Grauber was in his middle forties. His pasty complexion and a quite noticeable paunch gave the impression that physically he was not formidable, but they were deceptive; his broad shoulders gave him the strength of a bull, his long arms the grip of an orangoutang and, in spite of the smallness of his feet, he could move with the swiftness of a cat. Usually, however, for strong arm measures he relied on a member of his harem—a selection of blond young S.S. men as brutal and perverted as himself—one or more of whom generally travelled with him.
His small, light eyes had been set close together, but since November ’39 he had had only one. Gregory had bashed out the other with the butt of a pistol. Its socket now held a glass imitation and, as it did not swivel with the other, the unnerving thought leapt to the mind that the Gestapo Chief was capable of looking two ways at once.
Through his Department, U.A.-1, he controlled by far the greater part of Germany’s secret agents outside the Fatherland—the exceptions being the old military organisation under Admiral Canaris and a small service run by the Foreign Office to provide Ribbentrop with special information. His rank was equivalent to that of a Lieutenant-General and he was responsible only to Himmler. He spoke many languages and was an adept at disguise. Frequently he went about dressed in women’s clothes, as he had a flair for playing feminine parts, much aided by a naturally effeminate voice. But tonight he was dressed in a well-cut dinner jacket.
Gregory had first come up against him quite early in the war, at his secret headquarters in Hampstead. He had had an acid bath there for disposing of inconvenient corpses, but first induced his helpless victims to give him useful information by applying the lighted end of his cigar to their eyeballs. When in Finland, a few months later, he had beaten Erika for twenty minutes every morning on the muscles of her arms and legs with a thin steel rod. It was that which had determined Gregory, if he ever got the chance, to kill him very, very, slowly.
That this was not the chance Gregory needed no telling. In fact the odds were all the other way, and if he fell alive into Grauber’s hands he could expect to die even more slowly.
As it was still early, few people had as yet arrived at the Arizona. In the wash-room there were only Gregory, Cochefert, Grauber and the Hungarian attendant. The latter, unaware of the dramatic situation that had so suddenly developed within a few feet of him, was cheerfully swishing out the basin that Cochefert had just used. Gregory, his mouth a little open from stricken amazement, had his eyes riveted on the unhealthy face of the Gruppenführer! Grauber, equally astonished at this unexpected meeting, returned his stare without moving a muscle. Both were for a few moments like birds that have suddenly become paralysed from meeting the hypnotic glance of a snake. Of the three, Cochefert alone retained a normal manner. Still smiling at Gregory, he waved a hand behind him, then said in French, and too low for the attendant to catch his words:
‘You see, Colonel, I am honoured tonight by the presence of your Chief.’
As though the sound of his voice had released two springs, the other two sprang to life. Grauber was no coward, and such was his hatred of Gregory that to secure him for the torture chamber he would have risked his other eye. Gregory knew that if once he allowed himself to be arrested he would be better dead. His one hope was that he might render both men hors de combat before they could call in the police. Sabine’s car was little more than a hundred yards away. If he could only reach it he would be able to get clear of Budapest before a serious hunt for him could be set going.
His right hand jumped to his hip pocket. It was there that he always carried his little automatic. His adrenalin glands suddenly began to function overtime, and beads of sweat started out on his forehead. The pocket was empty. While he had been changing, his thoughts had been so full of Sabine that he had forgotten to transfer the pistol from his day clothes. If either Grauber or Cochefert was carrying a weapon he was now at their mercy.
Grauber was not. At Gregory’s swift gesture a flicker of fear had shown in his eyes. Then he caught Gregory’s expression of dismay and saw his hand come away from his hip empty. With a cry of triumph, he thrust the astonished Cochefert aside and hurled himself forward.
There was not much room to manœuvre. To get past Cochefert the Gruppenführer had had to step up on to the raised strip of floor on which stood the line of half-a-dozen white porcelain pissoirs. Doing so threw him slightly off his balance. Seizing on this advantage, Gregory rushed in, ducked beneath the long arm thrust out to grab him and landed a blow on his enemy’s body. With a howl of fury Grauber went over sideways, striking his head against one of the pissoirs and collapsing into it.
