Gregory closed his eyes and sighed. After having worn down the most dynamic man in Europe by hours of skilful flattery, well-timed bullying and reasoned argument, it seemed a bit hard that, tired out as he was, he should now be called upon to cope with his pleasant but pigheaded young friend.
Experience had taught him that the better the quality of the drink the less likelihood of a head the following morning, but even with the very best of liquor quantity will tell, and he now had a first-class hang-over. Breakfast and a bath had only stalled off the evil hour. His brain had begun to feel like cotton-wool, his eyes were heavy and he had a rotten taste in his mouth, but it was mental exhaustion, much more than the alcohol he had drunk, which had got him down. Moreover, he was a night-bird by nature and always at his very worst in the morning, when most other people were setting off to tackle the day’s work; yet the effort had to be made, so he said slowly:
“Why not Holland, as that girl of yours is there?”
“I’d make it Holland,” Charlton said sharply, “but for two reasons. Firstly, as a British Air Force officer the Dutch would intern me the moment I landed. Secondly, it’s my duty to report to my C.O. at the earliest possible opportunity—and if you’ve forgotten your duty I haven’t forgotten mine.”
“Oh, Freddie, you make me tired,” said Gregory wearily. “D’you honestly think I’m the sort of chap who would sell myself to the enemy and that I’ve taken on this job to help the Nazis win the ruddy war?”
“No—no, of course not. I didn’t mean that really; but when you said you were doing the job for Goering what the hell else was a fellow to think?”
“Thanks for the somewhat dubious vote of confidence. Now, listen to me. I’m going to give you two very good reasons why you’re not going home before you’ve flown me to Finland. After that you can do as you damned well choose. The Finns won’t intern you, because at the moment they’re much too occupied with their own affairs to bother their heads about minor infringements of their neutrality; so if you don’t want to stay you can buy a suit of civilian clothes, and it shouldn’t be difficult for you to get a ship home from one of the Norwegian ports.”
“Why should I do that, which might mean weeks of delay, when I’ve got a perfectly good plane?”
“You haven’t got a plane. Goering gave this plane to me. But for goodness’ sake don’t let’s wrangle about side issues. The situation is this. Russia has demanded that Finland shall give her bases and receive garrisons of Red troops. If Finland agrees, she will never again be in a position to fight Russia and will be reduced to the state of a Russian province. That has got to be stopped somehow.”
“I suppose you think you’re such a hell of a guy that directly the Soviet agents report your arrival in Helsinki Stalin will get a fit of the jitters and throw his hand in?”
“Don’t be facetious, Freddie, or keep interrupting me. What I can do is to persuade the Finns to fight. I’ve got here the whole low-down on the Red Army and Air Force, showing their real weakness. Once the Finns see these papers they’ll realise that they’ve got a sporting chance.”
“What, a mere handful of them against fifteen million armed Reds?”
“Yes. I don’t suggest that they can march on Moscow but I do believe they can hold out until help reaches them from the other Scandinavian countries or the Allies.
“I don’t suppose you know much about Finland, Freddie—few English people do. The Finns are grand fighters; they showed that in their War of Independence when with little else than shot-guns the Finnish farmers drove thousands of Red guards out of their country and at last made it their own. The state of education and civilisation in Finland is very high indeed. They are individualists in the best sense and have a passionate love of freedom. After a hundred years of Tsarist tyranny they managed to throw off the Russian yoke; for the past twenty years they have enjoyed real liberty, living in peace and well-being. Now their liberty is threatened again.
“Think of those Finnish families, living just as our own people do at home; well-fed, well-clothed, enjoying their sport, books, music, cinemas; able to do and say just what they like without any dread of secret police spying upon them and dragging them off to prison or execution. Then think of what we know of Russia—the dirt, the poverty, the forced labour, the constant fear of husbands and wives that they may be separated over-night—never to see each other again—or one of them arrested on a false charge and condemned without even a hearing by some secret tribunal. The Finns are a little people but they are decent folk; they represent everything for which Britain and France are fighting. How can we allow them to be made slaves again when we have a chance to save them?”
