Epilogue (Epilog - Das Geheimnis der Orplid)

THESE DAYS, THE NEWS MEDIA FREQUENTLY REPORTS ON UNEXPLAINED AIRPLANE CRASHES,

EXPLOSIONS AND NAVAL ACCIDENTS.

OFTEN, POLITICS ARE INVOLVED. INVESTIGATIONS ARE DANGEROUS.

ONE OF THOSE MYSTERIOUS CASES IS THE FATE OF THE "ORPLID".

THEREFORE, SOME QUESTIONS ARE ONLY HINTED AT, AND SOME LEFT OPEN.

A SECRET SERVICE AGENT IS TRACKING AN INTERNATIONAL GUNRUNNER.

UNRELATED TO THIS, A MEMBER OF A RADICAL POLITICAL ORGANIZATION

TRIES TO GET RID OF THE GUNRUNNER AND HIS RUTHLESS EMPLOYER

BY WAY OF ASSASSINATION.

JOURNALIST PETER ZABEL DISCOVERED THESE CONNECTIONS BY ACCIDENT.

HE OFFERS HIS REPORT TO THE EDITOR OF AN ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE.

EPILOGUE

I discovered this note last year on August 20

in a small-town newspaper from Northern Germany.

THE YACHT "ORPLID", WHICH LEFT THE HAMBURG HARBOR AUGUST 14, 1949,

NEVER ARRIVED AS PLANNED IN NORTHERN SCOTLAND. ALL INVESTIGATIONS FAILED.

I knew nothing about the bizarre story behind these few meager lines.

These are the people on board of the ORPLID.

ARTIST-MARRIAGE

I found the image one week later

in an edition of the magazine of the international artist's association.

End of august.

In the blow-up you can make the faces of the wedding guests more clearly.

This is Conchita, the bride.

This is the bridegroom.

I didn't know his name back then.

This is her former partner Ermano.

"Conchito and Ermano". they used to be a famous act.

- Did you ever see them? - No, no ...

This is the priest Johannes Klappshorn, from Elmstein.

- A childhood friend. - Of the bride or of the bridegroom?

Of the bridegroom.

This is the musical clown "The Great Teach".

I didn't know their names back then, but I looked at their faces again and again.

I sensed that something special, something uncanny

must've happened to those people.

I called the naval authorities.

Of course there was an investigation. ... No, not so far ... No, nothing.

I'm sorry? ... Yes, I have the facts here.

At the time of the accident a weak distress call was received,

but without indication of the name of the ship, so ...

At the wharf Henke & Thies, at Vegesack, near Bremen.

Two 8 HP Maybach diesel engines? 8 miles an hour?

That's quite something.

Well, the yacht was built in 36/37, by order of a party bigwig.

Probably paid for by the party, too.

Paid for by all of us, in the end.

This over there is the sister ship, the ORION.

Same line.

After the war she was returned to us. Looked terrible.

We patched her up some, but couldn't find a buyer.

We rented it out once in a while. Mostly to guys from the occupying forces.

On August 10th, it was chartered on short notice for a pleasure trip.

- By some P.L. Hoopman. - An Englishman?

According to his passport, yes. We were contacted by Cook from Kairo, though.

Can you give me a list of the crew?

Yes, of course, as far as we have it.

Some of them were sent by an agency for foreign workers.

Bayani. (???)

Thank you. What do you think happened to the ORPLID?

Might've lost its course and hit a mine. Stuff like that still happens, sadly.

- Was there a storm? - I can tell you that exactly.

Night from August 15th to August 16th ... here it is.

Wind speed 1. At 10 pm negligible strengthening.

Light fog, 4.9, air pressure, temperature ...

- So nothing you'd call a storm. - No, quite the contrary.

A quite summer night. Plain water.

This was all I was able to find out.

No more newspaper stories. The foreign papers also had nothing.

These drawings are crucial to lifting the ORPLID's secret.

This spring I arrived in London as a journalist.

While taking a walk I made it to a bookshop, in front of an art salon.

I discovered a number of sketches exhibited there.

Chinese, I thought first. But then I saw European faces.

They looked like the original versions of book illustrations.

A naval story or a crime novel, probably.

The faces seemed familiar to me.

I took a closer look and found the name ORPLID on one of the sketches.

Now I knew were I had seen the faces.

I took up the trail.

Good mor ... ning.

The surprise rendered me speechless.

This was, without a doubt, the same foreign looking face

as the one from the marriage picture in the artist's journal.

A survivor of the ORPLID. The girl also didn't talk.

You were on the yacht ORPLID, weren't you?

You were saved.

You were on the yacht ORPLID with the wedding guests, were you?

