They Used Dark Forces

The Germans would have heard the aircraft overhead, so it was hoped that they would open up; then the paratroopers would hurl bombs through which would make it impossible to close the gates again. It was a suicide job and might not come off. To make certain of silencing the battery, the General intended to crash-land three gliders across the fort's concrete and barbed-wired surrounding ditch.

The other two parties were to seize two adjacent bridges about five miles from the coast, one of which crossed the Orne and the other a canal running parallel to it. He then meant to establish his battle H.Q. between the two seized bridges and infest with his men all the territory to the west in order to delay an attack against the British flank. Then when the attack came, as come it must, he would fight with his back to the double water line.

As Gregory listened he was thrilled by the thought that this was no academic lecture, no Staff College exercise, but the real thing. That was brought even more sharply home a few minutes later as the General went on to say that the 21st Panzer Division would be at them pretty soon, so he would need every anti-tank gun he could get in and need them pretty badly. Then, as though it had only just occurred to him, he added, `As a matter of fact we shall want them tomorrow.' At that a roar of laughter went up from the packed benches.

Other briefings followed: by the Station Commander, the Signals Officer, the Secret Devices Expert and the Meteorological Officer. The last predicted clear skies under two thousand feet and broken cloud above which would let enough moonlight through for the pilots to pick up their dropping zones without difficulty.

At dinner that night Gregory looked down the lines of young races. All of them were flushed with excitement, eager and merry. Not one of them seemed conscious of the fact that this might be the last meal he would ever eat; and Gregory thought how proud their parents and friends would be if they could see them.

Before leaving London he had looted Sir Pellinore's cellar of a few bottles of one of the finest hocks in the worldRuppertsberg Hoheburg Gewurztramminer feinste Edelbeer 2uslese 1920. At his suggestion General Gale asked General Crawford, Air Vice-Marshal Hollinghurst, Wing Commander Macnamara and his A.D.C. to help drink them to an Allied victory.

As they drank the fine wine they talked of the coming battle, but Gregory's thoughts were temporarily elsewhere. They had gone back to that other fine hock of the same vintage that he had drunk with Malacou the first night they met at Sassen; and he found himself once more overlooking he occultist.

Malacou and Tarik were still in their lonely cottage and had made themselves very comfortable. The former had succeeded n bringing his astrological gear with him and was seated at he table in the living room working on some problem. A third man was present: a tall, lean fellow dressed in rough clothes but with a fine-featured intelligent face. On Malacou becoming aware of Gregory's ethereal presence he broke off us work to communicate that they had no fears for the moment, and that their companion was a Polish engineer, also in hiding from the Nazis, who had recently taken refuge with them.

At ten o'clock Group Captain Surplice came into the mess and carried Gregory off with him. First, in his car they made a complete tour of the airfield, but everything was in perfect order and there was no need for even one last-minute instruction. Then they went to the Watch Tower, to within a few yards of which every aircraft had to taxi up before receiving the signal to take off. The weather was still far from good, but it had improved a little and there were breaks in the clouds so that the late summer twilight faded almost imperceptibly into moonlight.

The first wave consisted of fourteen aircraft carrying paratroopers, followed by four aircraft towing gliders containing special material needed as soon as possible after the paratroops had landed. The wave was led by Wing Commander Bangley, and with him as a passenger went Air Vice-Marshal Hollinghurst. He had been forbidden to go, but `Holly', as this plump, dynamic little man was affectionately called by his subordinates, declared that only being handcuffed and locked up would stop him from witnessing the fine show his boys would put up after their many months of training.

At three minutes past eleven precisely the first aircraft took off. The others followed at thirty-second intervals. A Wing Commander standing beside Gregory timed them with a watch. Not a single aircraft was early or late by a split second.

There now came a period of waiting, as the second wave was not due to start until 1.50 a.m. During it Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory flew in. Hurried explanations had to be thought up to account for `Holly's' absence. Someone said he thought he was at the Signals Office, but he could not be found and, fortunately, his C.-in-C. had to take off again to continue his round of inspections.

Midnight came, but somehow it did not seem to Gregory to be the beginning of the long-awaited D-Day. For him and his companions that had started hours ago. Accompanied by Surplice he walked along to General Gale's glider so as to spend this last three-quarters of an hour with him. The General had just returned from a visit to his men before they left their tented camp, where he had been drinking good English beer with them, and they were still cheering him to the echo as he came on to the airfield.

To ease the suspense of these last minutes Gregory started telling bawdy stories; the others joined in and laughed a lot. The General looked a more massive figure than ever now that the many pockets of his special kit were stuffed with maps and the dozens of other things he would need when he landed in France; but he was still wearing his light grey jodhpurs.

`What about your Mae West, sir one of his officers asked.

`Oh, I can put that on later if I have to,' he protested.

`Might be a bit tricky then, sir,' the officer persisted.

- Turning to Gregory the General said, `I'm supposed to be commanding this damn' Division, yet look how these fellows bully me. All right; I'll put it on if you like.'

About six people then tried to help him into it and one of them said, `The tapes should go as high up under your arms as possible, sir.'

He burbled with laughter again. `I know what you're up to. If we fall in the sea you want my head to go under and my bottom left sticking up in the air.' Then a moment later he slapped his broad chest and exclaimed, `Good God, look at me! I must look like Henry VIIL'

His jest was not without point and some minutes earlier Gregory had noticed that painted on the side of the glider was the name of another English King-Richard the First. That, the A.D.C. had said, was because Richard Gale was to be the first British General to land in France by many hours, but the unintended parallel struck Gregory most forcibly. The great Crusader, Richard Caeur-de-Lion, had been physically just such another big man as the General who now towered over the little group standing round him, and this modern lion-hearted Richard was about to lead another Crusade against far more evil men than the Saracens who had then occupied Jerusalem.

The last little scene before he emplaned was another of those jests which delight true British fighting men when about to go into battle. A few mornings earlier, on finding that there was golden syrup for breakfast, the General had exclaimed, `By Jove! I love golden syrup and I haven't seen any for years.' So now Surplice, who had been his official host, presented him with a tin to take to France with him.

A few minutes later Gregory returned with the Station Commander to the Watch Tower. The signal was given and the twenty-five gliders, towed by Albemarles, began to move off. They were led by Macnamara in S for Sugar, towing Richard the First and his personal staff. With the regularity of clockwork they took off at the rate of one a minute and lifted gently to disappear in the night sky.

The aircraft in the first wave were now due back; so Gregory and his host hurried over to the Briefing Room, hardly able to contain their impatience to learn if all had gone well. At last the first pilot and his crew came in. He said that, in spite of a sudden worsening of the weather, he had dropped his parachutists right on the spot at seventeen and a half minutes past midnight. But he seemed a little disappointed. Asked by Surplice why he was looking so glum, he replied:

`Well, sir, it might have been one of the practice droppings we've carted out so often here. It was quite dark, no flak, nothing to see, no excitement. In fact it's difficult to believe that we've had anything to do with opening up the Second Front.'

To Gregory that was the best possible news. It meant that his friends in the Deception Section had achieved an almost unbelievable triumph. The enemy could have known neither the date nor place of the expected assault. General Montgomery had been given the dream of all Commanders when opening a great battle: complete tactical surprise. Our losses during the landings a few hours hence would now be only a tithe of what they would have been against an alerted opposition.

As other pilots came in this splendid news was confirmed. Only the later comers had seen anything. Not till after they had dropped their parachutists had some enemy batteries opened up with light flak. Then `Holly', safely returned, said that he had seen the synchronized attack by heavy bombers on the fortified battery-,a last attempt to destroy it by pinpoint bombing. All who had seen the terrific explosions by which the redoubt had been lit up agreed that very few of its German garrison of one hundred and eight could still be alive or in any state to lay a gun.

But then, to discount this excellent beginning, a little group of face-blackened paratroopers came in. Their team had included their Brigade Major and it was he who was to lead the way down. He was a big man and had got stuck in the hatch; they could not push him through or pull him out. The pilot had taken the aircraft out to sea and ran it up and down the coast for half an hour, but the Major's men could not get him either in or out. At length he had lost consciousness, so it had been decided that the only thing to do was to return to England. Only after the aircraft had landed had they succeeded in getting him free. The pilot pleaded desperately to be allowed to make a second run so that at least the others might join in the battle, but Surplice would not let him. The air over the whole Channel was now alive with aircraft on exactly timed and carefully planned routes; so for a lone 'plane to attempt to pass through them would have been much too dangerous.

Worse was to come. A pale-faced young pilot entered the room and came up to his Station Commander. `I'm sorry, sir,' he reported. `I don't know what to say, but my string broke. We lost our glider about three miles from the French coast.'

Surplice laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. `I'm sure it wasn't your fault. Tell me what happened.'

`Well, sir, it was those bloody Met. men who let us down. Our orders were to drop the gliders off at sixteen hundred feet. But there was cloud down to eight hundred and no moon coming through.’ It was as black as pitch. I went down as low as I dared to try to get in the clear but in the darkness the glider must have lost my tail light and have become unmanageable… With him trailing wild, the strain snapped the tow-rope. There was nothing we could do about it.'

It was estimated that the glider might have had enough height to make the beach or, at least, shallow water. But it was certain that the load of stores it carried would never reach the leading paratroops for their urgent operations.

A few minutes later a second tug pilot came in. The same sad story. Low cloud several miles before he had reached the French coast, the following glider suddenly losing control and its tow-rope snapping. The third and fourth pilots arrived, white-faced and shaken. They, too, had lost their gliders out over the sea.

The Briefing Room was now crowded with returned air crews drinking tea and munching hot scones while waiting to make their detailed reports to the Intelligence Officers… But they spoke in low voices. Whispered word of the bad news had gone round and the atmosphere was one of gloom.

It was now about a quarter to three in the morning, and the next two hours were grim. Gregory, having no duties to perform, had accepted the many drinks pressed upon him during the long evening. It had turned cold and misty and he felt stale from the amount of liquor he had consumed. He would have given a lot to go back to the mess and brace himself up a little with a brandy and soda; but he did not like to suggest it.

With Surplice, Squadron Leader Pound, the little Welsh doctor and a few others, he stood miserably about waiting fearfully for news. If all four of the first flight, of gliders had gone into the `drink' what chance had General Gale and his string of twenty-five and all the other flights that had headed for the same area with the rest of the Airborne Division from other stations in the Group?

Dozens of those young daredevils who had been drinking so cheerfully in the mess only a few hours before were now almost certainly dead, and others, weighed down by their heavy equipment, must be swimming desperately for their lives in the cold waters of the Channel. Hundreds more might be crashing and drowning while Gregory and his companions stood miserably waiting for news.

If the General and a large part of the Airborne Division were lost their task would remain unaccomplished and the left flank of the. British Army would then be left open to attack. There were hours to go yet before the first seaborne troops were due to splash their way ashore, and the Germans must now have known for over three hours that the invasion had really started. If the airborne operation failed the enemy would counter-attack the open beaches in the morning and quite possibly hurl our troops back into the sea, rendering the whole vast plan for liberating Europe a complete failure. The strain of waiting for news was appalling, and for Gregory, so used to action, so unused to patient vigil, it was a positive agony.

At last, soon after half past four, they heard the drone of aircraft. The tugs of the second wave were returning. At a quarter to five the first air crew came in. The Briefing Room was now still with a breathless silence. Scores of anxious eyes searched the faces of the newcomers for a verdict. They looked about them in surprise at this tense reception. Then they reported. The cloud had lifted and they had cast off their gliders dead on the mark.

Crew after crew appeared with the same glad tidings. When Macnamara came in there was a rush towards him. He was smiling, laughing. He had put General Gale down at half past two exactly at the place where he had planned to land… Soon afterward it was known that not a single glider in the second wave had been lost.

Douglas Warth, an official war reporter, had gone over with the first wave of paratroops. Since his return he had been waiting only to learn what had happened to General Gale and the others. Three days ago, that now seemed like a week, he had come down in a jeep, and he offered to take Gregory back to London in it.

Gregory gladly accepted… As he was saying good-bye to Surplice and thanking him for his kindness, the Chief Intelligence Officer came up with a message from the Control Room; he said, `All aircraft safely landed, sir, and no casualties.'

Beaming with delight, Gregory congratulated the Station Commander and shook hands with several other new friends he had made during those never-to-be-forgotten days. He then collected his kit and accompanied Warth to the jeep. No longer tired but filled- with elation they drove through the summer dawn, with birds singing in the hedgerows, back to London.

By seven o'clock he was in the Cabinet Offices War Room and got the broader picture. Of the two hundred and eighty six aircraft despatched to land the Airborne Division only eight had failed to return and the glider losses had been far fewer than anticipated. A few hours later he learned that

General Gale had landed without accident and, achieving complete surprise, had secured the two bridges that were his principal objective. That night Gregory listened with Sir Pellinore to one of the finest broadcasts delivered in the war. It was given by the King and in well-informed circles it was known that His Majesty had written every word of it himself. Then they drank a health to George VI and Richard the First.

D- Day and its terrible hazards were, at last, over; but the war was still a long way from being won, and a week later it entered a new phase. On the night of June 12th/13th the first pilot less aircraft descended on London. As had been anticipated its warhead was no bigger than an average-sized bomb; so, after the first excitement, the public proceeded to settle down and grin and bear this new affliction; although they proved to be disconcerting things, as they had a nasty habit of suddenly turning round and coming down in a place where they were not expected. But a high proportion of them were prevented from reaching London by fighter aircraft, Ack-ack and the balloon barrages. The foremost thought in most people's minds was still joy that the invasion had at last taken place, and that 'Monty' was now safely established in Normandy with a bridgehead deep enough for there to be little fear that our men would be driven back into the sea. So the general feeling was that the buzz-bombs were only a temporary annoyance which might soon be brought to an end by the Germans throwing in their hand.

Throughout June Malacou's communications to Gregory continued, and he soon became aware that the occultist's thoughts were now mainly engaged by a new interest. The Polish engineer was a member of the Underground and the cottage in which they were living was on the new experimental range being used to test the giant rockets. The firing point for the rockets was a good twenty miles away from the cottage so most of them sailed high overhead, but now and again one came down prematurely and fell in the marshes.

The Pole was the leader of a group spread widely over the countryside and its members spent some of their time making notes of the number of rockets fired, how many of them were duds and where those duds fell. But the group had no wireless or any other means of communicating their information to London, as they had started up independently and were not in touch with the main Polish Underground. In addition to charting the rockets they went out at night and committed various acts of sabotage, such as tearing up sections of railway line and destroying small bridges. To aid these exploits Malacou was again busy with his astrological studies in order to be able to predict for his new friends the most favourable nights for them to undertake their clandestine activities.

Sir Pellinore had now come to the conclusion that as Gregory was obviously sane there must be a genuine foundation for the telepathic communication he was receiving; and when Gregory told him about the Pole's plotting of the rockets he was greatly interested. The anxiety about them in high quarters, far from dying down, had considerably increased. Thousands of tents were being manufactured to house the refugees who would be driven out of London and great dumps of medical stores and tinned food were being accumulated secretly at various places in the Home Counties. Plans were being made to deceive the public who were not in the immediate area of the first mighty explosion as to its cause, so that they should not panic, and arrangements were being made for the immediate evacuation of hospitals, children and pregnant mothers in the Metropolitan area.

By early July public morale was beginning to decline again. The V. 1's were starting to get on people's nerves and the destruction caused by them had become considerable. Moreover, matters were not going anything like as well in France as had been expected. Most fortunately, the Deception Plans were continuing to function admirably. By the creation of a mock army in Kent, and other measures, Hitler continued to be convinced that the Normandy landings were only a feint, and that the main assault against his Fortress Europa was due to be launched at any moment across the narrows into the Pas de Calais. In consequence, he flatly refused the pleas of his Generals to allow the Armoured Divisions there to be brought south against the Normandy beach-head.

Yet, in spite of this, Montgomery was making no progress. He had informed the Chiefs of Staff that his object was to draw the Germans down on the positions he held and then destroy them. But it had been expected that a month after their landing the Allies would be well into France and, possibly, across the Seine. So far he had not even captured Caen; and to those who had originally planned it, the Second Front was proving a grievous disappointment.

On July 16th Gregory was on day duty, so he went to bed in his flat at his normal hour, which was about eleven o'clock. But he found that he could neither concentrate on his book nor, when he put out the light, get to sleep, because Malacou was in a great state of excitement and his thoughts were coming through with exceptional clarity.

In addition to keeping a careful record of the performance of the rockets, the Polish Resistance leader had been seeking to get at and examine one of them. To do so was far from easy; because, whenever there were firing trials, the Germans stationed little squads of their men over many square miles of the marshland and when a rocket came down prematurely their job was to locate and dismantle it as soon as possible.

Two days ago a rocket had gone wild and fallen miles away from the marshes, on the bank of the river Bug. No German patrol had been anywhere near and some Poles had rolled the rocket down the bank into the river; so that when the Germans reached the locality they had failed to find it. The previous night the Poles had retrieved the rocket from the river and hidden it among the reeds, then sent word to the engineer who was living with Malacou. That night he had gone off to join them and they were now working like demons to dismantle the tail of the rocket, which contained its mechanism. Malacou meanwhile was still in his cottage and a prey to fearful anxiety lest the Germans should catch the Pole and his companions either while working on it or, still worse, when they brought the pieces they secured to his dwelling, where they intended to hide them in the woodshed.

Eventually Gregory dropped off to sleep, but he woke next morning with the knowledge that the job had been completed without mishap and that the Polish engineer was now in possession of a complete set of the parts that made the rocket work.

After lunch that day Gregory walked across the Horse Guards and looked in on Sir Pellinore. When he retailed what he believed to have happened the elderly Baronet's blue eyes popped. Jerking forward in his chair he slapped a long leg encased in a pin-striped trouser with a mighty thud and cried:

`By Jove! If only we could get hold of those bits and pieces! Might be the saving' of London! I was talking' to Lindemann the other day. Seems we're working on a device now that'll explode shells and bombs in mid-air. What these science wizards will get up to next, God knows. Still, the Prof. says it's perfectly possible. Got to make one box of tricks to set off the other, though. But if the boffins knew how these rockets worked we might blow 'em up while they were still sailing' over mid-Channel.'

`If that's so,' Gregory said, `we ought to do our utmost to collect the mechanism that this Polish engineer has secured. And, of course, to let us have it is the reason he risked his neck to get it. But how we could set about that I don't see.'

`I do,' replied Sir Pellinore promptly. `Our bombers haven't the range to reach Poland. But lighter aircraft fitted with extra fuel tanks can. S.O.E. are sending one or two in every week now to drop supplies for the Polish Underground. I'll have a talk with Gubbie about this.'

`By all means do. But I doubt if that will get us anywhere. Even if General Gubbins can be persuaded that I am in telepathic communication with a man hundreds of miles from England, and is willing to send an aircraft to collect this stuff, I couldn't tell him where to send it. I've only the vaguest idea where this place is. It can't be many miles from Ostroleka, where Malacou had his house; I'm sure of that. And the cottage is situated near a stretch of broad very winding river from which tributaries make forks some miles on either side of the cottage. But there are any number of rivers in that part of Poland and I couldn't possibly describe it well enough for a pilot to identify.'

