For some minutes Malacou continued to wring his hands and lament, crying:
‘That accursed Russian will betray us. I know it! I know it! Those black fiends will come and drag us all to the slaughter. They’ll strip us of our clothes and hang us up by our testicles. They’ll shave Khurrem’s head and thrust a red-hot poker into her. Oh, woe is me; woe is me! Was it not enough that I should be born one of the afflicted race? Have I not forsworn Jehovah? Where have I left the Path that this chastisement should come upon me?’
Lifting himself painfully into a sitting position, Gregory shouted:
‘Stop that! Pull yourself together, man! It will be time enough to start squealing when the Gestapo use their rubber truncheons on you. They’ve not got us yet.’
Malacou abruptly ceased his wailing, stared at him and muttered, ‘You are right. The thought of abandoning all the aids to my work here breaks my heart. But I must make preparations to leave Sassen at the earliest possible moment. If I can reach Poland I’ll have little to fear. I still have many friends there who will aid me. These Nazi swine cannot know that I lived there before the war. I still own a house in the town of Ostroleka, north-east of Warsaw. In the country districts many thousands of Jews have been left their liberty, because the Germans cannot afford to deprive themselves of the produce they grow; and my Turkish passport will protect me from molestation.’
Gregory’s heart gave a sudden lurch. Obviously Malacou would not jeopardise his flight by taking with him a stretcher case and at that a man whom the Gestapo must still be hunting high and low. After a moment he asked, ‘Do you then intend to abandon me?’
The doctor hunched his shoulders and spread out his hands. ‘What else can I do? After all, it is you who have brought this terrible situation upon Khurrem and myself.’
‘That is not true!’ Gregory snapped back. ‘You brought it on yourself by having Khurrem send that message about Peenemünde to Sweden.’
‘Well, perhaps. But I must have been temporarily out of my wits to do so. I succumbed to the temptation to strike a blow against the tormentors of my race, and see where it has landed me.’
‘Damn it, man! How can you stand there now and bleat to me that the risk you must have known you were taking was not worth while? Between us we have succeeded beyond our wildest hopes. Tens of thousands of your people have died without the chance to avenge themselves on a single Nazi. If we have to give our lives that’s a small price to pay for the destruction of Peenemünde.’
‘But I do not want to die,’ Malacou wailed, beginning to wring his hands again. ‘I have work to do; work of great importance. That I must leave you here distresses me greatly. But why should I stay here to be tortured and murdered with you when I still have a chance to escape?’
As Gregory could not yet even move from his bed he needed no telling that his only possible chance of saving his own life lay in persuading the doctor to remain at Sassen. If Malacou left it was certain that he would take Tarik, as well as Khurrem, with him. That meant that if Kuporovitch succeeded in getting away and the Nazis did not arrive to find the long-sought Major Bodenstein abandoned there, he would suffer a lingering death from thirst and starvation. He wondered grimly how Kuporovitch would feel about it if he ever learned the terrible fate that had overtaken his friend as a result of his decision to try to get back to England. Knowing that he was fighting for his life, Gregory racked his wits for a way to make Malacou change his mind. Suddenly one came to him and he said:
‘If you leave me here you are going to die anyhow. I’ll see to that. By telling me of your plan to go to Poland you’ve played into my hands. Directly the Gestapo boys get here I’ll tell them where you’ve gone.’
Malacou’s dark face paled. ‘No! No!’ he gasped. ‘You wouldn’t do that. Think of all I have done for you.’
‘What you’ve done won’t cut much ice if you leave me here to die of starvation.’
A sudden evil gleam showed in the doctor’s black eyes and he shook his head. ‘You forget that you are at my mercy. I’d have no difficulty in seeing to it that you were dead before the Nazis got here.’
At this checkmating of his threat Gregory drew in a sharp breath. Then he exclaimed, ‘So you’d go to those lengths, eh? To save yourself you’d even murder a man who is your ally?’
For a moment Malacou continued to glower at him, then he muttered, ‘To do so will save you from torture; and, as you hold this threat over me, I see no alternative.’
‘There is an alternative,’ Gregory retorted with assurance. ‘All this time you have been taking it for granted that Kuporovitch will be caught. But if he is not you have nothing to fear. And unless he’s very unlucky I’ve little doubt that he’ll succeed in getting away.’
‘You cannot really believe that.’
‘I do. His mild, happy-go-lucky nature is very deceptive. I’ve worked with him for months in Paris and other places, right under the noses of the Nazis. He is as cunning as a weasel, up to a hundred tricks and completely ruthless. If anyone gets in his way he’ll kill him without the slightest compunction, and he possesses remarkable endurance. You have only to recall his extraordinary feat of getting me away from Peenemünde.’
‘You may be right, but I dare not risk it.’
Suddenly an inspiration came to Gregory and he said, ‘Listen. Before you set about murdering me, or exciting comment at the Manor by making arrangements for your flight, why not go downstairs and consult the oracles? You can’t have lost your faith in the stars and that horoscope of Kuporovitch that you drew up. Surely if there really is any basis for your beliefs you could find out what his chances are.’
Slowly Malacou nodded. ‘Now you speak sound sense. There are many reasons for my wishing to remain here if I can do so in safety.’ Turning, he picked up from the bed a pair of pyjamas he had lent the Russian and added, ‘I can psychometrise these. Together with his horoscope that should tell me what we want to know.’
As he left the room Gregory relaxed on his bed with a sigh of relief. Yet he knew that he was still under suspended sentence of death. His thigh began to pain him, but his mind was so filled with apprehension that he was fully conscious of the throbbing only now and then. An hour dragged by and the better part of another; then Malacou entered the room again.
