Erika had never looked more lovely. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining. For some reason best known to herself she had put on full evening-dress although she was dining alone in the charming apartment that she had taken in Brussels. As she came into the dining-room her new butler drew back her chair with the quiet assurance of a perfectly-trained servant and with a deft movement brought the little handwritten menu-slate a few inches nearer to her, as he said in French:
‘I was not aware that Madame had given her cook permission to go out this evening and that she would have to dine off cold dishes in consequence. If Madame would prefer something hot, I have the good fortune to be a passable cook so I could manage some Oeufs poché Béndictine or an Omelette pointes d’asperges with the eggs that are in the kitchen.’
‘No, thank you, Pierre; Consommé en gelée saumon froid and fraises des bois will do very well,’ Erika replied quietly, but her hand trembled as he placed the iced soup in front of her with a little bow and left the room. Even the cold soup—easiest of all dishes to master for anyone whose intense excitement has robbed them of their appetite—proved difficult for her to swallow, and she was hardly half-way through it when the perfect man-servant appeared again noiselessly beside her.
‘Jacqueline is about to leave now, and she wishes to know if Madame has any further orders for her before she goes,’ he said deferentially.
‘N-no. There’s nothing—thank you.’ Erika could hardly get the words out; she leaned back and closed her eyes as the man smoothly removed her soup plate and disappeared again.
A moment later as she heard the click of the front door she sprang up from her chair. At the same second the butler returned, and next instant she had flung herself into his arms.
‘Gregory—darling!’ She was half laughing, half crying. ‘It was absolute torture to have you here all the afternoon yet not be able to say a single word to you because of these silly servants.’
‘My angel!’ Gregory smiled, when he had kissed her until they were both breathless. ‘Today I’ve learnt what poor St. Anthony must have felt when he was tempted in the desert. To be in the same room with you and denied the joy of even touching your hand!’
‘Must we keep up this farce?’
He nodded. ‘I’m afraid so, for the time being at all events. If I were seen with you in public by any one of a hundred people who are in Brussels now the whole game would be up; but I simply couldn’t bear to be in the same city and have to remain content with talking to you on the telephone. That’s why I sent you a note round at midday to hire me as your man-servant. Anyhow, we’ll be under the same roof—and that’s a lot.’
‘But, darling, we shall simply never be alone together. It was sheer luck that it happened to be my cook’s evening off tonight, and I had a frightful job trying to think up a plausible excuse to get my maid out of the flat for a few hours. They’re certain to think there’s something fishy going on if I often send them out together in the evening.’
‘There are the nights, angel,’ Gregory whispered with a mischievous grin.
‘Yes, my sweet—yes. I shall positively live for them. What fun it will be to lie in bed waiting for you to tiptoe down the corridor after a long, long day of make-believe that you are only my servant.’
‘I am your servant—for all eternity,’ he murmured, and caught her to him again in another swift embrace.
‘There!’ gasped Erika, when at last she drew away from him. ‘That really is enough for—for about five minutes. Our salmon will be getting cold.’
‘It’s cold already, sweetheart,’ he laughed.
‘Why, so it is; but I’ve been in such a state all day that I haven’t been able to take in a single thing except that you’re safe and with me once more. Come on; let’s sit down and eat it.’
He did not bother to fetch another plate; they shared the dish with the gaiety of two naughty children who had broken into a larger; which brought back memories of the meals that they had had together when she had hidden him for a day and a night in her bedroom in Munich.
As they ate they talked, volubly, nineteen to the dozen; firing questions at each other, gabbling replies, incredibly eager to know how every moment of each other’s time had been spent since they had parted.
Gregory learnt to his great satisfaction that, as far as she knew, through the assumption of the name Yonnie Rostedal, which was on the Norwegian passport that Paula had secured for her, she had so far succeeded in preventing any members of the German Embassy learning that she was in Brussels. Paula and two or three other German girls who had known her in Norway and travelled to the Low Countries at the same time as herself all believed that she had assumed her Norwegian nom de guerre to avoid the unwelcome attentions of a wealthy young Dutchman; about whom she had put out the story that he was so madly in love with her that when she had been in Holland the year before he had threatened to kill her and himself if she would not take pity on him. This also provided an excellent excuse for her to refuse invitations to parties and to go out very little in public, as they naturally assumed that she was afraid that she might run into this most undesirable lover. Such a life of semi-concealment naturally greatly restricted her personal opportunities for gathering information, but that was where Kuporovitch came in, and they formed an excellent partnership.
