“This,” said Gregory, the scar above his left eyebrow going white, “is one of the big moments of my life! Our country asks us to go to Russia. We spend days in aeroplanes at considerable risk of being shot down by the Germans. We have interminable arguments with security officials. We motor through wild mountains where we are liable to be robbed and murdered by Kurdish tribesmen. We suffer cold and discomfort in Moscow. We fly by night across the German lines to Leningrad. After fifty-three days and a journey of over seven thousand miles we reach our destination. On the return trip we make our way through the shot, shell and machine-gun fire of two battle zones back to Moscow. By train, car, lorry, ship and on our own flat feet, we eventually bribe our way through to Persia. Again, for days on end, we fly about in aeroplanes, then, for three weeks we are cooped up in a ship liable to be sunk by U-boats. After a further sixty-seven days and another journey of fifteen thousand five hundred miles we get home. One hundred and twenty days of it, and a grand total of twenty-two thousand five hundred miles! Very nearly the circumference of the earth! And during this delightful little joy-ride what happens? We are arrested by the Ogpu and sentenced to death. We are seized by the Gestapo and sentenced to death. We are threatened with indefinite exile to Siberia. We are drugged and imprisoned, and half frozen, and people try to drown us. Yet we get home! And for what? To be arrested on landing under Eighteen-B!”
The inspector grinned. “You certainly seem to have had an interesting time, sir.”
“On the contrary!” Gregory’s eyes flashed. “The interesting part is just about to begin. I haven’t shot anybody on this trip, but when I’ve had five minutes with the oaf who issued that warrant you’ll be wanting me for murder! What’s the charge, eh? I suppose some nosey parker, who doesn’t know there is a war on, has found the sugar and tinned tongues that I had the sense to lay in before the war started, in my store cupboard, and I’m accused of hoarding. Or is it that the National Service age limit has gone up since I’ve been away, and you want to chain me to a factory bench? If that is it I’m your willing victim.”
“No, there’s no specific charge. It’s just an order to detain you.”
Gregory looked at Stefan. “It seems that we have conspired against the safety of the Realm. Why we never thought of doing so before, I can’t think. Poor mutts that we are, we risked being sent to Siberia, when all this time we could have been enjoying peace and plenty in the Isle of Man. There is no queueing there, but the best food in Britain; and we’ll have lots of time to plan a revival of the legend about what a kind sweet gentleman Adolf Hitler really was, after the brute is defeated. With a little luck we might even think up a way of persuading people that the Germans ought to be allowed to keep their bombers and U-boats so that the poor dears’ national pride is not offended.”
“Come along, sir,” said the inspector. “You’re only wasting time, and we have a train to catch. I’m not taking you to the Isle of Man, but to London.”
“May one ask why?” Gregory enquired.
“I really don’t know. To be questioned, I expect.”
“I’ve a question or two to ask myself,” muttered Gregory angrily, as they followed the officer from the room. “May I telephone my friends?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. But you may send telegrams if you like; simply stating that you have landed, and, if you like, asking a legal representative to get in touch with Scotland Yard.”
On reaching the station Gregory telegraphed Sir Pellinore instead of his lawyer; and they sent two other telegrams to Erika and Madeleine to say they hoped to be at Gwaine Meads the following day.
The train was crowded, but they travelled down in comfort, as a compartment had been specially reserved for them. At the London terminus they were met by a police car that swiftly conveyed them to a big building in South Kensington. There, they were put into a sparsely furnished room and told to wait.
They had spoken little on the long journey south owing to the presence of the inspector, and even now speculation over the cause of their arrest seemed rather futile, when Kuporovitch said, “What do you think can be behind this extraordinary business?”
“Heaven alone knows!” Gregory shrugged. “The whole thing is probably a stupid mistake.”
At that moment Sir Pellinore entered the room. Towering in the doorway, he seemed almost to fill it as he beamed upon them, and cried with hearty joviality: “Strap me! But it’s good to see you fellows again! Till you were reported to me as sailing in that convoy I was wondering what the deuce had become of you. I’ll explain later why I had to have you arrested.”
“So you were at the bottom of it!” Gregory replied acidly. “Have you come to apply the hot irons in person?”
“Ha-ha!” Sir Pellinore guffawed. “That’s good! No. Dinner first and hot irons afterwards. Come along. Car’s outside.”
“Does this mean that we are free men?”