His dark, hooded eyes now looked tired from the efforts that he had made to concentrate, but his face was no longer grey with fear. Passing a hand wearily over his thick black grey-flecked hair, he said in a toneless voice:
‘I have done it. And the omens are favourable—very favourable. Today is the 11th and he could not have chosen a more propitious date. Not only is he ruled by the 2, but he was born on an 11th. Moreover, his two best days of the week are Sunday and Monday; therefore astral influences should continue to protect him tomorrow and the day after. His horoscope bears out what you say about his endurance, courage and resource; so with three fortunate days before him there is very good reason for hoping that he will get away from the district without accident. But probably not without a fight. I saw newly spilled blood in connection with him; and in some way he becomes involved with a servant of Mercury—perhaps a postman—but in what way I could not determine.’
‘Then,’ Gregory asked eagerly, ‘you are prepared to stay here?’
‘Yes. For me to leave Sassen now would be to fly in the face of the omens. My own stars predict an uneventful period for me for some months to come. Besides, I have re-examined your horoscope and it is now much clearer to me. We are destined to work together in the future and you will be the means of saving me, probably from death.’
‘I am delighted to hear it,’ Gregory remarked with unconcealed sarcasm. ‘Perhaps, then, you will set about giving me my daily dose of hell by redressing my leg, for I couldn’t save a rabbit from a snare as long as I remain like this.’
Malacou shrugged. ‘You have cause to bear umbrage against me for my recent conduct. But I ask you to remember that I am endowed with very different qualities from yourself. You are a man of action, whereas I am a contemplative with an unusually vivid imagination. People like myself become frightened easily and liable to be panicked into taking any steps which they think may save them from physical pain. You have great fortitude, whereas I——’
‘God knows I need it,’ Gregory cut in bitterly. ‘However vivid your imagination may be, I doubt if you can realise the gyp it gives me every time you treat my wound.’
‘I have a very good idea of it,’ the doctor replied seriously, ‘and to show you that I am not altogether a coward I will, if you like, actually experience it.’
‘How can you?’
‘By taking your pain upon myself. You must have heard of that being done by psychic people who are also good Samaritans?’
‘Yes, I have,’ Gregory agreed. ‘Very well, then. You owe me something for the scare you gave me two hours ago. We’ll call it quits and I’ll try to forget about that if you can do your stuff on my leg without causing me any pain.’
Rolling down the sheets, Malacou set about his daily ministrations. As he removed the bandages Gregory, to his amazement, felt only a slightly increased throbbing, but the occultist began to groan. Soon he was sweating profusely. Now and then he closed his eyes and, breathing heavily, had to stop. Twice his thick red lips quivered in an abrupt cry. By the time he had done his face was again haggard and as he stepped away from the bedside tears were running down his furrowed cheeks.
Collapsing in a chair he sat there for a few minutes panting and mopping his face. When he had recovered a little Gregory said, ‘I’m grateful to you for that. How I wish to God someone could take my pain every day.’
Malacou grunted. ‘For accepting it you have only yourself to blame. I told you a fortnight ago that it could be absorbed into your unconscious if you would allow me to hypnotise you.’
‘And I refused.’
‘To persist in doing so surprises me in a man of your intelligence. Do you not see how illogical it is to reject this method of killing pain, while being perfectly willing to let me inject you with pain-killing drugs? You would not refuse to be anaesthetised either, if you had to undergo an operation, would you?’
‘That’s true,’ Gregory said slowly, ‘but you are not an ordinary doctor, and Kuporovitch was convinced that you had entered into a pact with the Devil. Add to that, barely half an hour ago, you forswore your God in front of me. I’m pretty sceptical about that sort of thing myself, but——’
‘The Russian thinking that does not surprise me,’ Malacou broke in. ‘They are a backward race and still greatly influenced by superstition. He, too, would be particularly imbued with such ideas, because he is subject to the Moon. Such people readily attribute every happening to the intervention of Christ or Satan. To suppose that is absurd, as people in Western Europe have come to recognise. As for my denying Jehovah, I no longer subscribe to the Jewish faith. It was only like a Protestant exclaiming “To hell with the Pope”. Anyhow, you at least appear to have an open mind on the matter, so I will bring you some books on hypnotism to read; then you will see for yourself that no question of good or evil enters into it.’
For several days, in spite of the occultist’s favourable prognostications about Kuporovitch, Gregory continued to be extremely anxious about him, but by the Wednesday it seemed fairly certain that he had got away safely and by that time would have succeeded in establishing for himself a new identity.
About the latter possibility one matter gave both Gregory and Malacou food for speculation. It was that the village postman had also disappeared. He was an elderly dug-out who had returned to duty on account of the war, a widower and lived alone. He had last been seen on Friday evening working in his garden and when he had not turned up at the village post office on Saturday morning it had been supposed that he was ill; so a girl had been sent out to do his round. As there was no delivery on Sunday, no-one had worried about his absence until Monday morning. The police had then been informed and had searched his cottage, but could find no clue to his disappearance; and no-one could suggest any reason why he might suddenly have decided to leave Sassen.
In addition to cooking and bringing up Gregory’s meals, Tarik had taken Kuporovitch’s place in looking after him and now helped him with certain exercises the doctor had prescribed to keep his circulation going. As he had soon learned, the hunchback always either communicated in silence with his master or spoke Yiddish to him. Apparently he knew no other language, so Gregory had to indicate his wants by signs and was unable to find out whether under the man’s bald cranium there lay the mind of a simple, unfortunate being or a sinister personality.
Khurrem had already visited the invalid several times and now she came to see him more frequently. But she was still obviously oppressed by her secret worries, so made anything but a cheerful companion. Gregory felt sure that her visits were due only to her wish to show appreciation of his having offered to help her if she would confide in him, but she came no nearer doing so. In consequence, when their stilted conversations lapsed, and she said that she ought to get back to the farm, he never sought to detain her.