The ex-General, having been cooped up in Russia for twenty-six years, knew nobody in European society. Even the names of high officers, diplomats, leaders of fashion and alt except the leading statesmen were totally unknown to him, so he had no background of knowledge from which to draw inferences when he heard them mentioned; but as Paula’s lover he had become persona grata with the most important section of the German Fifth Column which was working in Holland and Belgium, and so constantly heard references made to key personalities in a dozen countries.
Fortunately he possessed an excellent memory, so he was able to repeat parrot-wise to Erika most of the conversations he had heard: and as she had moved for so long in international society she was able, in the great majority of cases, to get the full import of what had been said; upon which she wrote out her reports for Sir Pellinore.
For a few days after their arrival in Holland they had stayed at the Brack’s Doelen Hotel in Amsterdam, but then Paula had received instructions to move to Brussels, and the other two had accompanied her. Paula had taken a furnished apartment on the Boulevard du Regent, the ‘Park Lane’ of Brussels, and Erika had taken another near by in the Rue Montoyer, which lies between the Pare Leopold and the Royal Palace; while Kuporovitch had gone to the Hotel Astoria.
The Belgian Fascist leader, Degrelle, had called on Paula immediately she was settled in and arranged for her to meet the Comte de Werbomont, a member of King Leopold’s household who had very soon fallen for her youthful, opulent charms. The Count, being a married man, was able to visit her only in secret, and as most of his time was occupied in attendance upon the King he knew nothing about Kuporovitch, who, since he had to share Paula with somebody, found the arrangement highly satisfactory. Erika, meanwhile, was supposed to be engaged on some extremely tricky piece of work for the Gestapo which was so secret that she could not tell even Paula about it; all of which worked in admirably with the fact that she very rarely went out.
As Erika had reported personally to Sir Pellinore three nights previously there was no necessity for her to go into great detail with Gregory about the German Fifth Column activities, but she gave him a general layout of the situation and said that she was convinced that Brussels was the centre of the whole network of the German espionage system in the two threatened countries. Gregory waited patiently until she had finished, then he asked her if she had ever heard of the Black Baroness.
‘Die schwarze Baronin’ Erika said thoughtfully. ‘Yes. Mention of her has occurred now and again but never in connection with anything of sufficient importance to be worth putting in any of my reports.’
‘What sort of things?’ Gregory asked.
‘Oh, just social gossip. She was staying with Degrelle, I think, about the time we got here and I believe poor Susie von Ertz dined with her one night.’
‘Why d’you say “poor Susie”? I thought her rather an attractive, jolly girl when we met her in Oslo. Has anything gone wrong with her?’
‘Why, yes. I told Sir Pellinore; but of course you wouldn’t know. Susie was given a Dutch aeroplane designer to look after, but they slipped up somewhere, and his wife found oui. The poor man was so upset that he poisoned himself. Unfortunately for Susie, he chose her bedroom to take his life in; so, of course, the police were called in, and they’ve been trying to pin a charge of murder on her.’
Gregory made a grimace. ‘Poor little devil. The police are probably right, though.’
‘What makes you think that, darling?’
‘Well, presumably she’s been under arrest since the tragedy occurred, so she must have dined with the Black Baroness beforehand. From what old Pellinore tells me, the Baroness has been hovering vaguely in the background of so many tragic “accidents” that I should think it’s quite on the cards that she blackmailed Susie into giving her aeroplane designer the poison with the promise that they would help her to fake things to look like suicide afterwards.’
‘Who is this Black Baroness woman, Gregory? Now I come to think of it I asked Susie, after she told me that she’d dined with her, how anyone had come by such a curious nickname. Susie just said that it was because she’s such a striking-looking woman with hair and eyes that are as black as pitch; but the word seems to have a much more sinister implication than that.’
‘She’s a Frenchwoman and her real name is the Baronne de Porte.’
‘The Baronne de Porte!’ Erika exclaimed. ‘But, of course, I know quite a lot about her.’
‘Then you’re better informed than I was up to three nights ago, my sweet.’
‘Darling, when I was selling armaments with Hugo Falkenstein it was my business to find out about such people. Her husband, the Baron, was a great industrialist and she married when she was quite young, but left him before she was twenty-four. She then went in for high finance, on her own account, and she has the Midas touch, so that in a few years she had amassed a great fortune; but that’s years and years ago. When making big money began to pall on her she started to take an interest in politics; perhaps because she was already an intimate friend of Paul Reynaud’s.’
‘Reynaud’s!’ Gregory repeated. ‘But, good God, he’s the new Premier of France.’