`But you… No.' Sir Pellinore hastily hauled himself to his feet. `Forget it, Gregory. Odds are it's all moonshine.'

`It's not moonshine,' Gregory replied uneasily. 'And I'll not be allowed to forget it. I'm certain of that. As sure as God made little apples Malacou will be coming through to me again and urging me to think of some way of getting those bits of mechanism to England.'

His prediction proved right. That night Malacou ceaselessly bombarded Gregory with his thoughts. He declared that the prize the Poles had secured was invaluable. His friend the engineer had managed to get away with the whole works and now knew how the rockets functioned. It was imperative that an aircraft be sent to pick him up and fly him with the mechanism to England. Then the rockets could also be made in Britain and Hitler would derive no overwhelming advantage by having sole possession of his secret weapon. The nearest village to the cottage was Rbzan, and westward from it there ran a long stretch of good straight road along which there was never any traffic at night; so an aircraft could land on it. Gregory had only to let him know the night the aircraft would come in and they would be waiting for it. Three-quarters of an hour would be enough to load the stuff on to the 'plane. In that desolate area the risk of the Germans arriving on the scene while they were doing so was negligible. The aircraft could then take off again for England.

In the morning, still tired after his restless night and far from happy, Gregory telephoned the War Room to say he had an urgent matter to deal with so would not be in till midday. Then he went to Sir Pellinore. They had a lengthy talk, at the end of which with a heavy sigh the elderly Baronet rang up General Gubbins. Half an hour later, in Sir Pellinore's Rolls, they drove to Baker Street.

The little General, dapper as ever in the Bedford Cord riding breeches and well-polished field boots he affected, listened noncommittally to what they had to say, then he said:

`Of course telepathy has been scientifically proved, so it's pointless to argue about that; although I find it very difficult to believe that it could. be maintained between two people continuously and over such a great distance. Frankly, I'd turn this proposition down flat had it to do with anything other than the rocket. But to find means of protecting ourselves from that is now an all-time high priority.

`It's not only London we have to think of; though God knows the results it may have here are too ghastly to contemplate. It's the invasion ports as well. Monty is blazing off thousands of rounds every day. If the ports that are supplying him with shells and hundreds of other items could be rendered unusable, even for a week, he would be a dead duck. The beach-head he is holding is still narrow enough in all conscience and deprived of ammunition he could not possibly stop the Boche from driving his whole Army back into the Channel.

`In view of all that is at stake. I'd be prepared to send an aircraft on a sortie to the moon if there were the least chance of its bringing back information which might scotch these hellish rockets. The devil of it is, though, that we have no down-to-earth means of communicating with these people. Since we can't arrange with them to put out recognition signals and be ready to receive our aircraft on a certain night, there can be no hope of such an operation succeeding. No pilot could even find the place.'

`No,' Gregory agreed heavily, `but given moonlight I'm certain I could tell the pilot where to land; and it happens to be my bad luck that I am the only person capable of making the necessary arrangements with Malacou. I swore I'd never again set foot on German-held territory until the war was over, but on those two counts I see no alternative. I'll have to guide the pilot in and pick up the mechanism of the rocket myself.'

14

The Best-laid Schemes of Mice and Men…

WHEN they began to discuss the operation the first thing Gregory learned was that he would have to make the flight from Brindisi in Italy. There was not much difference in the actual distance flying east from Suffolk or north from Brindisi to central. Poland; but the, latter route was preferable because an aircraft taking it ran less risk of encountering flak or enemy night fighters. All operations for dropping arms and supplies to Resistance groups in Poland, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia; as well as northern Italy which was still held by the enemy, were carried out by special squadrons under the command of Air Marshal Sir William Elliot, C.-in-C. Adriatic, whose headquarters were at Bari.

For there to bee any chance at all of this hazardous operation succeeding it would be necessary to undertake it on a night when reasonable weather over Poland could be predicted and during the period of maximum moonlight which, that month, ran from the 23rd to the 29th. So it was agreed that Gregory should leave England on the 21st. Sir Pellinore telephoned Brigadier Jacob and arranged that Gregory should be relieved of his duties in the Cabinet War Room right away, then he telephoned Erika and asked her to come down to London on the afternoon train.

When they left General Gubbins's office Gregory went straight down to Gloucester Road, told the faithful Rudd that he was off on his travels again, then packed a bag and took a taxi up to Carlton House Terrace. Erika joined him that evening and when he broke the news to her about his new mission she did her best to hide her distress. He endeavoured to reassure her by stressing the fact that aircraft sent on such missions nearly always returned safely; and that, apart from the flight, he would be in danger only for an hour or so while picking up the parts of the V.2, and should be back in England within ten days of setting off. So during the next three days they did their best to forget this new peril he was about to face.

But that was far from easy, as he had to spend long periods endeavouring to secure from Malacou more precise information about the situation of the cottage and make arrangements with him for the landing.

After several such sessions… Gregory was as satisfied as he could be in the circumstances. The cottage lay about twelve miles to the north-east of a fair-sized town named Pultusk, and this, together with the conformation of the rivers, should enable him to identify the second-class road from Rozan on which the aircraft was to land, provided there was a fair degree of moonlight… But the arrangements for the pick-up had to be left distinctly vague.

Although the road was hardly ever used at night, owing to the sabotage operations carried out by the Poles, S.D. men on motor-cycles patrolled a main road that was not far distant to the west; so to put out flares to guide the aircraft in would entail much too great a risk. Moreover, as Gregory could not specify the night on which the landing was to be made until shortly before the aircraft took off, at such short notice it would not be possible to muster a number of Polish partisans to help carry the heavy cases containing the rocket mechanism from the cottage to the 'plane, but between them they should be able to do the job in an hour at most; and on every evening from the 23rd Malacou would keep his mind free to receive a message from Gregory that he was on his way.

On Friday the 21st Gregory said his good-byes to Erika and Sir Pellinore. Both of them had an instinctive distrust of Malacou, so urged Gregory to exercise the greatest caution in his dealings with him and to run no unnecessary risks. To that he replied that in this affair Malacou was acting only as a medium for the Polish engineer, in whom they had every reason to have faith; and that as far as risks were concerned, if there were any signs that the aircraft might be caught while on the ground it would not land.

He left London by train for St. Evill in Cornwall. A Flight Sergeant met him on the platform and drove him to the R.A.F. Station. There he reported to the Station Commander, who took him to the mess for drinks and a meal. An hour and a half later he was on his way. After flying far out into the Atlantic the aircraft turned south-west and, without seeing any signs of enemy activity, landed him at Gibraltar. There he spent a few hours, then went on in another aircraft across the sunny waters of the western Mediterranean to arrive at Brindisi on the Adriatic shortly before midday on the 23rd.

A Group Captain took charge of him and it soon emerged that, like Gregory, as a young man his host had been a subaltern at the end of the First World War; so over drinks in the mess they began swapping reminiscences and got on famously. Later, when they discussed the forthcoming operation, the Group Captain told him that the worst headache to be faced was that it was still high summer. Aircraft dropping supplies for Resistance groups in Yugoslavia, or even Czechoslovakia, could leave after dark and return before dawn; but a trip to central Poland meant a five-hour flight each way and, allowing an hour for the pick-up, that meant that the aircraft could not leave Brindisi much after seven o'clock; so it would still be light enough for it to be spotted by German fighters when it passed over the northern Adriatic.

A Dakota with additional fuel tanks had been laid on for the job, and at a conference next day it was decided to guard against possible interception by sending a Liberator to escort it on the first part of its journey. At the conference Gregory met the crew of the Dakota that was to fly him in. The Captain of the aircraft was Wing Commander Frencombe of No. 267 Squadron, the pilot Flight Lieutenant Culliford, the navigator Flight Lieutenant William's, the W/T operator Flight Sergeant Appleby, and a Polish Flying Officer, K. Szaajer, from the Polish Flight had been seconded to act as interpreter if necessary.

Everything had been made ready to carry out the operation that night but the Met. report was unfavourable, so with keyed-up nerves they waited to see if the next day would bring an improvement. It did, so on the evening of the 25th they made their final preparations. Soon after seven o'clock they went out on to the airfield. A last check-up was made on the Dakota KG.447 then, clad in windproof clothing and wrapped in rugs to keep them as warm as possible during their long cold journey, at 19.37 hours they took off.

While over the Adriatic they were spotted by German patrol-boats that carried anti-aircraft guns; but were flying sufficiently high to escape the flak that was loosed off at them. By half past eight they were over Yugoslavia and a little before ten o'clock when they were approaching Budapest, darkness having fallen, their escorting Liberator turned back and left them. With a steady hum the Dakota soughed on over Hungary and Czechoslovakia.

For a good part of the flight Gregory slept, then half an hour after midnight Flight Lieutenant William's roused him to tell him that they were approaching their destination. The aircraft was steadily coming down from the great height at which it had been flying, so he took off his oxygen mask and went forward into the cockpit.

To check the features of the country far below with the map was anything but easy, as there were patches of drifting cloud that now and then obscured the moon for up to two minutes at a time, and when the moonlight did glint on water the whole of the area to the north-east of Warsaw was so intersected by the rivers Liwiec, Bug and Narew, with their many tributaries, that Gregory began to fear that he would not be able to identify the two forks between which lay Malacou's cottage.

For some fifteen minutes he and William's peered down, sweeping the landscape with powerful night glasses, then the Flight Lieutenant said, `We've overshot it. We must have by now,' and told the pilot to turn back.

The aircraft heeled over as Culliford brought her round. Just as he straightened out a pair of searchlights suddenly came into action away to the west and in wide arcs began to sweep the sky. As the Captain of the aircraft muttered a curse another pair opened up to the south, then a third pair almost immediately below_. them. It was evident that the German listening posts had picked up the sound of their engines.

The pilot banked the aircraft, then put her into a steep dive. As Gregory righted himself from a lurch William's shouted to reassure him. `Our trips over Poland are so infrequent that there's a good chance they'll take us for one of theirs that has got off course. Unless they catch us in a beam and’ identify us as an enemy they won't shoot.'

Culliford had brought the aircraft down to five hundred feet, so it was now well below the angle at which the searchlights were sweeping. Two minutes later Gregory heard Malacou's voice as clearly as though he had been in the 'plane, calling, `Here! Here! Come down! Come down!'

Staring earthward he suddenly recognized the bend in the big river near which the cottage lay, then the road to Rozan some way to the north of it. Putting one hand quickly on the pilot's shoulder, he pointed downward with the other. Culliford nodded, turned the aircraft in a wide sweep and shut off his engine. Slowly she sank, then, bumping only slightly, taxied to a halt on the long straight road that ran through the marshes.

Gregory, Williams and Szaajer scrambled out and looked quickly about them. A cloud had just obscured the moon again, but next moment they spotted a torch being flashed at intervals some quarter of a mile away. While the three of them ran towards it the others remained in the aircraft so that if need be it could make a quick getaway.

As they approached, the flashes from the torch ceased and they all drew their pistols in case they were walking into a trap. But Gregory went forward confidently, because for several hours past, except during his sleep in the aircraft, he had been concentrating on letting Malacou know that the pick-up was to be that night, and the occultist's clear call to him, only five minutes earlier, confirmed that his telepathic communication had been received.

The moon suddenly came out again and two figures emerged from a patch of tall reeds at the roadside. Malacou stepped forward and cried joyfully, `Mr. Sallust, I knew that I could not be mistaken, and that you were on your way. It is a great relief that you have got here safely.' He then introduced his companion as the Polish engineer Mr. Kocjan.

When Gregory had introduced the others Kocjan, also speaking German, pointed at the searchlight beams and said quickly, `Now that they have lost the sound of your engines they will know that the 'plane must have come down, and may suspect that it is British. It might have landed several miles from here, so there is no cause for panic. But, all the same, we must not lose a moment. Come; follow me.'

Turning, he led them at a loping run along a winding path fringed by tall fields of reeds and occasional patches of water. Ten minutes later they reached the cottage.

The windows were blacked-out, but an oil lamp was burning in the living room and Gregory saw that two men dressed in rough farm clothes were silently waiting there. As they came to their feet, Kocjan said:

`These are two of my brave fellows. There are many packages to carry to the 'plane so I wish I could have collected more men, but this was the best I could do at such short notice.'

Malacou, still breathing heavily from having had to run, stepped over to the stove and said, `I thought that after your long flight you would be half frozen; so I have here some soup for you.' Pouring the steaming liquid into three bowls, he handed them to Gregory, Williams and Szaajer.

`It's very welcome,' Gregory smiled, and Szaajer broke off a conversation he had started with the two farm workers to bow his thanks. But Kocjan said abruptly, `Drink quickly, please. We shall need every hand.' Then he signed to his helpers and they followed him out of the room.

While Gregory sipped at the scalding soup, Malacou confirmed in words the misfortunes that had befallen him during the past six months, giving a brief version of the thoughts he had conveyed by telepathy. As soon as they had finished he led them outside and round to a woodshed at the back of the cottage. It was lit by another oil lamp and Gregory saw that the two farm workers had already left with a first load. But Kocjan was there and the hunchback Tarik, who was helping him load a packing case on to a low, two-wheeled truck. Beyond them lay a pile of at least a score of roughly made crates and bundles. As Gregory's glance fell on them, he exclaimed uneasily in German

`Good God, what a mass of stuff! If all that pile contains metal parts they must weigh a ton.'

`No, nothing like it,' grunted the Pole. `It is the awkward shape of many pieces that makes them appear so bulky, and several of the cases contain documents we succeeded in stealing in a raid we made on a German headquarters. They may prove valuable, although not in the class of the rocket. We managed to prise off the tail, so have the whole works and have reason to be proud of our achievement.'

`You certainly have,' Gregory agreed. `I'm only wondering if the aircraft can take it, all. She's fitted with additional fuel tanks, of course; but she needs every gallon for her fourteen hundred-mile flight here and back.' Then he turned to Williams and asked him in English what he thought.

The Flight Lieutenant shrugged. `We have room enough for it, but there's more of it than I expected. If he is right about the pieces not weighing a great deal we'll make it.'

`Come now! You waste time talking,' cut in the Pole angrily. `Do you not realize that those S.D. swine are now out hunting for us? Every moment counts. Grab anything you can lift, all of you, and hurry with it to the aircraft.'

The crate was now on the trolley and, at a stumbling run, he set off with it. The other four picked up loads and followed him. As Gregory staggered along with a big box balanced on his shoulder, he saw that the searchlight beams no longer raked the sky. That fact confirmed the Polish leader's statement that the enemy knew the 'plane must have landed and now had their patrols out searching for it on the ground.

Ten minutes later they reached the aircraft. Culliford had taxied it up as near as he could get to the path between the reeds, then turned it round ready to take off. The farm workers had already stowed their first loads in her and were about to return for others. Altogether they made a party of eight, but they all had to make two more trips before they had cleared the woodshed. By then, as the result of Gregory's exertions, his bad leg was beginning to pain him; and the aircraft had been on the ground for an hour and ten minutes.

By the time the last package had been stowed clouds had piled up so that the sky was three-quarters overcast, and Wing Commander Frencombe was a little worried that his pilot might not be able to keep to the road during the run-up for the take- off. He then suggested that the two farm hands should be given torches and asked to take up positions on either side of the road some way ahead of the aircraft. Szaajer translated the request and the two men agreed. They then said good-bye to their leader and the Polish Flying Officer went off with them in the direction of Rowan to show them exactly where they should stand.

Seeing that it would be some minutes before Szaajer returned, Gregory walked a little way along a path among the reeds to relieve himself from a pain in the stomach that he had been feeling during the past half-hour. Kocjan meanwhile climbed into the aircraft and Williams followed him. A minute later Gregory caught the sound of voices raised in an altercation. Then Frencombe shouted to him:

'Sallust, where are you! Your friend wants us to take him and his servant back with us. That wasn't in the understanding, was it?'

`No,' Gregory shouted back. `Certainly not. I'll be with you in a minute.' Hastily he pulled up his trousers and ran towards the 'plane. On emerging from the reeds he saw that Malacou was half in and half out of the hatch, and clinging to it, while Tarik stood just below him.

Suddenly there came a shout from Szaajer, who by then was three hundred yards up the road. `Take off! Take off! Die Sicherheitspolizei are coming.'

Under the wing of the aircraft Gregory glimpsed distant headlights approaching swiftly from the direction of Rowan and caught the roar of motor-cycle engines. In a mixture of German and French Malacou was pleading desperately with Frencombe, who was barring his way into the aircraft.

`Please! Please! You must take us! You must! This country is accursed. You cannot deny me the chance to leave it.'

`I can't,' Frencombe shouted at him. `It was agreed that we should pick up Mr. Kocjan, because he's found out all about the rocket's mechanism. But no-one else. We've all the weight we can carry as it is. Let go, damn' you, so that Sallust can come aboard.'

The duty of the Captain of the aircraft was to save it at any cost from falling into the hands of the enemy. Its engine was already ticking over and next moment he snapped an order to his pilot. The engines burst into a roar and the Dakota began to quiver. Thrusting Tarik aside Gregory seized Malacou by the legs and dragged him from the hatch. They fell together in a heap.

As Gregory staggered to his feet, Frencombe cried, `Come on! Come on! Quick!', then leant from the hatch and stretched out a hand to help him up. But Tarik, seeing his master attacked, gave an angry grunt, charged Gregory and grappled with him. It was no time for half-measures and, knowing the Turk's strength, Gregory kneed him hard in the groin. With another grunt, Tarik released hiss hold and doubled up.

By then the aircraft had begun to move. Swinging round, Gregory ran beside it. His bad leg began to give him gyp, but he was only a few feet behind the still-open hatch and Frencombe was yelling encouragement to him. As the Dakota bumped along the road its pace increased, but Gregory put on a desperate spurt and succeeded in clutching the lower rim of the hatch. For one wild minute he was dragged along while Frencombe knelt down to grasp his wrist. But just as their hands met the aircraft lifted. The force of the slipstream against which Gregory had been battling proved too great. His aching fingers lost their precarious hold. He fell to the road and rolled over and over into the reeds.

The roar of the aircraft's engines had drowned that of the approaching motor-cycles, but as it soared away he heard a burst of Sten-gun fire. Half stunned, he lay where he had rolled, partly submerged in shallow muddy water, wondering if the S.D. men had seen him. Excited shouts in German came from some fifty yards away, then the sounds of the motor-cycle engines and more shots, but they seemed further off, and gradually the purring receded into the distance. Crawling out of the marsh he looked about him.

The moon had come out again, but the aircraft had disappeared and the road was empty. He realized that after shooting at the Dakota as she took off the S.D. men must have turned their machines about, pursued her as far as they could, still firing, and by now were searching for Szaajer and the two farm hands, whom they must have seen in their headlights.

For the wretched position in which he found himself his only consolation was that there was now a good hope that the Dakota with its precious cargo would get home safely.'