“More or less; more or less. I expect you will be after I’ve read the Riot Act and you’ve agreed to toe the line.” With a word of thanks to the inspector, who had appeared behind him, the tall, white-haired old man led the way out to the street.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Gregory asked, as they got into Sir Pellinore’s huge Rolls-Royce. “Anyone would think that while we were in Russia we had joined the Comintern.”
“No, no! You put up a marvellous show! Absolutely marvellous! The Beaver told me the bare bones of it after he and Harriman returned from Moscow; but I can hardly wait to hear Ml details. Their Mission, by the by, was an enormous success, and the Bolshies are being given practically everything they asked for. No, it’s not what you’ve done, my boy. It’s what I feared you might do, on your return to England, that caused me to arrange to have you both put under preventative arrest. After all, you’ve suffered no inconvenience, and it was the quickest way of getting you to London.”
“But why?” Gregory persisted. “Why were you in such an almighty hurry to see us? Erika’s not ill, is she?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Or Madeleine?” added Kuporovitch.
“No. Fit as a fiddle. At least she was when I last heard from her, about a fortnight ago.”
The car sped swiftly and almost silently through the dark London streets. Sir Pellinore proved adamant in his refusal to say any more, and five minutes later they pulled up outside his mansion in Carlton House Terrace.
Immediately they were settled upstairs in the big library with a decanter of fine sherry before them, Gregory renewed the attack; but Sir Pellinore imperiously waved his questions aside.
“Dinner first, thumbscrews afterwards,” he declared. “Just so as not to put you off your oats I’ll tell you this much. While you have been away, the Germans have laid a very clever trap for you, and I didn’t want you to fall into it before I’d had a chance to put you wise. Come now! Another noggin of this old Amontillado, then we’ll dine.”
“Oh well, if that’s all there is to it …” Gregory shrugged, and by the time they went down to dinner he was his cheerful self again.
Over the meal he and Kuporovitch gave a detailed account of their adventures, punctuated by exclamations from Sir Pellinore of: “God bless my soul! The devil you did! Well, I’ll be jiggered!” When at last the recital was concluded and the port put on the table, Kuporovitch said:
“And now tell us, please, something of what has been happening here.”
Sir Pellinore took a swig at his port. “Well,” he replied, having swallowed it with loud appreciative noises, “as you’ll have heard over the ship’s radio, we launched our new offensive in Libya about ten days ago. The first phase looked pretty successful. The Tobruk garrison broke out, and on the third day linked up with our main forces. The New Zealanders captured Bardia with great élan, then came up to assist in the fighting round Sidi Rezegh. But since then things haven’t been going too well. Somehow there doesn’t seem to be the Wavell touch about that army any longer, and it looks to me as if this feller Rommel is proving more than a match for ’em. I may be wrong. Hope to God I am. Anyhow, we’ll see.
“At home here there’s been a big shake-up among the Generals. John Dill has been retired from C.I.G.S. on having reached the age limit. Pity that, I think. Dill is a very able feller, and it’s absurd to suggest that because he has reached sixty he is no longer capable of advising the Prime Minister. These bureaucratic rules governing promotions and retirements are bad enough in peacetime, and they may prove highly dangerous in war. It’s said they are sending him out as Governor of Bombay, but I hope they have the sense to use his very able brain in some more important capacity. He’s been succeeded by Alan Brooke, who was C.-in-C. Home Forces, and Bernard Paget has taken Brooke’s place. They’re both said to be good men; but, again, we shall see.
“There was a great dust-up about Sir Roger Keyes. He was forming this new Commando outfit for Combined Operations, but they’ve given him the sack. At least, that’s what he says himself. The little Admiral is a great fire-eater and I have an idea he wanted to go ahead too quickly for Whitehall. Anyway, I believe these Special Service troops are going to prove immensely valuable in the future.”
“How about America?” Gregory asked. “Is she any nearer to coming in?”
“Yes. Quite a bit. Those idiot Germans never seem to be able to learn a lesson. It was their sinking American shipping that brought the U.S. in last time, and they’re at it again now. The amendment of the Neutrality Act in the middle of this month shows how American opinion is hardening, and they’ve already started to arm their merchantmen against the U-boats.”
“Any other good news?”
Sir Pellinore helped himself to some more port and pushed the decanter round. “The Navy’s been doing good work in the Med., although recently we really did lose the good old Ark Royal. But the R.A.F. is still the only weapon we’ve got with which we can really make the Germans squeal. It is bigger than the Luftwaffe now. For the past two months it’s been knocking blue blazes out of Hamburg, Bremen, Stettin and all those Baltic ports from which the Nazis send their stuff up to the North Russian front.”