The result was that he now spent many hours each day alone, and as pain often kept him awake at nights he became subject to terrible fits of depression about his future as a cripple. His only escape lay in reading. Before the end of the week he had got through several books in German on hypnotism and J. Milne Bramwell’s great opus on the subject in English.
When, in due course, Malacou asked him how he was getting on with his reading, he replied, ‘I have learned quite enough to convince me that hypnotism is simply an extension of the powers of the human brain and owes nothing to the supernatural.’
The doctor showed his long teeth in a smile. ‘Yet you will agree that anyone who practised it a few hundred years ago would have been credited with supernatural powers?’
‘Yes, I don’t doubt that they would.’
‘There, then, you have the explanation of all these mysteries. Supernatural is simply a word to express any happening that lies beyond our present comprehension and magic the procuring of a result normally regarded as impossible when judged by the accepted laws of cause and effect. As more and more natural laws receive recognition, the magic of yesterday becomes the science of today.’
‘That sounds perfectly reasonable; but do you suggest, then, that contrary to popular belief magic never entails calling upon the forces of evil?’
‘I would not say that, although, of course, from the beginning of time people have differed about what is good and what is evil. There are laws governing the material plane and laws governing the spiritual plane. During the past two hundred years many of the former have been harnessed to the great benefit of mankind—electricity, for example; and the modern wizards we term scientists take credit for new discoveries every day. But the greater part of the laws governing the spiritual plane they still refuse to recognise or investigate. To apply such laws requires the development of a person’s higher being so that he is in rapport with powers that enable him to bring about that which he wishes to achieve.’
‘I see. But as spiritual powers are either of God or the Devil, that must entail becoming a priest of sorts to one or the other.’
‘Not necessarily. Everyone has spiritual powers within himself. A knowledge of them enables an occultist to use certain unseen forces for his own ends without attracting to himself either good or evil. Prolonged study of these mysteries has enabled me to do so.’
‘Then why did you not use yours to ensure Kuporovitch’s getting away safely?’ Gregory asked shrewdly.
‘Because my command of the unseen forces is strictly limited. Just as scientists are still only on the fringe of discovering the laws that govern the material universe, so modern occultists are still only gradually obtaining knowledge of the laws that govern the realm of the spirit. The ancients knew far more of them than we do; but when their civilisations were overrun by barbarians that knowledge was lost. We are regaining it only a little at a time by deep thought and patient experiment.’
‘Your contention is, then, that such people as yourself are, in a way, scientists and that evil plays no part in occult operations.’
Malacou shrugged. ‘It need not do so. Naturally the supreme powers lie at the root of all things. I was seeking only to assure you that certain results that you would term “miraculous” can be achieved without calling for help upon either good or evil forces. There are ten grades of occultists, ranging from Neophyte to Ipisissimus. Only those holding the three highest ranks have passed the Abyss and so irrevocably committed themselves to follow either the Right Hand or Left Hand Path. I am no more than a Practicus, so still engaged in mastering the mysteries of the Qabalah. However, while in the lower grades I achieved entry to the Astral Plane and complete success in Asana and Paranayama, which enables me to perform many minor magics.’
‘And you claim that your success in such practices owes nothing to evil forces?’
‘I do. Surely you do not suppose that every clairvoyant, thought-reader, hypnotist and pain-taker has entered into a pact with Satan?’
‘No; of course not.’
‘Then why be so frightened and continue to put up with your pain when by hypnotising you I could relieve you of it?’
For several minutes Gregory remained silent. All things considered, he decided that Malacou had made his case; so at length he said:
‘Very well, then. Life will be a lot pleasanter for me if I don’t have to lie here for hours dreading these daily ordeals. Let’s start tomorrow.’
When Malacou came up next morning he was wearing an elastic band round his head, from the centre of which, above his forehead, there rose a circular metal mirror of the kind that doctors use for reflecting light down a patient’s throat. Sitting down opposite Gregory, he told him to keep his eyes on the metal disc and to open his mind by not allowing it to follow any chain of thought.
Having taken a decision, it was against Gregory’s nature to adopt half-measures in carrying it out; so he fixed his gaze steadily on the disc and as each thought drifted into his mind promptly dismissed it. As he stared at the bright metal it seemed gradually to increase in size until its light blotted out everything else and he had the sensation of being drawn towards it. Surprisingly soon he felt drowsy, his eyelids flickered a few times then fell; yet through them he was aware of a strong, rosy glow. He then felt his hand lifted and was vaguely surprised that when left unsupported his arm remained up in the air at right-angles to his body without his exerting the least effort. After that his mind became blank.
When he recovered his faculties he was again lying back in bed and Malacou was looking down on him. With a smile the doctor said, ‘By offering no resistance you made things easy for me. You were under for half an hour and did not make so much as a murmur. What is more I was able to lift you up and turn you round so that for a while both your legs were dangling over the side of the bed and the blood could flow more freely into them.’
Gregory returned his smile. ‘I didn’t feel a thing. What a blessed relief to know that I haven’t to suffer any more when you do my dressings. I’m very grateful to you, Doctor.’
Since Gregory and Kuporovitch had returned from Peenemünde Malacou had, from time to time, brought them up news of the progress of the war as given out on the German radio. For the first fortnight Gregory had been too ill to take in much that had happened, but he gradually caught up with events. Two days after he had been struck down the Allies had completed their conquest of Sicily; and on September 3rd they had gone into the toe of Italy.
This news amazed and appalled him. It had seemed so obvious that the German forces in Sicily would withdraw to the great natural bastion of Mount Etna on the north-east corner of the island and that, although they could be boxed in there, it would take many weeks, or even months, before they could be finally subdued; so the enemy would have all that time to bring up reinforcements and prepare defensive positions across the straits in the south of Italy. And eight weeks had elapsed between the first landing in Sicily and this on the mainland. That meant for certain that the Allies must meet with fierce opposition and could have little hope of making a swift deep penetration, as could have been the case had they landed further north.
