Both stooped to make a grab for it. Their heads came together with a crack. They staggered back; but Cochefert was quick enough to give it a swift sideways kick. It slithered away out of Gregory’s reach before he could make another dive at it.
Meanwhile, with a spate of blasphemous curses, Grauber had picked himself up and was now yelling, ‘Seize him! Seize him! Call the police! He must not escape!’
But there was no exit to the room other than the one Gregory was blocking; so the attendant could not get out to call anyone. He was entirely unaware of the implications of the fray, and was naturally anxious to keep out of it. His only contribution was to snatch up the gun, which slid to a halt at his feet and, with laudable eagerness to prevent its being used, throw it into the dirty towel basket.
As Gregory was still at the door end of the room he could, at any moment, have swung round, wrenched it open and fled. But unless he could prevent Cochefert and Grauber dashing out on his heels, he knew that he would never reach Sabine’s car. With shouts of ‘Murder!’ and ‘Stop thief!’ they would secure the aid of the Club door-porter and various other people, one of whom would be certain to catch hold of, or trip, him. In another attempt to render them hors de combat, so that he could get at least a flying start, he first feinted at Cochefert then landed a terrific blow on the Frenchman’s thin curved beak. Swinging round on Grauber, he tried the same tactics, but the more skilful German ducked the blow and closed with him.
Half blinded by the pain, and with blood dripping from his nose, Cochefert staggered aside. The other two went down in a heap with Gregory on top. Both of them knew every dirty trick worth knowing and neither had the slightest scruple about using them.
The German got one hand on Gregory’s throat and with the thumb of the other attempted to jab out his nearest eye. Gregory tried to knee his antagonist in the groin, but failed in that. Then striving with one hand to break Grauber’s grip on his throat, he struck savagely with the other, using the hard side of the palm, down on his adversary’s Adam’s apple.
They strove for mastery with gritted teeth, straining their muscles to the utmost and jerking from side to side as they fought. Grauber managed to keep a firm grip on Gregory’s windpipe. Only by keeping his chin well down could he save himself from complete strangulation, and his breath was now coming in short, sobbing gasps. Yet he knew that his vicious chops at the German’s Adam’s apple must be causing him exquisite agony, and he could see that his one eye was growing misty. A few more strokes and pain must render him unconscious.
But there was still Cochefert. For a moment or two the Frenchman stood swaying drunkenly as the result of the terrible blow which had broken the bone in his nose. Then, lurching to the row of washbasins, he snatched up a large bottle of hair-oil, turned, raised it aloft and brought it down on the top of Gregory’s head. The bottle smashed; the scented oil streamed down over his face. With stars and circles flashing in sudden blackness before his eyes, it was he who then slid into unconsciousness, falling sideways across the body of his groaning enemy.
He was not out for long. By the time they had carried him to a car and thrown him on to its back seat he was again aware of his surroundings, if only vaguely. For a good two minutes he lay slumped in his corner wondering why he had such a pain in his head, how he had got where he was, and where he was being taken. Then his having run slap into Grauber in the men’s toilet room at the Arizona suddenly came back to him.
Instantly everything else connected. His heart seemed to contract as the full knowledge of his position flooded in upon him. If Sabine had proved adamant, that would have been bad enough. But before she could have had him arrested he would anyhow have had a flying start; and if he had had the ill luck to be caught there would still have been a chance that, with the help of his Hungarian friends, he might have got away again. There would be no chance of that now that he had fallen into Grauber’s hands. The Gruppenführer was not the man to let a prisoner communicate with anyone, or leave him the smallest loophole for even a forlorn hope of escape. Still more shattering thought, Grauber’s bitter personal hatred of him would undoubtedly lead to his being treated with the utmost brutality.
As he opened his eyes a new wave of pain shot through his head. In front of him a man in a chauffeur’s cap was at the wheel; so it looked as if they were in a civilian car. Next to the driver sat a bareheaded man wearing a white jacket. Peering at him in the dim light, Gregory wondered who he could be; suddenly it flashed upon him that it was the wash-room attendant.