Barely ten seconds had elapsed since Gregory walked in through the door. The clash had occurred so swiftly that Cochefert had had no chance to speculate upon the reason for it. He still believed that Gregory was Obersturmbannführer Einholtz of the Gestapo, so was taken completely by surprise when he and Grauber rushed upon one another. But Grauber was unquestionably the senior. As he went over sideways and crashed into the porcelain gutter, discipline decided the Frenchman that he must side with him. Stepping a pace back from Gregory, which brought him up against the opposite wall, he pulled a small revolver from his pocket.
Gregory had already swung round towards him. Lifting his right foot he gave Cochefert a swift kick on the shin. The Frenchman’s reaction was to lift his injured leg with a gasp of pain and, as his stomach contracted, the upper part of his body jerked forward. Instantly Gregory chopped with the flat of his hand at the forearm of the hand that held the gun. With a second gasp Cochefert dropped the little weapon. It clattered on the tile floor.
Both stooped to make a grab for it. Their heads came together with a crack. They staggered back; but Cochefert was quick enough to give it a swift sideways kick. It slithered away out of Gregory’s reach before he could make another dive at it.
Meanwhile, with a spate of blasphemous curses, Grauber had picked himself up and was now yelling, ‘Seize him! Seize him! Call the police! He must not escape!’
But there was no exit to the room other than the one Gregory was blocking; so the attendant could not get out to call anyone. He was entirely unaware of the implications of the fray, and was naturally anxious to keep out of it. His only contribution was to snatch up the gun, which slid to a halt at his feet and, with laudable eagerness to prevent its being used, throw it into the dirty towel basket.
As Gregory was still at the door end of the room he could, at any moment, have swung round, wrenched it open and fled. But unless he could prevent Cochefert and Grauber dashing out on his heels, he knew that he would never reach Sabine’s car. With shouts of ‘Murder!’ and ‘Stop thief!’ they would secure the aid of the Club door-porter and various other people, one of whom would be certain to catch hold of, or trip, him. In another attempt to render them hors de combat, so that he could get at least a flying start, he first feinted at Cochefert then landed a terrific blow on the Frenchman’s thin curved beak. Swinging round on Grauber, he tried the same tactics, but the more skilful German ducked the blow and closed with him.
Half blinded by the pain, and with blood dripping from his nose, Cochefert staggered aside. The other two went down in a heap with Gregory on top. Both of them knew every dirty trick worth knowing and neither had the slightest scruple about using them.
The German got one hand on Gregory’s throat and with the thumb of the other attempted to jab out his nearest eye. Gregory tried to knee his antagonist in the groin, but failed in that. Then striving with one hand to break Grauber’s grip on his throat, he struck savagely with the other, using the hard side of the palm, down on his adversary’s Adam’s apple.
They strove for mastery with gritted teeth, straining their muscles to the utmost and jerking from side to side as they fought. Grauber managed to keep a firm grip on Gregory’s windpipe. Only by keeping his chin well down could he save himself from complete strangulation, and his breath was now coming in short, sobbing gasps. Yet he knew that his vicious chops at the German’s Adam’s apple must be causing him exquisite agony, and he could see that his one eye was growing misty. A few more strokes and pain must render him unconscious.
But there was still Cochefert. For a moment or two the Frenchman stood swaying drunkenly as the result of the terrible blow which had broken the bone in his nose. Then, lurching to the row of washbasins, he snatched up a large bottle of hair-oil, turned, raised it aloft and brought it down on the top of Gregory’s head. The bottle smashed; the scented oil streamed down over his face. With stars and circles flashing in sudden blackness before his eyes, it was he who then slid into unconsciousness, falling sideways across the body of his groaning enemy.
He was not out for long. By the time they had carried him to a car and thrown him on to its back seat he was again aware of his surroundings, if only vaguely. For a good two minutes he lay slumped in his corner wondering why he had such a pain in his head, how he had got where he was, and where he was being taken. Then his having run slap into Grauber in the men’s toilet room at the Arizona suddenly came back to him.
Instantly everything else connected. His heart seemed to contract as the full knowledge of his position flooded in upon him. If Sabine had proved adamant, that would have been bad enough. But before she could have had him arrested he would anyhow have had a flying start; and if he had had the ill luck to be caught there would still have been a chance that, with the help of his Hungarian friends, he might have got away again. There would be no chance of that now that he had fallen into Grauber’s hands. The Gruppenführer was not the man to let a prisoner communicate with anyone, or leave him the smallest loophole for even a forlorn hope of escape. Still more shattering thought, Grauber’s bitter personal hatred of him would undoubtedly lead to his being treated with the utmost brutality.