Erika shrugged. ‘Oh, her affair with him started when he was only a promising lawyer, way back in 1916. It must have burnt itself out long ago.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘Later she travelled a lot,’ Erika went on, ‘and she often used to stay in Rome and Berlin. In both she made many friends and there is no doubt that she acquired pro-Fascist leanings. Just after Munich she became very intimate with Baudoin, the President of the Banque d’ Indo-Chine, and he is a person who wields enormous influence behind the scenes. Both of them, quite naturally, are rabid anti-Communists, but I’ve always believed that the Baronne was a patriotic Frenchwoman. It’s a grim thought that anyone like that should actually have gone to the length of tying up with the Nazis and be working for them now that her country is at war with Germany.’
‘Well, she is; and what you’ve just told me about Susie, together with the fact that the Baronne was staying with Degrelle, and that it was Degrelle who arranged for Paula to meet the Comte de Werbomont, seems to confirm Pellinore’s belief that it’s she who picks the most suitable girls for the chaps the Nazis want to get into their toils, and makes the necessary social arrangements so that each selected lovely can be thrown in the chappie’s path quite naturally. I’ve got to get on to this Baroness woman. D’you know if she’s still in Brussels?’
Erika shook her golden head. ‘No; I haven’t the least idea, but we’ll talk to Stefan about it tomorrow and see if he can find out anything.’
‘That’s it,’ Gregory agreed. ‘You had better arrange for him to meet me somewhere for a quiet chat in the afternoon. One of the parks would probably be the best place. Then go out yourself so as to leave me free to slip away from my duties for an hour.’
‘I’ll telephone Stefan in the morning and tell him to meet me by the Tritton Fountain in the Hare Leopold at three o’clock; then you can turn up in my place.’
‘Good. I heard that he got on splendidly with old Sir Pellinore.’
‘Who could fail to do so?’ Erika laughed. ‘What an amazing person he is! Nowhere else in the world but England could have produced such a character. His education is appalling. He shouts at foreigners in English and takes it for granted that they will understand him. To hear him talk one would think that he knew nothing about anything at all except the idiosyncrasies of women, sport, food and drink; yet he has a flair for going straight to the root of any question and underneath it all such a shrewd brain that if he were pitted against Ribbentrop, Litvinov and Laval together I believe he’d have all three of them tied in knots. I thought him charming and I fell for him completely.’
Gregory grinned and stood up. ‘I can see that it was quite time for me to reappear on your horizon. And now, d’you know what I’m going to do to you? I’ll give you three guesses.’
With a mocking smile she put her arms round his neck. “How could I possibly guess, my sweet? But something tells me that I was a very rash woman to remain alone in my flat for the evening with such an attractive, forward butler.’
‘You’ve guessed it in one, angel,’ he laughed, and swinging her off her feet he carried her from the room.
At three o’clock the following afternoon Gregory was seated on the rim of the fountain in the Parc Leopold, reading an early edition of the evening paper. He noted that the British withdrawals in Norway were having a deplorable effect on the world press and that the little countries were, in consequence, getting into a worse state of jitters than ever through the fear that Germany would next attack one or other of them.
The Swedes had been in a state of unofficial mobilisation ever since the Germans had gone into Norway, nearly a month before, but they were still keeping up as bold a front as possible and shooting down any German planes that flew over their territory. Carol of Rumania was singing a very small song again and promising Hitler further commercial advantages to the detriment of the Allies. Hungary, sandwiched between Italy and Germany, had now given up all attempt at playing one off against the other and was pretty obviously doing exactly as she was told by Berlin; while the Dutch and Belgians were calling up more and more classes of conscripts and now frantically building road barriers as a precaution against a sudden invasion. Yet a strong feeling still seemed to run through the people of both countries that if only they kept their heads and refrained from giving offence to Hitler he might yet spare them, as being more useful to him while going concerns from which he could draw considerable quantities of foodstuffs and other supplies than as conquered areas of devastated territory.
By the time Gregory had scanned the most important news items Kuporovitch put in an appearance. The Russian looked very well and prosperous, having, apparently, equipped himself with a new wardrobe since his arrival in Brussels.
‘Hullo!’ exclaimed Gregory. ‘You are looking a swell!’
Kuporovitch beamed. ‘You also. We might be different people from the two men who met in Kandalaksha. I like Brussels; it is much more pleasant for me than Oslo, because everybody here speaks French; it might almost be Paris—but not quite. But it is very expensive.’
‘Naturally,’ smiled Gregory, ‘if you get your clothes at the best tailors and stay at the Astoria.’
