‘That’s fine,’ murmured Gregory, ‘fine. But what happens if the King pulls a gun on us? He might, you know, and it only needs the sound of one shot to bring everybody running; then the men would probably start shooting at Major Heering and his friends and it might be anybody’s day out.’
Von Ziegler shot a supercilious glance at Gregory. ‘If by any chance you don’t like the idea, Baron, there’s still plenty of time for you to quit. I was rather under the impression, though, that you said you were game for anything.’
‘I am, Herr Hauptmann,’ Gregory replied quietly; ‘but if anything does go wrong it looks as though you and I are going to be in the forefront of the battle. I’ve been under fire quite a number of times before, but nothing about my own job led me to suppose that I should be again this morning; and I haven’t made my Will.’
‘Made your Will?’ echoed von Ziegler.
‘Yes. It’s a steadfast habit of mine; I always make a new Will before going into action. It’s rather like taking an umbrella out when you’re anxious that it shouldn’t rain—at least, that is how it has always been with me—and, being a superstitious person, I have no intention of neglecting the custom.’
As he spoke, Gregory moved over to the other side of the room, drew a blank sheet of paper from a desk-set and began writing on it, while von Ziegler eyed him with amusement. Having completed the document, Gregory folded it neatly in two, leaving only the lowest inch of the face of the sheet visible, and called over his shoulder:
‘D’you mind witnessing this for me?’
‘With pleasure,’ von Ziegler laughed. He seemed greatly tickled by the whole episode, but appended his signature at the bottom without comment.
‘Thanks,’ nodded Gregory, and folding the sheet again he slipped it into his pocket.
For a further five minutes they sat smoking in silence while Gregory badgered his wits wondering what on earth he was going to do next. If von Ziegler was correct, Major Quisling had planned the whole coup very efficiently. Even now the King’s faithful friends and retainers were doubtless being got out of the way. As they would almost certainly remain close at hand, a pistol-shot in the King’s room would bring them rushing to it, but traitor Heering’s men would be posted in the corridors to prevent them from reaching the King’s apartment. If Gregory let off his own pistol with the idea of giving an alarm it was unlikely that it would do the King any good, but would probably result in von Ziegler’s realising that the shot had been fired deliberately and in his shooting the alarmist.
He could, of course, shoot von Ziegler, but it did not look as though that would do very much good either. If he did so now it would prevent the projected interview ever taking place, but it was quite clear that the conspirators had no intention of allowing the King to leave the Palace, so they would simply report to Major Quisling what had happened and wait until he sent another German officer to confront their Sovereign and carry out the arrest which they themselves were apparently ashamed to make.
If he waited until they got upstairs before shooting von Ziegler that would hardly improve matters. There would still be Major Heering to tackle and, even if he succeeded in outing him too, Heering’s friends would still control the corridors and overcome any resistance which might break out at the sound of the shooting. Meanwhile he would be trapped with the King in his apartments and would have to wait there until the German troops arrived and they were both arrested. Those seemed the only alternatives to the germ of a plan which Gregory had conceived soon after entering the Palace, but that seemed so wild that he feared it would be quite impossible to carry it through without arousing von Ziegler’s suspicion.
He was still racking his brains over the problem when the door opened and Major Heering came in. He was a short, stocky man with bulbous eyes and a red face which suggested that he lived too well.
The Major showed no surprise at Gregory’s presence, as they had met casually at two or three parties, and since he was posing as a German Staff-Colonel there was nothing surprising about his having accompanied the German Air Attaché upon this unusual occasion. Having closed the door behind him, Heering shot a nervous glance at von Ziegler and said:
‘You may have to wait some time; the whole place has been in a pandemonium ever since the guns opened at four o’clock this morning. I’ve been trying to get him on his own for the last quarter of an hour but it’s next to impossible,’
‘You’ll have to manage it somehow,’ replied von Ziegler with brusque authority, and Gregory noted grimly that now that the German troops were in the country their representative no longer troubled to conceal the iron hand beneath the velvet glove; things were obviously going to go badly for the red-faced Norwegian if he failed to fulfil the German Air Attaché’s wishes.
‘I’ve been doing my best,’ protested the Major huffily.
‘Then you must do better, my friend,’ was the smooth reply.
‘All right. Wait here; but you must be patient, otherwise we may ruin the whole thing.’ The flustered Major disappeared.
Gregory prayed that the Major might still find it impossible to get a word alone with the King for a considerable time to come, since if they were detained long enough in the waiting-room it might give him just a chance to pull a fast one over the German.
He was a little chary of discussing the invasion, as in his role of a German staff-officer he would naturally be expected to know the main outlines of the operation and if he slipped up and showed ignorance upon any essential point in the plan he would immediately arouse von Zieglers’ suspicions, but he began to talk of Norway in a general way and of the benefits that Germany would derive from its occupation.