Walking back to the place where he had left Malacou, he. called to him at first softly then louder. He received no reply so it was evident that while he was still hiding among the reeds Malacou, Tarik, Szaajer and the two farm hands had all made off into the marshes and were now well away from the road.

Crossing it, he made his way some distance along the path that led to the cottage then, in a well-sheltered spot, sat down to consider his position.

It could hardly have been worse. He had had no chance to ask Frencombe to return and pick him up the following night, or on the next when conditions were suitable. Yet, as he thought of that, he decided that even if he had it was unlikely that the Wing Commander would have agreed. Now that the Germans in that area had been alerted it was certain that they would keep a sharp look-out for further landings; so for Frencombe to return would have meant the crew running their heads into a noose. Grimly, Gregory faced the fact that he was stuck there and would have to make his way home by whatever way he could.

Suddenly it crossed his mind that it was now early morning on the 26th, a derivative of the fatal 8 which Malacou had declared to be so unlucky for him. It was on the I7th, another 8, eleven months before, that he had been overtaken by disaster at Peenemunde. His evil number had caught up with him again, but he strove to ignore this unlucky omen and again to regard his situation objectively.

When he had set out he had known there was a risk that the aircraft might be shot down or that they might be surprised while loading the parts of the rocket into it, but he had never visualized himself being left stranded in Poland, and although he could pass anywhere as a German he could not do so as a Pole. He had not even a smattering of the language; so his only

x. Historical note: In this way a V.2 mechanism was brought to England, but the gallant Polish engineer who secured it returned to Poland

where he was caught by the Gestapo and executed on August 19th of that year.

asset was that, under the roomy flying kit that he had left in the aircraft, he had been wearing old but good-quality country clothes in which he would be inconspicuous.

Two things caused him special anxiety. The first was that the Germans would be scouring the district for anyone who might have landed from the aircraft and, if challenged, he had no papers to show; neither was there any means of transport by which he could get out of the danger area while it was still dark. The second was even more serious. As it had not even crossed his mind that he might be left behind he had not brought any Polish money with him. For that omission he cursed himself roundly, as he felt that he should at least have foreseen that the aircraft might be shot down and, if he survived, find himself in more or less his present situation.

His mind naturally turned to Malacou. Placing himself in the occultist's shoes, he tried to divine how the middle-aged Jew would react to his near escape from capture. It seemed probable that he was still hiding somewhere not far off in the marshes. But he could not remain there indefinitely. He would have either to resume his unhappy search for a new refuge or return to his cottage and, when the S.D. men paid it a visit, as they certainly would, trust in his ability to persuade them that he knew nothing about the Polish Resistance group or the landing of the aircraft.

Even if he made use of the rest of the night to put as great a distance as possible between himself and his cottage he could not get far on foot; so there was still a chance that he would be picked up next day. And if he were the very fact of his flight would be taken as proof of his guilt. Therefore it seemed he would stand a better chance if he stayed put and gambled on being able to bluff things out. If he had decided to take that line it followed that the sooner he got back to his cottage the better, so that he would be in bed and, apparently, asleep when the S.D. men arrived.

It then occurred to Gregory that somewhere in the cottage Malacou would almost certainly have hidden a considerable sum of money against an emergency and it was money, above all else, that he himself needed at the moment. If Malacou was there he could be persuaded to part with some of it; if not, the place could be ransacked until it was found. As against that, going to the cottage would entail a certain degree of danger, as the S.D. men might already be there or come on the scene while the money was being searched for. But after weighing the pros and cons for a few moments Gregory decided to risk that.

Getting to his feet, he set off along the path. At intervals other paths led off from it, and for a while he feared he would lose his way. But he had made the trip three times that night, so only once got off the right track. Shortly after having got back on to it, he caught sight of the roof of the cottage silhouetted against the night sky.

Cautiously he approached it. The door stood open and a faint light from it dimly lessened the surrounding gloom. It seemed unlikely that Malacou would have left the door open, so the inference was that the S.D. men had already visited the place and either found it empty or carried him off. Still treading with great care, although he now believed the cottage to be deserted, Gregory continued to advance and stepped into the small, square hall. The light was coming from an inch-wide crack down the edge of the living-room door, which had been left ajar. Just as he was about to push it open he heard a gruff voice say in German:

`Talk, you Jewish pig, or it will be the worse for you.'

For an instant Gregory remained standing with his hand raised, as if frozen. Only by the man speaking at that moment had he been saved from blundering in and almost certainly being shot down. The scene being enacted in the room leapt to his mind as clearly as if he could see it through the door. The S.D. mm had caught Malacou there and were questioning him. Next minute the occultist's voice came in a tremulous whine:

`I tell you I know nothing. I was about to go to bed. I swear it!'

`At three o'clock in the morning?' sneered the German. `You lie! You had just…'

Gregory lost the rest of the sentence. With infinite caution he had stepped back. Turning, he stole away in the direction from which he had come. The snatch of conversation he had overheard made it clear that the S.D. men had arrived before Malacou had had time to get his clothes off. The irony of it was that he often stayed up until the small hours making involved calculations from his astral charts and pondering over occult operations. But the Nazis would never believe that. And they would now treat his Turkish passport as so much waste paper. They would haul him off to a concentration camp and beat the truth out of him with steel rods. He would be lucky if he escaped the gas chamber. Gregory could only pity him, for he was far from owing him anything; and any attempt to rescue him would have meant a more than fifty-fifty chance of being killed himself.

Next moment, struck by a sudden thought, he pulled up. The S.D. men's motor-cycles must be somewhere nearby. Turning about, he padded softly round to the back of the building. There, propped up on their stands and with lights out, at the entrance to a dirt track road that presumably led to Rozan, stood the two machines. His heart suddenly lifted. One, at least, of his urgent problems had been solved. He had only to sabotage one of the machines, then ride off on the other, to be well clear of the district before dawn.

As he took another step forward a terrified shout came from the cottage. At the sound he halted again. He was standing within two feet of a clapboard wall that formed the far side of the living room and could well imagine what must now be happening in there.

Setting his mouth grimly, he advanced towards the nearer motor-cycle,, thinking as he did so that it might just as easily have been himself who was being beaten up. Had it been, Malacou, with his dread of physical violence, would certainly not have attempted to rescue him. No; it was bad enough that his contact with the occultist had led to his becoming stranded and penniless many hundreds of miles from any escape route to a neutral country. He would need all the resource and stamina he possessed to keep clear of trouble himself.

When he was within six feet of the machine, a piercing scream rang out. Again he halted in his tracks. That hideous sound could mean only one thing. Those swinish Germans were not merely beating up the unfortunate Jew; they had started in to wring a confession from him. Gregory's stomach seemed to turn over. Yet, horrible as was the mental picture of Malacou being tortured, he steeled himself to ignore it.

Another scream echoed through the silent night. A cold sweat broke out on Gregory's forehead. He was seized by a fit of nausea and closed his eyes. A moment later he told himself that the ghastly treatment now being meted out to Malacou could be no worse than that inflicted on hundreds of other people in the countries over which the beast named Hitler ruled. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and had got hold of himself again. With renewed resolution he advanced to the motor-cycle and knelt down beside it with the intention of removing the sparking plug. As he reached out for the leather toolbag behind the saddle he realized that his hands were slimy with sweat and trembling so much that he could not undo its buckle…

Scream after scream came from the cottage. Gregory was shaken by a shudder. In a hoarse voice he let out an unprintable Italian oath that he used only at times of extreme distress. Then he began to curse Malacou. The occultist had been no more to him than a chance acquaintance met with in the course of a secret mission. He was a practitioner of bestial rites, had forced his daughter to commit incest with him and had driven her to suicide. He had robbed the von Alterns and by his evil machinations brought about Herman Hauff's death. He had held Gregory at Sassen against his will and to protect himself had even been prepared to murder him rather than let him fall alive into the hands of the Nazis. Lastly, that very night it had been his attempt to get away from Poland that had landed Gregory in this wretched situation. Few people could have less claim to Gregory's pity, let alone by his misfortune saddle him with the moral responsibility of attempting his rescue at the peril of his own life.

Frantic to get away and be done with this nightmare episode, Gregory continued to fumble with the tool satchel. He got the buckle undone but his sweaty fingers could not find the spanner needed to unscrew the sparking plug. Yet to ride off on one machine and leave the other still capable of functioning would, he knew, immensely reduce his chances of evading capture.

As he knelt there Malacou's whimpering cries continued to come clearly to him. Punctuated by brief intervals during which even his choking gasps for breath could be faintly heard, he gave tongue to imprecations, long-drawn-out groans and gabbled pleading. Gregory's hands dropped to his sides and he stood up. However evil and worthless the man who was being tortured, he could stand it no longer.

Yet his sudden decision to intervene, whatever the cost to himself, did not prevent him from exercising his habitual caution. Planting each foot carefully, so that its crunch was barely audible, he walked round the house. When he reached the front door he got out and cocked his automatic. Stepping softly into the hall, he peered through the inch-wide crack between the door jamb and the living-room door. The sight that he glimpsed through it did not surprise him. It served only to harden his cold rage against those thousands of Germans whom Hitler had turned into beasts more ferocious and pitiless than any to be met with in the wildest jungle.

Although to him it had seemed an age, probably less than two minutes had elapsed since he had heard Malacou's first screams; so the wretched man had not yet fainted from the agony to which he was being subjected. One square-faced blond young brute was holding the Jew's arms pinioned behind his back, while the other, who had his back to Gregory, was holding a cigarette lighter under Malacou's chin.

With his left hand Gregory thrust the door wide open. Lifting his right, he shot the nearer Nazi through the back of the head. In a second the tableau dissolved into a mass of whirling arms and legs. The head of the shot^, man jerked forward and spurted blood. Then he crashed to the floor. The other thug released Malacou and grabbed for his gun. Malacou, maddened by pain, his eyes starting from his head, heaved himself forward, tripped on the fallen Nazi then cannoned into Gregory. At the moment they collided Gregory fired his second shot. The man who had been holding Malacou had his pistol out but had not had time to take aim. To escape Gregory's shot he flung himself sideways, crashed heavily into a dresser at that side of the room, failed to recover his balance and fell sprawling on top of his dead comrade.

For a moment Gregory had been in complete command of the situation… But only for a moment. Malacou's blind charge to get through the door and escape had thrown him, too, off balance. Just as he fired, Malacou, with arms flung wide, had come hurtling at him. His pistol hand was knocked up and sideways. With a sickening thud it hit the door jamb, breaking the skin of his knuckles. He gave a gasp of pain and the pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers.

Malacou, bellowing with fear and pain, ducked beneath his outstretched arm, brushed past him and, still howling, dashed through the front door out into the darkness. Even as Gregory cursed the Jew his eyes remained fixed on the surviving Nazi. He had scrambled to his knees and still held his gun. Before he could lift it Gregory leapt forward and kicked him in the face.

With a yelp he went over backwards. His pistol- exploded and the bullet brought some of the china crashing down from the dresser. Losing not a second Gregory stepped over the body of the man he had shot and, as the other Nazi came up on his knees, kicked him in the crotch. From his bleeding mouth there issued an agonized wail, his eyes seemed about to start from his head, he dropped his gun, clutched at his testicles and bent right forward. Berserk with hatred for these blond beasts that Hitler had let loose upon the world, Gregory kicked the man's head with his heavy shoe then, after he had slid to the floor, kicked it again and again until it was a mass of blood with the temple stove in and he was undoubtedly dead.

When Gregory at last ceased kicking a sudden silence descended on the cottage. Breathing hard from his exertions he stood there surveying the shambles about him. Gradually, as he sucked the bleeding knuckles of his right hand, his frenzy subsided. He felt no compunction for what he had done; only a sense of relief that he had emerged victorious and without serious injury from such a violent and uneven conflict. Walking to the door he shouted for Malacou, but there came no reply. Evidently the pain-crazed Jew had made off in the darkness and was hiding somewhere in the marshes. In view of what had taken place in the cottage it now seemed unlikely that he would again risk returning to it.

As Gregory stood there in the open doorway he suddenly recalled the foreknowledge about which the occultist had been so greatly concerned when at Sassen. His stars had foretold that at about this time in 1944 he would be in grave danger of death, but would be saved by Gregory. At the thought Gregory grinned wryly. The prophecy had come true. All against his better judgement he had found himself compelled to rescue Malacou. But whether, now that he was again, on the run, he would succeed in evading capture was quite another matter. Whether he did or not meant nothing to Gregory. Brushing the Jew from his mind, he turned back into the cottage to deal with matters there.

He thought it unlikely that the two dead S.D. men would be missed until early in the morning, when they would be due to report before going off duty. Soon afterwards the country would be scoured for them and all lonely buildings in the area searched. But the longer the time that elapsed before their bodies were discovered the longer it would be before they were known to be dead, and a general call sent out giving the numbers of their motor-cycles with urgent orders to arrest anyone found using one of them. Therefore, Gregory reasoned, if he putt in an hour's hard work now, removing all signs of the struggle from the cottage and hiding the bodies in the marshes, he might delay for several hours the whole countryside becoming alive with police and troops on the look-out for him.

He stood for a moment looking down on the two dead men, then ran quickly through their pockets, taking their wallets and loose change. They were much of a size and he judged both to be an inch or two taller than himself. The man whom he had shot through the back of the head had blood all over his tunic; the other, although badly battered about the face and head, had bled comparatively little. Choosing the latter, Gregory set about the grim task of stripping him of his uniform. When he had got it off he dragged the body in a fireman's lift up across his shoulders. Bent nearly double under the weight, he carried it about fifty yards along the path by which he had come to the cottage, then for a further fifteen along a side turning on one side of which water glistened faintly between tall patches of reeds. After pausing for a minute to regain his breath, he exerted all his strength and heaved the body as far into the reeds as he could.

Returning, he collected a torch that had been part of the man's equipment and a big jug from the living-room dresser, then went round to examine the two motor-cycles. The tanks of both were well over half full, so he drew off enough from one to fill the other, then wheeled the partly empty one round to the front of the cottage. Leaving it there on its stand, he carried out the second body and sprawled it across the machine. Having satisfied himself that it would not fall off, he wheeled the motor-cycle with its gruesome load down to the place where he had thrown the first body into the water. Another heave and the second body followed the first. Upending the motor-cycle so that only the back wheel touched the ground he ran that into the water as far as he dared then let it crash down on top of the two bodies.

As the splash resounded he stood back gasping to survey his handiwork. The mudguard and part of the rear wheel of the machine still showed above the water, but there was nothing he could do about that. Anyone passing there in daylight could hardly fail to notice the partially submerged motor-cycle but only a small patch of reeds had been broken down and the marshes covered a wide area, so it might be several days before the bodies were found; and Gregory's purpose would be served if the S.D. men's fate remained uncertain for twenty-four hours.

His exertions had tired him terribly and his leg was paining him badly again, but he had now completed the most laborious part of the task he had set himself. Mopping the sweat from his forehead, he returned to the cottage at a slow walk. In a corner cupboard of the living room he found a bottle of Polish Cherry Liqueur and poured himself a good tot. It was poor stuff, made from potato spirit, and he needed no warming up, but it lent him new vigour for his further activities.

Lighting the oil stove he put a saucepan of water on to boil. While it was heating up he collected the pieces of broken china and hid them above the eye line on the top of the dresser, then changed into the uniform of the S.D. man whom he had stripped. Under one of the beds in the bedroom he found a suitcase and a hold-all. The latter being better suited to his purpose, he packed his own clothes in it, adding to them shaving and washing things that had belonged to either the Pole or Malacou, a soft Tyrolese hat with a feather in the band and such oddments of food as he found in the larder.

By that time the water was boiling. With a bucket and sponge he got down on his knees and, blessing the fact that the floorboards were covered with cheap linoleum, cleaned up the spilt blood. That done, he set about hunting for the reserve of money that he felt sure Malacou would have hidden somewhere about the cottage. Taking care to disturb things as little as possible, he searched every drawer and cupboard, looked behind the books in a small bookcase and for a loose brick in the hearth, then with a smooth skewer from the kitchen he prodded the pillows and mattresses, hoping to hear the rustle of bank notes. He had no luck, except in finding a map of Poland that would prove useful.

As a last resort he went through to a small slip room which he guessed had been occupied by Tarik. While hurriedly running through the hunchback's few poor belongings he wondered what had become of him; but could only assume that after they had all been surprised on the road either he had not returned to the cottage or, if he had, on the arrival of the S.D. men he had panicked and fled. Either way, it seemed a fair bet that, like Malacou, he was somewhere out on the marshes. Owing to the strong psychic bond that linked them, it seemed probable that by this time he had found his master and was striving to comfort him after the ordeal through which he had passed.

Gregory's search of Tarik's room did not yield even a few Polish kopecs or German Pfennige and a glance at his watch showed him that it was now nearly half past three; so he decided that he must abandon his hunt for any hoard that Malacou might have concealed in the cottage. That there was a round sum of money hidden there somewhere he would have bet his last shilling; but it now seemed certain that it had been secreted under the floorboards or somewhere in the thatch of the roof, and he could not possibly give the time to such thorough explorations.

Swiftly checking through the money he had taken from the two Nazis he found it amounted to eighty-four Reichsmarks and seven Pfennige, together with a few small-denomination Polish notes for which he had no use. That was the equivalent of about Ј7 10s. in English money; so would keep him only for a few days and was hopelessly inadequate for any attempt to get out of German-held territory. But it was better than nothing.

Still furious that his prospects of eluding his enemies should be so heavily handicapped by his failure to find Malacou's hoard, he quickly set the living-room furniture to rights so that no-one entering it would now have grounds for suspecting that a fight to the death had recently taken place there. Then he put out the oil lamp and, closing the front door behind him, went round to the back of the building.

At intervals, between his most strenuous exertions during the past hour, he had been trying to make up his mind on the best course to pursue. Lacking a solid sum to offer as a bribe, he felt certain that he had very little chance of persuading a skipper in one of the Baltic ports to run him over to Sweden. For a while he had contemplated the route Kuporovitch had taken, from Kiel up the Little Belt and across Denmark; but Kiel was over five hundred miles away and lack of money would again prove an obstacle almost impossible to overcome. The frontier of Switzerland was still more distant, and that of Spain obviously out of the question.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that money was the key to his problem. Without ready cash to distribute as need be he was like a boxer who has been handcuffed. Somehow he had to have funds, and considerable funds at that. But how could he possibly secure them? Not by remaining in the countryside. That was evident. Trees that grow golden apples flourish only in towns. They were banks, prosperous businesses and rich people who had big money and could be persuaded or tricked into parting with a wad of it.

He must, then, make for a city. And there was another advantage in that. Once the hunt was up the roads would all be scanned for him and the stolen motor-cycle, whereas in a city he would be able to lose himself in the crowds. But to go to Warsaw was no good, or to any other Polish city, since he could not speak Polish and he must get out of Poland as soon as possible. Czechoslovakia was no good either. To establish a new identity that would hold water he must get into Germany.

His mind ranged over the map which from long study he was able to visualize easily. In the north one city stood out beyond all others. It was the German capital.