The Russian shrugged eloquently. ‘What would you? I had meant to live quietly on my savings, but everything here is a temptation to me. How can I resist having of the best and spending the money necessary to mix with elegant people when for a quarter of a century I have lived in the so-called workers’ paradise, where there is not even anyone interesting to talk to? I must not go on in this way, though, otherwise in a year or so I shall have spent all my money and have to take some filthy job. Being a General does not fit one for becoming a commercial traveller or a pen-pusher in an office.’
‘You needn’t worry, Stefan; you have a job already. I told you that when I got back to England I would somehow manage to refund any expenses to which you had been put on Erika’s account, but I intend to make good your own expenses as well and give you a fat cheque for the excellent work you’ve put in; so you can consider your savings as still intact and that you’ll have money in hand into the bargain.’
‘Sacré Nom! That is good news indeed; because this job is very different from the degrading occupations that I have been visualising for myself—and, let me tell you, the little Paula improves immensely upon acquaintance. She was born with a great aptitude for loving, but she is a far more accomplished amoureuse now that I have had a little time to train her. But tell me about yourself.’
For some twenty minutes Gregory gave a graphic outline of his doings, after which he asked what Kuporovitch knew of Madame de Porte, alias the Black Baroness.
The Russian had never heard of Madame de Porte, but he said that mentions of the Black Baroness had been made by Paula’s friends from time to time. He recalled that when Paula had broken the news to him that she was leaving Norway she had said: ‘I understand that the Black Baroness has a new job for me in Holland,’ and a Belgian politician, who had recently returned from a visit to France, had stated quite casually that after a dinner-party given by a French Cabinet Minister he had had a most interesting conversation on the political situation with the Black Baroness; but Kuporovitch could not recall definitely any other occasion upon which her name had cropped up. Without any grounds to justify the idea he had assumed that the woman referred to had acquired her nickname because she was a half-caste or Creole from one of the French African colonies or Martinique.
Gregory disabused him about that and asked him to tackle Paula on the subject as he wished to find out the Baroness’s present whereabouts with the minimum possible delay.
Afterwards they talked for a little about Paula’s set and it transpired that Kuporovitch was having the time of his life. In spite of war conditions which had to some extent affected the capital of neutral Belgium it was far less depressing than Oslo had been, and the vortex of this strange, unnatural gaiety while the outer world stood grimly to its arms was Hitler’s ‘Secret Weapon’. There were an even greater number of German, Austrian and Hungarian women, all picked for their looks and with ample funds at their disposal, who had big apartments in which night after night they gave extravagant private parties for their co-workers and the Belgians of their acquaintance. In addition to looking after her own special lover of the moment it was part of each girl’s job to get to know as many Belgians of good standing as possible and, since all the girls were of good birth and living outwardly respectable lives, they were permeating all the higher strata of Brussels society, which enabled them to collect an immense amount of information for the Gestapo.
After an hour with Kuporovitch, Gregory went back to Erika’s flat to take up his duties as butler, and when the two maids were sound asleep that night he discussed with her plans for the following day.
They considered it would be unwise for them to risk being seen together about the city, so Gregory suggested that they should take a picnic lunch and eat it in the Park of Laeken, which is outside the capital and is to Brussels what Kew Gardens is to London; so on the following morning she told her maids that she would be out for the day and left the flat about eleven o’clock.
Gregory was in the pantry cleaning silver. Having given her a quarter of an hour’s start to buy their lunch at a delicatessen store he removed his baize apron and took down his black coat from its hook on the door.
The maid, Jacqueline, looked at him in surprise and remarked: ‘Where are you going at this time of day, Monsieur Pierre?’
‘Somewhere where unfortunately I cannot take a pretty girl like you, Mademoiselle Jacqueline,’ he replied mysteriously, ‘and I shall not be back until about six o’clock this evening.’
She preened herself at the compliment, but persisted: ‘Madame would not be pleased if she knew that you were neglecting your work during her absence to go out on your own affairs—and for the whole day too!’
‘But she will not know,’ he smiled mischievously, ‘because you, my pretty one, are not going to tell her and you are going to see to it for me that Cook does not tell her either.’
‘You take a great deal for granted, Monsieur Pierre.’
‘No. I am a psychologist and I can tell from your features that you are as kind-hearted as you are good-looking.’
She bridled again. ‘Monsieur Pierre, you are a flatterer! But what about your work? There’ll be a fine row if the dining-room’s not put ship-shape and the silver’s still uncleaned when Madame gets back.’
‘Yes. I might get the sack; and that would be most unfortunate, because I like it here. I am an artist, you see, and it makes a world of difference to me if I work in a place with a girl like yourself who has good taste in hats.’
‘What do you know about that, Monsieur Pierre?’
