Gregory had good reason to be pleased with himself. So far everything had gone according to plan and without the slightest hitch. By his surprise tactics he had beaten the gun, and was going into Germany two days before he was expected. Moreover, his guess that Erika was still most probably at Niederfels had been confirmed by von Osterberg.
That, so far, was the real high spot of his good fortune. He had feared at first that Grauber might have sent her to some concentration camp hundreds of miles deep in Germany, and her rescue from a well-guarded camp would have proved immensely difficult. But, on reasoning the matter out, he had reached the conclusion that if Grauber wished to maintain the impression that Erika had not been caught he would not move her. The beautiful Erika von Epp, being such a well-known person in Germany, if moved, might be recognised in transit and, later, her presence in a concentration camp for several months would be almost certain to leak out through guards and others talking, and might get back to Switzerland; whereas the Castle itself offered every facility for a safe and secret prison.
In consequence, his plans had been made on the tentative assumption that she was at Niederfels, and this now seemed highly probable.
It was most unlikely that Grauber would arrive at the Schloss before the evening of the 13th. If the situation there was the same as it had been when von Osterberg left, and there seemed no reason why it should not be, the old Countess’s personal maid Helga Stiffel was still Erika’s chief gaoler. No doubt Helga had assistance of some sort, as Grauber would not have risked the possibility of so valuable a captive escaping through the slackness or complacency of one woman. On the other hand, he would certainly not have allocated S.S. personnel to such a backwater job, as, now that Germany was holding down half Europe, trained Gestapo men were far too scarce and valuable. Therefore, Gregory felt, by going in before Grauber and his personal staff appeared on the scene he should have a very good chance of effecting Erika’s rescue.
Another thing that pleased him greatly was that he had been able to keep Kuporovitch out of this desperate gamble. The Russian had grumbled a lot at being left behind, and Gregory knew his worth as an ally too well not to be sorry on that account; but he had felt that he owed it both to his loyal friend and to Madeleine that Stefan should be protected against his own courageous inclinations. This venture was different to all others that they had undertaken, in that they had given Sir Pellinore their word that, if captured, they would commit suicide by swallowing the cyanide globules. Gregory had no illusions about the fact that, although things had started well, he was still only at the beginning of the job, and that once in Germany the risk of being caught before Erika could be got out of the country was very considerable indeed.
They had, however, gone to the Villa Offenbach that night with the definite intention of killing Einholtz; and, whatever their personal views might be about the justice of giving the Gestapo thug his deserts, should the Swiss authorities come to hear of it they would unquestionably regard the deed as murder. Gregory intended to dispose of the body himself; but it had also seemed an essential precaution that all traces of the crime should be removed from the Villa and imperative to ensure that von Osterberg, half-crazy from fear of the Nazis on the one hand and Einholtz’s killers on the other, should not be allowed to stagger into Steinach and, having sought the protection of the Swiss police, spill the whole story to them. So, when making their plan, it had proved possible to persuade Kuporovitch that, much as he wanted to come to Germany, it was far more important that he should remain in Switzerland; if only for the purpose of taking charge of von Osterberg and seeing to it that if Gregory succeeded in his task he would not return only to find himself faced with a charge of murder.
It was that thought which kept him extra alert as the launch glided out into the lake. Ordinarily, to have been stopped in Swiss waters would have meant no more than being turned back and, after an annoying wait, to give the patrol boat a chance to pass out of the area, another start; but, if he was stopped with Einholtz’s body on board, and the lake police made even a casual inspection of the launch to see that he was not endeavouring to run contraband into Germany, he would be for the high jump.
The time was only about half past eight but the winter’s night was very dark, the reflection in the water of a few lights further along, from houses in Steinach, seeming only to make it darker; and the exhaust of the launch’s engine was muffled. This would, Gregory knew, reduce her speed a little in an emergency, but he felt, as evidently Einholtz had before him, that a greater degree of safety lay in the good chance of escaping detection altogether through having a comparatively noiseless engine than having a few extra knots’ pace if once challenged.
Having covered about three miles without misadventure, he stopped the motor, dragged Einholtz’s body from the small cabin to the launch’s gunwale and pushed it over. At the sound of the heavy splash it made he felt considerably relieved. The old anchor that Kuporovitch had attached to the corpse’s feet would keep it on the bottom for many weeks and by the time it broke away, if it ever came to the surface at all, it would do so only as a hideous piece of fish-nibbled pulp far beyond all recognition. Its safe disposal was another hurdle passed, which added to his feeling of satisfaction.
