Wreckers Must Breathe by Hammond Innes Page B

rather pitiful. But to see Logan crying was so unexpected that it shocked me profoundly.
    The guards turned him back and for a moment he staggered round in a circle. Then he stood still, his face buried in his hands. His sobs gradually lessened.
    I saw that both the commodore and the Gestapo agent were puzzled. Well they might be. I was puzzled enough myself. They talked together for a moment in low tones, and then the commodore turned to Logan and said, ‘Come here.’
    Logan approached the desk at which the commodore had resumed his seat. When he had reached it the commodore said not unkindly, ‘I fear you have had an uncomfortable time on the submarine. I am sorry. But this information I require urgently. Either you take hold of yourself or else we shall be forced to make you talk. Is that chart correct for your area?’
    Logan’s great fist descended with a crash on the desk. ‘Don’t keep asking me questions,’ he roared, and his voice was almost unrecognizable it was so high-pitched and hysterical. ‘Can’t you see I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. My mind is blank. It’s horrible.’
    I don’t think I have ever seen two men more surprised than those Germans. Until that moment I think they had regarded Logan as either a half-wit or a prisoner bent on playing them up.
    Logan looked at them with what can only be described as compassion. There was something extraordinarily animal-like about him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I have frightened you. I didn’t mean to. It was just—just that I didn’t remember anything. I was afraid.’ His hands fluttering uncertainly were surprisingly expressive.
    The commodore glanced at me then. ‘What is the matter with your friend?’ he asked.
    I had to admit that I did not know. ‘He seemed all right in the submarine,’ I said. ‘But last night he became rather morose.’ Then suddenly I remembered. ‘When we were captured,’ I said, ‘he was clubbed with the butt of a revolver. That may be the trouble. Later, in the submarine, he got a bit excited.’
    The commodore pondered this information for a moment.Then he ordered one of the guard to go and fetch the U-boat commander and the doctor.
    The doctor was the first to arrive. He examined Logan’s head and reported that, though the scalp was cut and rather swollen, there were no signs of any fracture. Whether or not Logan was suffering from concussion he would not say. He thought it unlikely, but pointed out that it was impossible to be sure.
    The U-boat commander, when he arrived, testified to the fact that Logan had had a severe blow from the butt end of a revolver and to the fact that, though he had seemed to have all his wits about him when in the submarine, he had at the same time behaved as though he were a little unbalanced. He explained how Logan had roared with laughter when he had been asked for information that would have saved the U-boat from disaster, but he made no mention of that part of the episode in which he had been knocked down.
    In the end, we were returned to our cell. As we went out I heard the commodore giving instructions to the doctor to keep an eye on Logan. As soon as we were alone I said, ‘Look here, Logan, are you playing them up or are you really ill?’
    He looked at me apathetically.
    â€˜Is this some deep game you’re playing?’ I persisted.
    â€˜Would you call it a game if your mind were a complete blank and you were fighting all the time to remember things?’ he asked.
    Even then I could not believe that he had really lost his memory. ‘You seemed all right this morning,’ I said.
    â€˜Maybe,’ he said, as he lay down on his bed. ‘It wasn’t until they began questioning me that I realized what had happened.’
    But it was not until I had seen him refuse his lunch, his tea and his supper that I really began to