When he had finished she asked, ‘Why didn’t you come up here and tell me all this before?’
‘God alone knows!’ he exclaimed irritably. ‘It was really old Pellinore. He put it into my head that if I drove you into solitude you might commit suicide. I was so desperately worried that I hadn’t the sense to realise that you are much too well balanced to do anything like that.’
She gave him a quick look. ‘I very nearly did the night I got back here. It would have been easy enough to get something from the dispensary. I had half a mind to, because I really felt that I’d come to the end of everything.’
‘Praise be, you didn’t! And if you love me that much surely—surely you can bring yourself to forget the wretched business?’
Suddenly she turned and grasped his arm. ‘Oh, my dear. Now you’ve told me what really happened I can. But it was such a frightful shock. And from what she said it seemed impossible to believe that you had not fallen in love with her. As it is I can’t even hate her any more. She saved your life, darling! She saved your life! What does anything else matter?’
Within a minute he had pulled her down a path into the nearest shrubbery and was kissing her fiercely while she wept with happiness at being once more in his arms.
Presently she said that she meant to try to put Sabine right out of her mind, as though she had no real existence, but that would not be possible if Gregory continued to be friends with her; so she wanted his solemn promise that in the future he would neither see nor write to her.
He gave it willingly, and fully restored her confidence in him by telling her that during the past three weeks he had deliberately avoided any meeting with Sabine, had seen her only once, and then not to speak to.
Soon afterwards they returned to the house and settled down comfortably in front of a warm fire. They had so much to say to one another that the afternoon sped by rapidly, and as there were no other guests staying in the house they were able to dine tête-à-tête in the little dining-room of the private wing. Gregory produced the foie-gras and told her about Diana. Erika was amused at his having taken the advice of a girl scarcely out of her teens, and pretended that she would find new cause for jealousy in this paragon who combined such wisdom with youth and beauty; but a minute later she added seriously that when she came to London she must meet Diana and thank her from the bottom of her heart for having sent him back to her.
It was shortly after the nine o’clock news that Gregory was called to the telephone. He was away for about five minutes and when he rejoined Erika every trace of his new happiness had disappeared.
‘What is it, darling?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Don’t tell me that you’re been recalled to duty. That would be too awful.’
‘No,’ he said, in a somewhat bewildered way. ‘No. That was Pellinore. At first I couldn’t make out what he was talking about. But before he finished he made it plain enough. He rang up to tell me that Sabine Tuzolto has been arrested as a spy.’
Erika’s blue eyes became round, her big generous mouth opened a little; then she suddenly sat back and gave way to peals of laughter.
‘Stop that!’ Gregory exclaimed angrily. This is no laughing matter.’
‘Oh, but if is; it is!’ Erika was half choking and tears of mirth were running down her cheeks. ‘It is the funniest thing that has happened for years. You, my dear, Grauber’s bête noire, the nightmare of the Gestapo, Britain’s all-time high Secret Agent, you—of all people—have been fooled into bringing a Nazi spy into England and … and—cream of the jest—planting her in the house of the man who knows more than anyone outside the Cabinet about Britain’s war secrets.’
‘Very funny! Very funny indeed!’ snapped Gregory. ‘But may I remind you that this woman saved my life.’
Erika cast her eyes upward as though appealing to the gods against crass stupidity. ‘Nonsense, you poor simpleton. Once they had decided how to make use of you your life was no longer in danger. This Hungarian tart did her big act because she was told to by Ribbentrop, and like a ninny you fell for it. Really, if there is a kindergarten for secret agents you ought to go there for a refresher course.’
‘You are wrong! Utterly wrong! The one thing had nothing whatever to do with the other. She got me out of Grauber’s clutches without any prompting from anyone. It was only later, after they had found out about the way she had rescued me, and ordered her into exile on that account, that the question arose of her coming to England. And, damn it all, we don’t even know yet if she is guilty. She may be the victim of some stupid mistake by M.I.5. Anyway, I owe her all the help I can give, and I’ll have to catch the first train in the morning for London.’