“Thank God for that!” murmured Kuporovitch. “Things don’t look too good in Russia now, from what one hears over the radio.”
Sir Pellinore cocked a bright blue eye first at him, then at Gregory. “Um!” he muttered, meditatively, “we’ll be in a pretty pickle if it turns out that Voroshilov led you two up the garden path after all.”
“I’d stake my last bob that he didn’t,” said Gregory quickly.
“Well, I’m not yet rattled myself. But I know plenty of people who are. And we’ve gone to town on your word, remember. I’ve never lost a night’s sleep over anything yet; but, by Jove! I’d have had plenty of cause to these past two months if I’d been that way inclined. Just look what’s happened since you gave Beaverbrook your appreciation. Budenny managed to get away from Kiev with about two-thirds of his army, but he lost the city and the Ukraine with it. Kharkov’s gone too; one of the greatest industrial centres of all Russia. In the south, the Germans have captured Odessa and over-run the Crimea. Timoshenko’s counter-offensive against Rostov is not going too badly, but the Germans are round his southern flank, so he won’t be able to keep it up, and before we know where we are the Nazis will have their hooks on Stalin’s oil.”
Gregory shook his head. “I think you’re wrong about that. Their main object in holding Stalingrad is so that the oil can continue to come up the Volga, so defending one commits them to defending the other.”
“Hm! The Germans are darn near within range of Stalingrad now.”
“So I gather, but I don’t believe they’ll ever take it.”
“And how about Moscow, eh? It’s getting on for seven weeks since Hitler personally launched his great offensive against the capital. No battle in the whole history of the world can compare with this one for the area of territory being fought over or the destructive power of the huge forces engaged. By comparison it makes our little effort in Libya look positively Lilliputian. And, so far, the Germans have won all along the line. It’s costing them a packet, of course, but they’re well past Kalinin in the north and they’ve got Tula in the south. Moscow has been abandoned as the capital and the Government has retired to Kubishev. They got out weeks ago, and that shows how worried they must be. The latest reports say that the Nazis are now within thirty-five miles of Moscow; so it’s beginning to look as if you’d sold us a pup, my boy; and if you have, it’s a pup the size of a bulldozer.”
“I gave no guarantee that they would hold Moscow,” said Gregory doggedly. “I simply stated my belief that they would, somehow, manage to maintain themselves on the line of the Volga, and that its key point, Stalingrad, would be held at all costs. If Stalingrad falls you can hang me out with the washing on the Siegfried line; but not till then.”
Sir Pellinore nodded. “Well, it’s some comfort, anyhow, that you’ve so far proved right about Leningrad. The War Office thought the city would fall a couple of months ago, but Voroshilov is still hanging on.”
“And he will continue to do so,” Kuporovitch put in, with sublime conviction. “If Leningrad falls you can hang me out with the washing too.”
Having sent what was left of his third glass of port to join its predecessors, Sir Pellinore wiped his white moustache and said: “Well, as the fate of the civilised world may hang on this Russian armageddon, I find it more comforting to talk to you fellers than to the Chiefs of Staff. Let’s go upstairs and drink a spot of Kümmel.”
“The original pre-nineteen-fourteen Mentzendorff?” asked Gregory with a smile.
“Yes, drat you! The bin’s getting down near empty now; but I knew I couldn’t fob you off with that muck we have for parties, and we’ll need something pretty potent handy, in view of what we have to talk about.”
Upstairs, the long-necked, dust-encrusted bottle reposed upon a silver salver with three glasses and a corkscrew placed before it. Picking up the bottle and the corkscrew, Sir Pellinore advanced to the fireplace and began gently to tap off the wax seal.
“Never believe in doing anything myself that I can get other people to do for me—with one exception,” he muttered. “I won’t let servants open old bottles. Servants these days don’t understand how to handle fine liqueur. This cork’s gone to powder, like as not, and if I allowed them to monkey with it they’d let the cork dust ruin the drink.”
Having gently inserted the corkscrew he pulled it with a swift sideways twist and the crumbled cork was flicked clear, on to the hearth. Then he filled the three glasses with the syrupy white fluid, and lifted his own.
“Well, here’s luck on your next venture. You’ll need it.”
