Keeping Secrets (28 page)

“But you only suspect Tetzel—”

“You are correct. Yet, as I explained, we have definite proof regarding several of his close associates, and his name is one of several which are spoken continually in circles of these people. Certainly you would agree it bears some investigation.”

I did not like the direction this meeting was taking. He kept dissolving my arguments. I looked across at Mother, whose expression now indicated she was clearly in favor of the BNA's plans for me. Frieda looked as though she were about to add something, then changed her mind. They all stared at me. I felt perspiration rising on my forehead; I despised them for putting me on the spot. Finally I realized there was an all too easy way to get myself out of the predicament. “I'll think about it, and get in touch with you.”

Michael Stobalt drew up his shoulders and said, “As you wish. But remember, time is not on our side. I'll be here in the hotel until tomorrow evening, then I must leave town. Please call me as soon as you have made up your mind. If you are interested, we'll arrange a further meeting. If not—”

“I won't call you at all.”

From his expression, I think he understood. “All right, but keep in mind, aiding in the freedom of an oppressed people is a rare opportunity, and one which you would never regret. As to citizens of your own country—” he began, then stopped. He glanced at Mother, then he and Frieda left the room and shut the door behind them. Mother sat looking down, tracing her finger along the piping of the chair arm. I didn't know whether she was ashamed of herself, or of me. I couldn't quite find the words to sum up my exasperation with her for ganging up on me with those people, but I was about to give it a try when she spoke.

Meekly, she said, “You're not going to do it, are you?”

“Of course not. You're expecting me to jeopardize my job for some cause I've never even heard of?”

“I know it's asking a lot, but—”

“How do you know these people are sincere? Surely you couldn't find out much about them in two days.”

She shook her head. “I became acquainted with their movement for liberation while working with Emmeline Pankhurst in Europe.”

“Oh … I see. Is she heading it?”

“No. The Czech Nationalist Leader, Thomas Masaryk, is at the top, and he's a friend of hers.”

“Is Stobalt in charge over here?”

“No. A man named Victor Voska heads the movement in this country, but I don't think Stobalt is too far down the line. I really don't know much about their chain of command over here.”

“So you're not actually a member.”

“No … though I did promise my support once I got back over here.”

“Did you set me up for all this?”

“No indeed. But when you mentioned Tetzel's name and I passed it on to Frieda Miles—purely by coincidence—she told me of their suspicions about the man and I agreed to let them talk to you. You're in a perfect spot. Stobalt traveled a long way to make his appeal today. I do wish you'd reconsider.”

“How do you know they're not a bunch of radicals, like Pankhurst?”

“Emmeline has a clear head, and a lot of wisdom It's Sylvia, mainly, who is so hard-headed and overdramatic—the headlines-maker. The people in the BNA are not hotheads like her.”

I looked into her eyes for a few moments, then said, “You're still hurt that I didn't follow you into the suffrage movement, aren't you? And that's why—”

“No, that was your decision and I respect it. Believe me, I'm only serving as an intermediary here. Though I must say, knowing it's an important crusade—virtually a life and death situation—I couldn't help feeling proud of you if you'd co-operate. They've assured me they wouldn't expect much from you … just a little sleuthing and reporting back what you find.”

“You seem to forget you're asking me to pry into the business of a man I like and respect, and who, incidentally, took a chance on my ability. You heard my feelings when Stobalt was here. Mr. Tetzel just wouldn't—”

“I'm not calling Tetzel a blackguard, Camille. But people have loyalties, and they're not always where they ought to be.”

“But you don't mind traipsing over my loyalty to Mr. Tetzel.”

“Wait a minute. Do you really think the BNA would bother with him if there weren't good reason to believe he's up to something? You heard about the plans for blowing up—”

“But in this case they're wrong.”

“How can you be so positive? You really haven't known the man that long, have you?”