For a moment Gregory shied away from the idea of endeavouring to seek safety in the heart of the Nazi Reich, for in it were concentrated the headquarters of every police organization that played a part in controlling Hitler's empire. Then an episode in a story he had read many years before recurred to him. It was by that great short-story writer C. E. Montague, and opened with the small son of a British Ambassador playing in an Embassy garden. He had been given a tortoise and his nurse said that beyond all things to eat tortoises loved cockroaches. A cockroach was procured, presumably from the Embassy kitchen, and set down in front of the tortoise like an early Christian before a lion. Realizing its peril, the cockroach lost not a second but leapt into the armpit of the tortoise, thus making it impossible for the tortoise to snap it up.

Having strapped the hold-all containing his clothes on to the motor-cycle behind the saddle, Gregory kicked the starter, mounted the machine and set off for Berlin.

15

The Armpit of the Tortoise

The track ran north-east and after bumping along it for a mile and a half he found that it came out on the road to Rozan. Turning west he increased his speed and two minutes later passed the place where the aircraft had landed. A few miles further on he struck the broad main road where it made a sharp angle. During the past week he had imprinted on his mind a map of the area, so he knew that the left-hand fork led south to Pultusk and Warsaw. Thinking it wise to keep well away from the more highly populated area round the capital, he swung right and, now that his powerful machine had a good surface to move on, roared away to the north.

After about six miles he passed through a silent village, and another twelve brought him to a small town that he decided must be Przasnysz. There the trunk road continued straight on through the market square but, feeling that he was now sufficiently far north of Warsaw, he took a side turning that led west.

Now that he was over thirty miles away from Malacou's cottage he was entering territory that he had not memorized; so a little way outside the town he pulled up, got out the map he had found at the cottage, shone his torch on it and spent some minutes studying it for the best route to take. He saw that the second-class road he was now on wound about considerably, but its general direction was westward and in a little over twenty miles would bring him to the town of Mlawa. From there it curved north-west through two villages, then ran west again to the railway junction of Brodnica.

When he reached Mlawa the summer dawn was breaking and there were lights in the windows of some of the houses, but no one was yet about. A church clock struck five as he passed on his way out of the town. For the next hour he still met no traffic, but from some of the farms men and women were trudging off to work. At about half past six he entered Brodnica. There were a few people in the streets and a Polish policeman on duty in the square; but after a hasty glance at him everyone looked quickly away, afraid, he guessed, that he might see in their eyes the hatred they had for everyone in the uniform he was wearing.

From Brodnica he took the road to the provincial city of Turum, which lay another forty miles away to the south-west. Owing to petrol rationing the road continued to be free of traffic except for an occasional farmer's cart, but by the time he was half-way to Turum he was feeling very tired. A little less than twelve hours had elapsed since he had left Brindisi in the aircraft, and he had slept for a good part of the flight, but the past five hours had put a great strain upon him. Although it was eleven months since his leg had been smashed it continued to be a disability when used in strenuous exertions. Disposing of the two S.D. men's bodies had taken a lot out of him and between half past three and seven o'clock he had covered over a hundred and ten miles.

He would have given a lot to lie up for a few hours somewhere that side of Turum, but he felt it imperative to take the utmost advantage of the lead he had secured; so he made up his mind to keep going until he had passed through the provincial city. He reached its outskirts about seven-thirty. By now, although it was most unlikely that the bodies of the S.D. men would have yet been found, it was possible that their failure to report had led to a general call being put out for them; so, as a precaution against the number of his motor-cycle being noted, instead of going through the city centre, where it was certain that traffic policemen would be on duty, he turned off to the right and made a wide detour through the suburbs until he got on to the main highway that led to the city of Bydgoszcz.

As soon as he was clear of Turum' he began to look about for a suitable place to lie up during the day; but, as so often happens when looking for a good place to picnic, his luck was out. The country was as flat as a pancake and open fields stretched away on both sides of the road as far as the eye could see. With faultless rhythm the machine carried him on mile after mile until he was so weary that he feared that he would not be able to control it for much longer, and it was not until he was within twelve miles of Bydgoszcz that he drew near a wood that would serve his purpose.

Slowing down, he turned off up a track through the trees, then began to look about for a place where he might hope to sleep for a few hours without anyone coming upon him.

Several hundred yards from the road he reached a wooden bridge over a small stream. Having dismounted and scrambled down to the water's edge he found that there was just enough room to conceal the motor-cycle under the bridge on one bank and for him to stretch out and sleep on the other. To get the heavy machine down and into its temporary garage took all his remaining strength. Straining and cursing, he managed it; then unrolled the hold-all to lie upon and used the country clothes in which he had flown out from England as a pillow.

In the five hours since he had left Malacou's cottage he reckoned that he had covered some hundred and sixty miles, so he was well out of the danger area and felt he could consider himself extremely lucky. His main worry for the moment was the thought of Erika's distress when she learned that he had not returned with the aircraft. At the moment, as it was half past eight, he thought it certain that she would be awake. Visualizing her in bed at Gwaine Meads, he thought of her with love and longing; but he was so exhausted that after a few moments he fell fast asleep.

When he awoke a glance at his watch showed him that it was getting on for four o'clock in the afternoon, so he had slept for over seven hours. Although he felt much refreshed his bad leg was very stiff, and it was not until he had exercised it gently for some minutes that he turned his thoughts to other matters. Anxious as he was to put more miles between himself and Rozan, he decided that, now the hunt must be up for the missing men, it would be wiser not to make another start until dusk had fallen; for after dark there would be much: less likelihood of a policeman-chancing to notice the number on the motor-cycle, and connecting it with any call that had gone out.

He felt ravenously hungry but the only food he had found in the cottage larder was the half of a small wild duck, a lump of sausage, a thin wedge of cheese and a loaf of rye bread. Putting aside the duck and cheese for his dinner, he slowly masticated some of the coarse bread and sausage then made a more thorough examination of the two S.D. men's wallets. Both contained permits to buy petrol, but he knew that if he produced one of them at a garage the number on the card would be entered in a book and he would have to sign for the petrol in the name of the man to whom it had been issued. Sooner or later such a forgery would be discovered, giving away the direction in which the stolen machine had been driven, and enabling the garage man to give a description of him and that might prove his undoing. His strongest card was that although every effort would be made to trace the machine, unless Malacou was caught and squealed the police could not have the faintest idea what the person who had made off on it was like. To protect this most valuable anonymity he decided not to use _either of the permits unless all other ways of securing a further supply of petrol failed.

In both wallets there were also identity cards, but to have made use of one of them would have been acutely dangerous, as the names of the missing men would, anyway for the next few days, be in the minds of every policeman in north, Germany. However, as he was wearing the uniform of an S.D. trooper no-one, other than an S.D. officer, had the authority to challenge him, and it was very unlikely that he would run into one until he reached Berlin. In the capital, though, as the badges he was wearing would show that he belonged to a formation stationed in occupied Poland, he might well be challenged and if he were the fat would be in the fire.

This thought made him wonder if it would not be wisest to put on his civilian clothes while he had the chance, but the uniform was such an excellent protection from any form of interference while on the road that he decided not to change out of it as yet.

As he had nothing else with which to occupy himself, the next few hours seemed interminable. He thought a lot of Erika, wondered what had happened to Malacou and cursed the day he had met him; then speculated on possible ways of obtaining money when he reached Berlin, but gave that up as futile for the present.

At length the shadows began to fall. Still hungry after his last unsatisfactory meal he ate the rest of the rye bread and every shred of the duck, then set about the job of getting the motor-cycle up the steep bank of the stream. Slipping, holding, cursing, it took him a good ten minutes, and when he did get the heavy machine on to the level he had to sit down for a while to recover from his efforts. Then, kicking the engine into life, he wheeled it, just ticking over, to within twenty feet of the road. Having made certain that nothing was approaching from either direction, he mounted it and set off.

He still had another twelve miles to go to Bydgoszcz and the petrol in his tank was getting very low, so he was uneasily aware that somehow, soon, he would have to get it filled up. Slowing down at two villages through which he passed, he kept a sharp look-out for a possible source of supply but, apart from garages, failed to find one. By that time he was nearing Bydgoszcz and was getting worried; so when, outside a Fair-sized villa on the outskirts of the town, he saw a car, he pulled up beside it, dismounted and sounded the klaxon.

After a few minutes a short plump, elderly man came out of the house, walked down the garden path and asked him in German what he wanted. In the harsh, dictatorial voice habitual to S.D. thugs, Gregory said that he had run right out of petrol and must have some. The man suggested that he should go on into the town and, as it was only a little after nine o'clock, knock up a garage. Gregory replied that his tank was almost drained, that he was on urgent duty and could not afford the delay should his machine fail before he reached the pump. The man protested that he was a doctor and about to visit a bad case at a farm some miles away, so could not spare any petrol. Gregory said he could not help that. Petrol he must have, and at once. He would give the doctor a chit to secure more, but unless he met the demand he would find himself in trouble.

Under the threat the doctor quailed, became ingratiatingly polite and hurried back to the house to fetch a piece of rubber tubing. While he was absent Gregory took from the breast pocket of his uniform a notebook and fountain pen and scribbled on one of the pages: Commandeered from Herr Doktor -, seventeen litres of petrol for urgent requirements, then signed it: Albrecht Schmidt, No. 4785 Sicherheitsdienst. Ten minutes later the petrol had been siphoned from the tank of the doctor's car into the tank of the motor-cycle and Gregory had filled in the doctor's name on the chit.

During this transaction Gregory kept the peak of his uniform cap pulled well down over his eyes and, the light from the headlamps by which it had been carried out having been well below the level of his face, he felt sure that the plump doctor, if ever called on to give a description of him, would be able to give only a very vague one. With an abrupt word of thanks, he set off again to go through Bydgoszcz.

By luck he found a bypass that took him round it to the entrance of an autobahn signposted ` Berlin '. He roared along it for sixty miles. Then it joined the Danzig-Berlin highway with a signpost that said ` Berlin 160 Kilometres'. Down it he continued to let the powerful machine rip, and when he had covered three-quarters of the distance he could see a glow in the sky ahead that was evidently over Berlin.

As he drew nearer he realized that an air-raid was in progress. The glow was from fires and the scores of searchlights that swept the sky. A myriad tiny sparks flickered at the extremities of the beams as hundreds of anti-aircraft shells exploded, and in the distance he caught the continuous rumble made by the crashing of the bombs. By the time he neared the end of the autobahn the raid was over and only a lurid glare from raging fires lit the sky.

By then it was half past one in the morning. Slowing down, he looked out for a suitable spot in which to abandon the motor-cycle. Not finding one he took a side turning to the north along which, interspersed among fields, back lots and orchards; there were small factories and short rows of small houses. A mile or so along it he came to a humpbacked bridge beneath which ran a railway culvert.

Pulling up at the side of the road he took a screwdriver from the tool kit, removed the number plates from the machine and put them in his pockets. Then, making certain that no-one was about, he wheeled the motor-cycle some distance off the road, unstrapped the hold-all and pushed the machine over the brick edge of the culvert, so that it crashed on to the railway line fifteen feet below. Pleased by the thought that the next train that passed would render Germany the poorer by one powerful motor-cycle and that, with luck, it might even derail itself, he picked up the hold-all and returned to the road. Five minutes later he threw the number plates into a deep ditch which was screened by a fine crop of nettles.

He now felt very tired and after half an hour's tramp through the blacked-out deserted streets of the suburb he was limping again. But about two o'clock he came upon the sort if place for which he was looking. It was an unpretentious inn, somewhat older than the majority of the buildings in the neighborhood, with a tea garden beside it and large enough to have eight or ten bedrooms.

Several minutes of ringing and knocking roused and brought sown the landlord, a very fat, elderly man with a patch over one eye, wearing a threadbare dressing gown. After giving him a Nazi salute and a loud `Heil Hitler', Gregory said in a disgruntled voice

`I'm on leave from Hamburg. My girl lives in this neighborhood and I'd planned to spend my leave with her. But she left her digs two days ago and her letter telling me where she's moved to must have missed me. Her bloody landlady either doesn’t know or won't tell me on account of a quarrel they had, end I've spent half the night trying to trace her without any luck. I'll find her tomorrow through mutual friends, but I've peen up since five this morning, so I want a room to sleep in.'

The landlord shook his head. `I'm sorry, Herr Reiter, I'd be pleased to oblige you. But the bombing has destroyed so many people's homes that every room I've got is taken.'

`Teufel nochmal!' Gregory groaned. `What hellish luck. Still, it can't be helped. As I'm nearly out on my feet I'll doss down on a sofa in your lounge.'

To that the landlord readily agreed, ushered him in and locked up again. As they passed through the saloon bar Gregory noticed two glass covers with Brцtchen under them and a jar of biscuits. Announcing that he would have a snack before going to sleep he asked the man to fix him a double brandy and Apollinaris.

While Gregory munched and drank they carried on a desultory conversation. The landlord asked how things were in Hamburg and Gregory told him that the bombing had been perfectly bloody. His companion replied that the bombing had been perfectly bloody in Berlin, too. Then, obviously for Gregory's benefit, he endeavoured, not very successfully, to say how convinced he was that the Allies would soon be driven out of France and the war brought to a victorious conclusion by the Fьhrer’s `Secret Weapons'.

Having eaten his fill Gregory asked the man what he owed him, then took out his wallet and paid. As he did so he fixed the landlord with a steady stare, silently daring him to ask for a ration slip. To ignore regulations of that kind would, he knew, be in keeping with his role as an S.D. trooper, and the man accepted his abuse of his uniform without comment. Eager to please, he offered to find a rug for Gregory to wrap himself in, but the night was warm, so Gregory told him not to bother. Five minutes later he had stretched out on a sofa in the inn Parlour and the landlord was on his way back to bed.

As an old soldier Gregory possessed the ability to wake near any hour on which he had set his mind and before he dropped off he set his mental alarm clock for half past five. Rousing at that hour he felt stale and shivery, but he found the cloakroom and a wash revived him. In there he also shaved in cold water and changed from the uniform into his own clothes, packing the uniform into the hold-all; but he stowed the shaving kit into one of his pockets.

In the bar, on the old principle that when in enemy territory one should live off the land, he helped himself to a pint flagon of Branntwein and stuffed his pockets with as many Brotchen and biscuits as he could get into them. Then, shortly before six o'clock, still carrying the hold-all, he quietly let himself out of the front door.

He had entered the capital from the north-east, and although he knew the centre of the city well his knowledge of the metropolitan area was only rudimentary. He was aware that its equivalent to London's East End lay in Moabit and Charlottenburg, and that the rich lived further out to the south and west, mainly in the exclusive suburb of Dahlem or on pleasant properties along the east bank of a long stretch of water known as the Havel, at the extremity of which lay Potsdam. But of Berlin north of the River Spree he knew nothing so, taking the sun for a guide, he headed south.

Now that daylight had come he found his surroundings more than ever depressing. Unlike the English and the Dutch, the Germans have never been keen gardeners so, although it was high summer, there was hardly a flower to be seen in front of the long rows of small houses and blocks of workers' flats. Here and there along the road there was a factory, to which men and women were now cycling up in droves to start on the day shift, or a line of still-closed shops. Every few hundred yards buildings had been reduced to rubble by the bombing, and several times he had to turn down a side street because the main road was closed owing to time bombs dropped in a recent raid.

Whenever he had to turn off course he veered to the west and, after a time, found himself in the broad Friedrichstrasse. Proceeding down it, he reached the bridge over the Spree. In The middle of the bridge he halted, put his hold-all on the stone coping and stood there for a while looking down at the river. As is always the case on a city bridge, several other loungers were doing the same thing. Having stood there for a few minutes, he made a gesture as though to take up the hold-all, but knocked it off the parapet. As it hurtled downwards and splashed into the river there came excited cries from the nearest bystanders. Gregory leaned over and stared down in apparent consternation. A few people moved up and commiserated with him. But there was nothing to be done. The hold-al1 had already sunk, and there was no possibility of its recovery.

With a glum face, which concealed his inward satisfaction, e turned away. He had now disposed of everything which could connect him with the affair at Malacou's cottage.

So far, so good. But he was still faced with two far more difficult problems-how to reach and cross a neutral frontier and, more difficult still, how to acquire the money to reach one.

Walking on, he came to the Unter den Linden, with its imposing blocks and three lines of fine trees. He found it sadly altered since he had last seen it in the winter of 1939. Bomb blast had torn great gaps in the trees, every few hundred yards there were railed-off craters, and during four and a half years of war the paint had peeled from the handsome buildings that lined it. Many of them had collapsed as a result of the air-raids, or had been burnt out.

Turning west, he decided to make a short tour of the principal streets in order to refresh his memory of the geography of the city. Strolling down the Wilhelmstrasse, he saw that Goebbels' Ministry, the Reich Chancellery and the huge block formed by Goering's Air Ministry all had chunks out of their upper storeys due to bombs. Had he still been wearing his stolen S.D. uniform he would never have dared to turn into the Albrecht Strasse, as in it was the H.Q. of the Gestapo, and from it officers were constantly coming and going, one of whom might have challenged him. But now that he was again in civilian clothes, with nothing to distinguish him from other ordinary Berliners, he passed the building with impunity, wondering only where his old enemy Gruppenfьhrer Grauber was at that moment.

By way of the Potsdamer Platz and the Hermann Goering Strasse he made his way back to the Linden where it ended at the Brandenburg Gate. Beyond it to the east lay the Tiergarten. That, too, was pockmarked by bomb craters with, between them, a veritable forest of long-barrelled ack-ack guns and batteries of searchlights. In a part of it in which the public were still allowed to walk, he sat down on a bench to consider his extremely worrying situation.

In Berlin every man and woman was an enemy. There was no-one from whom he could borrow money or secure any other form of help, and however carefully he endeavoured to conserve the small store of marks he had taken from the S.D. men's wallets they must be exhausted in the course of a few days. It therefore seemed that his only means of obtaining

funds was by robbery. Although he was armed he decided that to attempt a bank hold-up would be too risky, while if he tried burgling a private house it was very unlikely that he would find in it the sort of sum he needed in ready money.

It then occurred to him that the cash desk in a smart restaurant such as Horcher's, or in the dining room of a big hotel, would be certain to contain a fat wad of notes, particularly after dinner; and that he would have a much better chance of getting away with it than by trying to rob a bank. The Adlon was not far off, so he stood up with the intention of paying it a visit and spying out the land.

The buildings on either side of the great luxury hotel had been blitzed, but it appeared to have escaped damage. He felt a little dubious about going into this famous haunt of Germany 's aristocracy and millionaires, dressed in old country clothes; but the war had brought about as great a deterioration in Berlin 's social life as the Allies' bombs had on the appearance of the city. Prostitutes and profiteers now rubbed shoulders with the old hour monde and many people who had been bombed out, having lost their wardrobes, were reduced to wearing any clothes they could pick up on the Black Market. So, as he entered the big foyer, he was pleased to find that among the motley throng moving about its business there he was not at all conspicuous.