As he opened his eyes a new wave of pain shot through his head. In front of him a man in a chauffeur’s cap was at the wheel; so it looked as if they were in a civilian car. Next to the driver sat a bareheaded man wearing a white jacket. Peering at him in the dim light, Gregory wondered who he could be; suddenly it flashed upon him that it was the wash-room attendant.
Turning his head very slightly, in order not to give away that he had come to, he looked sideways at the man beside him. The man’s kepi showed that he was a Hungarian policeman. Beyond the policeman there was another figure, occupying the other corner of the back seat. After a few moments Gregory got a glimpse of him that confirmed his worst fears. It was Grauber.
The distance between the Arizona and the Police Station was quite short, and the still-dazed Gregory had hardly catalogued his fellow passengers before the car pulled up. He now had his senses about him sufficiently to feel dismay. Had the drive been twice the distance he might at its end have been recovered enough to attempt making a bolt for it as they got out, but he was still terribly shaky.
Grauber opened the rear door on his side and slid out on to the pavement. The policeman took Gregory by the shoulder and gave him a shake. Feeling that there was nothing to be gained by having himself carried, he pretended to rouse up and lurched after the policeman out of the car.
His brain kept on telling him that if he once allowed himself to be taken inside he was finished. Only death could follow; and death at Grauber’s hands would be more painful than anyone who had not been inside a Gestapo torture chamber could imagine. Yet, as he struggled out of the car, his knees almost gave under him, and he realised that he could not have staggered a couple of paces before being set upon and dragged into the Station. In an agony of mind he allowed the policeman to put a hand under his arm and guide him up the steps into the building.
It was only when the little group, minus the chauffeur, stood facing a Sergeant across his desk in an office that Gregory realised that Grauber was also a prisoner. Apparently the two of them, and Cochefert as well, had all been arrested for causing a disturbance in a public place; but the Frenchman, owing to his nose having been broken, had been taken by another policeman to hospital.
Now that, in spite of the pain in his head, Gregory’s brain was functioning again, he exerted it to its utmost capacity in striving to find a way in which he could turn this totally unexpected situation to his advantage. He had plenty of money on him; so if only he could induce the police to accept a cash deposit of any sum they liked to name as security that he would turn up to face a charge before a magistrate in the morning, he might yet wriggle out of Grauber’s clutches.
Yet, even as he toyed with this exhilarating possibility, he knew in his heart that he would never get away with it. Grauber was one of the highest Police Chiefs of an allied power. He had only to produce his credentials and say that the fracas had occurred solely as the result of his recognising a British spy for him to have his enemy clapped into a cell, and walk out himself a free man.
And that, in effect, was what happened. The wash-room attendant made his statement about the fight he had witnessed. Grauber produced his Gestapo card and declared Gregory’s passport as Commandant Tavenier to be a fake. The Sergeant telephoned to the Gestapo liaison office in Budapest and, having given a description of Grauber, satisfied himself about the German’s identity. He then asked, at Grauber’s request, that a car should be sent to collect the Gruppenführer, and declared his intention of holding Gregory on the charge preferred.
Grauber angrily protested that a civil charge of having created a disturbance was not good enough. He wanted Gregory to be held as a dangerous enemy agent awaiting examination; and, further, demanded the right to proceed forthwith to examine him himself.
At that the Sergeant demurred, arguing that some evidence must be brought to support such a charge; and that, anyhow, it would be time enough to produce it when Gregory was brought before a magistrate next day. He added that he could not allow the prisoner to be cross-questioned there and then, as it was against regulations.
At that Grauber flew into a rage. Thumping the desk with his fist he shrilled out falsetto threats of what he would do to the Sergeant unless he was given his way. The Sergeant, overawed by the high rank of the German Police Chief, decided that discretion was the better part of valour, so agreed to submit the matter to the Station Commandant.
While Gregory waited on tenterhooks a constable was sent to fetch the Commandant. Five minutes later he joined them: a square-shouldered tough-looking Captain of Police, with a slight cast in his left eye. After he had been given a brief résumé of what had occurred, he dismissed the wash-room attendant and took Gregory and Grauber into a small, barely furnished waiting-room.