I just stared at her. It was like a repeat of our arguments over the suffrage movement so long ago. We just couldn't get through to each other. Finally she said, “Look at it this way. If you prove he isn't guilty of anything, you will have been doing him a service. Now that they're on to him, the BNA will have to find some way—eventually—of investigating him. If not you, then someone else who is in a less accessible position will be chosen. If you're right—and I hope you are, believe me—you have the wherewithal to lay the whole thing to rest.”

I spent the balance of the day and part of the night struggling over what Mother said, and in the end decided to trust her judgment. More than anything, it was her final remark which convinced me.

The following morning I met Stobalt again in Mother's room. First I made my position clear. I was willing to help the BNA only as long as it took to exonerate Mr. Tetzel. Then I was finished. Stobalt listened attentively while I spoke, then nodded and briskly began, “Now, what you must do first of all is familiarize yourself with his habits. What time does he go to lunch? What time does he leave his office in the evening? Who are his regular visitors? Telephone calls? See if you can overhear his conversations, whenever possible. Note how much time he spends alone in his office, with his door closed.”

“Shall I look after these little incidentals for a week or so, then dash off a little note to you?”

He shook his head. “One week from tomorrow, you will meet your contact, and work with him from there. If you have nothing to report, he will give you further instructions; if you have, he will advise you accordingly.”

Suddenly it all seemed more ominous. “Where will I meet this man? What time? And how will I know him?”

“At one o'clock in the afternoon, on a bench at Alamo Plaza, Menger side. He will approach you. You will know him by this phrase—‘There is rain today in Paris.'”

“All right. I'll keep my eyes and ears open next week, but I'll bet you Tetzel comes out looking cleaner than a Golddust twin.”

He nodded. He is more certain than he pretends, I thought.

Mother and I had the rest of Sunday together, until her train left at eight o'clock. As soon as Stobalt was out the door, she began bustling about in her usual way, making plans. “We'll visit your father's grave, of course, and I'd like to see your room at the Y and meet your roommate. How about dinner at a really nice restaurant? Honestly, if I see one more roasted chicken half or fruit salad I'll give up conferences forever.…”

Yet as the day wore on she became more and more subdued, especially after she stood at the foot of my father's grave. I had been there only once since moving to San Antonio, and, unable to reconcile my memories of him with a small plot of ground marked by a stone with his name, I had not stayed long. Yet Mother lingered, standing perfectly still with arms folded under her bosom, as though her thoughts were somehow communicating themselves to him. Upon his death several years before, she had talked a great deal about what was to be done next. With her stiff-upper-lip attitude she was as much like a soldier as he was. Yet as she stood above his grave that day I realized she must have missed him far more than she ever let on to us kids.

We didn't speak again of the BNA, but as she was about to board the train she said, longingly, “Do take care of yourself, and eat properly … and … remember to keep your guard up.”

“Mother, you sound like I'm about to be thrown to the lions.”

She hugged me tight and kissed me, then looked as though she might add something. But the train whistle blew and she scurried down the walk, weighted down yet balanced equally between her proverbial enormous purse, carried by the strap in the one hand, and her bulging portfolio packed in the other. It occurred to me when I stepped away that my remark might have hit a little too close to home.

I made it through most of the next week with growing confidence. I was thorougly convinced that anyone who spoke so fondly of life in the United States, and particularly anyone who had been able to amass so much in terms of wealth and position in a foreign society, could not possibly be involved in what the BNA people were trying to pin on Tetzel. He had no reason, first of all. He had been here since he was a kid. What could he gain by working with agencies of the government he had fled as a youth? Why risk the loss of everything to help them?

Mr. Tetzel ate lunch in his office, door closed, on Monday and Tuesday. Both days Claude brought him a sandwich and a cup of coffee. On Wednesday Tetzel went to a regular meeting of San Antonio bankers, which included a luncheon at the St. Anthony's. After he left I wondered if I should have followed him, but by then I was convinced the BNA was all wrong, and counted the days until Sunday so that I could tell them so. On Thursday Tetzel spent much of the day behind closed doors, speaking on the telephone. I could hear little of the conversation because Claude had me working on a file near the front of my office, but whenever I did catch a phrase as he slipped into Tetzel's office or came out, to leave a message or take one, the words seemed to pertain to banking and certainly gave no indication of anything outside the law. Another point was that he had only one phone, which was connected into the bank switchboard. Early it occurred to me that if he were carrying on cloak and dagger activities, surely he would have had a separate phone direct to outside. Arranging for it would have seemed innocuous on the surface—an understandable executive luxury. I made a mental note to tell my contact of my sound rationale.

