Collette’s reference to Madame Dubois’ papers instantly told Gregory what had given him away. It had been that accursed filing-cabinet, which had jammed before he had had time to close it properly. Ill-luck must have caused her glance to fall on the cabinet just before they had gone out to dinner. She must have noticed at once that the top drawer was not quite closed and have realised that Gregory was the only person who could have tampered with it. That had been quite enough to enable a quick brain like hers to jump to the conclusion that the nice Englishman who was going to take her out to dinner and who pretended that he was so lonely had in reality a very different motive for cultivating her acquaintance.
Gregory had learned at dinner that she had been in Madame Dubois’ service for the past eighteen months, which would have been ample time for anyone of her intelligence to gather that although Madame lived in a pleasant, well-furnished flat she was anything but an ordinary, well-to-do widow. All sorts of strange people doubtless came to see Madame and Collette had probably been specially chosen for her discretion. He remembered now that while she had talked most freely that evening of her previous employers, she had not let slip a single fact about either Madame Dubois or her acquaintances. Collette evidently liked her absent mistress, and having found him out had taken drastic steps to protect her interests.
Gregory gave her full marks for the way in which she had handled the situation. Instead of panicking when she had noticed that the cabinet had been tampered with and trying to turn him out of the flat, or betraying any of the humiliation she must have felt on the sudden discovery that her visitor was really interested not in her own charms but in her mistress’s affairs, she had kept her head and at once laid her plans for trapping him. Having taken an excellent dinner off him she had then gone calmly to the cloak-room, and telephoned these men to lie in wait for him, afterwards making him run her round in a taxi for twenty minutes to give them ample time to get there and prepare their ambush.
But who were the men? That was the question which principally agitated Gregory’s violently disturbed mind as he gazed down the nearest fellow’s gun-barrel. Were they a couple of Marxist thugs? For all he knew Collette might be in Madame’s confidence and herself a member of the Paris organisation, in which case she would have known whom to ‘phone up for assistance. The fact that she had accused him of being a spy pointed to that, while if she was in the game she probably suspected also that Madame Dubois was not suffering from injuries received in any normal accident but had been intentionally run down, and that Gregory was one of the people who had attempted to murder her in this way.
On the other hand, the two men might be detectives; it would have been to the police that a maid would normally have telephoned had she suspected that a plausible young man who was making up to her intended to try to burgle her mistress’s flat.
Whichever solution of the problem was correct he had certainly landed himself once again in a damnable mess. If the two men were Marxists it was hardly likely that they would accept his word for it, after Collette’s accusation, that he had come over to see Madame with the most friendly of intentions, while—worse still—if they were detectives they would probably hold him as a suspect and he would have to swallow the bitter pill of calling on Sir Pellinore to get him out of jail.
He was not left long in doubt. While these thoughts had been flashing through his mind the two men had stood up and stepped towards him. The one with the gun was short and stout, with a plump face and round, innocent, baby-blue eyes; the other was a much younger fellow, of the dark, Provençal type, and walked with a limp.
While the fat man continued to cover him with the gun the other walked round behind him, frisked him and removed the pistol from his hip-pocket. The manner of the frisking was so slickly expert that after it was over Gregory had little doubt where he stood. He was in the hands of the French police.
The fat man spoke with a swift, clipped accent.
‘Monsieur, I am Police Lieutenant Ribaud, of the Sûreté Générale. It has been reported to us that you visited this apartment under suspicious circumstances. I require you to accompany us to Headquarters for questioning. Here is my authority.’ He flashed a cellophane-covered paste-board under Gregory’s nose for a second and slipped it back into his waistcoat-pocket.
‘I’m delighted to meet you, Lieutenant Ribaud,’ said Gregory, regaining his savoir-faire, ‘but I can’t imagine that anything I’ve done here is in any way illegal, and what can have given Mademoiselle Pichón the extraordinary idea that I’m a spy simply passes my comprehension.’
‘You came here to inquire for Madame,’ Collette stormed. Two hours later you returned, told a plausible story that you were alone in Paris, and induced me to go to dinner with you. My evenings are my own, so why should I not accept? I did so, but while I was changing my clothes you took the opportunity of going through Madame’s filing-cabinet. Whether you have stolen anything from it I do not yet know, but you may have done so.
‘Madame has many political enemies. She is more hated by the Nazis than any other woman in France. We cannot prove it, but both the police and her friends believe that she was deliberately run down by German agents last week. Those devils would stop at nothing to put her out of the way now that Germany has made a peace move, for they know that all her influence would be brought to bear against its acceptance. You pretend that you are an Englishman. I cannot tell whether that is true or not, but you are certainly a foreigner and it is quite clear that you meant to make friends with me so that you could have the run of this apartment. Why should you do that if you are not one of Madame’s enemies? I repeat, I believe you to be a Nazi spy.’
Little Collette had become a changed woman. Her dark eyes were flashing with a hatred which she did not attempt to conceal and she spoke with extraordinary venom.
‘Chérie, you’re quite mistaken,’ Gregory assured her. Look, here’s my English passport.’