‘I saw you come in the night before last, Mademoiselle Jacqueline, and I thought that little black affair you were wearing quite ravishing. It occurred to me this morning that you might like to buy yourself another.’
‘And why? Hats cannot be bought every day on a lady’s-maid’s wage, Monsieur Pierre, and, as a matter of fact, it was Madame who gave me the black one that I was wearing on Monday.’
‘How wise of Madame; I am sure that it suits you infinitely better than it suited her,’ lied Gregory.
‘Now you are being foolish,’ replied Jacqueline loyally. ‘As well as being a very kind lady, Madame is most beautiful—in fact, I do not think that there is anyone so beautiful in all Brussels.’
‘There!’ exclaimed Gregory. ‘What a tribute for one woman to pay another! I knew from the shape of your little nose, which turns up so attractively, that you were a girl with the most generous instincts. But this hat we were speaking of—a new one of your own choice. I had a little legacy not long ago from my poor old uncle, who was valet to a French marquis, so I am in funds.’ He produced a hundred-franc note and toyed with it a moment. I was wondering if I could persuade you to do my silver for me and tidy the dining-room and, as a very small return, buy yourself that little hat out of this?’
Jacqueline was in fact a generous girl, and as he had got on the right side of her she would quite willingly have done his work for him on this occasion, but Gregory knew that there might be others and that unless he was prepared to make love to her—which he was not—she certainly would not be willing to make a habit of doing his jobs while he went out, presumably to amuse himself elsewhere. That was why he had invented the legacy, as ordinarily she would probably not have liked to take money from another servant; but believing that he had just come in for a nice little sum she would feel that if he chose to spend it on getting his work done for him by somebody else, that was his affair.
With a shrug and a smile she took the proffered note. ‘All right; run along, then, and I’ll put things right with Cook for you. Are you sure, though, that you can spare this money? It seems a lot for so small a service.’
Gregory nodded, ‘Yes; I could really have afforded a good holiday, but I prefer to keep in work providing that I can arrange matters so that I have a little time to attend to my own affairs.’
She laughed. ‘I do not mind work, and it is always nice to have the opportunity of earning a little extra money.’
‘Bien. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Jacqueline.’ Bunching the finger-tips of his right hand he kissed them to her while winking his left eye. It was a curiously un-English gesture but absolutely in keeping with the part that he was playing and, fully satisfied that he had got the maid just where he wanted her, he went out to keep his appointment with his mistress.
On Sunday, May 5th, his last day in London, the sun had suddenly appeared in all its glory to revivify a Europe which had suffered from the severest winter within living memory and now, three days later, it was still shining; so it really seemed that summer had come. For the last two days it had been as warm as June and the women of the Belgian capital were already bringing out their light summer frocks, which lent an air of gaiety to the city that was extraordinarily refreshing to Gregory after his many months in Finland and Norway. Erika had dressed very simply for the occasion in order that her clothes should not contrast too strongly with the neat but ready-made black jacket and pin-striped trousers which Gregory had bought for himself on the morning that he had come to her as her manservant.
Out at Laeken they admired the gorgeous Chinese pavilion and the Japanese pagoda made of carved woodwork specially brought from Japan. They were not allowed inside the Royal Palace but entry was permitted to the great conservatories with their fine array of tropical plants and flowers. The azaleas were in blossom and smelt quite heavenly. Afterwards, on a grassy bank in the great park, they ate the things that Erika had provided for their picnic lunch, while the children played happily in the near distance. Then all through the long hours of the sunny afternoon they lay there side by side, quite oblivious of anything except each other, as is the habit of lovers the world over.
It was a new experience for the Frau Gräfin von Osterberg, spoilt the German aristocracy, to be kissed and lie with her head pillowed on the chest of a man in a public park; but after her first shocked protests ‘that people were looking and that that sort of thing positively was not done’ she had to admit that it was done by the great majority of young women even in the most civilised countries and—as Gregory laughingly told her—if she chose to come out with her butler she must accept the canons as to what was and was not done in a butler’s normal sphere of lite. After that she threw her hat on the grass and settled down to enjoy herself, thinking what a marvellous man Gregory was at finding good reasons for everything he wanted to do, and how clever it had been of him to provide a totally new setting for their love-making instead of allowing them to waste this precious afternoon in sitting decorously looking at each other.
By seven o’clock they were back in Brussels, separating before they reached the flat so that Gregory could go in first and resume his duties before she arrived; and although they were unable to speak together privately during the evening it passed for both of them with the happy feeling of two children who had played truant from school for the day and managed to get away with it.