Von Ziegler agreed that it was a clever stroke as, apart from the produce that could be looted from the country, it would give them many hundreds of miles of tortuous sea-coast where submarine bases could be established for attacks on Britain. ‘Of course,’ he added with a laugh, ‘the whole thing would have been impossible if the British had proper leaders. One must not underrate them as a people, because they’re tough as blazes when it comes to a real show-down, but the old gentlemen who are running the country now have simply played into our hands. If they hadn’t been dead from the neck up we should never have been able to land our troops in Bergen, Trondheim and Narvik.’
It was all Gregory could do to suppress an exclamation of astonishment and fury. He could hardly believe that the Germans had been allowed to land as far north as Trondheim—let alone Narvik—without any attempt being made to intercept them, but he knew that von Ziegler would never have made such a statement if it were not true. However, the German went on in a way which revealed that the Nazis had had their men bidden in barges and other vessels all ready to come ashore in these ports, which to some extent explained what had happened. Naturally, the British could not have known that they would do that, so they had had no chance to sink these Nazi contingents before they reached their destination. Evidently it was the Intelligence, and not the Navy, who were to blame, and Gregory endeavoured to comfort himself with the thought that in this way the Germans could not have landed any considerable forces with tanks and modern war equipment. They would be unable to reinforce their landing-parties and when the British arrived they would mop them up at their leisure.
As they talked Gregory kept his eye on the clock and as the minute-hand circled the dial his hopes gradually rose. When it touched half-past ten they had been in the Palace for over an hour, so he felt that he might attempt to put his wild scheme into operation with a reasonable chance that von Ziegler would not suspect what he was up to.
First he began to fidget, then he stood up and started to pace up and down. Von Ziegler glanced at him after a few moments and murmured: ‘What’s the matter?’
Gregory walked over and pressed the bell as he replied: ‘I’ve been on the go ever since one o’clock this morning so I’m going to leave you for a moment.’
In response to his ring the liveried footman appeared and Gregor
y, guessing that all the Palace servants would understand German, said quietly: ‘Show me the way to the toilet, will you?’ Then he walked calmly out of the room with the man behind him.
While it had appeared that at any moment they were about to arrest the King he had not dared to pull that old bluff to get a few moments out of sight and earshot of von Ziegler; but once it seemed that their time of waiting had become indefinite his decision to absent himself temporarily could not be taken as unnatural. Everything hung upon von Ziegler’s remaining unsuspicious of him, and it was for that reason that he had felt it absolutely vital to remain there talking for so long before playing this risky card.
Even now it was only a long shot that his plan would come off, but it was better to try it than to do nothing. He allowed the footman to lead him down a long corridor and when the man threw open the door of a tiled wash-room he turned and faced him.
‘How d’you feel about this morning’s events?’ he asked tonelessly.
The man remained standing in the half-open doorway and looked uncomfortably at his feet. ‘Your soldiers are killing my countrymen down at the docks, sir,’ he muttered. ‘You cannot expect me to feel happy about that.’
Gregory’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. ‘If they are fools enough to resist, that is their own fault. But they won’t resist for long; you Norwegians are too soft and pampered for that; it’s time you had a lesson.’
The footman suddenly looked up and his brown eyes were flashing. ‘You’re wrong there; my people are a hardy folk. You wait until you get up into the mountains—some of us Norwegians will teach you lousy Nazis a thing or two then!’
Gregory’s face suddenly relaxed into a smile. Producing his ‘last Will and Testament’ he held it out to the astonished footman and said: ‘You’re a loyal Norwegian—thank God for that! Now listen. The King is in the utmost danger. Never mind who I am or how I know. Never mind about etiquette—if necessary, push past anybody who tries to stop you—but you’ve got to go upstairs at once and give this piece of paper into the King’s own hand. If you can do that you will have the right to be the proudest man in Norway, because you will have saved your King from being kidnapped by the Nazis.’
His tone was so earnest that it never even occurred to the man to doubt him. With a swift nod he took the paper and put it in his pocket. ‘Very well, sir; I’ll do that. It was lucky, though, that you spoke to me and not some of these chaps in service at the Palace—half of them have gone pro-Hitler.’
Two minutes later Gregory was back with von Ziegler and he sat down to await the outcome of his plan. Knowing that the King spoke English, he had written his ‘Will’ in that language and it read:
Get out—get out—get out—instantly! Your guards have arranged to betray you to the enemy and German officers are already waiting downstairs to arrest you. Tear off the bottom strip of this paper and leave by one of the back entrances to the Palace. If anyone tries to stop you, present the slip and it may get you through. I urge Your Majesty not to lose a moment.
Then, underneath, he had written another three lines in German, French and English, each of which ran:
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN. New factors have necessitated a change of plan. It is of the utmost importance that His Majesty should be got away from the Palace as quickly as possible. Your co-operation in this is required most urgently.
Below it, little knowing what he had signed, Captain Kurt von Ziegler had appended his signature.
Gregory was far from being optimistic about the success of his stratagem. Luck had served him in that the footman had proved a loyal Norwegian and he felt confident that the man would manage to get the paper to King Haakon, but that was only the first step in this desperate attempt to save the King from capture.