As he produced it from his pocket she waved it contemptuously aside. Passports can be faked. You went to Madame’s filing-cabinet. If you look you will see that the drawer still remains a centimetre open. I dust the room every day and I will swear that the drawer was flush with the cabinet this morning. No one else has been in this flat since Madame left it except yourself.’
‘Well, well. Curiosity killed the cat,’ said Gregory amiably. ‘I had half an hour to pass while you were beautifying yourself for my delight. What if I was at a loose end after I’d finished the paper, and did pull that drawer open out of idle curiosity? Very reprehensible conduct on the part of any guest, no doubt, but hardly grounds for accusing him of being a Nazi spy.’
‘It is enough, in view of the activities of the owner of this apartment, for us to desire your presence at the Sûreté-Générale, Monsieur,’ said Ribaud. ‘What have you in that parcel?’
‘A couple of bottles of champagne,’ Gregory laughed. ‘I had hoped to persuade Mademoiselle to share them with me. Surely that proves the—er—innocence of my intentions?’
The Frenchman caught the point and smiled with quick humour, but Collette was not amused.
‘You think you are very clever, Monsieur, do you not? But let me tell you that after I found you out I only encouraged you for my own purposes. I would not drink with you now if it were my last chance to drink on this earth.’
‘Isn’t life strange?’ murmured Gregory with a wicked twinkle in his eye. ‘Just think of it; you won’t even drink with me now, whereas if you hadn’t happened to notice that the drawer of the cabinet was open you’d probably have had your head pillowed on my manly chest by this time and be deriving considerable pleasure from the thought that in due course you were going to give way to my persuasive powers and let me sleep with you.’
To his delight, Collette flushed deep pink with rage and stamping her little foot, cried angrily: ‘Monsieur! How dare you! I …’
Ribaud intervened abruptly. ‘We waste time, Mademoiselle. I regret it exceedingly, but we shall have to trouble you also to accompany us to the Sûreté so that you can sign a statement. Will you be good enough to lead the way? You, Corbin, will follow; Monsieur will go next, and I will bring up the rear so that Monsieur may not be tempted into any foolishness on the way downstairs.’
They filed out in that order, went down in the lift and crossed the hall of the block as though they were four acquaintances going off somewhere together, but immediately they had stepped out into the darkness of the pavement Gregory felt his right wrist grabbed and the limping Corbin snapped a single handcuff on to it, the other of the pair being attached to his own left wrist. The gentlemen of the Sûreté were evidently taking no chances of his getting away in the black-out. Round the corner a police-car was waiting for them, and a few minutes later they were at Police Headquarters.
In a small room on the ground floor a uniformed Sergeant took particulars of Gregory’s passport and details of the arrest. Mademoiselle Collette Pichon wrote out a full statement, signed it, and ignoring Gregory’s courteous ‘goodnight’ accepted the offer of the gallant French police that one of their cars should take her home.
Gregory was then led to a cell, and when he had reached it Ribaud turned to him and said: ‘It is our business to search you, Monsieur. I trust that you will raise no objections, for it would be completely useless to do so.’
Gregory shrugged. ‘All right, go ahead. The last thing I wish to do is to obstruct you in the execution of your duties.’
He partially undressed at their request and they not only emptied his pockets but also ran over his garments, feeling every seam to make sure that nothing was sewn inside it. On his removing his shoes they found under the thin inner soles the balance of the 5,000 Reichsmarks which he had brought out of Germany.
Before leaving for Paris that morning it had occurred to him that Madame Dubois might just possibly give him information which would make him wish to attempt an immediate return into Germany without waiting for the money to be sent out from England, and he had replaced the Reichs-marks in his shoes simply because he did not consider it wise to carry so large a sum loose about his person.
The two French detectives made no comment whatever on this interesting find and placed the notes with the other belongings which they had taken from his pockets, but Gregory knew that his carrying a big wad of German notes in so unusual a manner was going to take some pretty skilful explaining away, and he was quick to realise that his prospects of getting the French police to release him after a cursory examination were more than halved by this unfortunate discovery. When they finally left him with a brief ‘goodnight’ they took all his possessions except his clothes, shoes, cigarettes and lighter. Lighting a cigarette he had a look round his cell.
It was a quite comfortable cell, but that was little consolation to him. He thought with regret of the lawn sheets and rich hangings of the room which he had expected to occupy that night at the Saint Regis, and cursed his folly in having been so impatient to get at Madame Dubois’ secrets instead of having waited a while until an opportunity had arisen on which he could have arranged to have remained alone in her flat.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed he realised suddenly that he was very tired. He had had only two hours’ sleep very early that morning, and the amount he had managed to get in on the previous day had hardly made up for the tremendous strain through which he had passed the night before. It was no good crying over spilt milk, however, and there would be time enough in the morning to consider the repercussions of this new muddle in which he had landed himself. Pulling off his shirt and socks he crawled into the narrow, iron bed and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.
It had been only about a quarter-past twelve when he had turned in, so although he was awakened at seven by a warder he felt considerably better for his good night’s rest. His cheerfulness was not further restored, however, by having to content himself with a cold wash in a microscopic basin instead of luxuriating in a hot bath.
