won’t get away from us. Only there’s one thing I don’t understand: why did they kidnap the boy in the first place? Will you ask him if he has any idea?”

Matteo put the question to Kit—with a warning eyebrow raised—and Kit understood and said, “I think they thought I was somebody else. Someone with rich parents who would pay a ransom, and when they found I wasn’t they decided they had to get rid of me.”

Back in the hotel Kit was surrounded and hugged and praised, all of which he thought was only right and proper.

“I was a bit heroic, I suppose,” he said carelessly—and was put right by Tally.

“Not a bit heroic,” she said, “absolutely heroic. Like someone in a Greek myth.”

Magda, who was always so good when things had been sad and difficult, rubbed Kit’s wrists and ankles and borrowed a hot-water bottle for him from the hotel, and it was agreed that no one would ever be cross with him again. But when Karil said, “It was me they were after, wasn’t it?” Kit, after a glance at Matteo, told the truth.

“They kept calling me Your Highness . . . and they said I would be all right with them because they were going to take me somewhere coldish. Or something like that.”

“Colditz,” said Karil under his breath. He knew about Colditz only too well.

So Matteo had been right about what he had said at the dragonfly pool. The men who had assassinated his father would stop at nothing till he, too, was in their possession.

“I’m sorry,” Karil said to Kit. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could make it up to you.”

In the old days it would have been easy: his father would have conferred some kind of honor on Kit or his family—a medal, a financial reward. All Karil had to offer the little boy now was concern and friendship, but perhaps it was enough.

The Central Station in the late afternoon was exceptionally busy. News of the takeover in Bergania was splashed over all the newspapers, and many people, thinking that war was very close now, wanted to be home.

The Swiss police might have been slow at first, but when they realized the seriousness of what had happened they could not have been more efficient. The children arrived in two police vans and were escorted to two locked compartments, while the superintendent and a constable kept watch with Matteo on the platform.

“We’ve put an alert out all over the city and its surroundings. With the description the boy gave us, they won’t get away,” said the superintendent.

They waited while luggage was loaded into the van, and newspaper and fruit sellers walked up and down the platform.

Then, when the engine was beginning to let off steam and there were only ten minutes to go before departure, a police sergeant came running up to the superintendent.

“We’ve got them, sir,” he said, saluting hurriedly. “Two men exactly like the boy described. They were sighted in a beer cellar. One hung up his hat—and there it was—or rather it wasn’t—his ear, I mean. We’ve sent for reinforcements to pick them up when they come out. They haven’t a chance.”

The superintendent’s face lit up. “Good. Good man.” He turned to Matteo: “Your lot will be safe now. I’ll let you know what happens, of course.”

He shook hands and hurried away, wanting to be in at the kill, and Matteo made his way to the compartment and the anxious children who awaited him.

“It’s all right,” he said. “They’ve found them.”

He looked at Kit, who was leaning peacefully against Magda, eating a piece of Swiss chocolate.

The boy was safe. The danger was over.

Matteo closed his eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Night Train to Calais

The Countess Frederica was traveling first class. She even had a sleeper—but she was not asleep.