They drank in silence. The thirty-year old-Kümmel was as soft as cream but had a concealed punch that sent a glorious warmth through them as it went down. Gregory let out an appreciative sigh, and said:
“Your toast inferred that you already have in mind another job for us. If that’s so, unless it’s something terribly urgent, I’d rather we didn’t discuss it for a week or two. Stefan and I have had a pretty sticky three months of it and I think we’re entitled to a spot of leave now. Naturally he wants to see his wife, and you know how mad I am about Erika.”
“Of course, of course; a very reasonable request.” Sir Pellinore began to stride up and down the big room with his hands in his trousers pockets. He remembered few things in his life that he had so much hated to have to face as his present task of breaking the news about Erika to Gregory. He would have liked to have gone to meet him on the dock and get it over there, but had felt that the blow might be softened just a little if it was delivered in these familiar surroundings after a good dinner. He had not enjoyed a single mouthful of the meal himself, but it had enabled him to ply Gregory so heavily with good wine that he was in hopes that by the time they got to bed nature would take charge. A few hours’ sound sleep after the shock was the best prescription he could devise for restoring the victim’s equilibrium, and he meant to send Gregory to bed more or less tight, if he could possibly do so. After a moment he went on:
“I take it you still want to marry Erika?”
Gregory looked up from his Kümmel in surprise. “Yes, of course. We’d get married tomorrow if only she were free.”
“Quite! Well, there were developments about that soon after you left England. A letter reached her, via the Swiss Legation, from her husband, offering to give her a divorce.”
“By Jove! How terrifically exciting!”
“I’ve got it here.” Sir Pellinore paused in front of his desk, took two letters from a drawer, and handed one over. “She left it with me, and I think you had better read it.”
Gregory’s face remained quite expressionless while he read the long letter, but, when he had finished, it was very glum as he said: “Divorces usually take the hell of a time. It says three months here, but I should have thought it would mean much longer than that. I suppose you’re trying to break it to me that Erika went abroad to get her freedom and is not back yet; so I won’t be able to see her before I have to go off again myself on this new job you’ve got for me.”
“That’s it!” Sir Pellinore refilled the Kümmel glasses and there was a moment’s silence.
Suddenly Gregory sprang to his feet. His face was dead white and the weal of his scar showed strongly. Letting out a peculiarly blasphemous oath that he used only on very rare occasions, he cried:
“You said something about a trap before dinner. You don’t mean—you don’t mean——”
Sir Pellinore nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Words can’t express what I feel for you, my dear boy—but none of us could have foreseen it. Erika went to Switzerland on the tenth of August. She wrote to me from St. Gall on the twentieth, and I have not heard from her since. Here is her letter. When you’ve read it I’ll fill in the gaps as well as I can.”
With a trembling hand, Gregory took the second letter. His eyes blurred over as he read the familiar, dearly-loved writing, but having to concentrate on it saved him for the moment from visualising the worst that might have happened. When he had done, he said:
“So she went into Germany, to get the low-down on this new weapon. Of course, that’s all baloney. It doesn’t exist. The divorce was the bait to get her to Switzerland, and this new gas, or whatever it is, the bait to get her across the frontier.”
“I wonder if you’re right about that,” Kuporovitch intervened. “The Germans have not only their own scientists but also Czechs, Norwegians, French and many others whom they compel to work for them now. With such resources they might easily become possessed of some scientific secret that would change the whole course of the war.”
“I’ve always feared that myself,” Sir Pellinore agreed. “Whether von Osterberg knows anything really worth getting hold of, it is impossible to say, but he may. The R.A.F. recently reported the development of a great new experimental station up at Peenemünde, on the Baltic, and Erika says that, by his own account, von Osterberg was employed somewhere up in the north before he escaped to Switzerland.”
“Escaped my foot!” exclaimed Gregory. “He was deliberately planted there by Grauber, to pull Erika in.”
“No. You were the big fish that Grauber was after. He reckoned that you would accompany her to Switzerland, and that when von Osterberg had said his piece, it would be you who would go into Germany to get those notes.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Gregory glanced at Kuporovitch. “I can see daylight now about what Grauber meant when he said in the U-boat that once he got me back to Germany he’d make me talk without resorting to torture. The swine had got Erika already and he was contemplating flaying her alive in front of me if I refused to spill the beans.”
