The whole story was so circumstantial that Gregory found difficulty in disbelieving it. Of one thing he was certain. Von Osterberg was no conspirator. His mind was too obviously unbalanced by his experiences for him to be capable of trapping anybody. About Einholtz, Gregory was not so certain. He thought the Count’s tall, semi-bald companion just a little bit too glib and ready with explanations; but it appeared that he was more or less a dependent of von Osterberg’s, so the way in which he so often spoke on his behalf might be no more than a desire to save him fatigue and, at the same time, ingratiate himself with their visitor. Gregory found the swathe of thin hair pasted across his scalp rather unattractive and the flashy amethyst ring that he wore on his left hand suggested that he might be a pansy; but, even if that were so, it would be no indication of his secret political convictions, as for several generations past a high proportion of German males had begot children from their women while seeking their pleasure in perversion.
With a view to testing the situation further Gregory asked them about their first escape from Germany.
“We were transferred from Krupps to a new experimental station in the north——” Einholtz began.
“At Peenemünde on the Baltic?” Gregory put in quietly.
They both started, and stared at him, but he simply laughed and said: “There’s no reason to be surprised at my knowing about that. My work as a journalist often takes me to the Air Ministry and sometimes the people there show me their most recent photographs. A few days before I left London I saw one of this new place there, that’s all.”
“Well, yes. That’s where we were,” Einholtz admitted. “Does your Air Ministry know about the work that is being carried on there?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Gregory shrugged. “It’s hardly likely they would be able to deduce that simply from a few photographs of a lot of camouflaged buildings, and, even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t tell anyone so unimportant as myself about it.”
He hoped that future air reconnaisances would not meet with stiffer opposition owing to his deliberate indiscretion, but that was, to some extent, offset by Einholtz having confirmed that the buildings at Peenemünde were, in fact, a scientific experimental station; and his having done so quite readily seemed further evidence of his own honesty.
Von Osterberg seemed a little more at ease now that they were no longer talking of Erika, and he related the story of their escape from Peenemünde and journey south with comparatively little aid from Einholtz. When he had done, Gregory said:
“I take it that you never succeeded in recovering your notes from Schloss Niederfels, after all, or you would have said something about them in your letter?”
“No,” replied the Count, “we didn’t get the notes.”
“We had our chance, but most stupidly lost it,” Einholtz added. “You see, we didn’t expect to leave till midnight and Kurt was so occupied with his Frau Mutter that he had not even visited his laboratory before we saw the police speeding up the road. And then, of course, we had to run for our lives.”
“They should still be there, then?”
Einholtz shook his head. “They may be, but I doubt it. After our visit it is pretty certain that the S. S. would have blown open the safe to see if there was anything worth pinching inside it, and have burnt or removed them.”
He spoke without emphasis and while staring thoughtfully into the fire. Gregory, who was watching him narrowly, felt that if the German was attempting to deceive him he was doing a beautiful job of work. If, too, Grauber was really at the bottom of all this he would know that the fact that Erika was a prisoner would alone be quite sufficient to lure his enemy into Germany; but, all the same, it seemed strange that they should deliberately play down one of the principal inducements to make the trip. Although he felt only a reluctant pity for the Count and a vague dislike of Einholtz he was tending more and more to the opinion that the two men were really anti-Nazis, and were telling the truth.
Einholtz suddenly asked him if he would care for a drink. “Would you not like some Glühwein perhaps?” he added. “It is a good thing to warm one up on a cold night.”
Gregory hardly hesitated a second. Even if his hosts were in active league with the enemy the odds against their attempting to drug or poison him were enormously high. He had already expressed his willingness to go into Germany of his own free will, so there was no point in undertaking the laborious business of shanghaing him there. And as they could not have had any warning of his visit no preparations to that end could have been made.
“Thanks,” he said, “I should love some.”
“Kurt will oblige us, I’m sure,” Einholtz smiled at the Count. “He has his own recipe and makes it better than anyone I know.”