Restarting the engine, he turned the boat’s nose north-west, and kept her going roughly parallel to the lake shore for some two miles, until he came opposite Arbon. He had no difficulty in picking up the little port, as the lights were full on in all the Swiss towns and villages, in order that their lack of blackout should reveal them to Allied bombers as in neutral territory. Here, he stopped again, took several compass bearings, which he compared by the light of a hooded torch with the notes he had previously made, adjusted the launch’s position by a quarter of a mile, then set a new course, north-east, for the German shore.
After he was halfway across the lake he shut off his engine every few moments to listen. Twice he caught the faint throb of another engine, and each time refrained from switching his own on again until the throbbing had faded into silence. The Swiss villages were now too distant for their glow to show any reflection on the water and the only light came from patches of stars occasionally revealed through gaps in the scudding clouds. Straining his eyes into the darkness he at last succeeded in picking up the headland south-east of Friedrichshafen and, turning the launch again, began to nose his way round it.
It was now that his daylight reconnaissance proved invaluable. Instead of running aground below a small bathing chalet, as he might otherwise have done, he realised that its roof against the skyline was not large enough to be that of the villa he had seen through his binoculars. A quarter of a mile further on the more spacious eaves of von Lottingen’s summer residence suddenly showed up against a belt of stars, and he turned in towards it.
As he neared its waterfront the unexpected plop of a leaping fish made him start, and he realised that his dramatic half-hour at the Villa Offenbach had keyed his nerves up to an unusually high pitch. The next hurdle was going to be one of the nastiest he would have to face, so he deliberately checked the boat’s way before he need have done, and slowly counted a hundred before giving her a final impulse towards the shore.
He had spent many hours considering every aspect of his project and had reached the conclusion that, even if Erika proved still to be at Schloss Niederfels, however early a start he made it was not a practical proposition to attempt the whole operation of getting there, rescuing her and recrossing the lake with her in one night.
Given a car, which there was good reason to suppose he would be able to secure from von Lottingen’s garage, it was not the distance and time factor which would invalidate such an attempt, but the fact that if he made it he would have to enter the Castle in darkness, without having carried out any previous reconnaissance of it; and that had seemed to him too big a risk to accept.
He had abandoned the idea of a one night’s Blitzkrieg only with the greatest reluctance, as, if it could have been done, it offered so many advantages. With luck, he could have moored the launch, stolen a car, got there and back and recrossed the lake again without anyone at von Lottingen’s being aware that a stranger had made use of the premises.
On the other hand, a two-night job meant that he would have to leave the launch at von Lottingen’s all next day, and that he dared not risk stealing a car from the garage, as the discovery of its loss would be sure to result in a widespread search and, if coupled with the finding of the launch, might even cause one of Grauber’s people to cross the lake the following night to investigate at the Villa Offenbach. Then, when Einholtz’s disappearance was reported, those in the know about his mission would put two and two together, realise that Gregory had outwitted the Gestapo man, rob him of his advantage by arriving at Niederfels before he could get away and block his line of retreat across the lake.
Nevertheless, on balance Gregory had decided that he might live to rue it if he rushed his fences. Niederfels was the key point of the whole operation, and to have plenty of opportunity to nose around it in daylight before going in would probably mean the difference between success and failure. He felt confident that he would be able to steal a car somewhere further afield than the lake shore, and the only really serious snag to the more lengthy job was that he would have to leave the launch for some thirty hours in von Lottingen’s boathouse. But, hidden there, if the boats were used only infrequently, as was probably the case in the depths of winter, there was a good chance that she would remain undiscovered. If she was discovered his line of retreat might be cut, but, even if it was, he would still have a chance to find other means to bring Erika back across the lake to safety. The thing now was to get the launch into the boathouse without arousing anyone who might be in the Villa.
The place was in darkness, but as the whole of the German shore of the Bodensee was subject to the wartime blackout, that was no guarantee at all that there were not people inside it. Having shut off his engine some way out, Gregory, using a bottom board as a paddle, gently steered her in towards the boathouse, the outline of which he could now see faintly.
When the prow of the launch bumped gently against it, he went forward and secured her with the painter. With mixed feelings he found that the doors were secured inside with a chain and padlock. That seemed to indicate that the boats inside were not used with great frequency. On the other hand, it meant some delay before he could get the launch inside.
Stepping ashore, he tiptoed round to the other entrance. He found it unlocked. Opening the door gingerly, he went in and along the skirting-boards to the water-gate. Shining his hooded torch on the padlock, he found that it was quite an ordinary one. It took him only two minutes to pick it. He then drew the launch inside beside two others that were there.