“You are right,” Kuporovitch agreed. “But from that emerges one comfort for you. It means that Erika is still alive and unharmed. To exert maximum pressure on you he must produce her well and with her beauty unmarred to start with, when he catches you, as he no doubt still hopes to do.”
“Yes—she is the bait now,” Sir Pellinore agreed. “And evidently, in anticipation of your getting safely back from Russia, the trap has recently been reset.”
“What d’you mean?” Gregory asked quickly.
Sir Pellinore walked over to his desk and produced a third letter. “This reached me early this month, again via the Swiss Legation, and it is another letter from von Osterberg. But before you read it I’ll tell you the very little that I was able to find out subsequent to Erika’s disappearance. As you’ll have gathered, I sent young Piers—what’s-his-name—out to Switzerland with her; so he was able to give me the lie of the land on his return. I was deuced worried when I learnt that Erika was going into Germany, but by the time I had her letter she had crossed the lake, so there was nothing I could do about it. Still, for once I put the national interest second to yours and I laid Piers off the job he was going to do for a bit. After a week, having heard nothing more from Erika, I sent him out again. He reported that on the evening of the twenty-second of August the launch from the Villa Offenbach was seen going out, apparently on a fishing expedition, with two men and a gel in her. As far as is known the launch did not return, and the Villa remained unoccupied. On learning that, I realised that either the whole party had been caught or that Erika had been betrayed by her husband, so I recalled Piers and proceeded to await events.”
“D’you mean to tell me you’ve sat here for three months and done nothing!” Gregory cut in angrily.
Sir Pellinore spread out his large hands. “What could I do, my boy? I felt that it was all Lombard Street to a china orange that we’d been had for mugs and that Erika had been deliberately snared to bait a fresh trap for you. Therefore, that she was a prisoner, but safe for the time being.”
“You could at least have tried to find out the concentration camp to which they had sent her.”
“That was next to impossible. As I’ve often told you, our Secret Service performs miracles in keeping us informed of the enemy’s military moves, but it seems to know next to nothing about what goes on inside Germany. I could have sent young what’s-his-name or someone like that, but I didn’t dare to risk it. None of them is in your class, and if they had mucked the thing up and got Erika killed while trying to get her out you would never have forgiven me. No, I felt confident that no harm would come to Erika as long as Grauber had a use for her, and that you’d want to handle this thing yourself. So I waited for you to return.”
“Yes, you were quite right about that,” Gregory admitted rather grudgingly.
“Good! Well, although I couldn’t do anything about Erika, I had a watch kept on the Villa Offenbach. It was reported to me that on or about the twenty-fifth of October the Villa was reoccupied by two men answering the descriptions of von Osterberg and Einholtz. In the light of what we now know, it looks as if, by that time, having got back to Germany himself, Grauber had learned through one of his agents in Leningrad that you had escaped being drowned in that U-boat. He’d conclude then that you’d probably be back in London by early November—as you would have been had you been able to get an aircraft from Cairo. So he packs von Osterberg and t’other feller off to set the trap again. As soon as they’re settled in, the Count writes this letter; it reached me ten days later.”
Gregory took the letter, which was in German, and read it out, translating as he went along:
“Dear Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust,
“During several conversations that I had with my wife here in mid-August she mentioned, more than once, the great kindness that you had shown her as an enemy alien while domiciled in Britain. It therefore seems probable that before leaving England she told you that she was going to Switzerland for the purpose of coming to some arrangement with me about our future relations.
“Our discussions on the subject proceeded very amicably but, most unfortunately, they were complicated by another matter which resulted in our deciding to risk a short trip into Germany, for the purpose of recovering certain personal papers from my old home—Schloss Niederfels.
“We crossed the lake on the night of August twenty-second and reached Niederfels in safety. Both of us had naturally assumed that the staff of old family servants there would prove completely trustworthy, but by a most tragic piece of ill-luck my mother had recently taken into her service a new lady’s maid. The girl’s last place was in Berlin and, I gather, she was the mistress of an S.S. man there. In consequence, she denounced us to the local headquarters and we only narrowly escaped being captured in the Castle.
“In our flight we had the further misfortune to become separated. I took refuge with an old friend of mine and he concealed me for nearly two months, after which I succeeded in making my way back here. What has happened to Erika I do not know. The friend with whom I was in hiding told me that there was a great hue-and-cry after us both, but no report of her ever being captured. It therefore seems reasonably certain that she also took refuge with one of our tenants and is still in hiding somewhere in the neighbourhood of Niederfels, but afraid to leave the temporary security that she has found.