Coming to her feet, Erika cried in a pleading voice, ‘But darling! Only this afternoon you promised, promised faithfully, that you’d have no more to do with her.’
‘I can’t help that. Promises have to go by the board when a proven friend is in danger.’
Erika’s eyes became hard as ice. ‘All right! Go if you want to! If you do, it will be the clearest possible proof that you are still in love with her. And I’ll not stand for that. It will be the end between us. Do you understand? The end! The end! The final, irrevocable end!’
22
The Prisoner in the Tower
Gregory and Erika wrangled for an hour. They got no further. At length they went up to bed, Erika in tears and emotionally exhausted, Gregory bitterly resentful at what he considered to be her unwarrantable jealousy and lack of understanding. Instead of the joyous culmination of their reunion, which they had been happily anticipating until Sir Pellinore’s telephone call, they slept in separate rooms.
In the morning Gregory decided on a last attempt to make her appreciate his point of view; but he found her door locked and she flatly refused to let him in.
Four hours later he was seated opposite Sir Pellinore in the library at Carlton House Terrace, learning the details of Sabine’s arrest.
‘Guilty?’ boomed Sir Pellinore. ‘Of course she’s guilty! Must have bin comin’ down here and snoopin’ through my papers in the middle of the night. Anyhow, M.I.5. caught her with the goods on her.’
‘What sort of goods?’ inquired Gregory.
‘Copies of some of the key letters in my correspondence with the Turks. As you must know, I made my first big money while on the board of a private bank that specialised in loans to the Near East. For a quarter of a century I’ve had a lot of pull in Turkey. And once we’ve opened up the Med. we hope to bring Johnny Turk in on our side. I’ve been sounding out the big shots there. Gettin’ a line on who’s for us and who’s against us. That’s the sort of thing the Nazis would give a lot to know.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you keep it in your safe?’ said Gregory angrily. ‘It would have served you damn well right if it had got through to the enemy.’
‘Ha! What’s that?’ The Baronet’s blue eyes popped. ‘I’m not accountable to you—or to any other young idiot who’d let a pretty woman twist him round her little finger. Safe’s chock-a-block with more important stuff. Anyway, I don’t expect my friends to, er … plant vipers in my bosom.’
If Gregory had not been so upset he would have laughed. As it was, he apologised. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It has no bearing whatever on the case. But I’m half out of my wits with worry. After going through hell for the best part of a month, yesterday I got Erika to forgive me. Then you telephoned. When I told her that I must return to help Sabine, she blew up like a block-buster. Short of a miracle, I’ve now done myself in with her for good.’
‘More fool you, then! Help Sabine, indeed! What help can you give her? Some thug in the Moldavian Embassy evidently supplied her with a mini-camera and she’s bin photographin’ my documents. Seein’ that she had only just arrived from Hungary, as soon as she got herself a job with the Moldavians M.I.5. were astute enough to keep tabs on her. Yesterday they intercepted her on her way to her office and politely invited her to show them the contents of her han
dbag. And there were the micro-films. You’re a cleverer feller than I am, Gunga Din, if you can help her to laugh that off.’
‘All right,’ Gregory agreed reluctantly. ‘Let’s take it that she is guilty. That doesn’t alter the fact that she saved me from being very slowly and very painfully done to death.’
‘Yes, you loony! Saved you with her tongue in her cheek. Countin’ on it that, if she could get you to bring her to England, owing to my friendship with her father I’d give her house room here.’
‘No. You are being unjust to her in exactly the same way as Erika. Knowing that I was a British agent she risked her own position to save my bacon. She hadn’t the faintest intention of leaving Ribbentrop until Grauber found her out and she was forced to go abroad.’
‘You told me yourself that she hated the Russians’ guts so much that she’d rather see the house-painter feller win than ourselves.’