When I left at six o'clock on Thursday night, Tetzel was still in there. After putting on my coat I stepped up to his door and knocked softly.

“Come in,” he answered immediately.

I asked if I could get anything for him before I left.

“Nothing,” he said, and smiled. “I was just going to call it a night myself. Can I drive you home?”

“No, thanks. I don't live far from here.”

I saw nothing unusual on his desk. There were a lot of papers, but I couldn't make an issue out of glancing down at them, so I could only assume, from his relaxed behavior, that I had not been threatening discovery by coming in when I did.

On the way out I looked up at the windows—his office faced the Navarro Street side of the building. The lights were still on. I was really feeling smug and crafty by then, and spending a lot of time thinking how I'd impress my contact—whoever he was—with my thoroughness in proving there was nothing wrong with Tetzel. I decided to go by a little cafe for some Mexican food, then double back after I had eaten and look up at the windows, to see if he had left. I pulled my coat collar up around my chin. The winter air was chilly, especially near the river.

An hour later I was back on the spot. I did a double take when I noticed Mr. Tetzel's office lights were still aglow. Too late for the cleaning people to be in there. By seven o'clock they were up on the fourth floor. Half the windows on that floor, Navarro side, were now glowing, proof my timing was correct.

I walked back to the Y, crestfallen. I'd have to mention this to my contact. Yet, what could it mean? He'd been tied up longer than he expected? It was only an hour, for heaven's sake. In a week of absolutely normal routines, what did an hour prove?

I had more nervous energy than usual that evening, and scrubbed floors, then emptied the bookcase along the wall of Cecelia's books, dusted each one, and put them back into place. I repotted a languid ivy and mended a blouse. I was so involved in my own thoughts that I stared at Cecelia dumbly while she repeated twice, “It's almost nine-thirty. Aren't you ever going to bed?”

“I—I just remembered … I have to go out for something,” I told her, pulling on my coat. I know what nagged at me was Stobalt's certainty. I had a feeling he already knew plenty, before my help was enlisted. And if that were true, I just had to be extra suspicious of anything unusual. Maybe Tetzel did pal around with some unscrupulous characters, not knowing that's the sort they were. Then I would be doing him a favor by clearing his reputation. I walked back to the bank building to check once more. To my relief, all lights were out. I turned to walk back, a smile on my face, when I caught a glimpse of him, crossing a street just a few feet ahead of me. With the streetlights on, there was no mistaking it was him. Should I follow, I wondered? Just fifteen minutes left before curfew at the Y. I didn't have time. He was probably going home anyway, but what if not?

No, I just couldn't risk it. I didn't have any money with me, and could not possibly catch him up, once he'd gotten into his car, without hiring a taxi. This is ridiculous, I thought angrily. Here I am feeling obligated to go chasing after a perfectly decent man, right on the point of spending my own money to rent a taxi I can't afford, all for some organization that means nothing to me. I slipped upstairs and into my room—stubbing my toe on a table because Cecelia had turned the lights off—undressed quickly, and got into bed. Cecelia turned over and said sleepily, “I was worried about you, Camille. It's awfully late for a single girl to be out on the streets. Anything could happen to you.”

“Thanks,” I told her, and was soon asleep.

By Friday I knew my case wasn't as strong as it had been on Monday, but I was still sure my evidence against Tetzel was minimal. Then around noon I happened to walk in while his safe door was open—Claude was putting something into it—and noticed there was undeniably a separate compartment in the left side. I approached and said, “Oh yes, before you go you'll have to give me that combination. What would happen if you got off to California without telling me? Oh say, how do you get into that little door inside?”