rivoniaunmasked

2 SITTING BIRDS
ONLY a moment before, the yard and homestead of Lilliesleaf had presented a truly idyllic picture
of rural peace and quiet. Now this idyll was rudely shattered by shouts, running, pounding footsteps,
loud slamming of doors.
One group of detectives dashed round the house towards the back, taking in details of the scene as
they ran. Behind the house and well away from it they saw a large number of outbuildings arranged in
a T-shape. Somewhat closer to the house was a garage. Several motor vehicles were parked in the open
space between the house and the outbuildings. If the van had not been intercepted by the Bantu just as
it had been about to drive into the yard, they would have spotted these vehicles at once and known that
the man was lying when he said that there was nobody at home.
Bursting into the kitchen, van Wyk came upon a Bantu servant, Solomon, (afterwards a witness at
the trial), preparing a dish of ice-cream intended for 'Pedro Pereira'. Van Wyk wasted no time in
questioning the servant. He was after bigger game. The important thing now was to gain control of the
entire house and to place everybody and everything in it under police supervision with the least
possible loss of time. Leaving the kitchen and the icecream maker to one of his colleagues who had
followed close behind him, he hurried further into the house.
Entering the roomy, luxuriously appointed lounge, he found Sergeant van Wyk already in charge.
The only other occupant of the room was a bearded man with thick-lensed spectacles, wearing a hat
and overcoat. His face was chalk-white, but, though obviously badly frightened, he nevertheless tried
hard to put up a brave front and even managed to produce a smile. He had been relaxing comfortably
in an easychair when the police had erupted into the room. Their sudden unceremonious entry had so
startled him that he had jumped to his feet and begun, for no apparent reason, to put on his hat and
coat. "He looked," one of the policemen told van Wyk later, "like a man who knows that he has to go
somewhere in a hurry, but can't for the life of him remember where."
Lieutenant van Wyk scrutinised the man, who corresponded fairly closely to the description the
lady on the neighbouring estate had given him that morning of Goldreich, the owner of the farm.
"You are Arthur Goldreich?" he queried.
The mail shook his head. "My name is Goldberg."
"I am convinced that you are Goldreich," insisted the detective.
"But I'm not!" The man's tone was emphatic. "Goldberg is the name, Dennis Goldberg. I don't live
here. I'm a visitor from Cape Town."
The man had now recovered from his confusion and seemed confident and self-possessed. His face
was still rather pale, but the smile on it did not waver. Later, when van Wyk came to know him better,
he was to learn that this little set smile was characteristic of the man. Throughout the trial, and even
under cross-examination, it rarely left his face.
Goldreich or Goldberg– the name was immaterial at the moment. The man's identity could be
established later. Summoning Constable van den Berg, van Wyk ordered him to place Goldberg under
arrest while he himself proceeded to see what else there was to be investigated.
Leaving the house via the front door, he found himself in a large garden with spacious lawns
interspersed with shrubs and trees. To the left was an avenue of cypresses and a row of poplars, stark
and bare now in this winter month of July. Van Wyk swept the scene with a glance, decided that there
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