The Captain’s eyes were blue although his nose was flat and his cheekbones high, indicating Tartar descent. For a moment he stood sizing up the two men before him, then he said to Grauber:
‘It seems there is little doubt about your identity, Herr Gruppenführer, so naturally I wish to be as helpful as I can. Although it is against all ordinary procedure to allow one of two people picked up on the same charge to question the other about something entirely different, since you say the matter is urgent you can go ahead.’
With a brief word of thanks, Grauber turned to Gregory and snapped: ‘Now! What are you up to in Budapest?’
Gregory knew that he could not bluff Grauber; but he hoped that he might keep the mind of the Police Captain open by replying, ‘I see no reason why I should submit to being questioned by you; but the sooner this matter is sorted out the better. It is evident that when you attacked me you mistook me for someone else. I am a Frenchman and I own a truffle farm in Périgord. I am here to sell my truffles.’
‘A fine story!’ Grauber sneered. ‘And now I will tell you why I am here.’
‘Thank you.’ Gregory shrugged. ‘But as I have never met you before I am not in the least interested.
‘Ah! But you will be! I am here because word reached my office a few days ago that a conspiracy is afoot in which a little clique of Hungarian magnates is plotting to bring pressure on their Government to sell out to the English.’
Gregory managed to keep his face expressionless; but Grauber’s words were a sickening blow. His fears, that a leak to the Nazis would result from the casual disregard of security displayed by Count Zapolya’s friends after the first big meeting at the Nobles Club, had proved well founded. He could only pray that so far Grauber had not secured any actual evidence against the members of the Committee, and hope for a chance to get a warning to them. Meanwhile the plump, pasty-faced German was going on:
‘To run into you was a real stroke of fortune. On your past record as a secret agent, I would wager Reichsmarschall Goering’s cellar against a bottle of sour claret that you are at the bottom of this plot.’
‘You are completely wrong. I know nothing whatever about it.’
‘Oh, yes, you do! There is no war activity in Budapest which would bring a man of your calibre here, but such big game as this is just your meat. Now; I want the names of everyone you have met since you arrived in Hungary.’
‘If I had anything to hide I would not tell you; but during the fortnight I have been here I have met scores of people. My first few days were a little dull but I got into conversation with all sorts in the bars and at the swimming pools, and if you know how hospitable the Hungarians are you will appreciate that soon I had not a dull moment. There is hardly a night that I have not been to a party, and …’
‘Enough!’ Grauber cut him short. ‘It is useless to try to fog the issue by giving me a list of names a yard long. I want those of the people who know you to be an Englishman.’
‘There are none; for the simple reason that I am not one.’
At that moment there came an interruption. The Sergeant poked his head round the door and announced the arrival of the car sent to collect Grauber. Two of his aides-de-camp had come in it, tall pink-cheeked young Gestapo men; as the Sergeant stood aside they entered the room, clicked their heels and saluted.
Grauber gave them a nod and waved a hand towards Gregory. ‘Heershaft, we are in luck this evening. Allow me to present to you Mr. Gregory Sallust, the most skilful and dangerous of all British operatives. He has personally killed several of our colleagues and been responsible for the death of many more. It was to him that I owe the loss of my eye, and in due course I mean to pluck out both of his with my own hands. However, at the …’
Simulating intense anger, Gregory suddenly burst out, ‘This is fantastic! Not a word of it is true! My name is Etienne Tavenier, and I am a retired Major of the French Army. I have documents to prove it.’
‘Documents!’ sneered Grauber. ‘Do you take me for a child? Of course you would have come provided with documents, but not one of them will be worth the paper it is written on.’
Gregory knew only too well that, as soon as Cochefert was sufficiently recovered to be brought in on the matter, to continue the pretence that he was Tavenier would be completely futile. Moreover, as it was from the Vadászkürt that his false passport had reached Lieutenant Puttony, and the Arizona was in the same district, it seemed highly probable that the Lieutenant was attached to this station. Should he come on the scene that would equally blow the Tavenier story. But Gregory had no other means of repudiating Grauber’s charges; so the only course open to him was to stick to his guns in front of the Hungarian Police Captain, in the desperate hope that some chance to escape might offer if only he could gain a little time. In a further effort to maintain his bluff, he shouted at Grauber:
‘My documents are in perfect order! They have been checked by the police and by that Deuxième Bureau Captain who was about to introduce me to you when you attacked me. If you don’t believe me, ask him; or send a telegram to Vichy. They know all about me there.’