I know it, tell me the truth!

I realized that he wasn't the painter of the sketches in the window.

The girl was the painter. He only signed and sold them.

He seemed to exploit her in other ways, too.

I confronted him head-on.

He didn't dare to answer.

The girl stayed silent, too.

When I asked her to come with me, the painter blew his top.

After this scandal, the painter disappeared,

leaving behind the girl, alone and helpless.

I took her with me to Hamburg.

I hoped in vein that more people would contact me

and tell me more about the vanished yacht and people.

My publications had a completely different effect, though.

I was being watched.

In the beginning I thought I was imagining things.

But I soon realized I wasn't wrong.

I doubled my efforts to uncover the ORPLID's secret.

It wasn't easy to get something out of the poor, frightened, mute girl.

She had never learned to write and only understood French.

But she drew sketches with strange, almost manic obsession.

As if trying to free herself from a gruesome mystery.

I asked, she painted the reply.

That's interesting.

The hints I gained from this made me restart my investigation.

I visited the owner of the pension Conchita lived in

when doing shows in Hamburg.

My child ... you can't speak anymore?

Sparrow, what happened to you? What happened to her?

- She used to speak? - Oh yes!

You thought she was born mute?

She downright tweeted, like a bird. High-pitched and fast.

French. No one understood her. Me least of all.

I want nothing to do with foreign languages. Even less so after the war.

How did she meet Conchita?

She was only that big. Eight years old.

When she performed her jumping number.

And then she got sick. Always was a frail creature.

And then the troupe returned, to Casablanca and she couldn't travel,

and then Conchita took care of her. All through the war.

Help yourself!

Like a birdie, she used to be.

Like a kitten, not like a human at all.

Do you still have stuff that belonged to that dancer?

Of course! Everything's still here. What did you think?

Nothing's missing.

This one she married. A Mr. Jarzombeck, I never saw him with her, though.

Only in church. Not my type.

- But this Hoopman was here often? - Yes, every day.

Sometimes after the show, too.

- But these are private matters. - Of course.

I have to cover all the bases, though.

I can't make my peace with it. A ship leaves and never arrives.

- May I see that? - A beautiful woman!

And very natural, that's something you don't find often.

So competent! I often saw her at the Hansa Theater.

I always had free tickets.

This is Mr. Hoopman.

Yes. Not a handsome man, but in uniform he had personality.

When she danced, one could almost be afraid of her.

So her partner Ermano sent back the invitation?

"To her death"?

Strange.

I was pretty much convinced that the ORPLID had become the victim of a crime.

One night, I discovered that my desk had been broken into and searched.

They must've looked either for the manuscript of for Leata’s sketches.

But I had those with me.

So there had to be people interested in leaving the ship's secret undiscovered.

This was the moment I decided that I had to uncover the truth.

No matter the cost.

- Why do you want to know that? - I'm a reporter. Want to see ID?

- We don't handle requests by strangers. - I'm not asking out of curiosity.

And it's not a big deal to you. Please, Miss ...

- The yacht ORPLID, you said? - Yes.

L, M, N, O ... August 14th last year?

Yes, please.

A Mr. Aldo Siano, from Trieste. As a musician.

ALDO SIANO SCHOOLTEACHER

A steward, Stefan Lund. American.

Another steward, Nikolaus Drobitsch. Stateless.

Not him. He was supposed to be on board, but they chose another steward instead.

- Wait a minute. Lund? - Yes.

- Why? - Happens often.

One is chosen, another one takes the job.

- Foul play, you mean? - No foul play with us, got it?

- Good bye. - Excuse me ...

Can you give me the address of this Nikolaus Drobitsch?

No!

At the registration office I learned, that a Nikolaus Drobitsch

had lived in Rothenburgsort,

but that he was supposed to have died during the big air raid in July 1943.

Per chance I found him in the "Samba-Diehle" at Reeperbahn, though.

- Mr. Drobitsch? - Yes, how can I help you?

I'm happy for you that you're still alive.

What do you mean?

If you'd traveled with the ORPLID as a steward, you'd have croaked last year.

- Probably? - How did they push you out of that job?

Foul play? What do you think was the reason?

I don't have time now. Please come back tonight. After one.

Drobitsch? But he resigned this afternoon.

- All of a sudden? - What do you want from him?

He owes you, too?

No. I only wanted to know why he didn't drown with the Orplid.

- Would've been better if he'd drowned. - Why?

When did this happen, the thing with the ship. Last year?

- Yes. - in August?

What happened to him last August?

Better you don't mess with politics.

Politics. The first time that word came up.

So no crime? But there are political crimes, too.

I covered all the bases.

Three meals, fruit, cheese, ice.