The plane was still climbing and Gregory paused for a moment to glance at Freddie’s set face, then he went on evenly: “That is my first reason—a sentimental one, perhaps. Now listen to my second. It is the thing that you yourself spoke of just now—our duty. It’s our duty to help win this war. If we can help more by temporarily abandoning routine and acting on our own, common sense tells us we should do so. Remember Nelson putting his blind eye to the telescope? Well, we’re not even ignoring the orders of our superiors; just remaining a few days longer than is strictly necessary on the list of ‘missing’, that’s all. Germany is getting supplies from Russia; not in great quantity, perhaps, but you can bet that she’s getting the things she needs most urgently—even if they come through on a hay-cart. If Russia has to fight Finland she’ll have to give first place to her own war and the supply of vital war materials which she sends to Germany will dry up. If we can get the Finns to fight we shall indirectly have extended the blockade along another fifth of Germany’s frontiers, and that’s as good as a major victory. Therefore you can serve your country infinitely better by taking me to Finland than you can by going home to report for routine duty.”
Freddie had straightened out and the compass showed that he was heading not north-east but west—for England; so Gregory threw his last reserves into the battle by continuing: “Then I want you to think of the future for a moment. What is Russia’s real game? I talked to Goering for hours last night and I meant a lot of the things I said but others were so much hot air. The original programme of the Bolsheviks was world revolution, and they established the Comintern which financed subversive activities in every country with a view to carrying it out. But Lenin found the job too much for him. Russia was in such a ghastly state that he couldn’t pull it together without securing help from the outside world; so he announced the N.E.P.—New Economic Plan—by which the Bolsheviks proclaimed that they had altered their policy. Private internal trading was to be allowed again and the Soviet was prepared to recognise capitalistic governments in other countries and to live in peace with them. From that time onward the Comintern faded into the background. Nevertheless, Lenin made it abundantly clear that the N.E.P. was only a means to an end. He said in public speeches before his death that once Russia was on her feet again they must revert to their original policy and endeavour to bring about world revolution by any means in their power, including conquest by the Red armies.
“Twenty years have elapsed since then. Russia is much stronger now. If we can occupy Russia with Finland and divert vital supplies from Germany we shall weaken Germany so that we are more quickly able to win our own war and yet leave her sufficiently strong to act as a bulwark against Russia. By inducing Finland to fight we shall also weaken Russia and—with luck—her slow, lumbering growth into a world-menace will be set back for years to come. Finland will be fighting Britain’s fight and the frontier of Christian civilisation—the right of every man, woman and child to justice, toleration and freedom—today lies not in the west, Freddie, but north-east, on the Mannerheim Line.”
Freddie Charlton pressed his right foot down on his rudder-bar, bringing the plane round in a beautiful curve. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about such things and I’ve never quite looked at it that way before. You must be very tired, old boy; get some sleep. I’ll take you to Helsinki.”
“Thanks, old chap. I knew you’d understand directly I explained things; and even if we fail in our attempt I’m sure you’ll never regret your decision.” At last Gregory was able to relax and a few minutes later he was sound asleep.
As there was no longer any necessity for flying at a high altitude Freddie brought the plane down to 3,000 feet and headed for Danzig. The day was fine, and now that his wretched night was temporarily forgotten he was thoroughly enjoying being in the air again after his enforced three weeks on the ground.
On picking up Danzig he descended to 1,000 feet so that the German controls there could check him out of the country and report to Goering. Below him as he passed over the harbour he could see the tangled wreckage on the Westernplat Peninsula where the Polish garrison had held out so gallantly under a devastating bombardment from the German ships and shore batteries. Altering his course twenty degrees nearer to north he crossed the great, followed the coast-line for a while and thence flew over the Estonian islands.
The land below him had been snow-covered for the last three hundred miles of his journey and he had to go up to 6,000 feet to get out of a snow-storm over the Gulf of Finland but at a little after eleven o’clock he made a perfect landing on the hard-rolled snow of the Helsinki air-port.