Taking Einholtz’s letters from his pocket he glanced swiftly through the packet and noted that the handwritings on all of them appeared to be those of women. Removing the envelope from one he crumpled it up, and dropped it in the stern of the launch. He had no great hopes of it proving a very odorous red herring, but there was just a chance that, if the boat was found the following day, the people in the Villa might deduce from the envelope that Einholtz had crossed in her but refrained from letting them know of his arrival, having some business of his own on shore that brooked no delay.
Having refastened the padlock Gregory closed the shorewards door of the boathouse carefully behind him and walked cautiously up the path, past the garage, to the road. Once through the gate and on to it he smiled to himself in the darkness. Another tricky fence had been crossed without accident.
His next risky undertaking was to steal a car; but he did not intend to attempt it anywhere near von Lottingen’s villa, or even in the neighbourhood of the Bodensee. To have done so, should the launch be found, would be to connect the two incidents, and possibly set the local Gestapo thinking on lines which he was most averse should occur to them. In consequence, as a first step, he set off at a quick walk towards Friedrichshafen.
He had proceeded barely a kilometre when, as he had hoped, he was able to pick up a bus which took him into the town. When he alighted he made his way at once to the railway station. It was ten minutes to eleven, so he was in ample time to catch the night train, as he had provisionally planned, leaving Friedrichshafen at eleven-ten for Ulm, Stuttgart and the north.
The station was not crowded, and his impeccable German enabled him to take a ticket without the booking-clerk giving him even a second glance. Punctually at ten minutes past eleven the train steamed out with Gregory occupying the corner seat of a first-class carriage in it.
When planning his trip he had felt that in either Ulm or Stuttgart he would be able to secure a car without any likelihood of its theft being connected with the unheralded arrival of the launch at von Lottingen’s villa. Had he been forced to take the slow train, that left half an hour after midnight, the inroad into his time would have necessitated his alighting at Ulm; but as he had managed to catch the express he felt that, despite the additional three quarters of an hour’s rail journey, his purpose would be better served if he went on to Stuttgart. The capital of Württemberg was a somewhat larger town, which meant that a higher percentage of cars would be about the streets in the early hours of the morning and, also, although it was no further from Niederfels, it was considerably further from the Bodensee, which was all to the good.
Alighting at Stuttgart, he made his way to the centre of the old town. It was now just after two in the morning and obviously the night life of the place was extremely limited. Nevertheless, within a stone’s throw of the Klosterkirche there were two places from which he could hear the sounds of dance-music and laughter, and each of them had a row of cars outside.
With a slightly rolling gait, which would enable him to plead the excuse of a mistake through drunkenness if a policeman emerged from the shadows, he approached the less conspicuous line of parked cars. Using a flexible strip of serrated steel, made for the purpose, he found no difficulty in getting the doors of those at the head of the line open. The first two he tried had had their ignition keys removed but the owner of the third had been careless and left his in. That saved quite a lot of bother, so, since it was a Stutz and the indicator showed that there was plenty of petrol in the tank, Gregory got in and drove away.
His study of the maps of the district had imprinted them so firmly on his mind that he never had to hesitate for a moment about his route. By way of Echterdingen, Waldenbach, Tübingen, Hechingen and Schomberg he reached the village of Wilflingen, near which Schloss Niederfels lay. Most of his sixty-mile journey was along deserted roads through the dark forests of the Schwarzwald Kreis, so even on those by-roads he was able to maintain a good pace, and a little before five in the morning he could see the grim, stark silhouette of Schloss Niederfels towering against a starlit sky over the treetops above him.
One of Sir Pellinore’s many maps had been a walking-tour guide of the Heuberg for Wandervögel, and Gregory’s memory of it was so photographic that, after passing through the village, he turned off, instinctively, up a narrow woodland track that led through the heart of a forest area lying adjacent to the Castle but along which there were no buildings for several miles. About two miles due east of the Castle, and on ground nearly as high as it stood itself, he drove the car off the track in among the trees; then pulled up.
Although the first snow had not yet fallen it was bitterly cold there, but he took a long pull from his flask of Swiss Branntwein and, arranging himself in the back of the car under two rugs that were in it, soon dropped off to sleep.
He woke a little before nine, found an icy brook in which to splash his face, shaved with a pocket razor and cream from a tube, then made a meal off some of the cold meat, biscuits and chocolate he had brought with him.