By then it was the pre-lunch hour so dozens of people were arriving to join friends for cocktails. Walking through to the entrance to the restaurant he saw that a woman was seated at the cash desk and that it consisted of a wooden box the upper part of which was enclosed by plate-glass screens. That did not look very promising as it would be far from easy to grab the money through the low aperture in the front of the box. However, there were many hours yet to go before nightfall, so plenty of time for him to reconnoitre other places in one of which it seemed certain a snatch and run would prove easier, and it occurred to him that might be the case in the bar.

On entering it he felt that he deserved a drink and that to have it in these pleasant surroundings would be worth the extra cost so, damning the expense, he ordered a large champagne cocktail. Sitting up at the bar, he turned on his stool and ran his eye over the many pretty women and their escorts who were having drinks at the little tables on the other side of the room. Suddenly his heart gave a bound. A slim young woman seated with her back to him had her hair dressed high, with a few delicious little dark curls on the nape of the neck, and he had many times kissed just such curls on thee neck of Sabine Tuzolto.

Could it be? She looked the right height. If so… Quickly,, he picked up his drink and carried it to a place further along the bar. From his new position he could see the girl's face in one of the big gilt-framed mirrors on the opposite wall. At a glance he saw that her features bore no resemblance to Sabine's, and he was conscious of a sharp stab of disappointment. But her having called Sabine to mind gave him an idea.

Although Sabine was Hungarian and her home was in Budapest,^- since she had become Ribbentrop's girl friend.: she had spent a great part of her time with him in Berlin. If she was still the Nazi Foreign Minister's mistress it was possible that she was in Berlin now. Yet, even should she be, Gregory was-by no means certain that he could count her a friend.

A he drank his cocktail, his mind shuttled back and forth recalling episodes from the two periods in which they had been lovers, and speculating on what her present feelings towards him might be.

He had first seen her one night in 1936 at the Casino in Deauville,l a supremely beautiful girl just turned twenty. Her companion had been the head of an international smuggling ring and he had been making use of Sabine in his nefarious activities. She would have been arrested and sent to prison with others of the gang had not Gregory later got- her out of England. He had taken her back to Budapest and there, for several joyous weeks, she had willingly rewarded him by becoming his mistress.

His mind moved on to those hectic weeks he had spent in Budapest in the summer of 1942; to' how Sabine had saved him from his enemies and returned with him to England; to the way she had fooled him and, when in London, spied for the Nazis, got caught and been arrested.

1. See Contraband.

When she was a prisoner in the Tower of London it had seemed near impossible to get her out. But by an intrigue with the Moldavian Military Attachй, Colonel Kasdar, Gregory had enabled her to escape and return to Germany. And he had done so without laying himself open to any charge for he, in his turn, had fooled and made use of her.

The convoys carrying the Allied troops for `Torch' were already on their way to North Africa. With the connivance of the Deception Planners he had sent her back to Ribbentrop with false information about the objective of the expedition. Later it had been learned through secret channels that the information she took back had duly reached Hitler, and had so fully corroborated all the other measures already taken to fool the Germans that the deception plan had proved a complete success.

Believing that the `Torch' convoys ware making for the east coast of Sicily, so would have to pass through the narrow Straits of Bonn on the afternoon of Sunday November 9th, Kesselring had grounded his air force the previous day, when the convoys were within range,, intending to blitz them with maximum effect on the Sunday. But at midnight the convoys had turned back and at dawn on the 8th landed their troops in Oran and Algiers without the loss of a single ship.

As Gregory toyed with his champagne cocktail and thought of all this, he wondered what Sabine's reactions would be if she were in Berlin and he could find her.

Since the Nazis had shot so many W.A.A.F.s and other courageous women who had parachuted into German-occupied territory the British authorities had decided to put chivalrous scruples behind them and have Sabine shot. As he had got her out of the Tower she owed her life to him; while by having enabled him to escape from Budapest he owed his life to her. That cancelled out. But in order to save her he had had to deceive her so that she in turn would deceive Hitler; and how she had come out of that he had no idea.

It was quite probable that on discovering that he had been fooled Hitler had been furious with Ribbentrop and Ribbentrop furious with her for having led him to communicate false information to his Fuehrer. The odds were, therefore, that she had been through a very sticky time and if she realized that Gregory had deliberately lied to her there was a risk that her resentment might be so intense that she would hand him over to the Gestapo. As against that, in this great city filled with enemies she was the only person who might, for old times' sake, be persuaded to befriend him; so he decided to try to seek her out.

Finishing his drink, he went to the row of telephone booths and looked in a directory for the name Tuzolto. As he had feared, it was not in the book. The only other way of tracing her, if she was in Berlin, was through Ribbentrop; but to ring up the Minister was out of the question. All the same, Gregory looked up Ribbentrop's private number, found that he still lived in the suburb of Dahlem, and made a note of the address.

Leaving the Adlon he went back to the Tiergarten, sat down on a bench and made a scratch meal off some of the now mangled Brotchen and crumbled biscuits that he had hastily pushed into his pockets early that morning.

At about half past one he walked to the nearest tram halt and asked a woman standing near him if a tram went out to Dahlem.

`No,' she replied, `you would have done better to go to the Potsdamer Bahenhoff and take an electric as far as the Grunewald; but these days there's always a chance that the line is blocked and they're not running. You'd best now take the next Potsdam tram and get off at the Round-point in the wood. The conductor will tell you.'

A few minutes later Gregory forced his way on to a crowded tram. It followed the main artery west towards Charlottenburg. As it clanged its way into the workers' quarter he was amazed to see on both sides of the highway the havoc that bombs had wrought. Whole rows of buildings had been rendered uninhabitable. Many had been reduced to piles of debris, others gaped open with tottering, shored-up walls rearing skyward. It seemed impossible that anyone could have survived in what must have been such a hell of explosions, flame and collapsing houses. Yet the pavements were swarming with ill-clad, glum-looking people.

After traversing two miles of this nightmare area the tram turned south-west and entered a slightly more prosperous neighborhood. Here, too, there was much evidence of the air raids and at one point the passengers had to leave the tram because the road was blocked. But after walking a few hundred yards they boarded another tram which carried them into better suburbs on the edge of the Spandau Forest. In due course they reached the Round-point. The woman conductor told Gregory to take the road to the east and that there was no tramway to Dahlem, but he might get a 'bus if he waited long enough.

Deciding to walk, he set off along a road lined with houses standing in their own gardens. Half an hour later he arrived in the leafy side road he was seeking and another two hundred paces brought him to the gate to Ribbentrop's villa.

It was a commodious monstrosity typical of those built by wealthy industrialists in Victorian times. That Ribbentrop had not left it after his rise to power for some more spacious and imposing mansion showed that he had neither the taste nor ostentation of Goering; but he would naturally do his public entertaining at the Foreign Office and, Gregory suspected, probably continued to make the villa his home for sentimental reasons, as it had been the scene of many momentous meetings during the rise of the Nazi Party.

Gregory regarded it with interest, recalling what he had heard about the place. Ribbentrop had been one of the very few of Hitler's early adherents who had money; or, rather, his wife had, for he had married Anneliese Henkel, the heiress of the great German Sparkling Wine House, of which he had been an employee. Hitler had often stayed with the couple in this Dahlem villa and as he understood no language other than German, Ribbentrop, who was fluent in both French and English, habitually read out to him translations of the political articles in the leading foreign Press. It was their long discussions after having read these articles that had convinced Hitler that Ribbentrop was another Bismarck, and later led to his appointment as Ambassador to Britain, then as Foreign Minister of the Third Reich.

As Gregory stood there he thought how differently things might have gone had those intimate talks never taken place. It was Ribbentrop who had convinced Hitler, in spite of the strenuous, contrary opinions expressed by the professional diplomats and by Goering and the General Staff, that the British people had become entirely decadent and that there was not the least likelihood of their Government going to war on behalf of Poland. That he had proved completely wrong had not shaken Hitler's faith in him; for, even to himself, the egomaniacal Dictator would never admit that his judgement had been at fault; so it was the vain, self-opinionated, ex-wine salesman who had been mainly responsible for bringing about the war, and who continued to lord it at the Foreign Office.

Pushing open the side gate, Gregory walked up a path. that led to the back entrance of the villa and rang the bell. It was answered by a kitchen maid, of whom he asked if he could have a word with the Herr Reichsaussenminister's valet. She told him to wait and alter a few minutes an elderly fat-faced man came to the door. Departing a little from his normally impeccable German, Gregory said to him:

`Forgive me for troubling you, mein Herr, but I am a Hungarian, recently arrived from Budapest. My mother was the nurse of the Frau Baronin Tuzolto and I have messages for her. But I have not her address and she is not in the telephone book. My mother told me that she is a close friend of the Herr Reichsaussenminister; so it occurred to me that someone in his household might be able to help me.'

The fat- faced man grinned. `Yes, she was a friend of his and as lush a piece as anyone could find to go to bed with; but i don't think he sees much of her now. She never comes here, of course. The missus wouldn't have stood for that. The boss installed her in a nice little villa he owns on Schlachten Inset, just at the entrance to the Wannsee. Used to use it for boating parties when times were better. For all I know she's still there. Anyway, you could go there and enquire. That's the best I can do for you.'

Having learned that the place was called the Villa Seeaussicht and the best way to get to it, Gregory thanked the man profusely and turned away. From Dahlem he walked back to the Round-point, from there he took a tram a further two miles along the road to Potsdam, then walked again down a side road through the woods to the Havel.

At that point the fifteen-mile-long lake was a good mile and a half wide and he saw that Schlachten Island projected from near the shore on which he stood, about three-quarters of a mile into it. Crossing a, short causeway to the island, he found that there were several properties on it and that the Villa Seeaussicht was on the south shore; so evidently derived its name from having a splendid view right down the broad arm of the Havel known as the Wannsee.

Framed in trees, the villa stood about fifty yards back from the road. To one side there was a separate building, obviously a big garage with rooms for a chauffeur above, but it was shut and no car stood outside it. The villa itself had three storey’s and its size suggested that it was about a ten-room house. Muslin curtains in the^-upper windows implied that it was occupied, but in the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon no one was about; so Gregory felt that he could carry out a reconnaissance without much fear of being seen.

Being so doubtful about the sort of reception Sabine would accord him-if, indeed, she was still living there-he was most anxious to avoid presenting himself in circumstances which might prejudice the results of their meeting. For that it was essential that he should come upon her unannounced and alone, so that should she prove willing to help him there would be a chance for her to hide him there temporarily without any servant being aware of his presence or, should she at first grove hostile, he would at least have a chance of talking her round before she gave him away in front of any third party.

Entering a side gate he stepped into a shrubbery, then made its way along a narrow passage behind the garage to a small yard. Beyond the yard there was another shrubbery, under cover of which he continued to advance. From between the bushes he could now see that the back of the villa looked out on to a pleasant lawn that ran down to the water and that at one side of its extremity there stood a low boat house. He saw, too, that about half-way down the lawn, on his side of it, there was a swing hammock with a striped canopy. As the hammock was end on to him he could not see if anyone-was in it; but a book lying on the ground and a garden table nearby, with a glass on it, suggested there might be. Treading with great caution 'he reached the back of the deep hammock and, holding his breath, peered over the edge. His heart gave a bound. Sabine was lying there asleep.

So his luck was in. He had sought and found her. But was finding her really good luck, he wondered, as he gazed down it this lovely wanton creature who had been the mistress of both himself and Ribbentrop. From what the fat-faced valet in Dahlem had said it seemed that Ribbentrop had cast her off. if that had been due to the false information with which he, Gregory, had sent her back to Germany, she might seize eagerly on the chance to revenge herself. And there was another thing. If he could succeed in explaining away his having lied to her, and she ranked the safety of her old lover above her duty as a Nazi, her welcome might prove almost as dangerous as her enmity. He knew her amorous nature too well to suppose that, should she agree to hide him, she would not expect him to go to bed with her again. And he was most loath to be unfaithful to Erika. Yet in Sabine lay his only hope of getting safely out of Germany.

16

The Lovely Wanton

SABINE was dressed in a light summer frock, and for a few moments Gregory stood there admiring her slim figure and the perfection of her features. She was now about twenty-eight and had changed little since he had first known her. A few tiny laughter wrinkles showed at the corners of her mouth and her hips and bust were slightly larger, but her magnolia-petal skin remained unblemished and a splendid foil to the dark hair that grew down so attractively into her smooth forehead as a widow's peak. Her mouth was a little open and showed a glimpse of her small, even teeth; her lips had always been a bright red, which he knew owed little to lipstick, and her dark eyelashes curled up making delightful fans on her cheeks.

Stepping back out of sight, in a clear voice he spoke one of the few sentences in Hungarian that he knew: `Holy virgin, we believe that without sin thou didst conceive.' It was the first line of a couplet he had heard her say a score of times before they had gone to bed together.

Suddenly there was a stir in the hammock. As Sabine sat up he ducked down behind it. With a low laugh she completed the couplet, `And now we pray, in thee believing, that we may sin without conceiving.' Then she cried, `Come out from behind there, whoever you are.'

Putting his head up above the back edge of the hammock, he grinned at her.

`Gregory!' she exclaimed, her black eyes going round with amazement.

`Then I'm not the only one who has heard you say your little prayer,' he laughed.

Goodness, no,' she laughed back. `But I thought you must be one of my old Hungarian boy friends. What in the world are you doing here?

'Oh, I'm in Berlin to destroy the Third Reich and put an end to the war,' he replied lightly.

`I wish to God you could,' she said with sudden seriousness. `The air-raids have become simply ghastly. Every night I go to bed expecting to be blown to pieces before morning. But, honestly; how do you come to be in Berlin?

'The usual way. I caught an aircraft and was dropped by parachute.'

She frowned. `You've come as a spy, then? After you got me out of the Tower and failed to get away yourself it was certain you would be arrested. I thought, perhaps, that you'd escaped from prison and managed to get here as a refugee. You told me that if your plan failed you would be finished with the British and try to get to Ireland.'

`It didn't fail, as far as you were concerned,' he said quickly. `But, of course, I was arrested. They gave me a whacking great prison sentence; so I've had a very thin time these past eighteen months. I'm only out now on what you might call ticket-of leave. Sent here to spy for England.'

As he told the lies he had prepared should he succeed in finding her, he watched her expression intently. For now was the critical moment. To his immense relief the frown left her face and, shaking her head, she said, `So you've been in prison on my account. You poor darling. But come round here and tell me about it.'

`I'd better not,' he replied. `I might be seen from the house and I'm on the run, remember. I knew I could trust you, but for both our sakes we mustn't be seen together.'

She shrugged. `You needn't worry. In the daytime I'm all alone here except for my maid Trudi; and it's her afternoon and evening off.'

Reassured, Gregory came round from behind the hammock and sat down beside her. With a smile, he said, `You wouldn't be you, my sweet, if you didn't have company at nights. Is it still Ribb, or have you another boy friend?

'I still see Ribb at times, but not often these days. He lets me stay on here, though, and my present boy friend, if you can call the old so-and-so that, was provided by him. He's a once-aweeker. Think of that, as a contrast to yourself, my dear, and those wonderful first weeks we spent together in Budapest.'

Of them Gregory needed no reminding. As her dark eyes, full of wickedness, caught his he could see her again lying naked and laughing on a bed, shaking her hair back a little breathlessly as she reached for a glass of champagne. This disclosure made him more uneasy than ever; for, since Sabine had such an unsatisfactory lover, he felt certain now that if she did let him stay there she would look on him as a heaven-sent outlet for her amorous propensities. As he was wondering how he could deal with such a situation, she said

`You'd never guess who my present boy friend is.' `Without a clue, how can I

'Oh, he's an old friend of yours; at least, a sort of connection -er, by marriage.'

`But I'm not married.'

`No, but there's that lovely blonde that got so het-up when she learned about our trip together down the Danube. You told me in London that for a long time past you had looked on her as your wife.'

`What, Erika? But I've never met any of her relations.' Sabine's big, dark eyes twinkled with amusement. `You've met her husband.'

`Kurt von Osterberg! My God, you can't mean…?

'I do. He has been living here with me for the past three months.'

`But damn it! He must be nearly sixty and…

`Don't I know it, my dear. And I shouldn't think he ever was much good between the sheets. But there it is. I'm saddled with him and trying to make the best of it.'

`But in God's name why?' Gregory stared at her in amazement. `You're as lovely as ever you were, and could take your pick of a hundred lovers. Von Osterberg hasn't even got any money. Erika married him only because it meant so much to her dying father that she should rehabilitate herself in the eyes if the aristocracy after her affaire with Hugo Falkenstein; and he picked Kurt because she knew that if she financed his scientific experiments with a part of the millions Falkenstein left her he would raise no objections to her having boy friends.'

Sabine made a little face. `My dear, for getting me out of the Tower you say you had to pay by being sent to prison. After I got back here I had to pay in another way, because the information you gave Colonel Kasdar was false.'

`1 know; but I didn't realize that till afterwards,' Gregory lied smoothly. `As I told you, I was never a Planner myself, only one of the bodies in the Cabinet War Room who stuck pins in maps. I thought that I'd passed the right dope to Kasdar for you to take back, but my pal on the Planning Staff had sold me the Deception Plan.'

`Is that the truth?' she asked, a shade suspiciously.

`Of course,' he replied, without blinking an eyelid. 'Kasdar's price for getting you away in a Moldavian ship was that I should get him the objectives of Operation "Torch"; so that by passing them on to the Nazis he would stand well with them when they had won the war and Hitler took over all the little neutrals that had stayed on the fence. He was pretty well informed about most things, so I didn't dare try to trick him. If he'd found me out he would have ditched us both.'

`Well, I'll take your word for it. There are times when even Ribb doesn't know what the Fьhrer has really decided. He's often told me that so many different versions about our next moves are put out by Bormann and Keitel that he is led to believe one thing and Goering and Himmler others. I suppose in Churchill's headquarters it's much the same. Of course, I couldn't help suspecting you, but I did think you might have been fooled yourself.'

Gregory suppressed a sigh of relief at having got over that nasty fence. But she was going on:

`All the same, you landed me in a pretty mess. As your information tallied with so much else they'd had, the Fьhrer didn't take it out of Ribb; but Ribb did out of me because he had given himself a lot of kudos from having had in me a first class spy who had done better than any of Admiral. Canaris's people or Himmler's. As soon as it emerged that I'd been fooled the fat was in the fire. Himmler came back at Ribb and raked up his man Grauber's, report about you and me in

Budapest. They swore I'd deceived Ribb deliberately and demanded that I should be handed over as a British agent.'

`My dear, I am sorry!' exclaimed Gregory, with genuine feeling.

`And well you may be,' she said, frowning at the memory. `For a few days I was scared stiff. But Ribb saved my bacon. By sheer luck one of his agents had just turned in information that Marshal Weygand was contemplating a break with Petain and planning to make himself Chief of a separate French State in North Africa, then bring it over to the Allies. Ribb said I had got it for him in London. Weygand was arrested before he could leave France and evidence was found that he meant to play traitor. That evened up the score against the black I'd put up and enabled Ribb to claim that I was on the level. But to keep Himmler and Co. quiet I had to keep the pot boiling.'