Gregory was a born night-bird and never at his best in the morning. Unshaven, and according to his own standards unwashed, his humour was abominable, particularly as he knew that though he had been roused at the regulation hour it was unlikely that he would be taken from his cell for examination until much later in the morning; but a breakfast of excellent hot coffee and a huge chunk of new French bread put more life into him and his brain gradually began to turn over.
As far as he could see the French police had very little on which they could hold him; the statement of a maid that he had been prying into her mistress’s papers was hardly enough, while it was no crime to be in possession of foreign currency. His passport, too, was perfectly in order, as the authorities could soon ascertain by telephoning the Passport Office in Whitehall, and the English manager at the Saint Regis who had known him for years, could be called on to come forward and give evidence as to his identity. On the other hand, it was a damnable nuisance that they had found those Reichsmarks in his shoes. Owing to the war the ordinary laws for the protection of individual liberty had been entirely washed out by special emergency powers granted to the police, and if he could not satisfy them upon every point there was nothing to prevent their detaining him as a suspect for as long as they liked.
If they decided to hold him on suspicion his position would become a very difficult one, for he would have to appeal to Sir Pellinore to extricate him—the very last thing that he wanted to do. But he felt reasonably confident that he would not have to do so.
Just after half-past ten little Ribaud arrived and took him up to the top floor of the building, where they entered a fine room with a lovely view over the roof-tops to the spires and domes of Paris.
At a big desk near the wide windows was sitting a tiny, greyhaired man whose lined face rather resembled that of a monkey; his hands were clasped over his stomach and his eyes cast down in an attitude of Buddhistic contemplation. The desk was remarkable only for the fact that it had not a single paper on it.
‘This is the prisoner, mon Colonel,’ announced Ribaud briefly.
The little man looked up and Gregory saw that the resemblance of his wisened face to that of a monkey was heightened by a pair of remarkably quick, dark eyes.
‘Be seated, Monsieur,’ he requested in a gentle voice, ‘and you, Ribaud, sit down.’
‘Thanks.’ Gregory took a chair, crossed his legs and produced his cigarettes. ‘D’you mind if I smoke, sir?’
‘Not at all. It is soothing for the nerves, and you are probably not feeling your best at this hour of the morning. Although it’s not particularly early I expect you miss the comforts of the Saint Regis, of which we were unfortunately compelled to deprive you. Would you be good enough to tell me, Monsieur Sallust, what business brought you to Paris?’
‘I came to see Madame Dubois,’ replied Gregory, ‘upon a private matter which I can assure you to be in no way inimical to the interests of the French Republic; quite the contrary, in fact.’
‘However private this matter may be I feel sure that you will not object to telling me about it. My position here necessitates my acting as Father Confessor to a great many people and you can entirely rely upon my discretion.’
‘Madame Dubois is interested in the International Workers’ Movement, and so am I,’ Gregory explained briefly.
‘International!’ repeated the little man. ‘May I help you out by suggesting that it is the German end of this organisation in which you are interested?’
Gregory smiled. ‘You’re quite right—but only as a means to bring about a speedy conclusion of the war.’
‘Monsieur Sallust; you are probably aware that the Communists, Marxists and Anarchists, all those in fact who are commonly termed “Reds”, have recently found themselves in a very difficult situation. On the one hand is their intense hatred of the present German Government and all it stands for; on the other it is part of their basic creed that all wars are engineered by the capitalist interests and that it is the inarticulate masses who principally suffer from them. Certain of the Red leaders have suddenly become greater fire-eaters than your delightful Colonel Blimp himself—as witness the prowar declarations of the British Communist Harry Pollitt which have just caused his Comrades to retire him from a key position in the Party—while others still cling uneasily to the doctrines of their God, Karl Marx. You, perhaps, have convictions of that type and are yourself a pacifist?’
‘No, no, Colonel,’ Gregory laughed. ‘I held a commission in the last war and was even lucky enough to be given the Military Cross. I’d have joined up again in this one if the British Government hadn’t developed rather curious ideas about the unsuitability for service of old soldiers, however fit, if they happen to be over a certain age.’
‘My compliments!’ The monkey-faced Colonel inclined his head. ‘I am always happy to meet a gallant officer. I only wish that I had been able to welcome you to France in more pleasant circumstances. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Raoul Lacroix.’
Gregory knew then that the man opposite him was one of the greatest brains in Europe, an officer whose name rarely appeared in the papers but was known to every Cabinet Minister in the world and to everyone who, like Gregory himself, lived on the fringes of high politics. Colonel Lacroix was the supreme head of the famous Deuxième Bureau, whose agents relentlessly tracked down the enemies of France from Martinique to Assam and from the heart of Paris to the most desolate outposts of the great French Empire.
‘I am honoured, sir,’ he said, bowing from his chair. ‘By reputation you are well known to me.’