Turning his head very slightly, in order not to give away that he had come to, he looked sideways at the man beside him. The man’s kepi showed that he was a Hungarian policeman. Beyond the policeman there was another figure, occupying the other corner of the back seat. After a few moments Gregory got a glimpse of him that confirmed his worst fears. It was Grauber.
The distance between the Arizona and the Police Station was quite short, and the still-dazed Gregory had hardly catalogued his fellow passengers before the car pulled up. He now had his senses about him sufficiently to feel dismay. Had the drive been twice the distance he might at its end have been recovered enough to attempt making a bolt for it as they got out, but he was still terribly shaky.
Grauber opened the rear door on his side and slid out on to the pavement. The policeman took Gregory by the shoulder and gave him a shake. Feeling that there was nothing to be gained by having himself carried, he pretended to rouse up and lurched after the policeman out of the car.
His brain kept on telling him that if he once allowed himself to be taken inside he was finished. Only death could follow; and death at Grauber’s hands would be more painful than anyone who had not been inside a Gestapo torture chamber could imagine. Yet, as he struggled out of the car, his knees almost gave under him, and he realised that he could not have staggered a couple of paces before being set upon and dragged into the Station. In an agony of mind he allowed the policeman to put a hand under his arm and guide him up the steps into the building.
It was only when the little group, minus the chauffeur, stood facing a Sergeant across his desk in an office that Gregory realised that Grauber was also a prisoner. Apparently the two of them, and Cochefert as well, had all been arrested for causing a disturbance in a public place; but the Frenchman, owing to his nose having been broken, had been taken by another policeman to hospital.
Now that, in spite of the pain in his head, Gregory’s brain was functioning again, he exerted it to its utmost capacity in striving to find a way in which he could turn this totally unexpected situation to his advantage. He had plenty of money on him; so if only he could induce the police to accept a cash deposit of any sum they liked to name as security that he would turn up to face a charge before a magistrate in the morning, he might yet wriggle out of Grauber’s clutches.
Yet, even as he toyed with this exhilarating possibility, he knew in his heart that he would never get away with it. Grauber was one of the highest Police Chiefs of an allied power. He had only to produce his credentials and say that the fracas had occurred solely as the result of his recognising a British spy for him to have his enemy clapped into a cell, and walk out himself a free man.
And that, in effect, was what happened. The wash-room attendant made his statement about the fight he had witnessed. Grauber produced his Gestapo card and declared Gregory’s passport as Commandant Tavenier to be a fake. The Sergeant telephoned to the Gestapo liaison office in Budapest and, having given a description of Grauber, satisfied himself about the German’s identity. He then asked, at Grauber’s request, that a car should be sent to collect the Gruppenführer, and declared his intention of holding Gregory on the charge preferred.
Grauber angrily protested that a civil charge of having created a disturbance was not good enough. He wanted Gregory to be held as a dangerous enemy agent awaiting examination; and, further, demanded the right to proceed forthwith to examine him himself.
At that the Sergeant demurred, arguing that
some evidence must be brought to support such a charge; and that, anyhow, it would be time enough to produce it when Gregory was brought before a magistrate next day. He added that he could not allow the prisoner to be cross-questioned there and then, as it was against regulations.
At that Grauber flew into a rage. Thumping the desk with his fist he shrilled out falsetto threats of what he would do to the Sergeant unless he was given his way. The Sergeant, overawed by the high rank of the German Police Chief, decided that discretion was the better part of valour, so agreed to submit the matter to the Station Commandant.
While Gregory waited on tenterhooks a constable was sent to fetch the Commandant. Five minutes later he joined them: a square-shouldered tough-looking Captain of Police, with a slight cast in his left eye. After he had been given a brief résumé of what had occurred, he dismissed the wash-room attendant and took Gregory and Grauber into a small, barely furnished waiting-room.