Four or five days after the Allies had crossed the Straits of Messina the Italians had broadcast an announcement that they had signed an armistice. At first it looked as if the Italian surrender would make the occupation of the country comparatively easy. But that had not proved at all the case. Instead of withdrawing the Germans had continued to hold the strong defensive positions they had prepared, and had found little difficulty in tying down Montgomery’s invading troops in the toe of the peninsula.
A few days later, the Germans had made themselves masters of Rome, then, by a brilliant exploit, snatched Mussolini in an aircraft from a high plateau on which he had been held prisoner and set him up as the head of a new Fascist Government in the north, on Lake Garda.
Belatedly, the Allies had attempted to outflank the Germans in the south by a landing at Salerno, but had failed to achieve their object. Kesselring had reacted with amazing speed and not only hemmed in their new bridgehead but looked like driving them back into the sea. Their fate still hung in the balance; and Gregory could only pray that this ill-conceived campaign—so different from any of the proposals put forward by the British Joint Planning Staff early that year—would not bring a series of bloodbaths and disasters to the Allied Armies.
For three days Malacou continued to come each morning and dress his wound, while he remained in oblivion. On the fourth, soon after waking, he got a strong impression that the doctor would not come in the morning but in the afternoon; and that proved to be the case. When he remarked on it, Malacou smiled and said:
‘This is excellent. My delay in coming to you was deliberate. I sent out that thought and you received it.’
At that Gregory felt slight alarm and replied quickly, ‘If my allowing you to hypnotise me is going to lead to your dominating my mind I’d prefer to put up with the pain.’
Malacou shook his head. ‘The transference of thoughts between two people does not lead to one dominating the other. It is an equal partnership. To prove that, I suggest that now we have achieved some small degree of rapport you should try to convey a thought to me. Tomorrow I will not come to you until you send for me.’
Gregory agreed to try out this intriguing experiment and, sure enough, having waited until midday next day, when he had been concentrating hard for some ten minutes on willing the doctor to come to him, Malacou, smiling with satisfaction, appeared.
Sitting down, he said, ‘I will tell you now why I am anxious that we should develop telepathy between us. The stars, as I told you some while ago, foretell that at some future time we shall again work together against the accursed Nazis. When that time comes, being able to communicate our thoughts to one another while at a distance could prove of inestimable value.’
It was impossible to dispute the immense benefit that two secret agents would derive from such an unusual advantage; so, after a moment’s thought, Gregory said that he was willing to practise tuning his mind in to Malacou’s. They then agreed that Gregory should memorise and transfer to the doctor certain passages from the books he was reading, and that in future the doctor should endeavour to convey the radio bulletins to him by telepathy.
During the week that followed they had numerous failures, some partial successes and sufficient complete transferences to encourage them. Towards the end of the week it was clear that the rapport between them had become much stronger. Through it Gregory learned that the Germans were no longer boasting that they would annihilate the Allied force that had been clinging to the beachhead at Salerno; but, as against that, they had captured Rhodes, and as long as they held that bastion adjacent to the Turkish coast it was clear that Churchill’s hope of bringing Turkey into the war on the side of the Allies must remain frustrated.
Gregory regarded that development as a major set-back, but towards the end of the month Malacou predicted that events would soon take a turn in favour of the Allies; and he proved correct. The Russians again surged forward and captured Smolensk; then on October 2nd the Germans admitted that their forces in Italy had made a ‘strategic’ withdrawal and allowed the American Fifth Army to enter Naples.
It was on the following day that Gregory said to Malacou, ‘I’ve no wish that this game we are playing should lead to my prying into your private affairs, but yesterday when I first established rapport with you I got the impression that you were worrying about Khurrem. It’s some days since she has paid me a visit. Is she, by any chance, ill?’
‘No; but you were right,’ Malacou replied gravely. ‘I am greatly worried about her. As you may recall, Herman Hauff’s wife was found dead the night after the raid on Peenemünde. That is now six weeks ago, and he has asked Khurrem to marry him.’
‘I see,’ said Gregory thoughtfully. ‘It’s a pity that he is a Nazi; and, perhaps, a wife-murderer into the bargain. In the circumstances her dislike of the idea of taking him for a husband is very understandable. But to marry again is just what she needs to pull her together.’
Malacou rounded on him with blazing eyes and cried, ‘My daughter is everything to me. I’d rather see her dead first.’
A little startled by the doctor’s outburst, Gregory said no more; but as the days went by he sensed that Malacou was becoming increasingly uneasy. However, towards the middle of October it transpired that it was not only about Khurrem’s situation that he was worrying. After he had treated Gregory on the 15th he said:
‘For some days I have been greatly concerned by new portents that have arisen. I feel convinced that some revolutionary change is shortly to occur in your situation. It will not be harmful to you; but a new influence that is extremely potent is about to make itself felt here and it will be adverse to the rapport we have succeeded in establishing between us.’
More he could not say and Gregory’s speculations got him nowhere; but very early on the morning of the 17th the prediction was fulfilled in a manner that he could not possibly have anticipated. While it was still dark he awoke to find Malacou bending over him. In a hoarse voice the occultist said:
‘The stars never lie. Kuporovitch has returned. He has dyed his hair black, thinned out his eyebrows and grown a moustache; so for a moment I did not recognise him. He comes from Sweden and with him he has brought a surgeon and a nurse.’
Gregory’s mind flamed with sudden hope. ‘You mean … you mean to operate on me and put my leg right?’
‘That is what they hope to do, but it is not possible to assess the chances until the doctor has examined you.’
‘Then bring him up, man! Bring him up so that he can have a look at my leg.’
‘No, you must be patient for a while. He is an elderly man and they have all walked here from Grimmen, carrying their luggage. He has declared that he must sleep for a few hours before making his examination.’
