Free Heil Harris! by John Garforth

pretty reckless in these alpine regions, to show that James Dean hadn’t been the first chap to handle a car dangerously. But that was a waste of time. It scared the life out of Steed, but Heidi sat with her arm flapping out of the window talking about Bavarian legends.
    He said “Really?” and “Good lord” occasionally, but he had to concentrate on the road.
    “Yes, really. There’s even a legend that Hitler is still alive, and that he’ll return and lead Germany to victory when the people are ready to receive him.”
    “That sounds a familiar myth. Christ and all that. Every religion has its equivalent. But if Hitler were still alive he’d be rather old.”
    “No, he’d be 79. At that age Adenauer was a young man and Winston Churchill was still Prime Minister of Britain.”
    He said “By George yes,” swerved violently to avoid a mad motorist who was coming at them as if this were a race track. He almost shouted something about the fool being on the wrong side of the road. But this was the continent.
    “Who is this?” demanded Herr Kurtmann.
    “Fraulein Toppler. She’s helping me to find the Nazi hoard by the lake over there. Would you put her in the room opposite mine?”
    Steed found that Goldberg had put another microphone in his room, this time on the inside of the picture: rail. Which suited Steed’s purpose very well. A few words in that microphone might be worth as much as a broadcast to the whole German nation. He beckoned Heidi into his room with hushes and gestures to be quiet.
    “What is it?” she asked brightly. “Are you going to seduce me?”
    “Certainly not. I never seduce young ladies before I’ve had supper. It’s only six o’clock in the evening.”
    She laughed. “I think a pop star would go without his supper. Are you married?”
    “No.” He waved cautiously towards the hidden microphone. “I prefer the open air life. That exhilarating hour we spent rowing round the Nazi treasure cave—”
    “That I spent rowing. You sat in the boat and stared at my legs. ’
    Please, Herr Goldberg, don’t misunderstand this conversation! “I was thinking how sad that so much money will be turned over to the government by the weekend.”
    “I really think you’re shy!”
    “Ssh!” He bent towards her ear to explain but she kissed him. The bitch. “What do you think you are,” he demanded irritably, “a beautiful German spy or something?” He grabbed her by the hand and led her firmly out of the room. “Let’s go down to the bar. I need a drink.”
    The tinkle of feminine laughter brought her nearer to being upended over a man’s knee than she’d been since the age of seven, but Steed restrained himself. Always the gentleman.
    “My dear Heidi,” he explained when they were downstairs, “there was a microphone in that bloody room. Kurtmann! We’ll have a bottle of that foul German brandy. And two glasses.” He turned back to her. “There are some things that we wish to broadcast, and some things that have to be done discreetly.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    He’d believe that when she decided whether to laugh or burst. But eventually he smiled himself. After all, if her plan worked this might be his last night on earth. No need to spoil it by standing on dignity. He led her over to a cosy recess and proposed a toast to Bavarian women.
    “I don’t really think of myself as Bavarian,” she said. “I was educated in Paris, and then I went to a school in Switzerland for two years. My father was rather suspicious of German schools.”
    “I knew there was something false in your simple peasant pose.. And here was I beginning to think I had come to grips with your country at last.” He sighed. “Just another cosmopolitan. I hope you won’t start asking me about swinging London.”
    “All right.If you promise not to ask me why the German people are innately militaristic.”
    “That’s a bargain.”
    Later they went for a walk by the side of the lake, and this time it