The Captain’s eyes were blue although his nose was flat and his cheekbones high, indicating Tartar descent. For a moment he stood sizing up the two men before him, then he said to Grauber:
‘It seems there is little doubt about your identity, Herr Gruppenführer, so naturally I wish to be as helpful as I can. Although it is against all ordinary procedure to allow one of two people picked up on the same charge to question the other about something entirely different, since you say the matter is urgent you can go ahead.’
With a brief word of thanks, Grauber turned to Gregory and snapped: ‘Now! What are you up to in Budapest?’
Gregory knew that he could not bluff Grauber; but he hoped that he might keep the mind of the Police Captain open by replying, ‘I see no reason why I should submit to being questioned by you; but the sooner this matter is sorted out the better. It is evident that when you attacked me you mistook me for someone else. I am a Frenchman and I own a truffle farm in Périgord. I am here to sell my truffles.’
‘A fine story!’ Grauber sneered. ‘And now I will tell you why I am here.’
‘Thank you.’ Gregory shrugged. ‘But as I have never met you before I am not in the least interested.
‘Ah! But you will be! I am here because word reached my office a few days ago that a conspiracy is afoot in which a little clique of Hungarian magnates is plotting to bring pressure on their Government to sell out to the English.’
Gregory managed to keep his face expressionless; but Grauber’s words were a sickening blow. His fears, that a leak to the Nazis would result from the casual disregard of security displayed by Count Zapolya’s friends after the first big meeting at the Nobles Club, had proved well founded. He could only pray that so far Grauber had not secured any actual evidence against the members of the Committee, and hope for a chance to get a warning to them. Meanwhile the plump, pasty-faced German was going on:
‘To run into you was a real stroke of fortune. On your past record as a secret agent, I would wager Reichsmarschall Goering’s cellar against a bottle of sour claret that you are at the bottom of this plot.’
‘You are completely wrong. I know nothing whatever about it.’
‘Oh, yes, you do! There is no war activity in Budapest which would bring a man of your calibre here, but such big game as this is just your meat. Now; I want the names of everyone you have met since you arrived in Hungary.’
‘If I had anything to hide I would not tell you; but during the fortnight I have been here I have met scores of people. My first few days were a little dull but I got into conversation with all sorts in the bars and at the swimming pools, and if you know how hospitable the Hungarians are you will appreciate that soon I had not a dull moment. There is hardly a night that I have not been to a party, and …’
‘Enough!’ Grauber cut him short. ‘It is useless to try to fog the issue by giving me a list of names a yard long. I want those of the people who know you to be an Englishman.’
‘There are none; for the simple reason that I am not one.’
At that moment there came an interruption. The Sergeant poked his head round the door and announced the arrival of the car sent to collect Grauber. Two of his aides-de-camp had come in it, tall pink-cheeked young Gestapo men; as the Sergeant stood aside they entered the room, clicked their heels and saluted.
Grauber gave them a nod and waved a hand towards Gregory. ‘Heershaft, we are in luck this evening. Allow me to present to you Mr. Gregory Sallust, the most skilful and dangerous of all British operatives. He has personally killed several of our colleagues and been responsible for the death of many more. It was to him that I owe the loss of my eye, and in due course I mean to pluck out both of his with my own hands. However, at the …’
Simulating intense anger, Gregory suddenly burst out, ‘This is fantastic! Not a word of it is true! My name is Etienne Tavenier, and I am a retired Major of the French Army. I have documents to prove it.’
‘Documents!’ sneered Grauber. ‘Do you take me for a child? Of course you would have come provided with documents, but not one of them will be worth the paper it is written on.’