As Gregory had never been presented his name would have conveyed nothing to the Monarch, so there had been no point in signing his message. The King might therefore suspect that the instructions were designed to lead him into a trap where he would be assassinated by Gestapo agents outside the back door of his Palace, if he came out of it unaccompanied. It was almost certain that he would consult his entourage before acting on it, and if anyone to whom he showed it was among the conspirators steps would at once be taken to prevent his leaving.
Again, even if he got as far as one of the back gates, what would happen then? Gregory knew that at each of them a pro-Nazi officer was stationed, and as all educated Norwegians could read German, French or English the officer would be able to understand the message which purported to come from von Ziegler. But would he act upon it?
Kings do not normally present passes to their guards when they wish to leave their own palaces. If the officer had any intelligence at all it would immediately occur to him that if his German paymasters really wanted the King out of the Palace there was no earthly reason why he should not have left by his own front door, in his own car and with his Equerries in attendance. At the first suspicion that the order had been faked he would hold the King until he had had the instructions verified. In a very short space of time one of Major Heering’s colleagues would pass the slip to him and he would come pelting downstairs with it to inquire if von Ziegler had gone crazy. The second the German saw it he would realise how Gregory had obtained his signature by a trick, and then the fat would be in the fire.
Outwardly Gregory appeared perfectly calm but he knew that, except for the most extraordinary luck, in getting von Ziegler to sign that paper he had signed his own death-warrant.
6
Caught Red-handed
The clock in the waiting-room ticked on with interminable slowness. It was barely five minutes since Gregory had given the warning message to the footman. The Palace was not a big one as palaces go but, all the same, it was quite a sizable building. The King’s private apartments were probably quite a distance from the waiting-room. It might have taken the footman the best part of those five minutes to reach them.
The King was in perpetual conference with his advisers and during the last two hours even Major Heering had found it impossible to get him on his own for a moment, so what chance did an ordinary footman stand of managing that? Having acquired the habit of deference from being in the service of the Crown, would the man screw up the courage to force his way into the King’s presence or would he waste invaluable time hanging about the corridor until the King came out?
If he did force his way in, the King would certainly not be alone, and it was almost certain that he would show the warning to whoever was with him. Even if he kept it to himself, and decided to act upon it, how was he going to get out of the Palace without Major Heering and his fellow-conspirators realising what was on foot? Gregory realised that although he had attempted to throw a spanner into the works he had actually thrown only a straw which had very little chance of wrecking the Nazi machine.
As he sat there he was considering what he should do when his little plot was discovered and the balloon went up. The automatic that he was carrying already had a bullet in the barrel so he had only to slip back the safety-catch. If he were first on the draw there was a chance that he could hold up von Ziegler and Heering while he got out of the room. But directly he was out of sight they would begin to shout; the sentry on the outer door would come charging in with his rifle, and the other two, having drawn their pistols, would come dashing after him, so he would be caught between two fires and shot down in the passage. The waiting-room was on the ground floor but its window had stout, old-fashioned, iron bars strongly embedded in the wall, so there was no escape that way, and the room had only one door. By and large, it was about as tricky a situation as even Gregory had been in for some considerable time.
On reconsidering the matter he decided that his only chance lay in shooting von Ziegler and Major Heering before they could draw their weapons. His shots would raise the alarm so tie would still have to face the sentry on the outer door, but it was time enough to worry about that when he had succeeded in lulling the other two.
At
a quarter to eleven Gregory stood up and walked to the window in order to get behind von Ziegler, took out his gun, pressed up the safety-catch and slipped it into his right-hand overcoat pocket where he could hold it by the butt all ready to be whipped out at a second’s notice.
At six minutes past eleven he caught the faint sounds of hurrying footsteps. Someone was running down the stairs outside three at a time. A moment later the footsteps were pounding along the passage; the door was flung violently open. Major Heering stood in the entrance, red-faced, pop-eyed, panting.
Von Ziegler had sprung to his feet. Gregory remained absolutely motionless, his eyes fixed on the Major, as von Ziegler still had his back turned to him and was therefore completely at his mercy.
‘The King’s gone—gone—disappeared!’ gasped Heering.
‘Teufel nochmal!’ shouted von Ziegler, ‘When? How did this happen?’
‘I don’t know,’ panted the Major. ‘Nobody knows. Apparently he just told the members of the Council that he was going to the safe in his bedroom to get some papers and that he would be back in a moment. The Crown Prince was with him and he asked him to come and help him fetch them. The Council waited for ten minutes and there were so many urgent things to settle that his Equerry was sent in to look for him. When they got there they found that the safe was empty and both the King and the Crown Prince had disappeared.’
Von Ziegler’s face had gone pale with anger; his long nose seemed to stand out more sharply than ever and his bright-blue eyes were blazing. Stepping forward he seized the Norwegian by the shoulder and began to shake him.
The Black Baroness Page 7