Von Osterberg came to his feet at once. “Of course,” he said quickly. “I like to make Glühwein. It is always so good.”
When he had left the room Einholtz remarked in a conversational tone: “It is over five weeks now since Kurt wrote to Sir Gwaine-Cust. We were beginning to think that either the letter had gone astray or that having had Kurt’s message you intended to ignore it.”
“I was in Russia,” Gregory replied frankly. “For two months I was working in the Press Section of our Embassy there.”
“How very interesting. Do tell me what you think of those strange people and the situation there.”
For a little while Gregory discoursed quite truthfully on Moscow and the Russians. Then von Osterberg returned with a large jug of mulled red wine and three tumblers. As he poured out the steaming drink his dull eyes took on a sudden lustre and the reason for the alacrity with which he had agreed to make it was soon apparent. With his eyes glued to the remaining contents of the jug he hurriedly sipped away as quickly as he could at the near-scalding liquor in his tumbler, evidently in-tent on getting in first for a second helping. As Gregory watched him covertly, he thought, “Poor devil, he’s certainly been through the mill all right, and drink is about the only thing that can make him forget.
The conversation having turned to Russia, Einholtz kept it there. He made no secret of the fact that, although he was an anti-Nazi, he was an infinitely more violent anti-Communist.
“Those barbarous swine!” he exclaimed. “Well, however much we may dislike Hitler’s methods in our own country, at least he will crush the Bolshevik menace for us. They’ll cave in when he takes their capital, I expect; and it is pretty certain now that he will be in Moscow before Christmas.”
“I don’t agree,” said Gregory quietly. “I’m no lover of the Bolsheviks either, but I’m certain that their army is a long way from being beaten yet; and, if Hitler is not careful, having gone into Russia may yet prove his Waterloo.”
“But that is absurd!” Einholtz protested. “The Russians, so far, have been defeated in nearly every battle. Already half their principal cities are in our hands, and it is quite clear that they cannot possibly resist the assaults of our magnificent German Army. They have no organisation.”
“Oh, yes, they have,” countered Gregory. “And in its own peculiar way it may prove more efficient than yours, in the long run. I was lucky enough to obtain private interviews with some of their top men when I was in Moscow, and I know what I’m talking about.”
Einholtz proved dogged in his disbelief and Gregory could not resist the temptation to play with fire. He felt now that all the chances were that anything he said would go no further as who was there that mattered to whom this friendless exile could repeat it—if he were a friendless exile? If he were not, well, this was an opportunity which should not be neglected, however slender the chances of its bearing fruit. He told Einholtz the real truth about the organisation of the Soviet Army and repeated, almost word for word, everything that Marshal Voroshilov had said about it during their amazing talk in Leningrad, when the Marshal had been under the influence of the Truth drug.
Einholtz did not interrupt with any questions but just sat there drinking in every word. Von Osterberg had gul
ped down his second tumbler of the now tepid mulled wine and fallen fast asleep in his armchair.
When Gregory at last fell silent Einholtz said: “This is amazing—if it is true. But tell me, how is it that the Russians, who are normally so secretive, should have disclosed all this to you—a journalist?”
Gregory gave him a curious sideways look and replied:
“I managed to secure the information partly because they wanted to impress me. You see, they are now very anxious to stand well with Britain. Partly, too, because I aw a journalist, and to succeed at my job you have to be a highly trained observer, capable of putting quite small things together and worrying them out until they make sense. But on top of that, in wartime, journalists are often asked to step out of their own rut a bit, and for the past two years I haven’t been strictly confining myself to journalistic activities all the time.”
It was as good as an admission that he was a secret agent, but Grauber knew that already, so even if Einholtz, after all, proved to be “the enemy” Gregory was giving nothing new away about himself.
“Since you found out so much I’ll bet that you couldn’t rest until you had discovered where the Reserve Army of shock troops was located,” Einholtz said, with the air of “the man in the street” who is being let into fascinating secrets.