In spite of the bumping the plane had got over the islands Gregory had slept for the whole of the four hours of the journey. Even the landing did not wake him, and Freddie had to shake him by the shoulder as the officials at the air-port came across to the plane. Once awake he declared himself much refreshed and, having first established his British nationality by the production of the faked British passport, he began to talk to the Finnish officials in voluble German, as they were more fluent in that language. His story was that they had flown direct from England with papers of the utmost urgency for the British Legation and that it was for that reason he had been given an R.A.F. pilot to bring him over.
The Sabina not being a war-plane, the question of interning it did not arise; but normally there might have been difficulties about Freddie. As it was, the Finns were all so concerned by the abnormal conditions created by the crisis, and the additional air-traffic which was constantly coming and going as a result of it, that Gregory had no difficulty in persuading them that Freddie’s case was quite exceptional and that he should be allowed to retain his liberty—for the time being, at all events. A friendly official secured a taxi for them and, Gregory having directed the driver to take them to the best hotel, they drove through the suburbs to the centre of the town.
The driver set them down at the Hotel Kamp. Immediately Gregory entered it he pushed his way through the crowded hall to the porter’s desk and got the man there to turn up two telephone numbers for him: that of the Finnish Foreign Office and that of the von Kobenthals. There were queues of waiting people before each telephone booth but Gregory got hold of the head porter and simply asked how much he wanted for ten minutes’ use of the line in his office. The matter was soon concluded and the moment Gregory was alone he rang up the von Kobenthals’ number.
To his immense satisfaction he learned that although Erika was not in she was still staying with the von Kobenthals, so he left no message but in the highest spirits hung up again and turned his attention to Monsieur Wuolijoki. The Foreign Office proved more difficult and it was a little time before he could get a connection; but after a short wait he got through to Monsieur Wuolijoki, and, announcing himself as Colonel-Baron von Lutz who had just arrived in Helsinki from Germany on urgent business, secured an appointment for three o’clock that afternoon. Both love and war seemed to be going splendidly and he left the office beaming.
Recrossing the hall, with Freddie beside him, he tackled a fair man at the reception-desk about rooms. It transpired that the hotel was very full owing to the crisis, but on Gregory’s producing a fat wad of German bank-notes the clerk said that he could let them have a reservation which had only just been cancelled, if they did not mind sharing a double-room on the sixth floor. Gregory booked it at once and, since he had been checked in on the British passport by the air-port police, signed the register in his own name. He then changed some of his German Reichmarks into Finnish currency and told the clerk that they were going out to do some shopping as owing to a mishap they had lost their luggage. Goering’s report and the mass of original papers that were with it formed much too large a packet to carry about conveniently so he handed it across the desk and added: “While I am out I shall be glad if you will take charge of this and put it in the hotel safe.”
“Certainly, sir,” the fair man smiled. “I’ll give you a receipt for it.”
“Thanks,” said Gregory as he took the slip. “I shall be wanting it again after lunch but it’s very important that the greatest care should be taken of it. You’re not to give it to anyone on any pretext, even if they produce this receipt, but keep it until I ask you personally for it.”
As they stood there the sole possessions of the two Englishmen consisted of the few things that they carried in their pockets, so they went out to buy a couple of suitcases and various articles which would enable them to live for the next few days like civilised beings; including civilian clothes for Freddie, to make him less conspicuous and, above all, furs; as although they moved briskly they were already feeling the intense cold of the Finnish capital.
The Boulevard, which constitutes the principal shopping centre of Helsinki, was unusually crowded. The newspaper vendors were doing terrific business and on every corner there were knots of fur-clad people discussing the all-important question, “Shall we or shall we not be at war with Russia this time tomorrow?” Everywhere, too, there were squads of voluntary workers sandbagging the principal buildings or frantically working upon air-raid shelters; but the normal life of the city was still going on. Every shop was open and doing a brisk business. With his excellent mastery of German, English and French Gregory found no difficulty whatever in getting the articles he required. The assistants in the shops were equally friendly whether they believed him to be German or British. Their enemy was Russia and their one question to every customer—whatever his nationality—was: “Do you think we are going to fight?”
In view of Russia’s huge air force and the fact that the Finns could hardly expect any protection at all from their own tiny air-fleet, they were remarkably cheerful and the two Englishmen very soon saw that, whatever the view of the Finnish Government might be, the Finnish people—almost to a man—were prepared to take anything that was coming to them rather than surrender to the Bolsheviks.
