To Catch a King [antikvár]

TO CATCH A KING A hand grabbed Schellenberg's arm and shook him furiously. 'Clear off-now. Unless you want your face kicked in.' Schellenberg wasn't in the least put out. 4Oh dear, you are a nasty little boy, aren't you?' He waved his right hand casually. Two men in uniform as black as the Mercedes got out of the car and hurried across. Their cufftitles carried the legend RFSS picked out in silver thread. Reichsführer der SS, the cufftitle of Himmler's personal staff. Schellenberg said. 'A lesson is needed here, I think.' He took the girl by the arm. ^ráulein.' As he guided her firmly across the road towards the car, there was a sound of a blow, a cry of pain, but she did not look back.