‘She would. She told me that the first day I talked to her, and she has been honest enough to make no pretence of having altered her views. Obviously that explains her conduct. She happened to meet some other pro-Nazis and discovered that through them she could put a spoke in the Russians’ wheel. If you or I found ourselves stuck in Germany and were given the chance, wouldn’t we do the same sort of thing to help Britain?’
‘Um!’ Sir Pellinore grunted. ‘Suppose we should! Mark you, I like the gel. Enjoyed having her about the place with that nice scent she uses and her bangles clinkin’. After the way you’ve put it, I’m almost sorry for her. But she’s made us look a fine pair of half-wits; and there is nothing we can do for her. The law must take its course.’
‘All right; we’ll agree that for the moment. But the least I can do is to let her know that she is not entirely friendless. You have quite enough pull to get me a permit to see her.’
‘Maybe I have; but I wouldn’t bet on it. Can’t see why M.I.5 should let outsiders communicate with spies in prison. Not unless they can give a thunderin’ good reason for wantin’ to see the prisoner.’
‘I can give one. I know more about Sabine than anyone in this country. Naturally they will want to get all the information out of her that they can. She is much more likly to spill the beans if they allow me to help with her interrogation.’
‘Something in that. Very well, then. I’ll give you a line to a friend of mine that they’ve nicknamed “Himmler”. Not that he has anything in common with that Nazi horror who looks like a goofy toad. It’s simply that he’s the top boy for this sort of thing in M.I.5. If I’d been him I’d have jugged you for bringing that wench into the country; but he seemed to think you were too much of a fool to be dangerous.’
Gregory submitted to the irate Baronet’s abuse without comment, and asked, ‘What do you think she’ll get?’
‘How should I know? If this were the Continent her life wouldn’t be worth a row of beans; but we’re a lot of softies here. I doubt, though, if she’ll get off with less than seven years; and for the duration, anyhow, it will be solitary confinement.’
‘God, how awful for her!’
Sir Pellinore sighed. ‘Yes. What a waste; lovely young creature like that. Another ruined life that Hitler has to answer for. Still, nothing we can do. We must get on with the war.’
When the letter was written Gregory took it straight round to the M.I.5. office, but he was told that the Colonel he wished to see was out and would not be in until the following morning. At nine o’clock next day he went again to the tall building that housed M.I.5. After a wait of half an hour he was taken up in a lift to the top floor and shown into a large bright office, where the man nicknamed ‘Himmler’ was seated behind a desk on which there was a row of different coloured telephones.
He was dressed as usual in civilian clothes, and was a big, powerful looking man with a full, ruddy face. His manner was courteous but he spoke very quickly. Having read Sir Pellinore’s letter he fixed an unwavering gaze on Gregory through the tops of his bi-focals and said:
‘I had intended to ask you to come to see me, in any case. Tell me all you know about this woman?’
Gregory complied, gave the full story of his trip to Budapest and offered his assistance as an interrogator. The Colonel asked a number of shrewd questions, then he said, ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to see her yet. I’d prefer to see what my own people can get out of her first. They are very experienced at that sort of thing. But you may be able to help us later.’ After a quick look at his engagement block, he added, ‘Come back and see me again on Friday—three o’clock suit you?’
‘Yes,’ Gregory nodded. ‘I can get away pretty well any time by swopping tours of duty with my colleagues in the War Room.’ He hesitated a moment, then asked, ‘What do you think they will give her?’
The big man shrugged. ‘In peace time the maximum is ten years; but as we are at war she is liable to the death penalty. We have never shot a woman yet but we may do in this instance. Women agents are just as dangerous as men—if not more so. In the early days foreign women gave us a lot of trouble and they were allowed to get away with internment, or a prison sentence. But the Germans are behaving with complete callousness. They have done in any number of British and French women. As a matter of policy it might be a good thing to show for once that we can be equally tough. That would make some of the other women living here as refugees think twice about trying to ferret secrets out of serving officers. I am not saying I would advocate the death penalty myself; but it might come to that. Anyway, it is not for me to decide. That will be up to the Home Secretary.’