On the following morning, May the 9th, a note arrived by hand from Kuporovitch to Erika. In it he said that Paula had made various tactful inquiries the previous day and informed him, when he had seen her at night, that the Black Baroness was staying under the name of Madame de Swarle, at the Hotel Weimar in Rotterdam.
When Erika had passed the note to Gregory he whispered to her to go out and ring him up, then to come back to the flat about an hour later as though she had been doing some local shopping. When she rang up he answered the telephone and for Jacqueline’s benefit put on an act as though he had just heard the most disconcerting news. He told her that his old aunt was dying and that he must get leave from Madame at once to go to her as there might be another nice little legacy involved in the matter, which, could he have but known it, gave added impetus to an idea that had entered Mademoiselle Jacqueline’s pretty little head the day before.
It was obvious that he liked her and not only was he a very attractive man but he had money of his own with which he was very generous; therefore it might not be at all a bad thing if she tacttuiiy inspired him with the idea of proposing marriage. She knew that if she once started an alfair she would be treading on dangerous ground, because it was quite certain that such a good-looking fellow had had plenty of affairs with other women, so he would almost certainly try to seduce her. She was well aware that men who seduce girls don’t usually marry them afterwards; but she felt that if only she could manage to keep her head everything would be all right; which was unfortunate because in point of fact she had no reason at all to worry herself one way or the other.
Quite unaware of the agitation he had aroused in the breast of his pretty co-worker, Gregory met Erika in the doorway when she returned and, with voluble protestations as to his desolation at inconveniencing Madame, begged to leave to rush off to the bedside of his dying aunt.
The leave was duly granted and a quarter of an hour later, carrying a small suit-case which contained all his possessions in the character of butler, he left the flat. By a curious coincidence Erika went out again a few minutes later and, as she expected, found him waiting for her a few hundred yards down the street. Together they drove to the Hotel Metropole where Gregory had parked his own baggage on his arrival in Brussels, under his German pseudonym of Colonel-Baron von Lutz. Taking a room under the same name he went upstairs so that he could change into one of his own tailored suits, while she spent five minutes sitting in the lounge, then took the lift up to join him.
‘What d’you intend to do, darling?’ Erika asked, trying to keep out of her voice the new anxiety she had felt.
He looked unusually thoughtful as he replied: ‘To tell you the truth, my sweet, I haven’t the faintest idea. It’s up to me to put the Black Baroness out of action, somehow.’
‘Do you mean murder?’ Erika said softly.
‘An ugly word to apply to the execution of a traitor.’
‘I shouldn’t have used it. Killing is not murder, in any case, when two countries are at war; and that is not altered in the least by the fact that you and I don’t wear uniforms and that our war lies behind the battle-front. Of course you must kill her, Gregory, if there is no other way; and you must have no more scruple about it than you would have had about shooting down that Nazi airman who machine-gunned your ambulance in Norway.’
‘You’re right, angel—absolutely right. All the same, I must confess that the idea of killing anyone in cold blood makes me feel horribly squeamish and my allotted enemy on this occasion being a woman makes it ten times more repulsive to me.’
Erika stood there, her face very white and her blue eyes wide. ‘Why? You’re not an ordinary man, Gregory; you’re far too good a psychologist still to believe the childish myth that women are really God’s little angels and on an altogether higher spiritual level than men. You know as well as I do that the two sexes don’t really differ except in outward form. Women have the same appetites as men, the same instinct of self-preservation; they can be as courageous and generous or as cowardly and mean; and since the female of the species has been theoretically the under-dog until very recent times, she has had to get what she wants by cunning and trickery, so her instincts for lying and every form of deception are much more highly developed than those of the male. What is more. All she lacks in strength she makes up for in cruelty, so when one comes down to stark reality there are no grounds whatsoever for refraining from killing an evil woman with as little scruple as one would kill an evil man, when either is one’s enemy in wartime. Grauber and his friends made up their minds about that long ago; and I don’t blame them. I don’t think that I’m a really evil woman, but you know quite well that they would kill me without the slightest hesitation if they could catch me.’
Gregory sighed. ‘Your reasoning is unanswerable, but we have no proof of any kind that she has actually instigated murder, and I’m hoping that I may not have to go to extreme measures. Perhaps, if my luck is in, I’ll be able to trap her somehow and get her locked up in a fortress for the duration of the war.’
It was agreed that Erika should remain in Brussels unless she heard from Gregory that he wished her to leave and that in any case he would rejoin her as soon as possible. After a lingering farewell they tore themselves away from each other and Gregory took a taxi to the station. He was in Rotterdam by four o’clock.