The Colonel bowed in return and continued: ‘I am glad Monsieur Sallust, that you are not a pacifist. As you know, the Red extremists who still cling to their old creed are fomenting a dangerous “peace at any price” movement. It was for this reason that my Government found it desirable a week or so ago officially to dissolve the French Communist Party. Over sixty Communist Mayors were then placed by us in a situation where they could amuse themselves by playing dominoes as a change from politics, and I have formed the opinion that you are not the type of man that would care to be restricted to the game of dominoes for the duration of the war. Since you are not a pacifist, will you please explain the nature of your interest in the International Workers’ Movement?’
‘As you’ve pointed out yourself, sir, this war has split the Movement from top to bottom. Some of its members consider that nothing can possibly justify the horrors of a fresh war; others, intensely anti-Nazi and anti-Fascist, are all in favour of a war provided that it brings about the collapse of the Dictator countries. It is in the latter group that I am interested.’
‘You wished, then, to contact Madame Dubois for the purpose of getting in touch with the German Labour people who are plotting to overthrow the German Government. Finding that she had met with an accident and could not be interviewed you decided that you would try to get the information you required by going through her papers without her knowledge, and attempted to seduce her servant in order to further this plan.’
‘That is the situation exactly, sir.’
‘Good. We progress. You are not a British Secret Service agent. We of the Deuxième Bureau have the closest possible relations with our good friends in your Military Intelligence. If you had been acting for that department you would not have been in this room for one minute before giving me an indication of that fact. For whom, therefore, are you working?’
‘For myself. Since I couldn’t get into the Army again I decided to try to serve my country in some other way, and fomenting trouble in Germany seemed to offer possibilities.’
‘I fear that either you are not telling me the truth, Monsieur Sallust, or that you have a very great opinion of your own abilities. How is it possible for an individual Englishman to influence the course of events in an enemy country unless he has certain data given him to work upon by somebody who is on the inside of high politics? Are you quite sure that you were not sent by some statesman or other person of importance to operate privately on their behalf? Politicians, you know, are not always in agreement with their Governments and quite frequently indulge in a little private enterprise. I think you’d better tell me the truth.’
Gregory shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark there, sir, but you’re right in implying that no individual can do as I intended without influential backing. I’m rather a vain chap, but you’ve made it quite clear to me that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I’ve been very stupid and given your people a lot of trouble, but as I certainly haven’t done any damage to the Allied cause I hope you’ll treat my case leniently and let me go home with my tail between my legs.’
‘If only I were quite certain in my mind nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ the little man purred, ‘but there are just one or two points upon which I would like you to satisfy me first. Four thousand, two hundred and twenty Reichsmarks in notes were found in your shoes. What was your object in carrying this considerable sum in enemy currency concealed upon your person?’
‘I had hoped, sir, that if I could get the information I wanted from Madame Dubois I might be able to smuggle myself into Germany and stir up some trouble there for the Nazis. I put the notes in my shoes only because I didn’t like to risk losing the money by carrying it loose in one of my pockets.’
‘Quite understandable. A wise precaution and a very laudable idea. And now that you have made me quite happy on that score perhaps you will tell me why you were carrying this pretty thing?’
With a sudden jerk of his hand the Colonel threw the golden swastika on to his desk, where it gleamed solitary and potent in the wide, empty space.
‘Oh, that!’ Gregory laughed. ‘It’s just a charm—the Nazi symbol reversed. I carry it for luck.’
The Colonel shook his head. ‘Unfortunately I am one of those very practical people, Monsieur Sallust. I do not believe in luck and this, I understand, was found in a secret pocket in the end of your tie.’
‘Well, sir, if you must know the truth it once belonged to a very beautiful woman and I carry it for sentimental reasons.’
‘Indeed! And of what nationality was this lady?’
‘She was a German.’
‘Her name?’
‘No, really, sir!’ Gregory’s only refuge was to imply that he had had an affair with the young woman. ‘It isn’t fair to ask me to disclose that; she—er—used to wear the little token tied on to her undies.’
‘Her status, then?’
‘Oh, she was just a wealthy German girl whom I met while she was staying in London.’
‘Wealthy?’ repeated the Colonel quizzically, a faint smile lighting his monkey-like face for the first time. ‘You do not confine yourself, then, to your interest in the German Workers’ Movement?’
Gregory saw that he had blundered. He should never have given away the true status of the original owner of the swastika. To his distress the little Colonel sat up abruptly and said:
‘I have much to do, Monsieur Sallust, so you will forgive me if I terminate this interview now. On your own confession you were seeking to get into touch with Madame Dubois, a person with dangerous political antecedents and connections. You attempted to gain access to her private papers. You were carrying over four thousand Reichsmarks concealed about you, also an emblem similar to that which is generally associated with the Nazi Government. You state furthermore that the reason for your carrying this symbol is an intimate association with a German lady of good standing. I fear therefore that we must detain you until further investigations have been made into your real reasons for this visit to Paris. Good morning.’
Gregory shrugged his shoulders but made no protest. The little man’s manner was so decisive that he knew he would only be wasting his breath. Bowing to the Colonel he allowed Ribaud to shepherd him from the room and back to his cell.