Gregory knew only too well that, as soon as Cochefert was sufficiently recovered to be brought in on the matter, to continue the pretence that he was Tavenier would be completely futile. Moreover, as it was from the Vadászkürt that his false passport had reached Lieutenant Puttony, and the Arizona was in the same district, it seemed highly probable that the Lieutenant was attached to this station. Should he come on the scene that would equally blow the Tavenier story. But Gregory had no other means of repudiating Grauber’s charges; so the only course open to him was to stick to his guns in front of the Hungarian Police Captain, in the desperate hope that some chance to escape might offer if only he could gain a little time. In a further effort to maintain his bluff, he shouted at Grauber:
‘My documents are in perfect order! They have been checked by the police and by that Deuxième Bureau Captain who was about to introduce me to you when you attacked me. If you don’t believe me, ask him; or send a telegram to Vichy. They know all about me there.’
The Hungarian, obviously impressed, nodded. ‘Yes. After all, it is quite possible that you are mistaken, Herr Gruppenführer. This man may be whom he says he is.’
‘He is an English spy, I tell you!’ Grauber’s high-pitched voice rose almost to a scream.
‘I am nothing of the kind!’ Gregory yelled back with all the excitability of an angry and injured Frenchman. ‘Telegraph to Vichy about me, and you will be made to eat your words.’
Again the Hungarian nodded. ‘Why should we not do that? I will hold the prisoner until morning, and by then we should have a reply.’
White with fury, Grauber banged his clenched fist on the table. ‘I need no telegram from Vichy. I know this man as well as I know my own face in a mirror. And the enquiry I am engaged upon is urgent. As soon as it gets out that he has been arrested the men he has been conspiring with will take fright. They will go into hiding, or try to leave the country. That is why I have got to have the truth out of him here and now.’
‘Since he maintains that he is not the man you think him, I don’t see how you can.’
Grauber gave a short, sniggering laugh, and turned to leer at his two S.S. men. ‘We’ll get it all right, won’t we, boys?’
They both grinned, and the taller said, ‘Leave it to us, Herr Gruppenführer’
Turning back to the Hungarian, Grauber said abruptly, ‘Take us down to a cell and provide us with a piece of cord. We’ll string him up by his thumbs to start with and see if that will make him open his mouth.’
The Hungarian hesitated a moment, then he said, ‘I am anxious to oblige the Herr Gruppenführer, but I don’t think I could do that.’
‘And why not, if you please?’ Grauber asked in a suddenly silky voice.
‘For one thing, his identity is still uncertain.’
‘You said that you are anxious to oblige me. You can do so by taking my word about that.’
‘I have already stretched a point in
allowing you to question him about a matter that has no connexion with the charge on which I am holding him.’
‘Teufel nochmal!’ Grauber exploded. ‘Is Hungary Germany’s ally, or is she not?’
‘Herr Gruppenführer, the fact that our two countries are allied has no bearing on police procedure.’
‘It has, Herr Hauptmann. Our Governments, our fighting services, our police and yours are all pledged to aid each other by every means in their power. I now formally request your help in the carrying out of my duties.’
Gregory was listening to the discussion with bated breath. He now had little enough to pin his hopes upon in any case, but the outcome of this swift exchange of words meant for him the difference between a few hours’ respite and being put to the torture within the next few minutes. The palms of his hand were damp with apprehension as he watched the Hungarian’s face. It was a strong face, but he feared every moment to see it weaken under the pressure that it was certain Grauber would bring to bear.
To the German’s request he replied, ‘I have no wish to withhold my co-operation; but the procedure of the two police forces differ, and to do as you suggest would be contrary to our regulations here.’
‘I suppose you mean that, when a prisoner refuses to talk, you are too squeamish to make him?’ Grauber sneered.
‘Let us put it that in Hungary we do not approve of torture.’
‘Do you presume to criticise German methods?’
‘I criticise nothing. I only obey the orders of my superiors.’
Grauber was seething with rage. His thin sandy eyebrows drew down in a scowl and his single eye gleamed with malice, as he said, ‘Listen, my little Captain. My rank is far superior to yours and should you continue to oppose my wish I am quite powerful enough to insist on your own Chief disciplining you. Now! No more nonsense. Send for a piece of cord and lead us to a cell.’
Traitors' Gate Page 19