Before leaving the station he went to a telephone kiosk and rang up the desk at the Weimar Hotel. Speaking in a rather high-pitched voice he said that he was an official of the French Embassy and that a parcel had arrived which should be posted to Madame de Swarle, and would they please give him her room number so that he could address the package fully.
The desk clerk replied that Madame was occupying Number 141, a suite on the first floor; upon which Gregory thanked him and hung up.
He then drove to the hotel and, going up to the desk, said that he wished to book either a suite or a comfortable room; but the desk clerk found him a rather pernickety customer. He didn’t want a room facing on to the street, because of the noise from the traffic; he didn’t want a room that was too high up because Hitler might let loose his Blitzkrieg at any time and the higher up one was the more danger from bombs. On the other hand, he didn’t want a room down on the first floor because that consisted almost entirely of luxury suites, which were too expensive. Having rejected half a dozen suggestions with the plan of the hotel before him he finally settled on Number 242, which was the nearest he could get to being immediately above the Baroness.
When a page had shown him to his room he took a quick look out of the window, then went to bed, on his old theory that there was nothing like getting all the sleep that one could during the daytime if there was any likelihood at all that one might not get any the following night.
At a quarter to eleven he awoke, bathed, shaved and dressed; then, going down to the restaurant, where dancing was in progress, he ordered himself a substantial supper and a bottle of champagne.
By two o’clock in the morning he was back upstairs in his bedroom leaning out of the window, further to investigate the possibilities of the fire-escapes, of which he had already made a cursory examination on his arrival. There was no fire-ladder that could be reached from the window out of which he was looking, but one ran down the wall alongside the window of his private bathroom next door; and as in hotels bathrooms are nearly always built in tiers, to facilitate hot water and drainage systems, it seemed reasonable to suppose that the bathroom of the Baroness’s suite lay below his bathroom.
Having examined his gun to make certain that the mechanism was working smoothly he put a small black whalebone truncheon into his breast-pocket, tied a silk handkerchief over the lower part of his face and pulled a soft hat well down over his eyes. He then put out the lights, went into the bathroom, swung himself out on to the lire-ladder and, treading softly but firmly, descended to the level of the window below.
It was in darkness but a chink of light came from between the curtains of the window to his right, which he assumed to be the Baroness’s bedroom. She was still up, apparently. He had hoped that by waiting until nearly half-past two in the morning he would catch her in bed and asleep; but he had the facility of moving with almost cat-like stealth when he wished, and it did not matter materially whether he caught her awake or asleep, providing that she was alone and that he was able to take her by surprise: so he decided to go forward.
The bathroom window was about a quarter open so he eased it down to its full extent and, wriggling in over its top, lowered himself gently to the floor. The room was not in total darkness as, although there was no moon, Rotterdam was not yet blacked out and some light was given by uncurtained windows on the other side of the big square well upon which the rooms faced. He could just make out the line of the bath, the wash-basin and the shelves; but as he turned towards the door he moved with great caution, since a bathroom with its bottles and glasses is a tricky place for an uninvited visitor at night-time when with his elbow he might so easily brush something which would crash to the floor and give away his presence.
Reaching the door he turned the handle right back and pressing the door open a fraction stood there with his ear to the crack, listening intently. He could hear faint sounds of movement but no voices, so it seemed that the Baroness was alone. Opening the door further he slipped out into the passage and softly drew it to behind him. There was a light in the corridor and what he presumed to be the bedroom door was open about a foot. He could hear the movements more plainly now. After another pause of a full minute he tiptoed forward. As he came level with the partially-open door he drew his gun; then giving the door a sudden shove he flung it wide open.
The movement was so swift that the woman who was in the room had not a second to grab any weapon she might have had, or even open her mouth to shout, before she found herself covered from the wide-open doorway.
The room was a bedroom with three entrances; the doorway in which he stood and two other doors, one on his right which led to the bathroom and was shut and a second, just ajar, which evidently led to the sitting room. A big wardrobe and most of the drawers in the room were open, and they were all empty. Two suitcases stood near the bed and the woman was bending over a white rawhide dressing-case; he had caught her just as she was completing her packing. The fact that she had packed for herself indicated that she had no maid with her, so evidently her visit to Rotterdam under the nom-de-plume of Madame de Swarle was highly secret.
