Captive Witness (15 page)

Authors: Carolyn G. Keene

BOOK: Captive Witness

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For the rest of the trip back to the hotel, she racked her brain. Was there no way to recover that film?

Herr Gutterman Unmasked

When they finally reached the hotel, the Popovs and the children were met by members of the refugee organization. It would arrange their transportation to relatives and friends in England and America.

Professor Bagley then related the events at the Czechoslovakian border. “They tried to fool us by showing up with ten other children who had been trained to lie about their identities. Fortunately, I had been given photographs of the real orphans. How the Hungarians carried on, screaming and threatening!”

“George took off her wig and waved it at them.” Bess giggled. “That really infuriated them.”

“Then Burt got out of the wheelchair and started dancing with her.” Dave laughed. “The commissar or whoever he was turned purple!”

“On the whole, it has been a huge success.” Dr. Bagley smiled. “Thanks largely to Nancy.”

“You are much too kind, sir,” she said. “Everyone did his or her part beautifully. The only thing that has me down is the fact I can’t find Captive
Witness
.

Kurt Kessler, who was enjoying a cup of coffee and chatting with Ned, turned to reassure Nancy again. “Yes, I wish I had my film back, but I’ll make other films—better ones, too. Please don’t worry so.”

Nancy explained, though, that it was irritating to have seen half of it yet to be unable to locate the place where it had been shown.

“You actually saw it?” the director cried, causing Nancy to reveal the incident of her meeting with Gutterman.

“Unfortunately, Vienna has no grid system of streets like other cities,” Nancy said, “so the twists and turns we took really confused me.” She paused a second. “I did hear certain sounds, though.”

“What were they?” Kurt Kessler inquired with mounting eagerness.

“Well, trains. A train yard, to be exact, and a merry-go-round. ”

The film director furrowed his brow for a few moments, absentmindedly pulling at his shirt cuffs. Suddenly, he stopped and gripped the table with both hands. “Wait a minute!” he exclaimed. “I stayed in Vienna for a time before going to America, and I think I know where you were.”

Nancy and the director dashed down the three flights of stairs, found the rental car and, with Mr. Kessler at the wheel, they headed north.

“You were somewhere between the great railroad yards up ahead and the Prater amusement park on the right. The building with its twelve steps has to be around here.”

Completely elated, Nancy shone her flashlight on the buildings as her companion drove the car up and down the streets in the area. They found nothing, though.

“Let’s not give up yet,” Nancy said, causing him to speed the vehicle in another direction. Silently, they rode down a series of side streets lined with more old, run-down buildings. Then Kurt Kessler turned a sharp corner, and Nancy gasped in excitement. “There—down that side street. The second building! It has twelve steps!”

Kessler counted them and accelerated the gas pedal. When he finally halted the car, they stepped out fast and hurried up to the front door. It was locked, but it took the director only a few seconds to open the lock with a tiny metal pick.

“Someday I’ll have to tell you how I escaped out of Hungary,” he said to Nancy who was grinning almost as broadly as he was.

Once inside, the young detective closed her eyes, recalling how she had been turned when taken there by Gutterman. She indicated the door to the director. He motioned her to stand back as he listened carefully.

“Someone is in there,” he said softly. Then, without another word, he put his shoulder to the door and burst through. Nancy was right on his heels.

“Good evening,” came a voice from a chair that swiveled to face the two visitors.

It was Adolph Gutterman! In one hand, he was holding the film
Captive Witness
and in the other, a flaming cigarette lighter. His eyes seemed glazed as if he were entranced by the fire.

Kessler moved forward, slowly, staring into them. “Hagedorn?” he said softly. “Heinrich Hagedorn?”

Gutterman did not reply. The lighter was flaming wildly now, threatening to singe the man’s finger. Gently, Kessler took the lighter and then the film. He placed it in its tin container.

“You know him?” Nancy asked in bewilderment, adding, “I don’t understand—he just let you take the film right out of his hand without a protest.”

Kessler lowered his eyes toward Hagedorn’s trembling fingers as they covered his face, muffling a deep cry.

“We were in the film business together when we were young,” Kessler murmured. “He was a good director. A great actor. A master of disguises, voice changes. One of the best in the world.”

“How did he come to be a spy then?” Nancy asked.

As she spoke, the man slumped back in his chair, frozen in shock.

“It’s a long story,” the director continued. “I don’t even know it all. He lost both parents in Nazi concentration camps. Those who took control, fed him, educated him, trained him to act and direct. But he was too wild, too creative. He wanted to do things his own way.

“He made a short film that was the most devastating attack on political oppression I have ever seen.”

“More devastating than
Captive Witness?
Nancy asked.

“Much more. He went to prison for years because of it. Then suddenly, he was released on condition that he make propaganda films for his country. What he really was being trained for was a future in espionage. He became a spy in order to keep his wife and children fed. ”

Now Kessler’s voice began to waver. “He had compromised everything for the people he cared about most—”

“I still don’t understand, though, why he just let you take that film right out of his hand,” Nancy interrupted quietly.

Kessler took a deep breath before going on. “Because of our friendship, I suppose,” he said.

“He and I were in prison at the same time. When he finally managed to get out, he helped me escape. I remember he said it was more important for my film work to be seen than his.

“Unfortunately, neither Heinrich nor I realized that our captors would pin my escape on him. The next thing I learned was that his wife and children had been killed in an automobile accident.”

“How terrible!” Nancy gasped.

She gazed at the man in the chair whose eyes were now pinched shut. No wonder he had behaved so erratically, appearing brilliant one moment and childlike another. He was only playing the role of someone who wouldn’t permit himself to be hurt again. Seeing Kurt Kessler, however, had revived those feelings he had attempted, perhaps unsuccessfully, to abandon.

After Kessler had placed a call to the police, Nancy told him thoughtfully, “I’ve learned a lot from this experience, mostly that you can’t understand what other people have to endure unless you put yourself in their shoes.”

Of course, she had no idea that she would soon face another, similar challenge when she solved
The Gondolier’s Secret.

“That’s why I make movies,” the film director said. “I made
Captive Witness
to show the world how the other half is forced to live.”

Nancy’s eyes flashed to the tin container Kessler had held tightly since he took it from his old friend. “And I guarantee that everyone who sees this picture will be a captive audience!” she exclaimed.

A few days later, when the young detective and her traveling companions were gathered at the Vienna Film Festival awards ceremony, they listened intently to the names of those recommended as producer of the Best Foreign Documentary. Kurt Kessler was one of five nominees, all of whom had done outstanding film work.

“I’ll be so disappointed if he doesn’t win,” Bess confided to Nancy as someone on stage opened an envelope.

Kessler, who sat on the other side of the girl, murmured under his breath during the endless wait, then gasped as his name was called. A huge round of applause went up from the audience.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you,” Nancy told him, letting him step quickly into the aisle.

When he reached the microphone, everyone was still clapping loudly and he quieted them with his hands. “Please, please. You are all too kind,” he said. “I cannot accept this award alone. I must share it with someone without whose courageous help I would not be standing here now.”

A murmur rose among his listeners, as he paused before going on. “Nancy Drew, will you please join me here?”

“Me?” Nancy said quietly.

“Yes, you!” her other friends whispered from behind, coaxing her out of her seat. “You deserve it, Nancy!”