‘But Stefan! Kuporovitch! He would think nothing of such a midnight tramp. Bring him to me so that I can thank him. My dear, loyal friend. How could I ever have imagined for one moment that he would have left me for selfish ends?’
‘He and the nurse are both eager to see you. I left them refreshing themselves with a glass of wine while I came up to tell you of this strange turn in your fortunes. I will go down and fetch them.’
Five minutes later a woman in nurse’s uniform entered the room. Her hair was hidden under her cap and in the dim light for a moment Gregory could not make out her features. Then his heart gave a bound. For a few seconds he thought his imagination was deceiving him. But as she smiled he knew it was no illusion. She was his beloved Erika.
Next moment she was kneeling by his bed, her arms round him, her cheek pressed to his, sobbing with happiness. Taking her lovely face between his hands, he kissed her again and again until they were both breathless. When at last she knelt back he saw Kuporovitch standing on the other side of the bed. Seizing the smiling Russian’s hand he pressed it and cried:
‘Stefan, you old devil! How can I ever thank you for this? I’ve no words to express what I feel. But how did you ever manage it? That you should have succeeded in getting back to me bringing Erika and a surgeon is little short of a miracle.’
The Russian shrugged. ‘Dear friend, where there’s a will there’s a way; and Sir Pellinore smoothed out most of our difficulties. I could not allow you to become a cripple for life if there were any possible means of saving you from such a fate. When I succeeded in reaching England Sir Pellinore agreed that no effort must be spared to bring you aid. Erika insisted on coming too. To improve her capabilities as a nurse, until we could leave England she spent eighteen hours a day watching surgeons at work in operating theatres. Sir Pellinore arranged for us to be flown out to Sweden in a Mosquito and, no matter how, enabled us to enter Germany with Swedish passports. The rest was easy.’
‘But this surgeon? If it should come out that he came here to operate on a man who is in hiding from the Gestapo the Germans will have no mercy on him. He must know that. How did you persuade him to take such a risk?’
Erika wiped the tears of happiness from her blue eyes and laughed. ‘Money, darling; money. Sir Pellinore gave me a cheque for ten thousand pounds and through contacts in Sweden we induced one of the best surgeons in Stockholm, a Dr. Zetterberg, to run the risk for this colossal fee.’ Turning, she looked up at Malacou and added, ‘We felt sure that if we could get here safely, and in the middle of the night, you would agree to conceal us all in your castle.’
Malacou had stood silently by taking in most of what had been said, as, although he did not speak English, he knew enough to understand it. Now he bowed to Erika and said:
‘Gnädige Fran, naturally I wish to do all I can to help you. But what you ask presents certain difficulties. This old ruin has few habitable rooms. Mr. Kuporovitch could again sleep on a bed in the corner here, but there is nowhere where I could accommodate yourself and Dr. Zetterberg for any length of time. And it would be much too great a risk for you both to live in the manor house. There is, too, the question of food. While Mr. Kuporovitch was here, Mr. Sallust was on a very light diet, so for all practical purposes I had only one extra to feed. But now he is eating well again, and to have enough food sent for four of you in would be certain to arouse unwelcome comment.’
After some discussion Malacou agreed that for a few nights they would manage somehow, then he and Kuporovitch left Erika and Gregory to delight in their reunion.
Soon after midday Dr. Zetterberg came up to make his examination. He was a tall, thin, grey-haired man with bright blue eyes and a pleasant smile. After a brief survey of Gregory’s wound he turned to Malacou and said:
‘As I was led to suppose, this is going to be an extremely difficult operation. I would not have consented to come here without my own anaesthetist, but Mr. Kuporovitch told me he felt confident that you, Doctor, would be capable of administering an anaesthetic without endangering our patient. Is that so?’
Malacou nodded, ‘I have given anaesthetics on a number of occasions, but as I am an expert hypnotist I would greatly prefer to put him under deep hypnosis.’
Dr. Zetterberg frowned. ‘To rely on hypnotism to perform an operation of this kind would be most unusual. I hardly think——’
Gregory quickly cut in, ‘Dr. Malacou has been using hypnosis while dressing my wound and I haven’t felt a thing. May I suggest that he should put me under while you make your examination. Then you could judge his powers for yourself.’
To that Zetterberg agreed and, on finding that Gregory did not even flinch however roughly the wound was handled, he somewhat reluctantly consented to Malacou’s proposal. He said that twenty-four hours would be needed to prepare Gregory, and that as the shock to the patient’s system would be serious he intended to remain on there for at least four days or perhaps a week.
Malacou then told them of the arrangements on which he had decided after talking with Khurrem. Kuporovitch was to share Gregory’s room, a bed was to be made up for Dr. Zetterberg in the library and, as Erika would be staying on after the doctor left, she was to live in the manor house.
At that Gregory took alarm for Erika’s safety, but Malacou reassured him. Her passport described her as Frau Selma Bjornsen. Khurrem was giving out to the servants that an old friend of hers from Sweden was coming to stay with her for some weeks and the train by which she was arriving would not reach Grimmen till late that evening. As it was now dark early Khurrem could leave the house in her truck about six o’clock, but instead of driving in to Grimmen she would pick Erika up outside the ruin soon after seven and take her to the Manor in time for the evening meal.
Usually Gregory slept for a good part of the afternoon, but that day he was far too excited to think of sleep and Erika sat with him until it was time for her to leave. Kuporovitch then took her place and told Gregory about his escape.
He had made his way without difficulty to Kiel, stowed away in a small coastal steamer that plied up and down the Little Belt and, in seaman’s clothes that he had stolen from a locker, slipped ashore after dark at the little port of Aabenraa, in Denmark.