“If I am right in this I do not doubt that by discreet enquiries I could soon find her; and I feel very strongly that it is my duty to go back and help her to escape from Germany, which should not be very difficult now that the hue-and-cry for us has had time to die down. But, I am ashamed to say, my courage is not equal to undertaking such a trip alone.
“You see, I am not a man of action. Most of my adult life has been spent in scientific research and few men could be more ill suited to undertake such a venture as myself.
“However, Erika was extremely frank with me when we discussed our future. She freely admitted that in the event of her obtaining her freedom it was her intention to marry a Mr. Gregory Sallust. I understand from her that he is a journalist and war correspondent, whose assignments in many countries have called for a most active and enterprising nature. In fact, that he has all those qualities which are so lamentably lacking in myself.
“I have no animus whatever against Mr. Sallust on account of the fact that he is in love with my wife, and it has occurred to me that if he is still working in Fleet Street, or could be recalled from some front on which he may be reporting the course of the war, he would, perhaps, welcome the opportunity of affording me the assistance which I regard as essential, if I am to go back to Germany on an attempt to rescue my poor wife.
“As I have no idea how to get into touch with Mr. Sallust direct, I have taken the liberty of writing to you, in the hope that you will be able to communicate the contents of this letter to him.
“I am, etc., etc.”
Gregory flung the letter down in disgust. ‘The dirty, double-crossing swine! But Grauber is behind it, of course—and it’s as clear a case of ‘Come into my Parlour said the Spider to the Fly’ as ever I’ve seen.”
“I wouldn’t quite say that,” Kuporovitch demurred. “The way we are looking at it one naturally smells a rat. But what real grounds are there for doing so? Only, I think, the boast that Grauber made in the U-boat; yet he may have had in mind some quite different method of making you talk.”
“Hm! Von Osterberg’s first letter was plausible enough,” grunted Sir Pellinore.
“So is his second,” Kuporovitch went on. “We have no evidence at all that this von Osterberg set a trap for Erika, or that Grauber is behind him. Everything might have happened just as he says. Had they talked as old friends he would naturally have asked her about her time in England. He knew already that she had been working in the hospital at Gwaine Meads, so there was no reason why she should not have mentioned Sir Pellinore’s kindness in giving her a home there. They had already agreed to a divorce, so it does not seem to me strange that he should have asked if she had any plans for the future or that she should have told him that she intended to marry a Mr. Gregory Sallust. You will note, too, that he appears to know only that Gregory is a journalist and war correspondent. As Sir Pellinore acted the part of guardian to her while she was here, the Count would be quite justified in assuming that he would know of her affair with Gregory and be able to get into touch with him. We all know that von Osterberg is a scientist, and most scientists are far from being practical men of the world, let alone of the resolute and audacious type capable of taking on and outwitting the Gestapo. What could be more natural than, feeling so helpless himself, he should propose that a man accustomed to action and danger should go with him, when that man is his wife’s lover and has more to gain than he has by rescuing her?”
“What about this chap Einholtz?” said Gregory. “He went in with them the first time and, from the report, returned with von Osterberg to the Villa at the end of October. Don’t you consider it suspicious that no mention at all is made of him?”
“It was what Erika said in her letter about Einholtz that somehow first made me suspect it to be a trap,” grunted Sir Pellinore. “Perhaps it was his being out for filthy lucre that made me feel he was a fishy customer. It’s certainly suspicious that von Osterberg doesn’t mention him in either of his letters.”
“Not necessarily,” Kuporovitch countered. “It may be that having little courage himself, von Osterberg would not go without this friend of his on the first trip, and they got away together, but Einholtz now feels once bit twice shy, and will not go again. After all, it is no affair of his, so why should he? And why should von Osterberg complicate his letter by dragging him in since he played only a subsidiary rôle?”
“Something in that.” Sir Pellinore took another swig of Kümmel. “Maybe I’ve been barking up the wrong tree. That’s what comes of having a suspicious nature. Of course, the fact that made me jump to conclusions was Erika’s disappearance. She took a big risk going in, anyway; and she may have been put on the spot by the old woman’s abigail, as her husband says. Still, the moment I learnt that she hadn’t returned with the other two I had a hunch that there was some deliberate devilry at the bottom of it all, and my hunches aren’t usually wrong.”