With what was left of his own money and the 3,000 marks for which he had stung Goering Gregory had brought nearly £600 out of Germany, and furs are amazingly cheap in Finland so they had ample funds to buy the best of everything they wanted.
Helsinki has three harbours, the southernmost of which, overlooked by the unpretentious ex-Imperial Palace of the Tsars and the gilded, onion-shaped domes of the big Russian Church, is a great market. To it boats come from all parts, laden mainly with fish and farm-produce, but along the quays there are many stalls for every kind of merchandise. On this Tuesday morning an unusual number of people had flocked into the town to get the latest news so the harbour market was doing a roaring business and it was there that Gregory and Freddie completed their purchases, returning to the hotel just after one o’clock with two large suitcases stuffed full of parcels.
Just as they were moving towards the lift Gregory noticed a pretty dark-haired girl standing at the entrance to the lounge. A moment later Freddie also saw her and, dropping his suitcase, positively leapt forward.
“Angela!” he cried. “Darling! What in the world are you doing here?”
For a second the girl’s face remained strained and uncertain, but ignoring the people who were talking excitedly all around them Freddie seized her in his arms, and Gregory saw by the sudden change in her expression to overwhelming happiness that for her the huge crowd no longer existed. Quietly picking up Freddie’s suitcase he stepped, smiling, into the lift and left them to it.
When he got up to his room he unpacked his parcels and had a wash at the fixed basin. It then occurred to him to have a look at the typescript which he had stolen from under the bundle of notes out of Goering’s safe, and removing his shoe he drew the pages out from the false sole. The script consisted of six folded sheets of transparent paper, all of which were almost entirely covered with close type. It was a carbon copy and evidently the original had been done by an amateur as there were many typing errors and crossings-out. Gregory deduced that whoever had typed it had been unused to such work and did not wish to have to do it a second time but wanted as many copies as possible. It was in German and headed: “ARRANGEMENTS FOR THE NEXT FAMILY-DAY”.
Gregory read the first page and it appeared to consist of somebody’s scheme to hold a big family meeting which was to include the discussion of certain business plans.
Many relatives were mentioned, mostly by their Christian names, and none of these conveyed anything to Gregory. There was no date on it and no signature at its end. The script was thumbed and dirty so he was inclined to think that it had been got out by some old gentleman who was a remote relative of Goering’s and who at some time or other had wished to rope in the now famous ‘Hermann’ for some big social gathering that he was planning.
It seemed that he had risked his neck for a document which had no political significance whatever, so with considerable disappointment he folded it and put it back into his shoe for further examination when he had more leisure. He had only just re-laced his shoe when Freddie came bursting into the room. His face was flushed, his eyes shining.
“Isn’t it marvellous?” he cried. “Angela’s here! That was her I ran into downstairs a few minutes ago.”
“I had a sort of suspicion that it might be,” Gregory smiled, “and I gather it didn’t take you long to make up your quarrel either.”
“Quarrel?” Freddie repeated with surprise. “Oh, we never quarrelled really—we’ve always loved each other.”
“Splendid. Anyhow, I thought she looked a most lovely person and I’m more happy for you than I can possibly say, Freddie. But what’s she doing in Helsinki?”
“Her father was transferred from our Consulate at Amsterdam to our Consulate here a fortnight ago. Apparently the pressure of work here has been increasing ever since the war started so Mr. Fordyce was sent out to lend a hand. He’s a widower, you know, so wherever he goes Angela always goes too, to look after him. They want us both to lunch with them. If it’s O.K. by you, I said we’d meet them downstairs in about ten minutes’ time.”
Gregory laughed. “I shall be delighted to lunch if they won’t mind my slipping away immediately afterwards. I’ve got an appointment with a man at the Finnish Foreign Office for three o’clock.”
“Oh, no, that’ll be all right.” Freddie dived at his suitcase. “I must get some of these parcels unpacked so that I can have a wash and change into my new clothes; then we’ll get down to the lounge again.”