“Yes, I found out all right.” Gregory gave a self-satisfied smile. “It’s sitting pretty in an area about a hundred and fifty miles to the south-east of Moscow, all ready to spring. That’s why I’m convinced that Moscow won’t be taken. Your people have been putting everything they’ve got into this drive for the past six weeks. They must be pretty tired by now. They’ll never be able to stand up to this terrific counter-offensive that is about due to be launched against them. The Soviet striking force consists of an entire Army Group, every man of it trained to Guards’ standard, and equipped with up-to-the-minute weapons as fine as anything that has ever been turned out by Krupp or Skoda. From south of Moscow this terrific mass of men and metal will be hurled north-west to save the city, and it will tear up the whole central German front as though it were only paper. Believe me or not, as you like, but I’d bet my last cent that that’s what will happen within the next two weeks.”
Einholtz had gone quite white; the hand with the amethyst ring was tapping nervously on his knee. The picture that Gregory had drawn was not a pretty one for any German, whether pro- or anti-Nazi, as it envisaged a major defeat of the German Army; that Golden Calf that the German people of all shades of opinion had set up and worshipped as an idol for many generations, because deep down they all believed that Might was Right and that the short cut to affluence lay in the subjugation and robbery of their neighbours.
There was a short silence, then Gregory said: “Well, I didn’t come here to yarn about my own activities, or about the war. How soon can we start on our attempt to trace and rescue the Gräfin von Osterberg?”
“The moon would be bad for you at present,” Einholtz replied. “It will be much better this time next week. Then there is the question of Kurt’s health. You can see for yourself that he is in a pretty poor state. I’ll nurse him for you as well as I can during the next few days, but unless I can get a bit more life into him before you start, you would run the risk of having him collapse while you are in Germany; and that would be disastrous.”
Gregory glanced at the sleeping Count. “It certainly would. And from what you’ve just said I gather that it’s not your intention to come with us. I had been hoping that you meant to do so.”
Einholtz shook his head. “I’d like to help, but it isn’t really my affair. And if we were caught—well—I gather that death in a Nazi concentration camp can be pretty terrible.”
For a moment Gregory considered the situation afresh. The fact that Einholtz apparently did not wish to go with them impressed him strongly. Von Osterberg was obviously quite incapable of either arresting him or efficiently leading him into a trap when they reached the other side. If, therefore, they were working under Grauber’s direction it seemed essential that Einholtz should be in the party to stage-manage the Judas act. Otherwise, if he, Gregory, decided to quit von Osterberg at any time the Gestapo would lose track of him, and the last thing Grauber would want was for him to be on the loose in Germany. Einholtz’s refusal to go in therefore seemed a spontaneous testimony to his honesty. And if he was on the level, and Grauber was not at the bottom of the whole thing after all, his presence with the party would prove invaluable. Although he had not actually said so the inference was clear enough that it had been his initiative and courage which had twice brought the weakling Count and himself out of Germany and, much more important, he knew the lie of the land at Schloss Niederfels. Therefore, it now seemed that no price was too big to pay for his help.
“I can well understand your not wanting to go back again,” Gregory said. “But, all the same, I wish you would. It looks to me as if von Osterberg is going to be more of a hindrance than a help. If only we could come to some arrangement I’d far rather leave him behind and take you with me.”
“What do you mean by ‘some arrangement’?”
“Well, before going into Germany the Countess wrote to Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust, giving him particulars of certain financial arrangements she had made with you in the event of your securing von Osterberg’s scientific notes. From what you say the prospects of doing that now seem very remote; but I take it you are still in need of money. You must know the Niederfels district pretty well by now, so, if you’ll accompany me there and back, I am willing to pay you that ten thousand pounds myself, providing we succeed in bringing the Countess safely to Swiss soil.”