`How d'you mean?

'The Gestapo were still so suspicious of me that Ribb had o show my Nazi zeal by using me in other ways. He made it obvious in public that he had dropped me as a mistress, so it should appear that I was no longer in favour with the Nazis, hen he arranged for me to get to know various people who were believed to be plotting against the Fьhrer. The first group was a Professor of Philosophy named Kurt Huber and a couple named Scholl. It wasn't difficult to fool the old boy and got hold of some of his papers.'

`Do you mean that you turned them in?' Gregory asked, with difficulty concealing how shocked he felt.

Sabine lit a cigarette and nodded. `Of course. I could only enable Ribb to keep me out of a concentration camp by showing willing, and they were, as near as makes no difference communists. That's the one thing Hitler and I think the same about. All Communists are poison and the sooner they are eliminated the better.'

Gregory knew her views about that from the past too well to argue the matter; and as he considered Communism to be as much a menace to civilization as the Nazis he only asked, What then?'

`Later I was given the Kreisau Circle to tackle. The group takes its name from the Silesian estate if Count Helmuth von

Moitke, because he and Count Peter Yorck and others used to meet and plot there. But they came quite frequently to Berlin. They were intellectuals who started off as Socialists, but they went Communist, too, and were trying to sell us out to the Russians. That little coup put me in the clear. And when Ribb gave Himmler the information I'd obtained about them even that big fat slob had to admit that his suspicions- of me had been unfounded.'

`Well, you've been a busy girl,' Gregory smiled.

`Busy in a way I don't like,' she retorted. `There have been others, too, that I've failed to get anything on. And I prefer to pick the men I go to bed with. Still, it's better than having to eat offal in a concentration camp and being had by three or four Nazi thugs every night.'

`How about von Osterberg?' Gregory enquired. `I'd bet my last cent that he is not a Communist.'

`Oh no. That's quite a different kettle of fish. But the aristocracy and most of the Generals have always been anti Hitler. On and off for years they have been plotting to kill him, and since the Allies landed in France it's been brewing up again. Kurt is in it. I'm certain of that. He has been working for years on these Secret Weapons, and for the past year or more he has been the top boy at an underground laboratory near Potsdam. As that's not far from here Ribb thought it would be a good idea for me to play around with him, then when he was bombed out of his flat suggest that he should come to live here. Reluctantly I obliged. He was terribly flattered, of course, that anyone like myself should take an interest in him, so he fell for me like a ripe plum. I'm really like a mother to him and he gives me very little trouble.'

`Still, that must be pretty dull for you,' Gregory grinned at her. `And what a shocking waste of the very best fissionable material.' Next second he was cursing himself for what he had said. If he remained there she was going to prove a terrible enough temptation without his leading her on.

`Don't worry,' she smiled back. `Kurt is away for a few nights now and then; and there are the afternoons. I'm sure those old Viennese psychologists would approve my methods. The Fuehrer has said that it's our duty to entertain our heroes on ]cave from the front, so I stave off getting any complex about suffering from night starvation by playing fairy godmother to a variety of young men.'

`I hope you haven't become altogether promiscuous,' Gregory remarked.

`No. Hardly that. But you know well enough that I've never been exactly frigid. And I dare not take a regular lover for fear of complications. Even with the bombing there are still parties. In fact, more hectic ones than ever. Now we're all so afraid that every night will be our last, half the women in Berlin have become like alley cats. They're half drunk most of the time and will go with any man who asks them. People aren't even shocked now when they go into their hostess's bedroom and find a couple on the bed. I have only to go to a party to be besieged by a dozen applicants; and if I feel that way I make a date, or see the night out with the man I like best.'

`But, reverting to von Osterberg, how extraordinary that, of all people, you should have had to take on Erika's husband.'

Sabine shrugged. `I don't see anything very strange about that. As far as we know these plotters are quite a small clique, and he just happens to be one of them. You're not jealous, are you? After all, you've been hitting it up with the poor man's wife.'

`Good lord, no. Why should I worry? I've got the best part of the bargain.'

`That's not very complimentary.'

`I meant that as far as this foursome is concerned I'm more fortunate than you are,' he amended hastily.

`Foursome!' Sabine repeated with a sudden laugh. `1n the old days, if only Kurt were younger and more attractive, we might have had one. In Budapest it was quite a thing for two couples to go off to some place in the country for the weekend and for the husbands to swap wives or mistresses, then finish up by all playing games together. When it came to a free-for-all I bet I would have made Erika jealous before I'd finished with you.'

Gregory shook his head. 'My dear, you are incorrigible, and the most lovely piece of wickedness. But such a situation is never likely to arise, and I'd like to talk about the present. As I've told you, I’m on the run. Not actually being hunted at the moment, but I've no papers, no ration card and very little money. I had all these things, of course, but my wallet was stolen while I was sleeping in an air-raid shelter last night; so I'm really up against it. For old times' sake, would you be willing to hide me for a while?'

Her face remained expressionless as she replied, `I don't know. I've my own skin to think of. You admit that you are here as a spy. I ought to say "Yes", then when you are asleep do a Delilah on you and’ send for the police.'

`I'm sure you wouldn't do that,' he smiled; then added seriously, `Besides, if you did, I'm armed and agile; so it could only result in several people getting killed.'

`Including me, if you had the chance?

'No. I couldn't do that after what we've been to one another. Not even if it meant the difference between my getting away and being captured.'

`I believe you mean that,' she said quietly. `So you win. We've both risked being put on the spot for one another before, so we'll risk it again. But tell me what you're really up to here. Not this nonsense about stopping the war single-handed.'

`It's quite simple. In London they know that the air-raids must have hit Berlin pretty badly, but not how badly. Air reconnaissance photographs give a general idea, but no more; and for months past the Allies haven't had an agent here worthy of the name. For eye-witness reports of conditions in the industrial districts and actual buildings of importance destroyed they've had to rely on the accounts of neutral diplomats who have refused to stick it here any longer and returned to their own countries; and, of course, by the time they reach London such reports are weeks out of date. To come here and find out is a pretty tough assignment, but the chaps who run that sort of thing knew that I know Berlin and can pass anywhere as a German; so they came to me in prison and offered to annul the remainder of my sentence if I'd take this trip and come back with the goods.'

`You want me to hide you, then, while you spend a week or so checking up on the damage that's been done to the city?' `No. I've seen quite enough already to put in the sort of report that will satisfy them. My problem now is to get home. With my wallet I lost the coded names and addresses of two neutrals living in Berlin who, I was told, might help me in an emergency, as well as my forged identity papers and money; so 'Im stranded. What I want you to do if you possibly can is to get other papers for me and some cash; so that I can make my way to a neutral frontier.'

`I can let you have all the money you need,' Sabine replied; then she added with a worried frown, `But to get identity papers or you is going to be far from easy.'

`Money is more than half the battle,' said Gregory quickly. For a good round sum I might be able to buy a passport from some minor official in a neutral Embassy; but to find such a man would take time and I don't want to embarrass you with my presence for longer than I can help. Another possibility would be for me to hang about in a well-populated district while an air-raid is in progress and hope to find someone just killed, then take his papers.'

Sabine shook her dark head so that her hair shimmered in the sunshine. `No. To approach anyone on the staff of an embassy is too great a risk. He might agree to get you what you want, then when you went to collect it turn you in to the police. But your second suggestion has given me an idea. People are brought home dead or dying every night. Their wives or relatives are then left with their papers. I've known several women who've lost their men folk in the last few months. I could go to see them and sound them out. I might be able to get a set of papers for you that way.'

`Bless you, my dear. I'll never be able to repay you.'

She patted his hand. `Dear Gregory, you never know. These days we're all living on the edge of a volcano. If I do survive the war I'll probably find myself penniless. If so, I'm sure I could count on you to see me through to better times.' `Of course you could. Now about hiding me. Where do you suggest that I lie low? How about the rooms over the garage? 'Yes, they are furnished and empty. My car's still there, but had to get rid of my chauffeur over a year ago when it became impossible for even people like me to get petrol. We all go bout on bicycles now. I see no reason, though, why you shouldn't occupy one of the top bedrooms in the house. Kurt never goes up there and it would be more convenient for Trudi to bring you your meals.'

`Are you absolutely certain you can trust her?

'Yes. I shall simply tell her that you are in trouble with the Nazis. That will be quite enough. She is Hungarian but her mother was a Jewess. And what those fiends are doing to the Jews in Budapest is beyond belief. Hitler is positively obsessed by his fanatical determination to exterminate the whole Jewish race. Ribb told me it was that much more than strategic considerations that led to his taking over Hungary. There were more than a million Jews in Budapest alone; mostly good honest people who ran all our industries and commerce for us. I gather it was the sweeping advance of the Soviet Armies that decided Hitler to go into Hungary and kill all the Jews while he had the chance; and Himmler, who from the beginning has made race-purity his overruling passion, urged him to it. They sent a man named Adolf Eichmann there. He is the head of what is termed the "Office of Jewish Emigration", but it would be better styled "The Office of Wholesale Murder".'

`He is the brute who drove all the Jews in Poland into ghettos, then systematically slaughtered them, isn't he?

'That's the man, and as his Einsatz gruppen could not shoot the poor devils quickly enough he invented the gas chamber. They sent him to Budapest in March and he made his headquarters the Majestic Hotel. The hordes of Jews rounded up were so enormous that they overflowed the ghettos; so thousands and thousands of them were packed into cattle trucks, ninety to a truck-can you imagine it?-to be sent to Germany. But only a handful ever got here. The trains were shunted on to sidings and the people in them left to starve to death.'

`God, how appalling!'

`Isn't it? And no-one can stop it. The Generals try to when they get the least chance; but Bormann's Gauleiters have the power to overrule them. It's said now that Himmier's ape-men have murdered over four million Jews.'

Gregory shook his head. `After all, there are great numbers of decent Germans. One would think they'd get together and stage some sort of protest at such hideous barbarity.'

`They daren't. Everyone knows what is going on, of course, and about the tortures that are inflicted on the prisoners in the concentration camps. But no-one mentions these horrors above a whisper. They'd pay for it with their lives if they did. But let's get off this frightful subject and go across to the house.'

The interior of the villa was much as Gregory had expected: a flight of stairs led straight up from the hall; on one side was a drawing room that ran the whole length of the house, with a bay window looking towards the road and French windows leading on to the garden at its other end; off it, beyond a velvet curtain, there was a small writing room; on the other side of the hall was a dining room and, in rear of it, the kitchen.

Up on the top floor Sabine showed Gregory the room he was to occupy. It was comfortably furnished and, she said, had been used by her manservant when she had had one. Trudi's room and two others were on the same floor, but there was no bathroom; so Sabine told him he would have to wait until Kurt had gone to his laboratory then use the one on the first floor.

Down there she showed him her luxuriously furnished bedroom, which was as big as the drawing room, and off it, above the back hall, was the bathroom. Beyond that lay a dressing room and the best spare bedroom, in which von Osterberg usually slept. As they came out of the bathroom she smiled, and said:

`Kurt goes off to his work every morning at half past eight. Trudi will bring you up your breakfast as soon as he has gone. I don't usually get up till ten o'clock or later; so perhaps when you've had your bath you would like to come and keep me company?'

Her smile made the implications of this invitation quite unmistakable, and Gregory knew that, although he had found sanctuary, he had come to the edge of a precipice.

17

A Nation in the Polls

GREGORY made no immediate reply. The thin laughter lines on either side of his mouth deepened in the suggestion of a smile. Yet, had Sabine known it, this half-smile was not one of pleasurable anticipation; it was caused by a quirk of cynical humour at a thought that had suddenly flashed into his mind.

He was thinking again of the cockroach and the armpit of the tortoise. To escape from that devouring beast the Gestapo by jumping into the bed of one of the loveliest ladies in Berlin surely transcended any other possible way of emulating that life-saving feat. It could happen only to one dearly beloved by the gods.

She had no need to remind him of the sensual delights her slim white body had to offer. During the last half-hour her full red lips, big liquid eyes, shining hair, the scent she used, her every movement, had brought back to him a score of memories of their nights together in Budapest and on the Danube.

Yet in the story the cockroach had been compared to an early Christian set before a lion. And in a sense that, too, applied. Early Christians had made a fetish of chastity and out of love for Erika he had sworn to himself that while away from her he would remain chaste.

Since getting away from Poland he had several times concentrated hard on trying to let her know by thought transference that he had not been captured and was uninjured; and twice he had felt a response which led him to believe that she was praying for his safety. That she should, by astral means, pick up the knowledge that he was again with Sabine did not seem remotely possible. But she might well get the feeling that he was lying in the embrace of some other woman, and that would make her acutely miserable. Damnably alluring as Sabine was, he knew that he would be guilty of true evil if he risked adding such thoughts to the intense distress that must be afflicting Erika on his account.

As he sought desperately for a way to evade the issue, Sabine said sharply, `You're looking very glum all of a sudden. Is it that you no longer find me attractive, or have you become impotent?'

Her last words suddenly brought inspiration to him. Looking down, he sadly shook his head and asked, `Have you not noticed my limp?

'Well, yes,' she admitted. `It did strike me that you were limping a little as we crossed the lawn. I thought that maybe you'd just hurt your foot.'

With a heavy sigh he lifted his left leg and showed her the extra half-inch of leather on the sole of his shoe. Then he said, ` Berlin 's not the only place that has air-raids. We have them in London, too. About six months ago when I was in Brixton Prison a bomb fell on it. My left leg was shattered and I was lucky to escape with my life. On my hip and thigh there are the most ghastly wounds. But they are healed now, so that's not the worst of it. A piece of flying debris struck me between the legs and carried away the most precious half-inch of flesh a man has on his body.'

`Oh, you poor darling!' she cried, putting her arms round his neck. `How absolutely frightful for you! What an awful thing to happen. Then you'll never… never be able to make love again?'

In the past they had always bathed together. Suddenly it struck him that as he was to use her bathroom she might quite possibly walk in on him next morning and, seeing him naked, realize that in spite of his scarred leg he had lied to her. Swiftly he hedged and said

`No. Thank God, it's not as bad as that. The surgeons did a wonderful job of grafting and at least I benefited by being for four months in the prison hospital instead of in a cell; though the pain of the dressings was ghastly. You'd hardly notice anything, but before I left England my doctor said that my only chance of not destroying the good job they've done is to continue to count myself out of court for some time to come. Anyhow, for another month or two. For this to have happened and then for me to find you again is the shabbiest trick the Devil has ever played me. But there it is, my sweet; I'm no good to you.'

`Oh dear, what a tragic disappointment,' she said unhappily. `And from the moment you popped up from behind my hammock my mind's been full of all the lovely games we used to play. Still, it's much worse for you and we must just try not to think about it.' Kissing him lightly, she added, `Let's go upstairs again and get your room ready.'

Together they made up the bed and Sabine dug out for him a flowered silk dressing gown, pyjamas and other things that Ribbentrop had kept there for his visits. Then they went down to select cold food from the larder for his supper. Gregory was surprised to see half a game pie, a salmon trout, the remains of a ham, an Apfelstrudel, a block of Gruyere cheese and a variety of fresh fruit, as well as white rolls, a dozen eggs and a big slab of butter.

`By Jove!' he laughed. `In spite of rationing you manage to do yourself jolly well. In London we now get only two eggs a month, a scrape of butter, a few rashers of bacon and a chop a week to eke out things like soya-bean sausage and the sort of fish one used to give the cat.'

'Really!' She looked at him in astonishment. `Surely you have a Black Market?

'We have. But only spies and shysters use it. All patriotic citizens who are determined to win the war refuse to encourage that sort of thing.'

She shrugged. `It's different here. You can still get pretty well anything you want if you've the money to pay for it, and everyone's so utterly sick of the war that they don't feel patriotic any longer. Most of us fear we haven't long to live, so to hell with rationing. Help yourself to as much as you want, but don't take the salmon trout. Kurt had it sent to him by a friend, and if part of it's gone he'll ask questions.'

While Gregory filled a tray high with good things she went down to the cellar and brought up for him a bottle of hock.

261

A NATION IN THE TOILS 261

By then nearly two hours had gone since his arrival at the villa, and when she had helped him carry the things upstairs she said, `It's close on six o'clock and Kurt will be back soon; so I must leave you.'.

Taking her in his arms, he kissed her. Then, as her full soft lips melted into his, he drew away and said, `Although I'm on the run I wouldn't have missed today for anything. How I wish… but there it is, my sweet. A million, million thanks. See you in the morning.'

As soon as she had left him he felt suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness. It was now Tuesday evening and since waking in Bari the previous Sunday morning he had had barely twelve hours’ sleep, and none of that with his clothes off. Undressing slowly, he got into bed, and only hunger impelled him to eat his excellent supper. When he had done he put the tray aside, thought for a moment of his luck in having found Sabine and her generosity in taking a considerable risk to hide him; then instantly fell asleep.

When he roused next morning a grey daylight was filtering into the room, so he turned over and dozed again until there was a soft knock on the door. On his calling `Herein', Trudi appeared with his breakfast.

She was a short plump girl with dark hair, a fresh complexion and quick, boot-button eyes. Bobbing to him, she smiled and gave him the traditional greeting, `Kiiss die Hand, mein Hen', then set the tray down on the bed.

To establish good relations he talked to her for some minutes about the old days in Budapest, and the unutterable evil that Hitler had recently brought upon that lovely city. Then, having told him the Herr Graf had left and the gnari'ige Frau Baronin would like to see him when he had had his bath, she bustled away.

Greatly refreshed by his long sleep Gregory tucked into the big plate of ham and eggs, ate two fresh peaches and lapped up the coffee, which he guessed must have come via the Black Market from Turkey. By nine o'clock he was having a most welcome bath and soon after, clad in Ribbentrop's dressing gown, he went in to Sabine.

She was sitting up in bed. He thought that she looked absolutely adorable and for a moment cursed himself as a fool for the puritanical scruples that had denied him the delight of getting in beside her and smothering her flower-like face with kisses. With an effort he got a hold on himself, kissed her good morning and perched himself on the side of her big bed.

Smiling, she returned his kiss then sighed and said, `Oh God, how I hate this war. Just to think what a bomb has done to you and robbed us of. And the even worse things that have happened to such thousands of other people. May that filthy little Austrian that brought it on us rot in hell for all eternity.!

'You seem to have changed your views quite a lot since last we met,' Gregory grinned. `Two summers ago when we talked of these things in Budapest you were a hundred per cent pro Nazi.!

'Yes,' she admitted. `But look what the Communists did to Hungary after the First World War. Those gutter bred swine robbed families like mine of everything we had, and did their utmost to degrade everyone to their own filthy level. You British, with your stupid, pale-pink Liberalism, made no effort to stop them. Neither did the French. The only people who had the guts to stand up to them were the Italians and the Germans. Naturally, as German influence was so strong in Hungary I became a Nazi. What sensible person wouldn't have? But I'm not a Nazi now. They've made themselves untouchables. Say that I'm a Fascist, if you like. But I'm not a Nazi.'