The Hungarian, obviously impressed, nodded. ‘Yes. After all, it is quite possible that you are mistaken, Herr Gruppenführer. This man may be whom he says he is.’
‘He is an English spy, I tell you!’ Grauber’s high-pitched voice rose almost to a scream.
‘I am nothing of the kind!’ Gregory yelled back with all the excitability of an angry and injured Frenchman. ‘Telegraph to Vichy about me, and you will be made to eat your words.’
Again the Hungarian nodded. ‘Why should we not do that? I will hold the prisoner until morning, and by then we should have a reply.’
White with fury, Grauber banged his clenched fist on the table. ‘I need no telegram from Vichy. I know this man as well as I know my own face in a mirror. And the enquiry I am engaged upon is urgent. As soon as it gets out that he has been arrested the men he has been conspiring with will take fright. They will go into hiding, or try to leave the country. That is why I have got to have the truth out of him here and now.’
‘Since he maintains that he is not the man you think him, I don’t see how you can.’
Grauber gave a short, sniggering laugh, and turned to leer at his two S.S. men. ‘We’ll get it all right, won’t we, boys?’
They both grinned, and the taller said, ‘Leave it to us, Herr Gruppenführer’
Turning back to the Hungarian, Grauber said abruptly, ‘Take us down to a cell and provide us with a piece of cord. We’ll string him up by his thumbs to start with and see if that will make him open his mouth.’
The Hungarian hesitated a moment, then he said, ‘I am anxious to oblige the Herr Gruppenführer, but I don’t think I could do that.’
‘And why not, if you please?’ Grauber asked in a suddenly silky voice.
‘For one thing, his identity is still uncertain.’
‘You said that you are anxious to oblige me. You can do so by taking my word about that.’
‘I have already stretched a point in allowing you to question him about a matter that has no connexion with the charge on which I am holding him.’
‘Teufel nochmal!’ Grauber exploded. ‘Is Hungary Germany’s ally, or is she not?’
‘Herr Gruppenführer, the fact that our two countries are allied has no bearing on police procedure.’
‘It has, Herr Hauptmann. Our Governments, our fighting services, our police and yours are all pledged to aid each other by every means in their power. I now formally request your help in the carrying out of my duties.’
Gregory was listening to the discussion with bated breath. He now had little enough to pin his hopes upon in any case, but the outcome of this swift exchange of words meant for him the difference between a few hours’ respite and being put to the torture within the next few minutes. The palms of his hand were damp with apprehension as he watched the Hungarian’s face. It was a strong face, but he feared every moment to see it weaken under the pressure that it was certain Grauber would bring to bear.
To the German’s request he replied, ‘I have no wish to withhold my co-operation; but the procedure of the two police forces differ, and to do as you suggest would be contrary to our regulations here.’
‘I suppose you mean that, when a prisoner refuses to talk, you are too squeamish to make him?’ Grauber sneered.
‘Let us put it that in Hungary we do not approve of torture.’
‘Do you presume to criticise German methods?’
‘I criticise nothing. I only obey the orders of my superiors.’
Grauber was seething with rage. His thin sandy eyebrows drew down in a scowl and his single eye gleamed with malice, as he said, ‘Listen, my little Captain. My rank is far superior to yours and should you continue to oppose my wish I am quite powerful enough to insist on your own Chief disciplining you. Now! No more nonsense. Send for a piece of cord and lead us to a cell.’
To Gregory’s intense relief the threat had the contrary effect to that he had feared. The Hungarian’s chunky face went white but his blue eyes suddenly blazed with anger. Thrusting his chin forward, he snapped, ‘This is not Germany! You can’t yet ride rough-shod over everybody here! Say what you damn well like! I’m not afraid to be judged by my own people for having refused to let you turn my Station into a torture chamber. Now! Get out of here, and be quick about it.’