On thinking things over he was not unduly depressed. Apart from the facts they had already obtained the French Secret Service could bring nothing against him. The French would of course apply to the British Secret Service for information concerning him and the British, having disclaimed all knowledge of his activities in Paris, would furnish them with a dossier substantiating the fact that he was a law-abiding British subject.
Eventually, therefore, his captors must come to the conclusion that he was just one of the notoriously mad English who, barred from the Army by his age but still extremely active and patriotic, had decided to see what he could do to help win the war on his own without any authority from anyone; just a harmless lunatic, in fact, who had had his head turned by reading too many spy stories late at night.
It would probably take them several days to arrive at these conclusions, but when they had done so they would hardly be able to find any reason for detaining him further and would presumably release him, though possibly keep him under supervision should they allow him to remain in France.
Resigning himself to face another spell in prison he asked his warder if he could see Lieutenant Ribaud. When Ribaud came to his cell Gregory requested that somebody might be allowed to buy him some books and that his suitcase with his toilet articles and other necessaries should be collected from the Saint Regis. Ribaud took the list of books that Gregory produced and promised to see to the matter.
His things arrived during the afternoon so that he was at last able to shave, after which he settled down to the routine of prison life. The food was quite passable and as he was an omnivorous reader he did not mind his confinement very much, finding that he got all the air and exercise he required in the two hours each day for which he was paraded round an inner courtyard with a number of other prisoners.
For the first few days he did not expect anything further to happen, but the life was unlike that which he had led in the Dutch internment-camp in that here he was kept in solitary confinement and was not allowed even to exchange pleasantries with the warders, let alone to converse freely with the other prisoners whom he saw at exercise. It was irritating not to be able to discuss the developments of the war with anyone, although he kept abreast of them through the papers that he was allowed to buy.
On the 14th the Royal Oak was torpedoed at Scapa but her loss was more than offset by the news that the Turks had settled their differences with the Russians without jeopardising their pact with the Allies. Two days later the Germans attempted to bomb the Forth Bridge but massed air attacks on Britain still failed to mature. It was a strange war. Except that Britain held the seas practically nothing had come about as had been anticipated and during his enforced inactivity Gregory found his thoughts turning more and more from it to the Lady of the Limousine. It was now over a month since he had met her but her face still haunted him.
By the end of the week he had still not been re-examined and was beginning to become decidedly impatient, and with the passing of the eighth and ninth days his impatience grew. Surely they would have satisfied themselves about him by this time? The question was, were they bothering to do so? Now that there was a war on the Deuxième Bureau would be absolutely overwhelmed with work. Since they already had him inside they would be devoting all their energies to the catching of other spies. Doubtless a routine inquiry had been put through about him but they would certainly not be troubling to expedite it.
On the tenth day of his imprisonment Gregory realised that by this time Madame Dubois might be well enough to see him, which meant that from now on every day during which he remained in prison delayed the furtherance of a remote yet definite possibility of bringing the war to a speedy conclusion. However faint its prospects of success nothing could possibly exceed such an aim in importance. It had now become imperative that he must somehow regain his liberty, yet puzzle his wits as he would he could see no way out save that of eating humble pie and calling Sir Pellinore to his assistance.
All through the eleventh day and most of the following night he wrestled with the problem. Nothing in his life had ever caused him humiliation as bitter as that which he experienced when, on the twelfth morning, he asked his warder for pen and paper and wrote a note for Colonel Lacroix in which he said that if the Colonel would get in touch with Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust he thought that the British Government might arrange for his release.
During the thirteenth and fourteenth days he fretted impatiently, desperately anxious to be free. The cell seemed to have become smaller and he could no longer enjoy reading even his favourite authors. On the morning of the fifteenth day Ribaud appeared once more and took him upstairs to the Colonel’s room.
Lacroix was seated as before, in Buddhistic beatitude behind his bare, spotless desk, contemplating his small hands as they lay folded on his middle.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Gregory. ‘As you’ve gathered, I’ve had to throw in the sponge.’
The little man looked up and smiled. ‘Why didn’t you do so earlier? It would have saved you a very dreary fortnight.’
‘I thought you’d find out for yourselves that I was quite a harmless person and release me without my having to obtain outside help and confessing what a fool I’d made of myself.’
The Colonel nodded. ‘I understand that very well. But which of us in this great game we are playing has not at one time or another had to confess to making a blunder? If it is any consolation let me tell you that I twice narrowly escaped being cashiered when I was a younger officer and through over-keenness had failed to go about my work with the requisite caution.’
Gregory smiled. That is certainly a consolation, coming from a man like yourself, sir. I’m very grateful to you.’
Colonel Lacroix waved aside the compliment and opening a drawer in his desk produced a telegram which he handed across.
Gregory picked it up, saw that it was addressed to him and read:
‘HAVE DRUNK KÜMMEL MYSELF AND APPLIED TO KENSINGTON BOROUGH COUNCIL FOR ALLOTMENT TO GROW CABBAGES ON YOUR BEHALF GWAINE-CUST.’
He gave a rueful grin and said: ‘Well, there it is: I’ve got the sack.’