Being one of the smallest countries in Europe, Denmark had been able to offer only a token resistance to the Germans when they had invaded it in 1939. Its population was by habit law-abiding and, strategically, the peninsula could be ruled out as a base for an Allied invasion; so the Nazis anticipated no trouble there. Having taken over its military establishments and put in representatives empowered to squeeze the country as far as possible of its natural products, they had, thereafter, left it more or less to run itself. Perforce, in major matters, the Danes did what they were told; but, having centuries of tradition as a free people, they bitterly resented the overlord-ship that had been thrust upon them. In consequence, whenever possible both police and people wilfully obstructed the Germans in their searches for Jews who had fled from Germany, escaped prisoners of war and deserters.
In crossing to the west coast Kuporovitch had avoided all towns and inns, and it was as a deserter that he had posed at the lonely farms at which he had taken shelter. His story had been that he was a Latvian seaman whom the Nazis had forced to serve in one of the auxiliary vessels of their Baltic Fleet, but when his ship had put into Kiel for a refit he had managed to get away, and he was now hoping to get employment in a North Sea fishing trawler till the war was over.
On reaching Esbjerg he had gone north from the city for a few miles to the village of Hierting, and there taken lodgings with a pretty young widow. Quite soon they had been on such intimate terms that he had felt it safe to confide the truth to her. In all the occupied countries, as long as the Germans were gaining victories resistance had been almost negligible and confined to acts of defiance by brave individuals here and there; but when the tide began to turn, bringing hopes of freedom, resistance groups had sprung up in them all and soon coalesced into powerful secret organisations. After cautious probing among her friends, Kuporovitch’s pretty widow had succeeded in putting him in touch with a local group leader. A fortnight later he had been got away in a fishing trawler that had escaped from the German guard-boat in a fog, and had landed at Hull.
Having congratulated him on his exploits, Gregory asked casually, ‘And what did you do with the village postman?’
Kuporovitch sadly shook his head. ‘Ah, dear friend, that was a most distressing business. I realised, of course, that he was certain to be missed. But he was quite old, you know. Life could not have held much more for him. And, after all, had we met on a battlefield in the first great war when he, too, was no doubt a soldier, I should almost certainly have killed him then. Let us look upon it that the good God saw fit to grant him an extra twenty-five years of life. You see, I had to have his uniform, his bicycle and his letter sack. No policeman ever asks to see a postman’s papers. But let us say no more about it; the subject is a painful one to me.’
Gregory refrained from comment. Every hour of every day the Nazis were doing far worse things than rob old men of the last few years of their lives, and he felt that it was not for him to call in question any act that might help to strangle the hydra-headed monster that Hitler had created. The great thing was that Kuporovitch had both got away and had brought him the aid which might enable both of them to fight another day.
After a moment the Russian went on, ‘There is one thing I must tell you. When I left you before it was to bring you help. Now, when Dr. Zetterberg goes, I intend to leave again with him.’
‘But Stefan!’ Gregory exclaimed, ‘what about Erika? I’m not thinking of myself but if there is trouble I’m in no state to protect her.’
‘C’est vrai; c’est vrai,’ Kuporovitch nodded. ‘I thought long about that. But she is a German, so knows the ropes in this country, and she is as agile-minded as either of us. She should be safe here at Sassen and with the Swedish passport she is carrying she could return to Sweden without difficulty at any time she wishes. I have discussed the matter with her and she insists that I should go. You see, after this operation it will be many weeks before you are fit to travel; and, although I play pleasant games with other women, I adore my little Madeleine. Early in January she is going to have a baby, and I must not risk not being with her at such a time.’
‘Of course you mustn’t,’ Gregory agreed immediately. Then he laughed. ‘Somehow, Stefan, I’ve never thought of you as a father. But I’m sure you’ll make a good one. Congratulations and the very best of luck. Don’t worry about Erika and myself; we have little to fear as long as we remain at Sassen. And give my fondest love to Madeleine. Tell her I’ll be thinking of her.’
Kuporovitch stroked the little moustache he had grown, then produced a cardboard folder from his pocket. ‘Merci, mon vieux. As you say, you should be safe while here. The Jew’s life hangs on his protecting you from discovery. And although I dislike and fear the man, and was most unhappy to find that you had allowed him to hypnotise you, I respect his knowledge and shrewdness. But when your leg is sound enough for you to walk you’ve got to get home; and I’ve thought of that. Here is a Swedish passport. Assuming you will return with Erika we had it made out in the name of Gunnar Bjornsen; so that you could pass as her husband.’
‘Stefan, you think of everything,’ Gregory smiled, taking the passport and putting it with his wallet in the drawer of a little bedside table that had been found for him. ‘For what you have done for me I’ll never be able to repay you.’
The Russian shrugged. ‘Parbleu! Think nothing of it. I know that you would have done as much for me.’
On the following afternoon a stout trestle table was brought in. Gregory was lifted on to it, Malacou put him into a deep trance and the operation was performed. His thigh bone had been so badly crushed that it proved even more complicated than the Swedish surgeon had expected and the patient had to be kept under for four hours before the operation was completed. Dr. Zetterberg was grey-faced and sweating when he handed his blood-stained rubber gloves to Erika and said:
‘If his system survives the shock, in time he should regain the full use of his leg. He will limp, of course; but the degree of his limp will depend on how soon he puts weight upon his leg. He will be well advised if he refrains from attempting to walk without crutches for at least two months.’
For three days Malacou allowed Gregory to emerge from hypnosis only for brief intervals. Each time after doing so he soon ran a high temperature, and it was evident that he was hovering between life and death. On the evening of the fourth day Malacou brought up a copy of the Sephirotic Tree on ancient parchment and, while Kuporovitch watched him with extreme antipathy and Dr. Zetterberg with ill-concealed cynicism, he hung it up over the head of Gregory’s bed. Erika remained in the background, her fine features drawn with anxiety, but her expression noncommittal.