Downstairs they found that the Fordyces had secured a table and were with difficulty retaining two empty chairs for their guests as the lounge was absolutely packed with people. Half the population of Helsinki seemed to have assembled there to see as many of their acquaintances as possible and discuss the latest rumours.
While Freddie made the introductions Gregory was smilingly taking in the father and daughter. M. Fordyce was a tallish man still in his early forties and as yet had not a single grey hair on his dark, smooth head. His double-breasted lounge-suit was of grey Glenurquhart tweed and he was unmistakably English. Angela was even prettier than Gregory had supposed from his first glimpse of her. Like her father she was dark and had blue eyes, a combination which suggested a touch of Irish blood in the family, but her skin was of that smooth whiteness which is spoken of as magnolia blossom and sometimes found in a special type of dark beauty. Gregory noticed that she used very little make-up and thought that just a touch more colour on her lips and cheeks would have made her still lovelier; her eyes, however, nature could not have been improved upon, as she had long, dark, curling lashes.
After a glass of aquavit they went into the crowded dining-room and enjoyed an excellent meal. The smoked salmon—which is as cheap in Finland as herrings are in England—was, curiously enough, not of such good quality as that usually served in London; but the mussel soup was delicious, as the mussels—in which the Finnish coast abounds—had not been out of the sea for more than an hour. Stuffed pike, cooked over a wood-fire, followed and afterwards Gregory and Freddie tried their first bear steaks. Ordinarily, bear meat is inclined to be tough but this had been treated with oil—in the same way as the Italians prepare a tournado—and the meat had a distinctive, rather pleasant flavour of its own. To celebrate Freddie’s and Angela’s unexpected reunion Mr. Fordyce stood them champagne, and they finished up with a good selection of cheeses and Turkish coffee.
As they were celebrating the meal was naturally a happy affair, but most of the faces about them were grave and anxious owing to the crisis. Many of the women in the room were quite good-looking but very few of them had on any make-up; the lack of which left their faces curiously colourless compared with the usual restaurant crowd in London, and Freddie remarked upon the fact.
“My dear,” Angela laughed, “didn’t you know that for a girl to paint her face is the one deadly sin in Finland? That’s why I make up so little here. The tarts use cosmetics as a badge of their profession but even they use only as little as possible—just enough to show that they are tarts—otherwise they would never be able to attract the better class of men.”
“I see,” Gregory smiled across at her. “I thought it must be because they were rather puritanical, the old Protestant strain coming out. The Finns are said to be rather like the Scots in many ways, I believe, and nothing is more dreary than a Sunday in Scotland. They are Protestants, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Lutherans,” Fordyce volunteered.
Gregory nodded. “I imagine it’s the long winter nights which make people in the northern countries like Scotland and Scandinavia so keen on education—plenty of time for reading—and once people get interested in books they almost always educate themselves.”
“Yes. They are terrific readers. You’ve only got to look at the bookshops here to see that. Practically every worth-while book that comes out is translated into Finnish, and a bookseller was telling me the other day that the editions they print are very often as large as those printed in England; which is absolutely staggering considering the relative smallness of the population.”
“This business of make-up, then,” Freddie brought the conversation back, “is, I suppose, due to the same sort of strict morality that the Church of Scotland enforces so far as it can?”
“Oh, no. It’s not that they’re the least straight-laced,” Angela hastened to assure him. “In fact, women are remarkably free here and the Finns have a passionate belief in the equality of the sexes. They were the first people to give women the vote; and if a servant-girl here has an illegitimate child nobody thinks any the worse of her; she just stays on in her job and the child is adopted into the family.”
Glancing at his watch Gregory saw that it was nearly half past two, and he wanted to be in plenty of time for his appointment at the Finnish Foreign Office so he stood up and excused himself.
Having collected his furs from the cloakroom he thrust his way through the jam of people in the hall to the desk and said to the fair-haired clerk who had booked him in: “I want those papers back now that I gave you just before midday to put in the hotel safe.”
The fair man looked at him in blank surprise. “But you sent for them yourself—half an hour ago, sir.” He reached into a drawer and produced a chit. “We have your signature for them.”