‘I, too, have had the sack,’ said the little Colonel. ‘More times than I care to remember. But I’m still here, you see, and now they give me the best room in the building to sit in. We have a charming view from here, don’t you think?’
‘Are you implying that I should tear this telegram up?’ said Gregory quickly.
Colonel Lacroix shrugged eloquently. ‘Telegrams do not always reach their destination. If I am questioned in a few weeks’ time I shall have to admit handing it you. If, however, you care to give it back to me now I might leave it in the drawer of my desk and forget to give it to you for the time being. There are times when my memory for details is not very good.’
Gregory turned in his chair and looked straight into the shrewd, dark eyes in the humorous, wisened face, ‘May I ask why you propose to do this for me, sir?’
‘Monsieur Sallust, I am qualified to occupy this chair only because I have the gift of judging men. Your record in the last war is enough to show that you are courageous. Our previous conversation showed me that you are no fool. The British authorities now vouch for your patriotism. I have formed the opinion that if you were to be entrusted with any mission you would do everything in your power to carry it through successfully. If my superiors had not given me another chance when I was a young man I would not be sitting where I am today. I would like to give you another chance.’
Gregory inclined his head. ‘I accept your offer very gratefully, sir.’
‘In that case do you feel that you would be justified in telling me what you have been trying to do? If you could confide in me I might be able to render you some assistance.’
‘Certainly,’ Gregory replied with rising elation. ‘I’m sure that neither Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust nor the people for whom he’s acting would have the least objection to my giving anyone in your position full particulars of my mission.’
He then gave a quick résumé of Sir Pellinore’s original instructions to him, his visit to Germany and his subsequent activities. When he had done Colonel Lacroix nodded.
‘I know, of course, of the letter from the Allied Statesmen that you mention and of the list of the Inner Gestapo, both of which are with our friends in Berlin. A British agent secured the latter just before the war broke out, so it was agreed that it should be left to the British to get both of these documents to the proper person if possible. But even if you succeed in performing this extraordinarily difficult task I am not altogether sanguine about the ultimate result of the anti-Nazi conspiracy.’
‘Why?’ asked Gregory. ‘Don’t you believe that if the German Generals could once be persuaded to act they would be capable of pulling off the proposed coup?’
‘I’m decidedly doubtful about it. While such a conspiracy lies dormant it is always difficult for the secret police to secure particulars of it, but once the conspirators become active there is a much greater risk of leakage. Every man of importance in Germany is watched day and night by the Gestapo, so the success of such a venture lies on the knees of the gods. If it is as powerfully supported as you suppose such a putsch might succeed; if on the other hand the Gestapo are forewarned it might well be crushed before it could even start.’
‘You agree, though, that it might succeed?’
‘Certainly.’
‘And that if it did it would result in a speedy end to the war?’
‘I’m not sure about that. It is possible, of course.’
‘But you admit the possibility of success, and surely even the slenderest chance is worth any conceivable trouble or sacrifice.’
‘I’m not certain whether I agree with you there, either. I spoke just now of the ultimate result of your scheme, and it is of that which I am thinking now. In the long run it might be better for Europe and the world that this war should be fought to a finish.’
‘But, good God, Colonel! Think of the appalling sacrifice of human life involved! Such a sacrifice would be utterly pointless if, as an alternative to it, we could overthrow the Nazi Government. After all, this war is different from other wars in that we are fighting a political party, not a whole people.’
Colonel Lacroix sighed. ‘There you are wrong, my friend.’
As the Colonel paused Gregory said: ‘You consider, then, that Hitler and his crew are no better and no worse than other Germans?’
‘I do not say that, but I do say that Hitler achieved power only because he was the type of man that the German people wanted. His theories of Aryanism appealed to their narrow race-consciousness. Whereas France and Britain have always given their hospitality and protection to reputable folk of every race and colour the Germans enjoyed suppressing the Jews and other non-Aryan peoples. The easy, bloodless victories which Hitler gave them over the Saar, Austria and Czechoslovakia appealed to their vanity and stimulated their ambition to dominate other races. Their campaign against Poland has been carried out with a ruthlessness scarcely believable in an allegedly civilised people. It is true that Hitler ordered the attack but it was the German people, representatives of every class and community dressed in field-grey uniforms, who performed the individual acts of violence against Polish civilians, including women and children.’
‘What’s the solution, then?’ Gregory inquired. ‘You say that it won’t be sufficient to overthrow the Nazi when we’re victorious, but we can’t butcher or imprison a nation of eighty-five million people.’
Colonel Lacroix smiled. ‘No. That would be both inhumane and unnecessary. The root of the trouble is that as a race the Germans are very backward.
‘In England you had your revolution in the seventeenth century. Out of it there arose Oliver Cromwell, who suppressed individual liberty far more ruthlessly than had any of your kings, created a great Army and very nearly made you bankrupt in the process. You were very glad when your King Charles II came home to take over again. You had your revolution, but afterwards things readjusted themselves and as a nation of free people England has never looked back from that moment.