It was the first food he had had since fixing the red-coated cyanide capsule in his mouth. Practising with the green ones during his ten-day sojourn in Switzerland had made him so accustomed to the little bump beside one of his back teeth that during most of his journey he had completely forgotten that if he now had an accident he might swallow the deadly poison. If he did, and the capsule went down uncracked, it might possibly pass harmlessly through him, or be recovered by a doctor with a stomach pump, but, on the other hand, it might not, and having to resort to a local doctor would have upset all his plans; so he now ate with special care.
By ten o’clock he had repacked his knapsack, hidden it under the seat of the car and, taking enough cold food with him for another meal, was setting off on a reconnaissance of the Castle. First, he climbed another mile up through the woods in which he had spent the latter part of the night, until he found a vantage point where a break in the trees gave him a good view of his objective. He was now a little higher than the base of the Schloss and it lay some two and a half miles away from him across the valley. It was a clear, cold winter’s day and through his powerful binoculars he could see the whole of the eastern side of the huge rambling pile with great distinctness. At intervals, for over an hour, he swept its battlements, towers and windows, but could not see a single sign of life.
This lack of activity was most satisfactory, as it now seemed clear that the Castle had not been taken over by the Nazis as a headquarters, or to house a department from one of their ministries, as he had feared might prove the case. A closer reconnaissance was now indicated, but before making it, he decided to go through the papers that he had taken from Einholtz’s pockets.
Apart from the S.S. pass there were no official documents; the rest consisted of two bills and a number of letters, all from women. Some, like the one the envelope of which Gregory had left in the launch, had been addressed to Einholtz in his real name while still in Germany, but three, more recent ones, all in the same hand, had been directed to him at the Villa Offenbach under the assumed name he had used there.
Starting with the earliest in date, Gregory read them through and it was soon clear to him that Einholtz had been something of a Don Juan. Two of the writers had illegitimate children by him and a third was expecting one in the coming January. Gregory knew that there was nothing exceptional about that as Nazi policy encouraged all S.S. men to have as many illegitimate children as possible; the mothers were excellently cared for and granted special privileges by the State, and much propaganda had been used to impress German girls with the idea that it was an honour to bear illegitimate children to the private army of the Nazi Party. But his interest quickened when he found that the three letters addressed to the Villa Offenbach were from Helga Stiffel, the ex-lady’s maid who was now Erika’s wardress.
She said little about Erika, although Gregory was comforted to note that the girl did not seem to bear her prisoner any malice, and wrote of her as in good health and giving no trouble. The letters were, however, long ones and would have made a less hardened sinner than Gregory blush to the ears. As it was, he found them somewhat primitive, but in parts amusing. Helga omitted no detail of the jolly little games that she had played with Einholtz when he had been living at the Schloss, recalling the high spots with abandoned gusto, and suggesting even more lavishly erotic excitements that they might enjoy together on his return.
The letters also gave Gregory some valuable information. From them it was clear that during the two months between Erika’s capture and Einholtz’s return to Switzerland he had been stationed at Nürnberg, which was only about a hundred and forty miles from Niederfels, and that he had come over to spend most of his weekends with Helga. Further, it emerged that as a convenient method of helping Helga to guard Erika, without committing special men to such a time-wasting job, it had been arranged that four local policemen should be billeted at the Schloss. They were road patrol police, and as they took turns of duty by night and day it appeared that there were never less than two of them off duty at the Castle who could be called upon to assist Helga in an emergency, and that the senior of the group made a routine visit to Erika each morning, which, it seemed, Helga resented as an insult to her own capabilities as a gaoler.
It looked, therefore, as if Gregory would have to outwit only Helga and two or three local policemen. Such luck seemed almost too good to last, but with a light heart he set out down the hill and, after a four-mile tramp across the valley bottom, emerged, soon after one o’clock, under the walls of the Schloss.
The woods were mainly pine, so, although it was winter, they still gave adequate cover, and this was supplemented by large clumps of brambles and holly which grew among the trees fairly close up to the Castle walls. Having made his way round to the south side of the pile, where it descended in terraces to meet the woods, he selected another good spot for observation and, while eating his lunch, studied the more modern part of the building through his binoculars.
Once he caught a glimpse of a female figure pulling some curtains aside, and a little later on an old lame manservant hobbled out on to one of the terraces, looked up at the sky, shivered and went in again. After his meal, Gregory, now feeling very cold from having sat still, took a pull at his flask and set off to make a complete circuit of the great building.
As he came opposite the banqueting hall his heart began to pound more quickly, for a double reason. From von Osterberg’s account of what had really happened on that night last August, he knew that it was from one of those tall windows, high above him, that Erika had faced death in making her terrible leap. He knew too, from the Count’s drawings, that it was in one of the dungeons below the banqueting hall that Erika now lay confined.