Einholtz nodded. “Yes. As long as Kurt and I stay here there is always a danger of our being kidnapped and taken back to Germany. We need money to get right away to South America and start our lives afresh. But even if I went with you we’d have to take him too. You see, although I know the Niederfels district I am still practically a stranger there. I don’t know any of Kurt’s tenants and if one of them is hiding the Countess, or knows where she is, they would never take the risk of disclosing it to you or me. Whereas, if her own husband was searching for her their attitude would be quite different. They would talk then, freely enough.”
“Yes, I quite see that. All right then, the Count must come in any case. But in his present state it would be dangerous to leave him alone, and he would be a heavy liability if I get mixed up in a fight. It may happen that I might wish to act independently, and, if so, I’ll badly need someone I can trust to leave him with temporarily. If I undertake to handle any situation that looks dangerous on my own, will you come to look after him?”
“I don’t know. I must have time to think about it. The money would be immensely useful, but the risk …” Einholtz shuddered.
Gregory stood up. “Well, I’m staying at the Pension Julich in St. Gall. When you’ve made your decision perhaps you’ll let me hear from you. Can we fix a provisional date now for my going in?”
“The moon will be right a week hence, so, if Kurt is fit enough, any night from then on would be suitable.”
“Then let’s say the tenth. In any case we’ll meet to discuss details before then. We’ve talked so long that I’m afraid I’ve kept you from your dinner.”
“No, no,” Einholtz smiled. “We live very simply here and had finished our evening meal before you arrived; later we have only coffee and a brötchen before going to bed, otherwise I would ask you to stay.”
He moved over to rouse von Osterberg, but Gregory said: “Please don’t wake the poor fellow. Just make my adieus to him when he wakes of his own accord.”
Einholtz nodded and they went quietly out into the corridor. At the front door they shook hands, then Gregory set out on his way back to St. Gall.
The moon had now risen, silvering the lake, and as he walked rapidly back into Steinach he was thinking over his long talk with Einholtz and the Count. It was quite natural that after Erika’s disappearance Sir Pellinore s
hould have jumped to the conclusion that the whole set-up was a trap, but it seemed almost certain now that he had been wrong. There had not been a single suspicious circumstance in the whole discussion. Von Osterberg was much too ill to be the pivot of any complicated conspiracy and Einholtz’s interests were evidently tied up with those of the Count.
Gregory hoped that Einholtz would decide to go into Germany with him. He was not a particularly likeable man, but what German was, at bottom? and anyhow, the fellow had his wits about him, was the lean, strong type that stood up to hardships well, and, having risked his neck twice already to get away from the Nazis, evidently had plenty of guts.
As he glanced at the moonlight on the lake Gregory shivered. It reminded him of the moonlight that night in the Gulf of Finland, when he had so nearly lost his life in the U-boat. His thoughts turned to Grauber, and he recalled the Gruppenführer’s strange boast that he would make him tell everything he knew coherently without using torture. What could he have possibly meant by that, if it were not that Erika was already his prisoner and that he would threaten to torture her instead? She might, of course, have been caught without von Osterberg and Einholtz knowing anything about it. But they had not got out of Germany until long after Grauber had made his boast and, according to them, a reward was still being offered for Erika’s apprehension at the time they escaped. The two sets of premises did not fit as they should have done.
Fifty paces further along the road Gregory came to an abrupt halt. When Grauber had made his boast there had seemed no possibility whatever of his prisoners escaping from the U-boat, so it would not even have occurred to him that he might need to set the trap, if it was a trap, at the Villa Offenbach again. By the time he wished to do so he would probably have forgotten that he had ever made that strange boast at all, much less have calculated the deduction that his ex-prisoner might draw from it. In baiting such a trap he would certainly realise that where many men would risk going into Germany to find the woman they loved if they thought her to be in safe hiding with friends, even the bravest might hesitate to attempt her rescue if they knew her to be in the hands of the Gestapo. The difference in the risk was immense.
Come into my Parlour Page 42