‘In France we had our revolution at the end of the eighteenth century. Out of it there arose Napoleon.’ Lacroix made a gesture of salute. The greatest military genius the world has ever known. But he, too, suppressed individual liberty in a most ruthless way, created a vast Army and nearly sent France bankrupt in the process. We were very glad when our king, Charles X, came home to take over again. We had had our revolution; afterwards things readjusted themselves and as a nation of free people France has never looked back from that moment.
‘The Germans had their revolution only at the conclusion of the Great War, early in the twentieth century. Out of it there arose Hitler, who has suppressed individual liberty far more ruthlessly than any of the German Emperors, has created a vast Army and has very nearly made Germany bankrupt in the process. We have therefore good historical precedents for hoping that when Hitler’s day is done things may readjust themselves in Germany and that the German people will at last develop a true appreciation of the value of individual liberty. Such an appreciation will alone make it possible for them to live happily and prosperously within their own borders, no longer desiring to threaten the freedom of their neighbours.’
‘Surely, then, the sooner we can get rid of Hitler the better?’
‘Of that I am not certain. As I have said, he has achieved his present position only because he symbolises the lust for power and desire for domination which are still inherent in the German masses. If he is too easily overthrown that spirit may not be killed at his fall and another Hitler may rise in a dozen years’ time. Britain and France would then have to light yet a third Great War for the preservation of their ideals. Germany has already had one lesson; her defeat of 1914-18. It may be necessary to give her several such lessons before her people come to realise that our code of ‘live and let live’ is better than their own crazy ambition to force their will upon others.
‘It is my business to look into the future of France, and I am inclined to think, therefore, that if only we had some means of preventing its spreading to other countries it might be better not to conclude this war too speedily but to carry it on until Germany is beaten to her knees and every single German of this generation is forced to realise that bullying does not pay, and to teach that doctrine to his children. There would then be a real hope that the rising generations of Germans might choose for their rulers men of a different type—men sharing a greater, saner and more human outlook.’
‘Am I to take it, then,’ Gregory asked uneasily, ‘that you prefer not to give me your assistance now that you know the nature of my mission?’
Lacroix shrugged. ‘First things must come first, and none of us can foresee the future. I was speaking only of possibilities. A long war might weaken both Germany and the Allies to such an extent that both sides would be in danger of falling an easy prey to the Bolsheviks afterwards. In any case it is our duty to spare our own generation all the suffering we can, so we should do our best to bring the war to a successful termination at the earliest possible moment. If you succeeded in your task it might bring about an internal upheaval causing Germany’s collapse and the setting up of a new Government with which the Allies would feel justified in discussing peace terms, and I will therefore do all in my power to help you. Tell me, what is the first move that you intend to make?’
‘I shall see Madame Dubois if she’s well enough, give her Archer’s warning for what it’s worth and try to persuade her to give me the names of some of the leaders of the Movement inside Germany.’
‘Good. As Madame Dubois is of the extreme Left she has no particular reason to be fond of the police. At times we have to check her activities, so I don’t think I can help you in persuading her to give you the information you require. If you succeed in getting anything of interest, though, ring up my secretary, Jules Villebonne, at this office, and he will give you an appointment to come and see me again. We shall then be able to decide whether I can help you on the next steps of your campaign.’
Gregory stood up and shook the diminutive, monkey-faced Colonel warmly by the hand. ‘I can never say how grateful I am to you, sir, for giving me this chance,’ he said fervently. ‘I only hope that I shan’t disappoint you. May I take it that I’m discharged?’
Colonel Lacroix smiled. ‘Without a stain upon your character. You will find Ribaud in Room 101 on the floor below this. He will attend to the necessary formalities and you will be able to establish yourself again in the comfort of the Saint Regis before luncheon.’
Gregory found Ribaud, and the formalities of his release were soon concluded. As he drove back to the hotel after a fifteen-days’ absence he felt a new man. The latter days of his confinement had irked him sadly and liberty was doubly good now that he had the support of the little Colonel and the prospect of going straight into action again.
Immediately he reached the Saint Regis he telephoned Madame Dubois’ flat. Collette answered the call but did not appear to recognise his voice, and as he did not wish to waste time by entering into long explanations he gave a false name and inquired whether Madame Dubois had yet returned home. Collette told him that Madame was still in the nursing-home but was expected back at the end of the week.
He then rang up the nursing-home and asked if he might speak to Madame Dubois. The operator said that he could not, but that she would take a message. Gregory gave his proper name and put through an inquiry as to whether Madame Dubois would see him for a short time that afternoon on very important business. After a brief wait the reply came back. Madame would see him at four o’clock.
Having settled himself again in the Saint Regis he considered for a moment whether he should telephone Collette and surprise her by asking her out to luncheon, but decided against it. She was a delightful and amusing little person but she lacked the qualities which would have aroused real interest in him.
For Gregory beauty and gaiety were not enough. He demanded that any woman to whom he devoted himself should possess intellect in addition to these basic essentials. He thought, as he had often done during the past five weeks, of the beautiful Lady of the Limousine. Now there was a woman to lunch with whom he would have crossed Europe, and if there had not been a war on he would have taken the afternoon plane into Germany to try to find her.