He would have given a great deal to be able to get a word of comfort to her; to let her know that he was there, within a hundred feet of her, and meant to attempt her rescue that night. But the trees ended in an abrupt line some yards from the Castle wall and their bare trunks gave little cover. He positively dared not jeopardise the whole venture by risking someone looking out of one of the upper windows and seeing him snooping there. Moreover, although he had detailed plans of the inside of that part of the Schloss, he could not be quite certain which of the line of low, barred windows about ten feet from the ground gave on to her cell; so even had he been able to approach nearer without danger he would not have known into which of the windows to throw a written message. With a sigh, he withdrew further in among the trees and continued his circumnavigation of the pile.
It was half past three by the time he had completed his inspection and, during it, he had reached the conclusion that it would be flying in the face of Providence to neglect to make use of the new information that he had been so fortunate in securing through Helga Stiffel’s letters to Einholtz. His secret knowledge of their intimacy opened up the possibility of actually obtaining a glimpse of the inside of the Castle in daylight, which he would otherwise never have dared to attempt.
Making his way back to the great courtyard, he passed it and entered a smaller one flanking the kitchen quarters. Crossing the flags to a postern door that stood partly open, he pulled an old iron bell-pull that hung beside it. The bell jangled faintly in the distance. After a minute he heard footsteps, then a fat, middle-aged woman, wearing an apron, appeared and looked at him enquiringly.
“Is Fraulein Stiffel at home, and if so, can I see her?” he enquired.
“Yes, she’s at home,” the woman replied, none too graciously. “But if you’re a friend of hers you should have come to the front door. She’s the lady of the place these days. D’you mind coming through this way?”
“Not a bit,” smiled Gregory, as he thought what a fine time Fascists or Communists and their girl-friends had when they managed to get their hooks on a country through pretending that they were the champions of the working people.
“All right, I’ll show you,” said the woman, wiping her hands on her apron, and Gregory followed her inside.
He had already observed that the bars had long since been removed from the windows of the kitchen quarters; and that the window-sashes being warped with age and having only old-fashioned catches, it would be a simple matter to force an entry through any of them. Now, as he followed the fat woman through a series of stone passages, his quick eyes took in a score of details which would be of the greatest value on the unannounced visit he intended to make that night.
At first he had a little difficulty in orienting the place in his mind with the plans that von Osterberg had drawn for him; but as they entered the main hall of the Castle he realised that, just before doing so, he had actually passed the door that led down to the cellars, which one of the plans showed to be connected by a short passage with the dungeons under the banqueting room.
Crossing the hall, the woman threw open a low door, said in a surly tone, “Gentleman to see you, Fräulein,” and left him to announce himself.
The room was one of the smaller drawing-rooms of the Castle. Its walls, hangings and principal pieces of furniture showed that it had originally been designed by a von Osterberg who had probably brought back ideas with him from France, after visiting Versailles and Trianon in the latter part of the eighteenth century. But the elegance of the French style had been marred by German bad taste and this had been accentuated by the more recent addition of several mid-Victorian monstrosities.
Gregory thought it a perfect setting for the young woman who, propped up by a pile of cushions, was reclining on a chaise-longue in front of a roaring wood fire, with a litter of cheap film papers on her lap. She was a well-made girl with good legs and provocative breasts. Her dark hair was drawn back from a central parting, Madonna fashion, with little clusters of curls behind her ears, which were small and well modelled. Her brown eyes, under carefully plucked brows, were full of vitality, but her good looks were a little marred by the heaviness of her jowl and the over-fullness of her lips.
Having seen mouths and jowl lines like that on women before, and knowing the sensual proclivities of their owners, Gregory, with the wildly erotic passages of Helga’s love-letters still fresh in his mind, was not at all surprised to see such features on her.
She was dressed in expensive clothes that were a little old-fashioned and a bit too tight for her, making her breasts stand out almost indecently. Gregory had little doubt that the clothes, and the short mink cape beside her, which she evidently used when moving about the colder parts of the Castle, were from the pre-war wardrobe that Erika had left behind her for use on her occasional visits there.
Drawing himself up in the doorway, he clicked his heels, bowed stiffly from the waist and, introducing himself in the German fashion, uttered the one word “Möller”, which was the name he had decided to adopt for this occasion.