This diagrammatic representation of the mysteries of the Cabbala consisted of a diamond-shaped framework carrying ten circles in each of which were inscribed Hebrew characters. Pointing at it, Malacou said:
‘Behold the Key to all Power, from the Beginning unto the End, as it is Now and shall Be for Evermore. The symbols in the lowest circles represent the Kingdom and the Foundation. Those above, Honour and Virtue. Proceeding upwards, Glory, Dominion, Grace, Intelligence, Wisdom and, finally, the Crown. By these I shall conjure the entities untrammelled by flesh to spare our brother to us.’
Exchanging glances of embarrassment Kuporovitch and the Swede withdrew, but as Malacou began to genuflect in front of the Tree and murmur Hebraic incantations Erika knelt down. The first great love of her life had been a charming, gifted and highly intelligent Jewish millionaire, and she had come to respect his beliefs. It was his having been taken to a concentration camp that had caused her to denounce the Nazis publicly and she would have shared his fate had she not been the daughter of a Bavarian General and a friend of Goering, whose influence had saved her.
The following morning there could be no doubt that Gregory had taken a turn for the better. He was no longer sweating and his temperature had dropped to near normal. On the sixth day after the operation the surgeon expressed himself as satisfied with Gregory’s state and he was sufficiently recovered to say good-bye to his loyal friend Kuporovitch. After dark that evening Khurrem drove the Russian and Dr. Zetterberg to Grimmen.
Before the operation Gregory had been putting on weight, but it had taken a lot out of him, so for the next fortnight he was again in a very low state and made only slow progress.
For appearances’ sake Erika had to pass a good part of her time with Khurrem, but the pretence of going in the afternoons for long, solitary walks enabled her to spend a few hours every day with Gregory. During them she often read to him and always brought him such war news as came in. The Russians were still advancing and had taken Kiev, but the Allies were making little progress against the tough resistance of the Germans in southern Italy.
Sometimes they talked of Khurrem and her unhappy state. She was still drinking heavily and Herman Hauff continued to press her to become engaged to him. It was Erika’s opinion that Khurrem might have agreed had it not been for her father. The mutual interest Khurrem and Hauff shared in running the farm efficiently made a bond between them and there was no proof that Hauff really had murdered his wife. Admittedly he was a Nazi, but in other respects he was not a bad fellow and, as Erika pointed out, Khurrem’s husband had also been a Nazi.
She was also inclined to believe that, quite apart from the question of Hauff, Khurrem’s unhappiness was in some way due to her relations with her father. He unquestionably dominated her completely, yet he made no attempt to stop her drinking. Erika was convinced too that in spite of all that Malacou was doing for Gregory his influence was a sinister one, and although she tried to conceal it, she found it difficult to hide her growing aversion to him.
Her instinctive feeling that Malacou was an evil man caused her to worry about his hypnotising Gregory when dressing his wound, and she tried to dissuade him from continuing to practise thought transference with the doctor. But by that time Gregory had developed the power to an extent that enabled him even to hold short conversations with Malacou by telepathy; and he was so fascinated by his progress that he would not agree to give up these intriguing sessions.
By mid-November he was again able to sit up and his new wounds had healed sufficiently for Erika to massage his sadly wasted limb. During that week, too, his general health showed a sudden marked improvement. Malacou told him that this was because the Earth was about to enter the Sign of the Zodiac ruled by Sagittarius, which ran from the 21st November to the 20th December, and was especially favourable to all matters concerning the thighs and legs.
Ever since Gregory had sufficiently recovered from his operation to enjoy his periods of consciousness the sight of Erika had re-aroused in him the emotions natural to a lover and she had eagerly returned his endearments; although owing to his state, they had had to confine themselves to kisses and caresses. But by November 25th his urge to make love to her again in the fullest sense had become so strong that he pleaded with her to let him.
At first she would not hear of it; but for the next few days he continued to beg her to undress and lie down with him, swearing that he would remain quite still, so that he should not strain his leg, and leave it to her to play the man’s part.
Tempted as she was to agree she protested that, although by exercising great care she would not harm him, she positively dared not from fear that Malacou might suddenly come in and surprise them. Promptly, he assured her that his telepathic faculties would give him ample warning of the doctor’s approach.
At that she shook her golden head and laughed, ‘No, no, my darling. You cannot persuade me that while locked with me in love’s embrace your mind would be capable of also keeping cave for Malacou. If we are again to take full joy of one another it must be at night when there is no chance of our being disturbed.’
‘But how can we?’ he frowned. ‘Even if you could get away undetected from the Manor there is only one door to this ruin and it’s always locked. To ask Malacou for a key would give the game away.’
After a moment she said, ‘Everyone at the Manor is in bed and sound asleep well before midnight; so no-one would know if I crept downstairs and let myself out. And as this is a ruin I’m sure there must be other ways of getting into it than by the door. It is Malacou’s day at the clinic tomorrow, so I’ll take the opportunity to explore.’
On the following afternoon, when she came to him, her big blue eyes were bright with excitement and she said at once, ‘I’ve found a way in. At the head of the stairs outside this room there is another door. It leads out on to a lead walk parallel to the roof of the Castle chapel. Stefan told me that while he was cooped up here with you after you got away from Peenemünde he used to take his exercise there, because one can’t be seen from below. At the far end of the walkway there is a gap in the battlement and its fallen stones form a big pile on the ground. From the ground to the leads is only about fifteen feet and I was always good at climbing, I’m sure I could scramble up it and come to you that way. Oh, darling, just think of it! I can hardly wait. I’ll come to you tonight.’
With many kisses Gregory urged her to be careful. Then when she had left him he did his utmost to concentrate on a book, so as to lessen the likelihood of Malacou picking up his thoughts of the promised joys to come.
For him the evening positively crawled by and after he had turned down the incandescent burner beside his bed he found it impossible to keep his mind from forming pictures of Erika’s lovely form.