He wondered rather sadly if they would ever meet again, and had to confess to himself that it was very unlikely. By the time peace came he would have forgotten the way she had looked and the things she had said on their strange journey from Coblenz to Cologne, and even if he should chance to recall the memory of her, more recent matters would by then be absorbing his attention.
Instead of telephoning Collette, he went to a florist’s and ordered a huge bunch of roses to be sent to her. On a card which was to go with them he wrote:
‘I’m just as English as you are French, although the authorities took a fortnight to satisfy themselves about me. But I’d hate you to think that I bore you any grudge for being the cause of my spending a rather dreary couple of weeks, and you showed extraordinary cleverness in protecting your mistress’s interests. I admire loyalty above everything, and so chere Collette, I salute you. Grégoire.’
Having lingered until half-past three over a luncheon at the Cheval Pie, which was in most pleasant contrast to prison fare, he bought himself a few new ties at Sulka’s and then proceeded to Madame Dubois’ nursing-home, arriving there punctually at four o’clock.
When he had given his name and Madame’s room had been telephoned he was asked to go straight up. As he knocked on the door a rich, deep voice called: ‘Entrez!’ He entered, to find that Madame Dubois was now out of bed and was lying, propped up with pillows, on a long sofa.
A bandage still covered a portion of her head, partially concealing her silvery hair, but the cuts on her face could not have been serious as they were now perfectly healed. Gregory saw at once that he had to deal with a woman of very strongly marked personality. Her eyes were black and intelligent, her nose imperiously arched, her chin jutting and her mouth firm.
As he entered, instead of greeting him as he had expected, she raised her eyebrows in blank surprise and said swiftly: ‘Monsieur, you have made a mistake, I think. You must have been directed to the wrong room.’
He hesitated on the threshold. ‘But aren’t you Madame Dubois, then?’
‘I am.’
‘Well, I’m Gregory Sallust, and they told me downstairs that you’d see me. You gave me an appointment for this time, if you remember.’
‘What?’ she queried sharply, sitting up amongst her pillows. ‘You say you are Gregory Sallust? But you cannot be—at least, you are not the Gregory Sallust that I know.’
The smile on Gregory’s lips faded. He shut the door behind him and advanced quickly into the room. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘would you be kind enough to tell me how long you have been receiving visitors here?’
‘I have been seeing members of my family for some days, but it was not until the day before yesterday that they would allow me to receive some representatives of the Press. I was allowed to interview business visitors yesterday for the first time.’
‘Then you saw a man yesterday who called himself Gregory Sallust?’
‘I did.’ Her look of doubt and alarm suddenly deepened. ‘Do you insist that you are the real Gregory Sallust and that he was using your name?’
‘I do, Madame. Could you describe him to me?’
‘He was bigger than you; not exactly fat but plump-looking, with fair hair cut en brosse and a rather effeminate voice.’
‘God’s death!’ exclaimed Gregory. ‘Pardon me, Madame, but this is intensely serious. Do you know if he’s still in Paris?’
‘No. But you can find out; he was staying at the Hotel Crillon. I know that because he ‘phoned up several times asking for an interview and was eventually persuaded to leave his address so that the people here could telephone when I was well enough to see him.’
‘Thanks. Permit me.’ Gregory snatched up a telephone connected to a wall-plug by a long flex and snapped out: ‘Police! Urgent. Sûreté-Gênérale, Deuxième Bureau?
He was connected almost instantly and asked at once for Jules Villebonne, secretary to Colonel Lacroix. A moment later Villebonne was on the line. Gregory gave his name and said:
‘Whatever Colonel Lacroix is doing, please interrupt him at once to tell him that Grauber, the Gestapo chief, is in Paris. He has been here for some days and has used my name to obtain an interview with Madame Dubois. He saw her yesterday, and was then staying at the Crillon. Will Colonel Lacroix send some of his men to the Crillon immediately. I’m going straight there and will meet them in the hall.’
While he was speaking Madame Dubois had risen to her feet. He turned to see her standing behind him, swaying weakly, her face suddenly old and haggard.
‘What is this?’ she stammered. ‘A Gestapo man? Merciful God! What have I done? What have I done? I have been tricked, and people will pay with their lives for my stupidity.’
Gregory put out a hand to steady her, and eased her down on to the sofa again. ‘Calm yourself, Madame, I beg,’ he soothed her. ‘The worst hasn’t happened yet. I can identify him whatever name he’s using there, and we shall be able to prevent his getting back to Germany with any information you gave him. I’ll let you know the moment I have any definite news for you.’
Snatching up his hat, he dashed from the room. Out in the street he hailed a taxi and promised the driver a hundred francs if he would get him to the Crillon in ten minutes. The cab started with a violent jerk almost before he could leap in, but as he was jolted back into his seat he was already feeling for his gun. He took it out and clicked a bullet up from the magazine into the chamber. Grauber would certainly be armed and Gregory did not mean to give him a chance to shoot first. He did not mean the French police to shoot him, either. Grauber was his pigeon.