She gave him a quick glance and, obviously liking the look of his lean virile face, followed it with a smile that showed her strong, even teeth. Then, attempting the grande dame, she said, “To what do I owe the pleasure——”
He smiled in reply. “I am a friend of Fritz Einholtz. I saw him a few nights ago, and as he knew that I was coming to Niederfels he suggested I should pay my respects to you.”
Her smile broadened. “Oh, how nice! Do come in! But first take off your things; then come and make yourself comfortable by the fire here.”
Murmuring his thanks, he advanced a few paces, bowed again and, knowing that since she could hardly be used to such courtesies, she would be likely to appreciate it all the more, he took her hand and kissed it. He then took off his overcoat, carried it out to the hall, had another quick look round there, and came back to seat himself near her in an armchair.
“Do tell me about Fritz,” she said, as soon as he was settled.
Gregory had not the least compunction about lying to her, so he replied glibly: “I saw him in Friedrichshafen. He was over only on a flying visit to see somebody at the local headquarters there, but he hopes to be back here tomorrow night.”
“Oh, how splendid! It’s terribly dull here, and for the past six weeks I’ve been simply dying for a little amusement.”
“Yes, I expect you must get pretty bored here with nothing to do.”
“Oh, there’s plenty to do. You see, I run the Castle now, more or less, and the servants take quite a bit of looking after. It’s just that when Fritz is away there’s no fun to be had here, and myself, I’ve always been one for a intersting life, as they say.”
“So have I,” Gregory agreed heartily. “Still, poor old Fritz is having a pretty dull life at the moment.”
As he spoke, he had a swift mental picture of Einholtz, his jaw hanging limply open, his blue eyes bulging, as he swayed gently to the pressure of the current at the bottom of Lake Constance.
“How was Fritzie?” Helga’s question cut in on his macabre thoughts. “Did he say much about me?”
“Oh, he’s fine, and just longing to get back to you. Pretty naturally, he’s hated having to kick his heels all this time in Switzerland, looking after that goofy Count.”
Helga shot him a cautious look. “You know about that, then?”
He nodded. “I’ve been mixed up in it myself, to a certain extent; and it was to make some arrangements in the village for tomorrow night that I’ve come here in advance. The job is as good as finished now, and it looks as if after tomorrow Fritz will be back for good.”
“That’s fine,” she said, and added thoughtfully, “in some ways.”
“Why? I thought you were simply dying for him to get back.”
“Oh, I’ll be glad to see Fritz again. But if his job is nearly finished, it means that I’ll be out of a job in a day or two myself.”
“You mean that you won’t be required any longer to act as gaoler to the Countess Erika?”
She gave him another quick look. “So you know about that, too?”
“Of course. I’ve been mixed up with the whole business, from the beginning. How do you get on with your prisoner?”
“Not too badly. I must say she’s given me very little trouble. She’s a real lady; I will say that for her. She’s been quiet and just kind of natural. I let her have books from the library and she spends most of her time reading. Not like the old Countess. She was a real tartar.”
Gregory noted the past tense and said, “So she played you up, did she?”
“The old girl played herself up in the end,” Helga laughed. “Didn’t Fritz tell you? Her temper was something awful. One day she threw a plate of stew at me, so I slapped her face, and it seems she had a heart attack. It came on quite sudden and I didn’t know what was wrong with her at first. I just left her, to learn her manners, and next time I went down to give her a meal there was the old bird dead on the floor.”
Gregory could be a very good actor when the need arose, and he laughed as though he thought the episode intensely funny. After a moment he said: “I expect that after tomorrow night they will send the Countess Erika to a concentration camp. Will you be sorry?”
Helga took the question to apply not to Erika but to herself. “It all depends,” she said, a little pensively. “I wish I could read the stars a bit and see what life has to offer me round the corner.”
“Fritz might find you a job in Nürnberg,” Gregory suggested.
She stretched her arms above her head, and folded her hands behind her neck, the thin stuff of her blouse becoming taut across her bosom, as she replied:
“If it was something exciting I’d like that. On the other hand, I wouldn’t mind staying on here if he could come over and see me frequently. It’s pretty cosy living here as the Hochwohlgeboren used to, even though we’re left with a wartime staff. Nürnberg would certainly be nice and cheery, whereas most of the time this place is so dull, with never a man about. I’m sort of torn between two stools, as they say.”
“What about the police boys who are billeted here?” Gregory asked. “Don’t they ever provide you with a little mild entertainment?”
“Oh, them!” She shrugged contemptuously. “They’re not S.S. but old fogies, or middle-aged; and no class, anyway. I wouldn’t let any of that lot so much as put a hand on me.”