Beneath his breath Gregory murmured, ‘Well done! Well done! May the gods reward you for your courage.’ But a moment later he realised that he was not even temporarily free of Grauber yet. The Gruppenführer had not climbed to his eminence as a Gestapo Chief by bullying alone; he had an extraordinarily flexible mind, and much subtle cunning. Quite quietly he turned to his two aides and said:
‘Heershaft, I have often told you that you can learn much from the errors of your superiors. It is of great importance to us that I should get the truth out of this man Sallust without delay; but as I am placed at the moment I have not a free hand to do so. In my eagerness, I blundered. Observe, please, this Hungarian officer carefully. Look at his broad forehead, his frank expression and his well-developed jaw. These are the indications of an honest man, a humanitarian and one who has the courage to stick to his convictions. I should have taken stock of those myself, and realised that I could gain nothing by threatening him. We consider that our harsher methods of obtaining information swiftly are justified by the emergencies of war. But in this the Hungarians differ from us. By refusing to allow us to use our methods of persuasion in his Station, he was only carrying out his standing orders. For that we must admire him. Tomorrow, instead of a complaint, I shall now put in to his superiors a testimonial to his commendable adherence to his duties. To do otherwise would be dishonourable and tend to weaken, instead of strengthen, our ties with our Hungarian allies.’
After pausing for a moment, Grauber turned to the Hungarian and went on. ‘But the Herr Hauptmann will appreciate that delay in examining this man may prove fatal to the success, of my mission here. Therefore I cannot doubt that he will agree to a solution which will both enable me to do my duty, and save him from any feeling that he has failed in his. I should have thought of it before. It is so simple. I will sign a receipt for the prisoner and an undertaking that he shall be returned here tomorrow morning in time to face before a magistrate the charge of which he is accused. There can be no objection to that?’
Again Gregory’s heart was in his mouth. The time was still only about ten o’clock. If Grauber were allowed to take him away and wreak his will on him for the next eight or ten hours, all the odds were that he would be returned to the Station a gibbering idiot. Little beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he kept his eyes riveted on the Captain’s face. But a moment later he could breathe again. The Hungarian shook his head:
‘Thanks for the kind remarks, Herr Gruppenführer, but I can’t do that. There is still this question of identity to be settled. And, anyhow, I couldn’t hand a prisoner over to anyone without a formal authorisation.’
Stymied again, Grauber’s small, pale eye darted swiftly from side to side. Gregory knew his mentality so well that he felt sure he could read the thoughts which were now flickering through that unscrupulous brain. He was assessing the chances of a snatch.
Many a time Gestapo agents had raided homes and hotels on foreign soil, dragged their victim from his bed, slugged him unconscious, carried him down to a car, and smuggled him back into Germany. In this case, counting out the victim, there were three of them to the one Hungarian. Going through the outer office they would have to deal with the Sergeant and the policeman on the door; but they had a car waiting outside. The element of surprise and the use of brute force without scruple might well enable them to pull off a kidnapping and break out.
Gregory moistened his dry lips with his tongue. His thoughts were moving as swiftly as Grauber’s. They might take the Captain by surprise, but not the object of the snatch. He was neither in bed, nor asleep. If they thought they were going to carry him out like a sack of potatoes, they had better think again. He already had his eye on a wooden chair. At his enemy’s first move he meant to snatch it up and charge him with it—legs foremost. Tough as the pouchy German was, he must go down under such an assault. The two brawny thugs might then get the better of the battle in the room, but by the time they had there was a fair hope that the shindy would have brought half-a-dozen Hungarian policemen running to the outer office, and that the last word would remain with them.
Perhaps Grauber realised that too. Perhaps, even, he baulked at the idea of knocking out a Hungarian Police Captain and forcibly abducting a prisoner from his Station. That was very different from kidnapping some unsuspecting person, and might cause quite a lot of tiresome correspondence between the Chancelleries of Berlin and Budapest. After staring for a long moment at the Captain he switched his glance to Gregory, and said:
‘Very well, I will leave you for the night in the custody of the Herr Hauptmann. But don’t imagine you are going to get away with the story that you are a Frenchman. There are plenty of people in Germany who know you as Gregory Sallust, and if necessary I’ll have witnesses flown in to support my identification of you.
‘Anyway, when you are brought into court tomorrow morning, I mean to accuse you of the murder of Obersturmbannführer Fritz Einholtz, and others, and to apply for a warrant for your extradition. When you have been handed over to me we’ll talk again. First you’ll tell me all about this conspiracy; then I’ll take you back to Germany. In six months’ time you will still be alive, but for five months and twenty-nine days you will have been wishing that you were dead.’