One glance was enough to satisfy Gregory that Madame de Swarle was unquestionably the Baroness. Her dead-black hair was quite straight and cut short, with a fringe making a line across her forehead so that her pale face stood out startlingly from it; and from beneath a pair of level eyebrows her jet-black eyes stared at him with an inscrutable expression. She was small and slim, and to the casual glance she certainly did not appear to be the fifty years that Sir Pellinore had given her. Her figure was perfectly preserved and apart from a faint network of wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes her face looked like that of a woman of thirty. The only splash of colour was her mouth, which was heavily lipsticked a vivid scarlet. Gregory understood at once why she had such power over men. She had a subtle and peculiar sexual attraction which seemed to exude from the poise of her whole figure and her red mouth. He could not have defined it, but there was something about her—warm, soft, pulsating.
She stared at him across her open dressing-case but she was perfectly self-possessed. There was no trace of fear in her dark eyes at the sight of this masked unknown man who threatened her with a gun. She remained absolutely still and did not even open her red-lipped mouth to ask him what he wanted, but waited quietly for him to speak first.
He wondered for a second where she could be off to at this time of night, but that did not concern him for the moment. Stepping into the room and closing the door behind him he said in a gruff, low voice:
‘Madame is said to have some very nice jewels. I want them. Take off your rings and those pearls, put them in that dressing-case and bring it over here to me.’ He knew that any papers that she might have would be in the dressing-case, and it was these that he was after; but he wanted her to believe him to be an ordinary hotel thief.
‘And if I refuse?’ she said in a low, musical voice.
‘Then, Madame, you must take the consequences. I want those jewels and I mean to have them. Also, I do not intend to risk a long term of imprisonment by chancing your giving an alarm while I tie you up and gag you. There is a silencer on this automatic. If you refuse to do as I tell you I shall have to shoot you.’
She raised her voice and cried with sudden defiance: ‘I do refuse!’
Gregory gave her full marks for courage although he felt certain she could not realise how very near death she was at that second. She was gambling upon the fact that few jewel thieves will deliberately commit murder. They may shoot if they are surprised during a theft, in order to escape capture, but not once in a thousand times will they kill purely to secure their loot when they are the masters of a situation.
But he was not a jewel thief and it was his duty to put this dangerous woman out of business just as much as it is a sentry’s duty to fire upon an enemy whom he may see creeping towards him across no-man’s-land. It was a perfect opportunity to settle the matter once and for all. The silencer on his gun would prevent the shot being heard. Within two minutes he could be back in his bedroom. In ten, abandoning his suitcase and its contents which had no marks by which he could be identified, he could be out of the hotel; and he could take her jewels to provide a motive for the murder. Travel presented no difficulties in these countries which were still at peace and long before her body was discovered he would be over the Belgian frontier. Certain interested parties might guess that the Baroness had not been killed purely for the sake of her jewellery, but they had good reasons for keeping their mouths shut. When he reappeared in Brussels as Erika’s butler there would be nothing whatever to connect him with the crime. He was very tempted to squeeze the trigger of his automatic.
Yet somehow he could not do it. If she had attempted to reach the bell or to grab any weapon that she might have had in her open dressing-case she would have been a dead woman; but she did nothing of the kind; she just stood there staring at him, and the only expression which he could fathom in her eyes was a look of interested curiosity as to whether he meant to shoot or not.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m not shooting for the moment; but I will if you move your lips by as much as a millimetre. Stand back from that case and put your hands up!’
She did as he had ordered and, stepping forward, he slammed down the lid of the case, pressed home the locks and picked it up.
Her lips twitched into a sudden smile. ‘It is not, then, my rings and my pearls that you are after?’
For a second he debated whether he should continue his bluff and forcibly strip the rings from her fingers or if he should content himself with the suitcase, thereby giving away the fact that he had really come for her papers, and get out as quickly as he could. Bat in either case she would raise the alarm the moment he had left her suite, so he had somehow to render her incapable of doing that until he was at least clear of the hotel. It occurred to him that the easiest way to do so was to get her into the bathroom, where there was a good supply of large towels. By gripping her throat with one hand he could prevent her screaming until he had pouched his gun; then he could wrap one large towel round her head and tie her up with the others. So he said:
‘All in good time. I’ll have the rings and the pearls in a minute, but I expect you’ve got some other trinkets in this case so I’m taking that as well.’
He brandished the gun again. ‘Now, you’ve got it coming to you this time unless you obey me. Quick march I Out of here and along the passage to the bathroom!’
Somewhat to his surprise, she did not again refuse to be intimidated, but walked unhurriedly past the foot of the bed and across the room to the door leading into the passage.
As she opened it Gregory followed her with his gun in one hand and her dressing-case in the other. He was just about to cross the threshold when he heard a faint noise behind him. Swinging round he saw that the door of the sitting-room had opened. In it, covering him with a gun, stood his old enemy, Herr Gruppenführer Grauber.