“Don’t be unkind. I’m getting on for middle-aged myself,” Gregory grinned.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Helga gave him an arch smile. “You’re different, too. Anyone could see that much. And, after all, age doesn’t count if you’re the right sort, does it? I think you’re nice.”
“Thanks.” Gregory smiled. “That’s a charming compliment, coming as it does, from a very beautiful girl.”
“You’d better be careful,” she admonished him coyly, “or you’ll have Fritz on your tail.”
“I’m quite capable of taking care of Fritz,” he said lightly, but with far more reason than she knew. “And I’m glad you think I’m nice—because I think you’re an absolute stunner.”
He had struck the right note and Helga was now thoroughly enjoying herself. But with the natural female desire to play any new and good-looking fish that appeared to be nibbling at her line, she sat up, and, pushing a bell beside the fireplace, made a pretence of changing the conversation, by saying:
“I’m sure you’d like some coffee. The old geezer who has been butler here for the best part of a century is just about due to bring it.”
“Thanks, I’d love some.” He deliberately offered her his cigarette-case, although he knew that it contained only Sullivans. She took one without noticing; he lit it, and as she drew in the first mouthful of fragrant smoke, she exclaimed:
“Hallo! What’s this?”
“Something that will make you forget Fritz and see me as twenty years younger than I am,” he laughed.
“Really!” Her dark eyes looked into his quite seriously.
“No. Not really,” he admitted. “They’re just some very fine oriental cigarettes that a friend of mine in the Marines, who doesn’t smoke, sent me from a captured British ship.”
She smiled at him. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be twenty years younger, anyway. I never have found it amusing to be practised on by boys just out of their Gymnasiums.”
The old, lame man that Gregory had seen through his binoculars on the terrace earlier in the afternoon came in with a well-laden tray, and set it down on a small table near Helga.
“Thanks, Johann,” she said pleasantly, but he did not smile or reply by a single word, and walked stiffly from the room.
Helga made a grimace behind his back, then smiled at Gregory as she began to pour the coffee, and said:
“See what I’ve got to put up with. The only staff we’ve got left are a lot of old doodlers like that who have been growing hay in their hair at Niederfels most of their lives. They don’t much like my being mistress now, and I have to show a pretty firm hand to keep them in their places.”
“I should have thought they would be glad to have a change of mistress, after being under that tyrannical old harridan for so long,” Gregory replied.
“You would, wouldn’t you? After all, I’m easy enough to get on with.”
“I’m sure you are. Perhaps it’s that they rather resent you acting as gaoler to the Countess Erika.”
“Maybe there’s something in that; although she scarcely ever came here, so most of them hardly know her.”
“I wonder,” said Gregory, between two mouthfuls of sugared cake, “that you ever came here. Why did you take this place with the old Countess originally? A smart girl like you ought to have been going places in Berlin.”
“I was,” Helga laughed, “until I was caught out using the lady’s frocks and she refused to give me a reference. Then my godfather, who’s head-keeper here, wrote about this place. He has got quite a bit put by, and no children of his own, so it will come to me if I play up to the old so-and-so. Not that that matters now, but at the time it seemed important; so I came here and stuck it for a year. Anyhow, I’ve since had my own back on the old woman; and now I’m on the up and up, as they say.”
“You certainly are,” agreed Gregory, drinking up his coffee. “A lovely person like you ought to go a long, long way.”
“You’re kidding,” she murmured. “Still, every girl likes to hear that sort of thing. And I’ll bet you’ve got lots more pretty speeches where that came from.”
“It’s just the simple truth,” Gregory assured her.
“You’re telling me!” She gave him a mocking glance from under her long black lashes, as she lit a fresh cigarette from the one she was already smoking.
“I mean it,’ he persisted. “And if Fritz weren’t coming back tomorrow night I’d have liked the chance to tell you lots more truths like that.”
She drew her feet up on the chaise-longue, clasped her hands round her knees, rested her chin on them, and gave him a long, steady look from her dark eyes, as she asked, “Are you afraid of Fritz?”
“No, I’m not the least afraid of Fritz,” he replied with perfect candour.
“Then why not stay and have dinner with me here tonight?” she said quietly. The new attitude she had just adopted had, he knew, been purposely designed to give him a good sight of her silk undies, and an alluring glimpse of the insides of her plump pink thighs, just above where her stockings ended. It was clear that the invitation was not confined to dinner.
He hesitated only a second. To be actually in the Castle when the time came to attempt his coup would simplify things enormously. But he felt that there were certain snags attached to the invitation. He had now extracted from Helga all the information that she could give him, and if he dined with her it was obvious that she would expect him to make love to her. He could have dealt with that, and, for the moment he could not actually put his finger on what other snags there might be; yet some sixth sense warned him that to accept would land him into unforeseen difficulties.