Gregory nodded. `There's a lot to be said for the Fascists. Old Mussolini did a great job in cleaning up Italy. If only he'd stayed neutral he'd be on the top of the world today and Italy positively bulging with money made out of both sides during the war. That he got folie de grandeur and thought that with Hitler's help he could become a modern Roman Emperor, ruling the whole Mediterranean, was one of the greatest tragedies of our time. Little Franco, too, has done a great job of work in Spain. What is more he has had the sense to keep his country out of the war, so given it a real chance to recover… Why people should cavil at him for having put the Moscow inspired agitators and saboteurs behind bars I could never see. If he'd run his country on the lines the idiot British and French intellectuals and those crazy Americans would have liked to see, by this time Spain would have had a Communist Government. Quite a useful card for the war against Hitler. But what about afterwards, with Russian bombers based there only two hours' flight from London and Paris? Some people simply can't be dissuaded from trying to cut off their noses to spite their faces. But all this is beside the point. You say you're no longer a Nazi; but you're still working for them.'

`Up to a point,' she agreed thoughtfully. `I'd still turn in these dirty little Marxists -who'd like to see Germany a Soviet Republic, whenever I could get the goods on them. But I've never yet given information about those of our own kind who would like to see Hitler as an ugly corpse.'

`Are there many people who feel that way?' he asked.

`Quite a few. Of course millions of ordinary people must wish him dead simply because they believe it would bring about an end to the war. Although it's amazing how many of them, and, I gather, particularly the troops at the front who don't suffer from the bombing, still believe in him. They get nothing but Goebbels' propaganda, and day after day he plugs away about the Secret Weapons that are yet going to get Germany out of her mess. You may not know it, but London has already been destroyed by the buzz-bombs, the invasion ports soon will be and the long-range rockets are going to send New York up in flames. Only the upper crust know that to be poppy-cock, and the middle classes doubt it but the great majority believe it to be gospel. That's what keeps them going. That and fear of the Russians.'

`What sort of people are the few you mentioned? I mean, those who would take a hand in putting an end to Hitler if they had the chance?

'They are a very mixed bag, most of whom wouldn't see eye to eye in anything else at all. There is every sort o f group ranging from Communists to the old aristocracy who'd like to see a Kaiser on the throne again; the old Trade Union laddies, Social Democrat ex-Deputies, priests of both the Roman Catholic and Lutheran faiths, high-up Civil Servants, exDiplomats, Generals of the Wehrmacht: the lot.'

`Then since leaders in every sphere feel that way and are prepared to sink their differences to achieve this one end they must form a very powerful group of conspirators.'

`They're not. All the civilians showed their colours too clearly before the war. Hitler dismissed them from their posts ages ago, and although they've been left free they are constantly watched by the Gestapo. I'm speaking now of men like the Socialist leaders Julius Leber and Wilhelm Leuschner, Dr. Karl Goerdeler the ex-Mayor of Liepzig, the ex-Ambassadors Ulrich von Hassell and Count Werner von der Schulenburg, the former Prussian Finance Minister, Popitz, and the former President of the Reichsbank, Dr. Schacht. I've good reason to believe that a lot of them are in touch with one another; but if they do meet it is at night in cellars of bombed-out buildings… If one of them so much as raised a finger in any public act he and his whole family would find themselves in a torture chamber.'

`Yes; I realize that there's not much the civilians can do until they are given a lead, but that doesn't apply to the Generals.'

`You think that just because they command great bodies of men, but in reality they hold only the shadow of power. Hitler's always known that the Generals were secretly against him. Although he could not do without them, soon after he came to power himself he set about putting shackles on them. The von Blomberg affair provided him with a lucky break for a first step towards that.'

`You mean when the Field Marshal married his typist and she turned out to have been a prostitute?

'That's right. Before that Hitler was only technically Supreme Chief of the Armed Forces, but when Himmler produced the photographs of Blomberg's wife posing in the nude for dirty pictures, and he was sacked, Hitler took over his job as Minister for War and has kept it ever since. Keitel more or less took over Blomberg's work, but he's really only Hitler's mouthpiece at the War Office, and a vain, weak toady at that. Then there was the scandalous affair of von Fritsch.!

'He was kicked out for being a pansy, wasn't he?

'No; it was because he opposed Hitler. The evidence Himmler produced about him was composed of lies from beginning to end. Although Hitler had it suppressed, it came out afterwards that the evidence concerned a man named Frish. At a Court of Honour even Goering stood up for von Fritsch, but he was sacked all the same. As Commander in Chief of the Wehrmacht, he was succeeded by von Brauchitsch. After the failure of the Russian offensive in i941 he quarreled violently with Hitler about how to retrieve the situation, so that winter he, also, was sacked. Then, instead of appointing another C. in C. to succeed him, Hitler took that job on himself as well. So from 1942 he has had the whole Wehrmacht in his pocket.'

`But the Chief of Staff and the Army Group Commanders must still have enormous powers.'

`They haven't. General Beck was said to be the best of the German Generals in pre-war days; but he was violently opposed to Hitler's plans for making war, so he was pushed out in '38. Hitler put Halder in his place, and he was pretty subservient. But even he couldn't stick the mess Hitler's orders were making of the Russian front so he resigned in the autumn of '42. Jodl stepped into his shoes, but he's only allowed to advise Hitler on planning and strategy. As for the Army Group Commanders, they last only as long as they carry out Hitler's crazy orders. Von Rundstedt is a really great soldier. He commanded the breakthrough that put France out of the war, but in 1941 he refused to accept some insane plan of Hitler's, so Hitler threw him out.'

`He was recalled, though, and is C.-in-C. West at the moment.!

'About that you are wrong. He was recalled as the only General thought capable of stemming the invasion. Hitler promised him a free hand, but interfered all the same. I gather that ten days ago there was a bloody row. Anyhow, von Rundstedt is out again and has been replaced by von Kluge. Von Manstein is another of the big brains. He has twice refused to have his Army massacred by trying to carry out Corporal Hitler's ideas and resigned, and twice has been recalled.^- It's the same with all the rest of them. They don't know from one day to the next how long they will be left in their commands, or what precautions Hitler has taken to suppress a Putsch with Himmter's S.S. Divisions; and they are under strict orders not to communicate with one another. If only one of them had the guts to turn his Army round and march on Berlin I haven't a doubt the others would join him and Hitler's goose be cooked. But as none of them knows what's going on except in his own H.Q., none of them dare take the risk.'

`I suppose each one of them is waiting for a move by the next chap higher up.'

`That's it. They've been brought up that way from their cradles.'

Suddenly Sabine threw the bedclothes back and, for a moment, lay fully revealed through her transparent nightie. Thrusting her bare legs out of bed, she said, `But if I'm to try to get you some papers I mustn't stay here all day. I must go into Berlin and see a few likely people.'

Gregory felt his heart begin to pound and his mouth go dry. Hard put to it to keep his face expressionless, he wondered how long he would be able to resist temptation if she continued to display herself to him like this. Uneasily he recalled having told her that it was six months since he had been wounded and only another month or so was needed for his complete recovery, so… Quickly he picked up her flimsy dressing gown and draped it over her shoulders; then asked in a slightly hoarse voice, `When do you expect to get back?'

She turned round and looked up at him a little uncertainly. `Well, the truth is that I have a date for three o'clock this afternoon with a young Panzer Captain at an apartment he's been lent. Of course, darling, if you were your old self… But as things are… He's a nice boy and his leave ends at midnight. I wouldn't like to disappoint him. You do understand, don't you?'

He smiled down into the flower-like face with the big dark eyes, rich mouth and magnolia-petal skin. `Of course I do. You won't be back till the small hours, then.'

`Oh yes I shall. I only go to evening parties in Berlin, or stay out late, during the dark periods of the moon, when the R.A.F. don't put on the worst air-raids. I shall be back by about seven, but Kurt gets home soon after six; so I shan't see you till tomorrow morning.'

As she slipped on her mules, he gave her a pat on the behind. `Very well. Have a good time. I'll be thinking of you. Perhaps, though, in the circumstances, I'd better not.'

`No. It would be bad for you to give yourself ideas. Get a good book and bury yourself in it. There are lots downstairs. Trudi will get your lunch and bring your supper up to your room.'

When he had seen her off to Berlin he went through the drawing room to the little writing room. It held only a desk and two chairs, but the walls 'were lined with books. Ignoring them for the moment, he began going through the papers in the desk, just on the off-chance that he might learn something more about the people who were plotting against Hitler. As he had expected, there were only bills, personal letters and, to him, indecipherable mathematical jottings. He felt pretty sure that if von Osterberg kept anything to do with the conspiracy there Sabine would have known of it and, as she had talked so freely about the affair, would have told him. Having put each batch of papers back exactly as he had found them, he selected three books then adjusted the others on the shelves so that the gaps should not show.

As it was a lovely summer day he would have liked to go out and sit in the garden but decided that he must not risk being seen by any of Sabine's neighbours. For the same reason he thought it best not to remain downstairs, in case some inquisitive person happened to catch sight of him through the drawing-room window. So he retired to his bedroom, made himself comfortable with a book, tried to keep the alluring Sabine's activities out of his mind and spent the rest of the day there.

The previous night's air-raid had been a minor one and, owing to his exhausted state, he had slept through it. But that night he woke soon after midnight to the thunder of scores of big bombers roaring overhead. Sabine had told him that during air-raids she, von Osterberg and Trudi went down to the cellar, but for him to join them was out of the question. Although he hated raids he was not unduly scared, for he knew that the moonlight glinting on the long stretch of the Havel must give the bombers their direction, and they would not waste bombs on the scattered private houses round the southern end of it when they had only five or six more miles to fly to drop their loads on central Berlin. Nevertheless, for over an hour all hell seemed to have been let loose. At times the explosions merged into a continuous distant roar, hundreds of ack-ack guns were in constant action, at times pieces of their shells rattled down on the roof and now and again when a bomb fell nearer the house shuddered.

After he had breakfasted and bathed next morning he went in to see Sabine. She told him at once that her luck had been out the previous day. Her two best hopes of securing papers for him had both left Berlin, and the Panzer Captain had proved disappointing. About the Tatter's performance, to Gregory's considerable discomfiture she went into details; so as soon as he could he changed the conversation.

Asked about her plans for the day, she said, `There's a woman I know who's just lost her son. He'd been seriously wounded at the front so was given a job in Goebbels' office, but he died from further wounds in an air-raid about a week ago. She may have his papers and be prepared to part with them. Anyway, I'm going to have a snack lunch with her today. But I've nothing after that; so I'll be back about half past three and we'll spend the rest of the afternoon together.'

While she was out Gregory again spent the time in his room and on her return she came up to him. But she had had no luck. Her friend had returned all her son's papers to the Propaganda Bureau. At midday it had clouded over and it was now raining on and off; so the garden being ruled out Sabine said they would be more comfortable sitting in the drawing room.

Down there they talked for a time of the happy days they had spent in Budapest; then Gregory led the conversation back to the conspiracy. `Do you think,' he asked, `if one of these people managed to assassinate Hitler that the Generals would succeed in getting the better of the other Nazis and take over?'

She shrugged. `The question doesn't arise, because no-one will succeed in assassinating Hitler. He knows that there are quite a number of people who would willingly give their lives to kill him, so the precautions he takes to protect himself are quite extraordinary. Surrounding his headquarters at Rastenburg there are three rings of check points; so no civilian stands a hope in hell of getting through them all. His staff are all hand-picked as one hundred per cent pro-Nazi, and the duty officers who report to him there have all been most carefully vetted.'

`But he must leave his H.Q. at times.

'He does, but only very infrequently. Some time ago he was persuaded with great difficulty to go on a visit to the Eastern Front, and they nearly got him there. Apparently someone asked the pilot of his aircraft to take a parcel said to contain two bottles of brandy back to a friend at the base. Actually, it contained a bomb, but the bomb failed to go off.'

`Did he find out about that?

'No; luckily for the conspirators, because they managed to retrieve the parcel at the other end. Hitler does seem to be gifted with a sort of sixth sense, though. He has flatly refused to leave his H.Q. again.'

`I take it that Kurt told you about this?'

`Yes; and lots more. He says Hitler is incredibly suspicious and remarkably difficult to get at. He arranges all functions at which he still has to make a personal appearance for a given day, then cancels them at the very last moment. Sometimes he does that two or three times, then lays the party on at an hour's notice. Deliberately, of course, so that anyone who has planned to have a crack at him has his arrangements thrown out of gear and misses the chance.'

`Do you turn in to Ribb all you get out of Kurt?' Gregory asked.

She shook her head. `Oh no. If he were a pro-Communist trying to arrange a pact with Russia I would. But, as I've told you, I'd be delighted to see Hitler dead; providing the right people do the job and are ready to take over.'

`Say someone did kill Hitler, what chance do you think von Osterberg and his pals have of establishing the sort of set-up you'd like to see?

'Very little. They'd have to get the better of the S.S. troops in Berlin, and that wouldn't be easy for them these days. Before the war, and for some time after it started, Himmler's people couldn't have done much against the Army. For some reason that I've never understood Hitler would allow him to raise only a few battalions of Nazi troops. Those he took in were most carefully selected. They all had to produce evidence of Aryan descent for three generations on both sides and measure up to the highest physical standards. The original S.S. was quite something: an elite corps of blond young blackguards who believed that Hitler was God and Himmler his Prophet, and would shoot a Jew as soon as look at him. But all that is altered now.'

Gregory nodded. `I thought that must be so, from the number of S.S. Divisions now fighting on the battle fronts. So many could not possibly have been put into the field without a serious dilution of the original hand-picked specimens of Nazi frightfulness.'

`Yes, that's what happened. The more Hitler became convinced that the Army Chiefs were letting him down, the more he turned to "the faithful Heinrich" and allowed him to create a bigger and bigger private Nazi Army. Ever since Himmler got himself in with_. Hitler he's spent most of his time intriguing to get greater power into his hands; so once he got the green light from his boss _ nothing could stop him. He started recruiting left, right and centre. Not only Germans, but Frenchmen, Belgians, Dutch, Scandinavians and even Mohammedans from Yugoslavia. Today there are at least a million men under his orders. They wear the uniforms of soldiers but are completely independent of the Wehrmacht. They take orders from the Generals only when they are in the battle line, and their Divisional Commanders have the right even to ignore those if they don't like them.'

`You feel then that these Nazi troops are numerous enough to defeat the units of a regular army if one of the Generals launched a Putsch against Hitler?

'In Berlin they are. One evening Kurt told me quite a lot about that. In the city the Army has nothing but a Guard Battalion and a few details at the War Office. Of course, they could call on the troops and cadets in the Training Centres outside the capital. But it would take them several hours to get there. Meanwhile, unless they lost their heads, the Commanders of Himmler’s S.S. troops would not just sit about waiting to be mopped up. And there are plenty of them in the S.S. barracks. Many more than enough to put down a revolt by the Army before the Generals could bring in other units.'

`Then it seems that no General in the War Office would risk starting anything, even if he learned that some pal of his had succeeded in bumping off Hitler?'

Sabine shook her head again. `No, and any hope of Hitler being bumped off is only wishful thinking. He is far too careful of himself. What is more, it's my belief that he's under the protection of the Devil. Until the Russians or the Allies reach Berlin I'd bet any money that no-one will ever get him.'

At that moment they heard the front gate slam. Glancing swiftly out of the bay window they saw von Osterberg propping his bicycle up against the fence.

`It's Kurt!' Sabine exclaimed in alarm. `What can have brought him home so early? Quick! For God's sake, hide yourself.'

Von Osterberg was already running up the garden path. Had Gregory crossed the room he would have been bound to be seen by the Count through the window, or have run into him in the hall. There was only one thing for it. He dived through the velvet curtains at the entrance to the little writing room and pulled them to behind him.

For a moment he stood there, wondering if he could get out through one of the windows without being heard. Then through the curtains behind him he heard von Osterberg burst into the drawing room and cry

`We are free! Free! Hitler is dead! Hitler is dead!'

18

The Great Conspiracy

GREGORY had his hand stretched out towards one of the windows in the little room. But at the Count's cry he remained transfixed.

Sabine’s voice came through the velvet curtains, `Hitler dead! No! How? Surely no-one could have got into his headquarters and shot him. A stroke?

'No. It was a bomb. At least I think so. No details are known yet. But he's dead. He must be. The codeword Walkiire has been sent out. That makes it certain. I received it in my office twenty minutes ago, and I left at once to let you know.'

`You were in the plot, then?

'Yes. Several times recently arrangements have been made to assassinate the swine, but they couldn't be carried through because of his habit of altering his day's schedule at the last moment. There were difficulties about the bomb, too. Our German fuses hiss when they are started, so a package containing one would attract attention. But British fuses are worked by acid. They are started by breaking a glass capsule containing the acid and in a given time it eats through a wire. That's how I was brought into it. In my laboratory I have captured explosives as well as our own with which to experiment. I supplied the fuses. But they meant to get him this time, anyhow. If the bomb didn't go off it was intended to shoot him.'

`Kurt, I think you might have told me about this.' Sabine's voice sounded a trifle peevish.

`My dear, I couldn't,' he replied apologetically. `All of us took an oath of secrecy. And I was never in the inner ring; so

I didn't know that another attempt was to be made today or who the gallant fellow is that did this splendid deed. But what's that matter? We're free! Free from that gutter-bred monster at last!'

`How about the others, though?' Sabine asked. `Himmler? Goebbels? Goering? They won't give in without making a fight for it.'

`Don't worry. They'll be taken care of. That was the object of sending out the codeword Walkiire. By now the Generals who are in this will have taken over at the War Office. The Guard Battalion will be in possession of key points like the Broadcasting Station, and troops from the Tank and Artillery Schools will be marching on Berlin.'

`Who is responsible for the Putsch?'

'Colonel- General Ludwig Beck; and he has the support of many others who refused to kowtow to Hitler: Field Marshal von Witzleben, who is to become Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces; Holder, who'll probably be chosen as Chief of the General Staff; Hoeppner, Olbricht, Fellgiebel, Oster, Hase, Wagner and Admiral Canaris. A number of our ablest younger officers are in it too: Merz von Quirnheim, Claus Schenk von Stauffenberg, Fabian von Schlabrendorff and Henning von Tresckow. It was he who put the bomb in Hitler's 'plane when he went to the Eastern front, though, of course, I couldn't tell you so at the time. Both the Police Chiefs, Count Helldorf and Artur Nebe, are with us; and several of the Army Commanders at the fronts, Von Kluge and-Rommel among them. As Military Governors in France and Belgium, Stuelpnagel and Falkenhausen have promised to arrest all the Nazis in Paris and Brussels. Everything has been thought of. We have nothing to fear.'

Gregory had turned and taken a silent step back towards the curtains. Peering through the narrow gap between them while von Osterberg reeled off this impressive list of names, he took stock of the aristocrat-scientist who was still Erika's husband. It was two and a half years since he had seen the Count and in that time von Osterberg had aged considerably. He was of medium height, thin and his hair had turned nearly white. He looked a good sixty, but he was still a handsome man, apart from a scar that seamed the left side of his face from eyebrow to chin. Gregory had given him that for his cowardice in succumbing to pressure from the Gestapo and luring Erika back into Germany so that she might be held as a hostage for her English lover.