It was with good reason that before she was out of her teens she had become known as ‘The Beautiful Erika von Epp’, for it was not her oval face alone, with its smooth forehead crowned by waves of true golden hair, her great laughing eyes and rich, full lips that made her a living masterpiece of art; from small feet and ankles her long legs curved up to splendidly rounded hips and above her narrow waist her torso blossomed into two firm, smooth domes that stood proudly out so that they would have fitted perfectly into outsized old-fashioned champagne glasses.
At last, soon after midnight, the door creaked slightly and she slipped into the room. When he turned up the light he saw that she was wearing only a warm, belted, camel hair coat over her nightdress. She was still panting slightly from her climb, but looked all the more lovely with her hair dishevelled. Her eyes were liquid and sparkling; her cheeks rosy with excitement. Smiling at him she slipped off her coat, then, stooping quickly, took the hem of her night-dress in both hands and pulled it off over her head.
He shut his eyes then opened them again and breathed, ‘If this were my first sight of you I’d think Venus had come to earth again.’
Kicking off her shoes, she ran to him crying, ‘Think of me as Venus, then, and I’ll transport you to heaven. Oh, darling, it’s been so long! You can’t think how terribly I’ve wanted you!’
‘And I you!’ his voice came huskily as he stretched out his strong arms to her.
Throwing herself on her knees beside his bed, she put her hands on his biceps and checked his movement. ‘Oh, be careful! For God’s sake be careful! You swore you would lie still and let me love you. You’ve stormed the gates of paradise often enough in the past. This time they’ll open for you, but oh, so very gently.’
Raising her chin she opened her mouth and offered it for his kiss. He took her face between his hands and drew her lips down on his. Her breath began to come quickly and she closed her eyes. Then as he released her she rolled back the sheet and lay down with him on his sound side. Leaning over she kissed him again and again while his hands caressed her body. When they could restrain themselves no longer she knelt up and, as she had promised, transported him to heaven.
Next day he awaited her coming with some anxiety. But all had gone well; she had accomplished her downward climb without accident and got back to her room without disturbing anyone. After long kisses and talking over the delights of their midnight encounter she said:
‘I’ve news for you, and rather disturbing news at that. Khurrem told me this morning that she has promised to marry Herman Hauff; but only because he forced the issue. Apparently, after the Peenemünde raid, when the Gestapo were hunting for you and Stefan, as you had both stayed here before moving to Wolgast, they came here and would have arrested Khurrem and her father had not Hauff used his influence to protect them. Yesterday he threatened that if she wouldn’t become engaged to him he would withdraw his protection and report that he had overheard them saying the sort of things that people aren’t allowed to say about Hitler.’
Gregory frowned. ‘What swine these Nazis are. Poor woman, I’m sorry for her.’
As Erika lit a cigarette she gave a slight shrug. ‘I don’t know. She doesn’t love him, of course, but I think it’s rather a relief to her that matters have come to a head. It’s telling her father that she’s dreading. Quite apart from his antipathy to the idea of her marrying an S.S. man, I’m sure that he wants to keep her to himself. It’s certain he will be furious.’
‘I don’t doubt it. But after blowing his top he’ll have to agree. Physically he is a coward, and he told me himself he’d even commit murder rather than be hauled off to a concentration camp. Did she go so far as actually to settle on a date for their wedding?’
‘No; but Hauff insists that it should be before the New Year, and that’s not much more than four weeks from now.’
When Gregory asked Erika to come to him again that night she firmly refused, giving as her reason that too much excitement was certain to be bad for him, and that the sooner he could build up his strength the sooner they would be able to get away. For some while they argued, but she remained adamant and told him that for the time being, at least, he must remain content with her coming to him twice a week.
Malacou paid his usual visit to Gregory next morning and, although he said nothing about Khurrem, it was evident from his manner that she had told him of her engagement. However, with him he had brought Tarik, who was carrying a pair of crutches and a sling. Between them they got Gregory up and supported him while he tried the crutches out. On this first occasion, having been bed-bound for so long, he could hardly stand alone, but the following two days he managed a few faltering steps.
During these trials the doctor continued to look black and sullen, but Gregory paid little heed to this moodiness because he was so entranced at the prospect of being able to walk once more and, between whiles, with joyful thoughts that on the fourth night from her first visit Erika had promised to come to him again.
That evening after Gregory had had his meal and Tarik had taken away his tray, knowing that Malacou’s mind would be fully occupied with his worry over Khurrem, he turned down his light, lay back and let his imagination have free play anticipating the joys of the coming night.
Soon after midnight he was roused from his semi-dreaming state by the sound of hurried footsteps outside and next moment his door was flung open. Recalling the caution Erika had used on her first visit, he feared for a moment that something had gone wrong and it might be someone else. Hastily he levered himself up in bed and turned up the light. Framed in the open doorway Erika was standing. But she was trembling violently, her eyes were wide and staring and her face was drained of blood.
‘Darling!’ he cried, ‘what on earth’s the matter? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.’
‘No!’ she gasped. ‘No; but something worse. When … when I climbed up on to the walkway I saw chinks of light coming through the chapel roof. I … I clambered over on to it and knelt down near a rent to see what was going on. Oh, Gregory, a Black Mass was being held there. Or, at least, its Jewish equivalent. Instead of a cross, the Sephirotic Tree had been nailed up above the altar. To either side there were Hebrew candlesticks with seven branches and the candles in them were black. Malacou and Khurrem were there wearing robes covered with the signs of the Zodiac, and Tarik was standing to one side swinging a censer.’
For a moment she broke off to get her breath then, her voice rising to an hysterical note, she cried, ‘After I’d watched for a few minutes Malacou stopped chanting. Khurrem got up from her knees. They both stripped off their robes. They had nothing on beneath them and stood there naked. Then … then, he picked her up and seemed to be offering her to the spirit of Evil. And … and then he had her on the altar. His own daughter, Gregory! His own daughter!’