Gregory was about to ask where Sabine was being held, but the Colonel got abruptly to his feet. ‘I’m afraid I can’t spare you any more time now. I have an I.S.S.B. meeting at the War Office, and I’ve a number of papers to run through first. See you on Friday.’
His concern for Sabine now graver than ever, and frustrated in his attempt to see her, Gregory had no alternative but to take his leave. For the next two days there was nothing he could do, and in his off duty hours he brooded miserably upon the terrible situation that Sabine had got herself into, and the wrecking of his reconciliation with Erika.
Friday came at last, and after lunch Colonel ‘Himmler’ received him with his usual briskness. Coming to the point at once, he said:
‘Glad to see you. My people haven’t got very far; so I’ve decided to let you try your hand. She is in the Tower and I have here an authority for the Resident Governor to admit you to her. I also have here a list of questions to which I should particularly like answers. Study it carefully and memorise them. Your best chance is to cheer her up as much as you can by recalling pleasant times you had together, then work in these questions at intervals quite casually. I’d like you to report to me here some time before seven-thirty.’
Greatly relieved that Sabine had proved stubborn enough to justify his being called in to help in her interrogation, Gregory took the papers and promised to do his best. Outside he picked up a taxi, told its driver to take him to the Tower of London, and on the way there read through the list of questions. Most of them were to do with the Moldavian Embassy and seemed such straightforward ones he was a little surprised that Sabine had so far refused to answer them.
At the entrance to the precincts of the Tower he paid off his taxi. The sentry on the iron gate saluted him and a Yeoman Warder, wearing the flat black cap and picturesque red and black uniform dating from Tudor times, opened it to ask his business. He had not realised that the Tower was closed to the public, but the Yeoman told him that in wartime the only unofficial visitors allowed in were Service men who had made a special application to go round in one of the daily conducted tours, between either eleven and midday, or two-thirty and three-thirty in the afternoon. Gregory produced his letter for the Resident Governor and the Yeoman took him through to the little office where in peacetime the public buy their tickets of admission. There he signed a book and was issued with a temporary pass. Another ‘Beefeater’ then acted as his escort
to the Governor’s office.
First they walked down the slope to the twin towers that guard the entrance to the fortress proper, through the great arched gate between them and on to the bridge across the wide dry moat. Gregory glanced into it and quickly looked away again. In peacetime soldiers of the garrison played football down in it; but it was there, so he had been told, that on certain grim dawns spies caught during the war had been put up against the casement wall and executed by a firing squad.
A moment later they passed through a second great gateway, under the Byward Tower, and entered what seemed like a sunken road, as forty-foot walls rose on either side, almost shutting out the dim light of the late October afternoon.
From long habit, his Yeoman guide remarked, ‘The river used to run here once, sir. That’s why it’s called Water Lane. The Normans built only the White Tower and the great Inner Wall on our left. It was Richard I, 1189-1199, who pushed the river back by dumping thousands of tons of earth here taken from widening the moat. The great Outer Wall on our right, with its five additional towers facing the river, was not completed till Edward I, 1272-1307.’
A hundred yards farther on Water Lane passed through an archway between the huge cylindrical Wakefield Tower and, on the river side, an oblong block as big as a small castle in itself, with smaller towers at each of its outer corners. This was called St. Thomas’s Tower and held, perhaps more fascination for visitors than any other. Centrally beneath it ran a high vaulted tunnel which could be reached by a flight of steps down into a part of the moat. The Tower had been built to defend the tunnel, as until Victorian times it had been the entrance by river to the fortress, famous for centuries as Traitors’ Gate.
After a glance at the great ten feet high double gates with their cross-bars of stout timber, Gregory turned with his guide towards the Inner Wall and accompanied him through it by yet another great gate which ran immediately under the Bloody Tower. As they walked up the steep slope on the far side of the gate he could now see the splendid cube of the White Tower to his right front. Unlike the other seventeen towers there was nothing in the least grim about William the Conqueror’s original Palace-keep, yet its battlements and four domed turrets dwarfed all the rest into insignificance.
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