Noelle did not underestimate the problem. Colonel Mueller was already suspicious of her. She remembered her dream and shuddered. She must see to it that Mueller was never able to prove anything against her. Israel Katz had to be smuggled out of Paris, but how? Noelle was sure that all exits were closely watched. They would be watching the roads and the river. The Nazis might be cochons, but they were efficient cochons. It was a challenge and it could be a deadly one, but she was determined to try it. The problem was that there was no one she could turn to for help. The Nazis had reduced Armand Gautier to a quivering gelatin. No, she would have to do this alone. She thought of Colonel Mueller and General Scheider, and she wondered if a clash ever came, which one would emerge victorious.
The evening following Noelle's dream she and Armand Gautier attended a supper party. The host was Leslie Rocas, a wealthy patron of the arts. It was an eclectic collection of guests--bankers, artists, political leaders and a gathering of beautiful women whom Noelle felt were there mainly for the benefit of the Germans who were present. Gautier had noticed Noelle's preoccupation, but when he asked her what was wrong, she told him that everything was fine.
Fifteen minutes before supper was announced, a new arrival lumbered through the door and the moment that Noelle saw him she knew that her problem was going to be solved. She walked over to the hostess and said, "Darling, be an angel and put me next to Albert Heller."
Albert Heller was France's leading playwright. He was a large, shambling bear of a man in his sixties with a shock of white hair and broad, sloped shoulders. He was unusually tall for a Frenchman, but he would have stood out in a crowd in any case, for he had a remarkably ugly face and piercing green eyes that missed nothing. Heller had a vividly inventive imagination and had written more than a score of hit plays and motion pictures. He had been after Noelle to star in a new play of his and had sent her a copy of the manuscript. Now as she sat next to him at dinner, Noelle said, "I just finished reading your new play, Albert. I adored it."
His face lit up. "Will you do it?"
Noelle put a hand on his. "I wish I could, darling. Armand has committed me to another play."
He frowned, then sighed resignedly. "Merde! Ah, well, one day we will work together."
"I would enjoy that," Noelle said. "I love the way you write. It fascinates me the way writers create plots. I don't know how you do it."
He shrugged. "The same way you act. It is our trade, the way we make our living."
"No," she replied. "The ability to use your imagination in that way is a miracle to me." She gave an embarrassed laugh. "I know. I've been trying to write."
"Oh?" he said politely.
"Yes, but I'm stuck." Noelle took a deep breath and then looked around the table. All the other guests were engrossed in their own conversations. She leaned toward Albert Heller and lowered her voice. "I have a situation where my heroine is trying to smuggle her lover out of Paris. The Nazis are searching for him."
"Ah." The big man sat there, toying with a salad fork, drumming it against a plate. Then he said, "Easy. Have him put on a German uniform and walk right through them."
Noelle sighed and said, "There is a complication. He's been wounded. He can't walk. He lost a leg."
The drumming suddenly stopped. There was a long pause, then Heller said, "A barge on the Seine?"
"Watched."
"And all transportation out of Paris is being searched?"
"Yes."
"Then you must have the Nazis do the work for you."
"How?"
"Your heroine," he said, without looking at Noelle, "is she attractive?"
"Yes."
"Supposing," he said, "your heroine befriended a German officer. Someone of high rank. Is that possible?" Noelle turned to look at him, but he avoided her eyes.
"Yes."
"All right, then. Have her make a rendezvous with the officer. They drive off to spend a weekend somewhere outside Paris. Friends could arrange for your hero to be hidden in the trunk of the car. The officer must be important enough so that his car would not be searched."
"If the trunk is locked," Noelle asked, "would he not smother?"
Albert Heller took a sip of wine, quietly lost in thought. Finally he said, "Not necessarily." He spoke to Noelle for five minutes, keeping his voice low, and when he had finished, he said, "Good luck." And he still did not look at her.
Early the next morning Noelle telephoned General Scheider. An operator answered the switchboard, and a few moments later Noelle was put through to an aide and finally to the General's secretary.
"Who is calling General Scheider, please?"
"Noelle Page," she said, for the third time.