“No,” he said. “Thanks, all the same. I’d simply love to, but the trouble is that there are certain arrangements that I have to make down in the village tonight.”
She pouted prettily. “Oh, come on. Why not? I’ll see to it that the servants put their backs into giving us a jolly good meal, with lots of the Count’s best drink; and we might—well, we might have a bit of fun afterwards. Surely you can do whatever you’ve got to do in the village tomorrow morning.”
He shook his head and stood up. “No! Honestly! It’s as much as my job is worth not to get those arrangements made tonight. I’m sure Fritz won’t be occupying all your time and that we could have lots of fun together. Leave it to me, and after tomorrow night’s business is over I’ll get in touch with you.”
“What about coming back later on tonight?” she enquired.
The last thing he wanted her to do was to stay up for him, so he said: “I shan’t be through before two o’clock at the earliest. We had much better make it another time.”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “Still, if you find that you can get back earlier——”
“That’s sweet of you,” he smiled. “But I doubt if I can. I’ve got the hell of a lot to do, and I simply must go now.”
As he moved towards the door she accompanied him, and in the hall outside helped him on with his coat. Then she opened the front door for him.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he smiled, as he stepped out into the courtyard.
“Auf Wiedersehen!” she called, letting her eyelashes fall in a last gesture of renewed invitation.
He nodded, blew her a kiss, and crossed the big echoing yard. He would have preferred not to go down the main road to the village, but felt that he must do so because she might still be watching him from a window.
As he walked down the curving slope he was thinking what marvellous luck he had had so far. When he had set out from London it had seemed that he had set himself an almost impossible task. Yet, he had had one good break after another. There was the cardinal fact to start with that Erika was still at Niederfels and in good health, instead of a poor helpless wreck in some heavily guarded concentration camp deep inside Germany, as she so easily might have been. Then his turning back after his first visit to the Villa Offenbach, to see Einholtz setting off across the lake and von Osterberg handcuffed to his chair, had given him an enormous advantage over the enemy. The raid on the Villa had gone without a single hitch. He had met with no difficulty in disposing of Einholtz’s body. He had reached von Lottingen’s villa without even being challenged by a patrol boat. No one had spotted him coming ashore. Everything had gone according to plan once he was inside Germany, and he had got away with a first-class car. To cap it all he had learned from Helga’s letters that Erika was guarded only by herself and two or three middle-aged road patrol men, and those letters had enabled him to reconnoitre the inside of the Castle in daylight.
Look for snags where he would he could not see them, and the job now seemed unbelievably easy—if only his luck would hold for another few hours.
He was halfway down to the village, and just about to turn off into the woods to recross the valley, when he caught the purr of a powerful car approaching. Swiftly as he jumped aside into the fringe of trees the car was almost upon him. As it raced round the bend he had a full view of its occupants. Inside, with their backs to the driver, sat two heavily jowled Gestapo thugs. Facing them was a handsome young S.S. man, whose face had obviously been painted, and beside him sat Gruppenführer Grauber!
Gregory’s coat collar was turned up and the brim of his soft hat pulled down over his eyes, as some protection against the cold; so, even if any of them had noticed him, he didn’t think there was any chance that he had been recognised. But the very sight of Grauber was for him, at that moment, like a terrific punch landing straight on his heart.
Only a moment ago everything had looked so easy. Now, by arriving on the scene a night earlier than Gregory had expected him, Grauber loomed like a dark and terrible menace over any prospect of spiriting Erika simply and swiftly away.
Instead of the occupants of the Castle going to bed at the early hour usual in the country, with Grauber there they would be sure to sit up until midnight or later, talking and drinking. When Gregory stealthily made his way to Erika’s dungeon he might find it empty, as it was quite possible that Grauber would have her upstairs to taunt and torture her with the news that her lover would also be a prisoner by the following night. Worse, Helga might mention his recent visit.
He had told her that he was making certain arrangements in the village in connection with the trap. Grauber would know that no instructions of that sort had been issued to any of his people. He would ask Helga to describe her visitor and from the description he would recognise Gregory at once. If that happened when he made his way to Erika’s dungeon, they would be there in the dark, waiting for him. The trap would close with a snap. It would then be impossible for him to make any second attempt to rescue Erika, and he would have to bite through the capsule of poison that he carried in his mouth.
In a terrible wave of depression he knew that he had been counting his chickens too soon. His luck had now run out.