Kuporovitch’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t say that it isn’t a trap; only that, if it is, it’s a very well laid one. You see, if Grauber had got Erika he might quite well have found a way to force her to write a letter to Gregory himself, saying that she was in hiding somewhere and needed his help to get back. But it seems to me that if he is behind it he has been more subtle than that.”
“I don’t see that it matters who wrote the letter,” Gregory shrugged. “He would know that the moment I got it I should set off for Switzerland.” Turning to Sir Pellinore, he added, “When is the earliest you can get me a ‘plane?”
Sir Pellinore sighed. “I still think you’d be walking straight into a trap, my boy. And if Grauber has set it deliberately to snare you I’d rather put my head in the jaws of a shark. If you go to Switzerland the odds are that you’ll never come back.”
“I’m going there all the same. If I’d known about this when we docked this morning I would have begged, borrowed or stolen an aircraft and been there by now.”
“I know. That’s why I had you arrested. As you’d completed your mission I thought you might not bother to come to see me right away. After all, landing at Glasgow, Gwaine Meads was on your way south. You might easily have decided to stop off there to see Erika.”
“If I had I’d only have learned that she left there three months ago, and I should have come hurtling down here on the next express to find out from you what had happened to her.”
“Maybe, maybe not! I naturally replied to von Osterberg’s letter. Told him that you were abroad for the time being, but that as soon as you got back I’d pass his letter on; and that in the meantime I hoped he’d have some news of Erika. But that is close on a month ago, and I’ve heard nothing since. It’s on the cards that he may be getting impatient. He may have got the impression that I was stalling him and had deliberately refrained from showing you his letter. If so, he may have written to you direct by now. A letter might have arrived from him by any post at Gwaine Meads, or at your Club. If you’d gone to either of them before seeing me you might have stolen an aircraft, just as you say, and been in Switzerland by this time. You see, I know just what you must be feeling, and just the sort of mad-hatter tricks you might get up to after such a shock.”
Gregory gave a faint grin. “You’re right, of course. If I’d found out about this on my own I should have been too impatient to wait, and certainly have done something pretty crazy.”
“Well, you won’t when you do get to Switzerland,” Kuporovitch put in. “I’ll take care of that.”
“D’you mean you’re coming with me?”
“Of course. You are in no fit state to be allowed to go anywhere alone.”
“That’s darn decent of you, Stefan.”
“Nonsense!” the Russian shrugged. “You would do the same for me at any time. And the sooner we start the sooner we shall get back.” He looked at Sir Pellinore. “When will it be possible for us to start?”
“You must have proper papers, and tomorrow’s Sunday. Bit awkward that. Some of the people I’ll need to get hold of may not be in their offices. Still, by pulling every gun I’ve got, I ought to be able to get you off by Monday afternoon.”
“Thanks,” said Gregory, “I’m sure you’ll do your best for us.”
Sir Pellinore emptied the remains of the Kümmel into their glasses. “I suppose so,” he grumbled unhappily, “but I know what I ought to do with you two lunatics.”
“Lock us up, eh?” Kuporovitch smiled.
“Exactly! But I’m getting old; that’s the trouble. I’m allowing sentiment to overrule my sense of duty. By all the laws of the Medes and Persians I ought to have you both clapped into the Isle of Man for the duration. I’m not yet certain that I won’t, either.”
“Thanks,” said Gregory curtly. “But personally I have no desire to be prevented from risking my life against my will.”
The elderly Baronet raised his bright blue eyes and stared at him angrily. “It’s not your life I’m worrying about, you young fool. It’s what the Gestapo might get out of you if you’re caught. Surely you two realise that your recent success in Russia has turned you into dynamite. You’re both flesh and blood, like anyone else. Those fiends may do things to you until you’re both driven out of your minds. Then you won’t even know what you’re saying. And under your bonnets you’ve now got the whole of Russia’s future strategy. Why, damn my eyes! If the Nazis get that out of you we might lose the war. Hell’s bells! The very thought of taking such a risk makes me sweat.”
“You’re going to take it all the same.” Gregory stuck out his lean jaw.
“Yes, I’m going to take it.” Sir Pellinore’s voice had now dropped several tones, and he spoke very quietly. “I’m going to take it on one condition; and in order to be in a position to insist on this was the main reason why I had you arrested. I’m going to give you both some capsules containing cyanide of potassium. If you go into Germany you will carry them in your mouths. One gulp and death is instantaneous. You’ve got to give me your word that if you’re caught you’ll swallow them.”