Hurriedly von Osterberg was going on, `Beck is to be the new German Head of State; but only temporarily till we have the situation well in hand and have come to terms with the Anglo-Americans to help us stave off a Russian invasion. In spite of that fool Roosevelt having made it so difficult for us to negotiate by his announcement at Casablanca about insisting on "unconditional surrender", they can't refuse to treat us reasonably now we've got rid of the Nazis. And the last thing they want is to have Germany, Austria and Hungary fall into the hands of the Communists. But we're all against a permanent military dictatorship. As soon as we have cleared up the mess Karl Goerdeler will take over from Beck and form a coalition government, including the Socialist leaders as well as Popitz, Schacht, Donhanyi, von Hassell and our other friends. Then there will be free elections again. But I'll be able to tell you more late tonight or tomorrow morning. I only looked in just to give you the great news. I'm on my way into Berlin to find out how things are going.'

Giving Sabine a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, her elderly lover hurried out into the hall. Caution demanded that Gregory should remain where he was until the Count was well clear of the house. But no sooner had his footsteps sounded running down the garden path than Sabine stepped swiftly across the room and took down a gilt-framed oil-painting from the wall. It had concealed a small cupboard. Opening it, she grabbed up a telephone receiver and after a moment said into it:

`I want Herr von Weizsaecker. Urgently! Urgently! Highest priority. This is number forty-three speaking.'

The garden gate had slammed so Gregory came back into the room and said, `This is tremendous news. But what are you up to?'

Impatiently she waved to him to be silent, then spoke into the telephone again. `Is that you, Ernst? Put me through to the

Reichsaussenminister. At once! At once It's desperately important!'

`Hey!' Gregory cried. `Are you trying to sabotage the plot?'

Her dark eyes flashing, she covered the receiver with her hand and almost snarled at him, `Of course not. I couldn't now, even if I would. This is a private matter.'

Speaking again into the telephone, she said, `What! He is at his headquarters in East Prussia: Schloss Steinort? Then get on to him at once. Don't lose a moment. Tell him I've just learned that the Fьhrer is dead. Blown up by a bomb or something; and that the Generals have seized control in Berlin. Tell him to look out for himself.'

Panting slightly she hung up, shut the door of the secret cupboard, shook back her dark hair and said to Gregory, `That's the private line to the Foreign Office that Ribb had installed for his use when he was staying here. I haven't used it for ages. Thank God it hadn't been cut in an air-raid. As far as I'm concerned Hitler can rot in hell. So can most of the other Nazis. But I had to give Ribb, a chance to get away. After all, he's an old friend and has always treated me very decently.'

Gregory was in no position to quarrel with these sentiments. [n fact he felt admiration for the decision and swiftness with which she had acted. Smiling now, he said, `Of course you're right. Your warning should enable him to take a 'plane to Sweden before the Army boys get him. It's a bit of luck for him, though, that instead of being in Berlin he is somewhere miles away in the country.'

She shrugged. `I thought it almost certain that he would be. Since the air-raids became so bad all the top Nazis spend most of their time at comfortable headquarters up in East Prussia. They not only escape the bombs but have the advantage of being near Hitler's funk hole in the woods near Rastenburg. He's always fancied himself as the Big Bad Wolf, and often goes about hamming the childish ditty; so they. call it the Wolfsschanze.'

`Well, he won't go about singing "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf" any more,' Gregory grinned. `So I think that calls For a celebration.'

Relaxing, she smiled back at him. 'How right you are. Let's go down to the cellar and bring up the best bottle in it.'

He followed her down to find that the wine cellar was larger than he would have expected in a villa of that size and had been well stocked by Ribbentrop. They chose a magnum of Pol Roger '28 for themselves and a bottle of Tokay for Trudi. When Sabine took the bottle into the kitchen and told her the news she broke down and wept far joy. Opening the magnum they insisted on her having a glass from it with them to drink to a happier Europe. Then they took the magnum into the drawing room and excitedly speculated on the results of the Putsch.

By half past seven they had finished the magnum, so got up another then went out to the larder and collected a cold supper. About half past nine they were both feeling on top of the world from the amount of champagne they had drunk. Stretching her arms up over her head, Sabine lay back in her armchair and said with a sigh:

`Oh, darling, how I wish you could carry me up to bed so that we could really celebrate. Is it quite impossible?'

Gregory felt that if any circumstances could ever excuse his being unfaithful to Erika these were they. The war was as good as over, and he had lived through it. Even should the police question and arrest him he now had little to fear. By tomorrow the Gestapo would be hunted men and their torture chambers being hastily dismantled so that as little evidence of German atrocities as possible would fall into the hands of the victorious Allies. The Police would do no more than lock him up until arrangements could be made for the repatriation of prisoners of war, and the Allies would lose little time about that. If ever there were a night that called for more champagne and finishing up in bed with a lovely girl, this was it.

Sabine stood up. Her eyes were moist and shining as she impulsively seized his hand and cried, `Come on! It's six months since you received your wound. You said you had only a few weeks to go to be completely fit again. A few weeks couldn't make all that difference.'

As he resisted her pull on his hand, she perched herself on his lap, flung an arm round his neck and glued her mouth to his. Her dark hair brushed his cheek and her heavy scent came to him in waves. He felt his senses swimming. Breaking their kiss, she threw back her head and pulled at him again. `Darling, I want you terribly! Take me upstairs! Take me upstairs and love me like you used to do.'

`No?' he gasped, pushing her from him. `I can't! It's not fair to ask me. Would you, if just for the sake of tonight you might ruin your chances of ever being able to make love again?'

For a moment she was silent, then she gave a heavy sigh. `No. You're right. I'm sorry, my dear. It was beastly of me to try to make you.'

With a surge of relief he shut his eyes. Opening them again, he said, `I’m sorry. Terribly sorry. But we ought to go upstairs all the same. There's no telling when Kurt will be back, and he mustn't find me here. In spite of the Putsch, that would be disastrous. His hatred for both myself and Erika knows no limit. He is proud as Lucifer, and that his Countess should have left him for a British agent while our countries were at war made him see so red that he even lent himself to helping the Gestapo to trap her. It was I who gave him that ghastly scar before going into Germany to rescue her. And, of course, by coming to England she was posted as an enemy of the Reich, so her fortune was confiscated, and he lost the use of her money. For all this he'd jump at the chance of being revenged on-me. Even if the Gestapo's got its hands full he could call in the Police and at a time of crisis like this that could still have most unpleasant consequences.'

`We'll go up to your room, then,' she agreed. `I'll tell Trudi to stay down here and she will warn us when she hears Kurt come in at the gate.'

The second magnum was nearly empty, so they collected a third from the cellar, with the idea that even if they couldn't make love they could get tight. Upstairs Saline made no further attempt to seduce him and they talked about the war, speculating on whether in a few days it would be finished altogether, or if the Anglo-Americans would accept the German plan for joining them in fighting the Russians; and a score of ether matters.

At midnight there was the usual air-raid,, but no bombs fell near; and by then they were too full of good wine to take much notice of it. Then about one o'clock Trudi came bursting into the room, to say that von Osterberg was by now in the hall and would be coming up at any moment expecting to find her mistress in bed.

Hastily kissing Gregory good night, Sabine said to him, `It's most unlikely that Kurt will go to his laboratory. as usual tomorrow morning; so you'd better stay up here. I'll sneak up and let you know what's been happening at the first chance I get.' Then she fled downstairs.

Elated as Gregory was by the day's events, his share of the two and a half magnums had made him drowsy; so once in bed he soon dropped off to sleep. But half an hour later he was woken by the light going on and Sabine shaking him. The consternation in her face told him at once that something had gone terribly wrong. As he hoisted himself up on his pillows, she said quickly, `The Putsch is a wash-out. Hitler's not dead after all. In Berlin the Generals made a mess of things and the Nazis are out gunning for them.'

`Oh hell!' he muttered as he gathered his wits together. `What filthy luck. But tell me more. Where's Kurt? Has he cleared out and made a bolt for it?

'No. He has nowhere to bolt to where they couldn't lay him by the heels if they go after him. He is hoping he won't be implicated; but at the moment he's in the cellar shivering with funk as though he had an ague. He means to sleep_ down there and remain in hiding until we know more about what's going on. If the Gestapo come on the scene I'm to tell them that he hasn't been home since yesterday morning, in the hope that they'll think he's made off to the country. They'll have so many bigger fish to fry that if they don't find him here they may not bother about him-anyway for the time being. Then, in a few days' time when things have quietened down, if they haven't been back and made a thorough search of the house he'll be able to assume that no-one has given him away, and screw up his courage to come out again.'

Gregory gave a not very cheerful laugh.

`There's nothing funny about it,' she said severely.

`No; I suppose not. But the thought that you are hiding two boy friends now, one upstairs and one down, momentarily tickled my sense of humour. Tell me, though, what went wrong with the Putsch?'

`Move over, so that I can get into bed with you,' she said. `I've got next to nothing on, and it's chilly standing here.'

As she wriggled down. beside him he felt that he had no option but to put his arm round her. Then, as she laid her head on his shoulder and turned over towards him, her soft body moulded itself against his side. He shut his eyes and his heart began to hammer, but-he fought a silent battle endeavouring to keep his mind on the Putsch. Fortunately for once Sabine's thoughts were not centred on amorous delights, but on events; so she began at once:

`The bomb went off all right, but either it wasn't powerful enough or Hitler wasn't near enough to it to get its full effect. Goebbels put out a broadcast about the attempt late this evening. But his account of the affair is certain to be a tissue of lies; so there's not much that's known for certain. The bomb, was taken to the Wolfsschanze by Count Claus Schenck von Stauffenberg. He must be a terrifically gallant young man Because he'd already been terribly wounded when he walked into a minefield. That cost him an eye, one hand and the use of all but two fingers of the other; so how he managed to do the job at all I can't imagine.

`Anyway, after the bomb went off he succeeded in getting to his 'plane and back to Rangsdorf, the airport outside Berlin, and he telephoned the War Office from there confirming a message that Hitler was dead that had already been sent by one of his fellow conspirators at the Wolfsschanze. Beck and some of the other Generals in the plot had assembled at the War office. Soon after they received the first message they arrested General Fromm, the Commander-in-Chief, Home Army, Because he refused to play, and issued their codeword, Walkьre. I gather that for cover purposes it was to be used for an exercise that would bring the troops at the training depots outside Berlin into the city, in the event of a revolt by the thousands of half-starved foreign workers here. But early in the evening things started to go wrong.

Fortunately Kurtt met a friend outside the War Office and they didn't actually go into the building. Instead, they decided to go off and join another group of the conspirators who had assembled in a private apartment not far off. So from that point on I know only what Kurt managed to pick up and the bits in Goebbels' broadcast that sound like facts. Apparently a Major Remer, who commanded the Guard Battalion, became suspicious about the orders he had received, so went to Goebbels. That put the fat in the fire, and the troops from outside Berlin failed to turn up. About the same time General Fromm learned that Hitler was still alive; so he arrested the Generals who had arrested him, and a lot of people were shot.'

Gregory sighed. `What a tragic mess. If only the plot hadn't failed the war might have been over in a week; but now I suppose it will drag on for months, anyway until the Allies have occupied the Ruhr and crossed the Rhine.' After a moment he added thoughtfully, `I don't wonder Kurt is scared out of his wits. Tell me, though, do you care much whether he lives or dies?

'Oh, I'd hate him to be caught,' Sabine replied at once. `Although he's no good as a lover, I'm quite fond of him in a way. I've always got on well with elderly men who are well bred and intelligent. They're much more cosy to live with. Young men are always making jealous scenes and should be kept strictly for one's bed. That is, except for a few very special men, like you, darling. I'm sure I must have told you how I adored my husband, Kaleman, and when I married him he was more than twice my age. I don't love Kurt, of course, but short of having the Gestapo take me to pieces I'd do anything I could to save him.'

For a moment Gregory considered the situation. It was in his own interests that von Osterberg should die, as that would free Erika. But, even so, the thought of any man whimpering in-a torture chamber when there was a chance of preventing it was intolerable, so he said:

`If you want to save him you've got to get him back to his own bed and out of the house at the usual time tomorrow morning. Should the Gestapo find out that he was involved in the plot his goose would be cooked anyhow. But they may not.

In any case they will be buzzing round like a swarm of wasps, checking up on everyone they think might have been even remotely connected with the conspiracy, and it is certain that a man in Kurt's position will be on their list of suspects. Therefore his only chance is to act normally. If they come here at night they must find him in bed. Any story by you that he has simply disappeared would start an immediate hunt for him. Still more important, he must go to his laboratory and carry on as usual. If he doesn't his absence will be reported, and that's certain to be taken as a confession of complicity. Then when they come here and dig him out he won't stand an earthly.'

Quickly, Sabine drew away from Gregory and sat up. `You're right, darling! Absolutely right!. I'll go down at once and make him see the sense of what you've said.' As she jumped out of bed, Gregory caught another whiff of her exotic scent. Then she pulled on her dressing gown and ran from the room.

Next morning it was Sabine who brought up Gregory's breakfast. As she set the tray down she told him that Kurt had taken the advice she had given him and, fortified by a stiff brandy against awful forebodings, had just gone off to his laboratory. She added that, as soon as she had dressed, she meant to go into Berlin to find out all she could about what was happening.

It was not until after five that she got back and came upstairs to tell him the result of her reconnaissance. The wildest rumours were flying about, but there could be no doubt that the Putsch had failed utterly. Several people near Hitler had been killed but he had escaped with minor injuries. Beck had committed suicide, von Stauffenberg and several others had been shot, and the Gestapo were arresting people left, right and centre.

For a time they discussed various versions of the affair, then, when it neared six o'clock, Sabine went downstairs filled with anxiety to know whether von Osterberg would return. The room Gregory occupied looked out on the road so, from behind a curtain, he too kept watch. Soon after six the Count pedaled up, then with sagging shoulders walked up the garden path. From his return it was clear that the Gestapo did not yet know that he had been among the conspirators; but there was still a very worrying possibility that, under torture, one of those who had been arrested would give him away.

However the next day, Saturday, he again returned safely but in time for lunch; and the dreaded visit from the Gestapo did not take place that day nor on the Sunday. From fear that he was being watched and if he happened to meet some friend who was already known to have been involved it might later be used against him, von Osterberg refused to leave the house; so Gregory spent a very dull weekend confined to his room. Trudi managed to smuggle up food hidden in a basket for him, but he did not see Sabine for even a few moments.

Most of the time he spent in reading and sleeping; but now that the first excitement about the attempt on Hitler had died down he felt better able to concentrate on trying to reassure Erika that he was safe. In that he felt he had succeeded, as twice he got distinct impressions of her at Gwaine Meads, thinking of and praying for him; and this strengthened his resolution against being lured by Sabine into agreeing to chance a set-back to his supposed affliction should she again become too loving when with him.

By Sunday night it was six days since he had parted from Malacou and after getting away from Poland he had not given the occultist a thought. But that evening he saw Malacou again clearly. With his shoes off, and looking utterly miserable, he was sitting under a hedge eating raw carrots. It looked as though during the past week he had become a tramp and had walked a considerable distance, but whether he was still in Poland or had come west into Germany Gregory could not tell. However, he was aware that Malacou's misery was not caused only by his own wretched fate; he was grieving for Tarik, who was dead. The hunchback had panicked and run from the cottage in an endeavour to escape when the two S.D. men had arrived there. As he had ignored their shouts to halt, one of them had shot him in the back. Owing to the darkness Gregory had not seen his body, but Malacou had found it later.

Regarding Malacou as an unsavoury episode in his life that was now closed, Gregory thought how lucky he was to be in such comfortable quarter’s instead of, as he might well have been, eating carrots in a field; then he dismissed the unfortunate Jew from his mind.

On Monday von Osterberg went to work again and Sabine made another trip to Berlin, both to secure what news she could and try other people of her acquaintance in the hope of securing papers for Gregory. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday passed in a similar manner and, as no move by the Gestapo had been made against the Count, it began to look as if he was going to escape the fate that had befallen many of his friends. Sabine continued to have no luck about papers, but every afternoon she returned from her expeditions an hour or more before von Osterberg was due back and was able to give Gregory more and more details about the plot that she had picked up from friends in high places. So, by the end of the week, he had a pretty accurate picture of the development of the conspiracy from its beginning to its disastrous outcome.

As he was aware the Army Chiefs, being convinced that Germany was in no state to face another war, had strenuously opposed Hitler's plans, both for breaking the Versailles Treaty by re-militarizing the Rhine Zone and for going into Austria. That he had pulled off both coups successfully, against their advice, had greatly weakened the Generals' position; but when he told them that he intended to annex the Sudetenland, they had decided the time had come when no more risks could be taken, and had made plans to eliminate him. At that time their power was still considerable, so they certainly could have done so. But the ground had been cut from beneath their feet by Munich. Chamberlain and Daladier gave Hitler everything he asked. After three such bloodless triumphs Hitler became more than ever the idol of the German people, However dangerous the Generals knew him to be they positively dare not pull him from his perch, for it would have brought upon them the outraged anger of the whole nation.

In the case of Poland they could do no more than bleat a warning. Again he ignored it and, glumly apprehensive, they entered on the war with all the efficiency for which their caste had long been famous. Poland was finished in a fortnight, but the campaign had necessitated leaving Germany 's western frontier almost naked. They thanked their gods that France showed no disposition to launch an immediate offensive, but were convinced she would launch one in the spring; and the German Army was then weaker than that of France. Again, they had decided that they must eliminate Hitler before they had a full-scale world war on their hands. The result had been the Munich bomb plot in November 1939, in which Hitler had _.narrowly escaped being blown up. About that Gregory had needed no telling, as he had been involved in it himself.

In the spring there had followed the staggering series of Blitzkrieg by which Hitler had made himself the Overlord of Denmark, Norway, Holland, Belgium and France. The Generals had been amazed by their own successes but happily accepted them and, much as they continued to dislike `Corporal' Hitler, felt that there could no longer be any question of getting rid of him.

The following year had seen further German triumphs in the Balkans and the great drive into Russia. Over the latter they had always shaken their heads, and by the winter their forebodings were proving only too well justified. But in the meantime their wings had been clipped. Many of them had been sacked for opposing Hitler's `inspired' strategy; others were separated by many hundreds of miles and had been forbidden to communicate with one another.

So it had not been until disaster after disaster on the Russian front that a common desperation had driven a number of General Staff officers to risk a series of secret meetings and, in partial collaboration with members of the civilian Resistance groups, again plan to depose or kill Germany 's Evil Genius.

They were still hampered by the fact that every officer and man had personally sworn allegiance to Hitler and that, owing to Goebbels' propaganda, millions of Germans still had complete faith in him. But it appeared certain that the Allies were about to invade Europe; so it had been decided that, psychologically, that would be the moment when the German troops and people would most readily accept the overthrow of the Nazi regime.