Before the Nazi could open his mouth Gregory’s left hand shot out, caught him by the throat and, swinging him round, forced him back against the wall. With complete ruthlessness Gregory raised his right fist and smashed it into the little man’s face.
As his head was jammed against the wall he caught the full force of the blow. A gurgling moan issued from his gaping mouth, but Gregory knew that his own life depended upon putting the wretched man out, and with pitiless persistence he hammered the German’s face with his right fist, banging his head against the wall with each blow until it began to roll about on his shoulders and Gregory knew that he had lost consciousness.
Letting Schnabel’s body slip to the floor, Gregory grabbed his collar, unlocked the bedroom door again and pitched him inside, muttering to himself: ‘Well, after all, I’ll bet that’s no worse than the treatment the little swine has meted out to some of those unfortunate Jews.’
As he re-locked the door loud shouts reached his ears. The other two had now plucked up sufficient courage to fling open the bathroom window and try to rouse the hotel. He had not a moment to lose.
To run would have been to court further trouble if he had met anybody, so controlling his pace he set off at a brisk stride down the corridor and round a corner which led to the back of the building. At the far end of the passage was a window which gave on to a fire escape, as Gregory had found out when making a careful investigation of his surroundings soon after his arrival on the previous evening. At that time he had considered himself reasonably safe, but even so he was too old a hand to neglect the precaution of finding himself an emergency exit whereby he could leave the hotel in a hurry, and without passing through the lounge, if such a step should become necessary.
Thrusting up the window he looked out into a courtyard. Luck was with him, for at the moment none of the servants were working there. Swift, silent and agile as a panther he slipped down the fire-escape into the yard. For the benefit of anyone who might be standing at one of the back windows of the hotel he crossed it at an unhurried stroll, thanking his stars that dusk had already fallen, so that anyone looking down into the yard could have seen no more than the outline of a man in uniform. His rank and person would be unidentifiable.
All the same he felt that he had landed himself in a most desperate plight. By this time the imprisoned Nazis would have secured assistance, for it would not have taken long to procure the pass-keys of his bedroom and bathroom. In another few moments someone would be running to a telephone, and the police and all their associated organisations, including the Gestapo, would be informed that an alleged General, calling himself von Lettow, had held up two Nazis and half-murdered a Nazi Party Chief after having behaved most suspiciously in commandeering a car for purposes which he had refused to reveal.
Within ten minutes the hunt would be up; telephones buzzing, radios crackling; and every policeman for miles around would have been warned to be on the look-out for a man, whose description would tally with his own, wearing the uniform of a German General.
Unless he could get rid of the uniform he would not stand an earthly chance of eluding the pursuit in daylight, but while darkness lasted there was still a hope that he might get out of Coblenz, at least.
For the first time since war had broken out he had real reason to be thankful that the threat of aerial warfare had brought A.R.P. black-outs in its train. It was now growing darker every moment, and before switching on their lights the people in the houses were pulling heavy curtains across their windows; the street-lamps remained unlit and the only lights to be seen came from the small apertures in screens placed over the headlamps of cars.
Cautiously he made his way down side-streets, taking cover in a doorway every time anyone came along. Once he was challenged by a policeman for not having on the white armlet which was now apparently prescribed by law for all citizens of Coblenz who were out after dark, but a motorist nearly ran the policeman down a moment later and, taking to his heels during the ensuing argument, Gregory succeeded in getting away by diving into a near-by alley.
Finding himself back on the river-front near the bridge, he boldly crossed it, and having reached the east bank of the Rhine he turned south along it. There were fewer houses there and soon all cover ended; but he breathed more freely then, as there was less likelihood of his running slap into a police patrol, and as he trudged along he tried to formulate the least risky plan of campaign which he could adopt for the immediate future.
He was much too far from Traben-Trabach to try to secure a temporary refuge with Herr Rheinhardt, and in any case his late host would be under suspicion directly Fräulein Schultz had divulged the details of his trip of the previous day, so his best prospect seemed to be Pastor Wachmuller. Ems was less than ten miles distant, and as he had made up his mind earlier that evening to proceed there as soon as possible he had instinctively followed the trend of his thoughts and had left the town by the road that led in that direction.
If he could convince Wachmuller of his bona fides perhaps the Pastor would hide him for the next few days, while the hunt was at its hottest; then provide him with a change of clothes which would enable him both to elude capture and to continue his mission.
But there was a nasty snag attached to that programme. If Wachmuller believed him to be a German General and the representative of the Army leaders, he might disclose a further link in the conspiracy; but to induce him to provide hiding and fresh clothes Gregory would have to disclose the fact that he was not a General; not even a German, in fact, but an English spy. It was hardly likely that the Pastor would be willing to give any particulars about his fellow-conspirators once this fact was revealed, even if he refrained from handing his dangerous visitor over to the police. Neither would he be well situated to gain information if he continued to pose as General von Lettow but admitted that the Gesapo were after him. The Pastor might give him clothes and hurry him into hiding, but the last thing he would be inclined for was a quiet talk.
After a five-mile tramp he came to a fork where the Ems road branched away north-eastward, inland from the river, and as he turned up it he was still undecided what course it would be best to pursue. For another mile he trudged doggedly on. If he had ever met the Pastor he would have been better able to judge whether he dared trust him fully, but he had not; and at the moment he felt disinclined to do so.
The stars gave him enough light to see by and in a field about half a mile from the river he noticed a haystack. It would be too late to tackle Wachmuller that night, even if he pushed on to Ems, as everybody turned in early now that social life had almost come to a standstill and light had to be economised. It would not be a good start to knock the Pastor up and pull him out of bed, so Gregory decided that he would sleep upon his problems. Entering the field, he began to dig a hole in the side of the haystack that was furthest from the road.
After twenty minutes’ hard work he had made a little cave in the sweet-smelling hay, close to the ground. Crawling into it, he pulled the loose hay up over the opening and curled himself up as comfortably as he could. His thoughts were hardly conducive to peaceful slumber, but he tried to console himself with the fact that he had been thunderingly lucky to have got safely out of Coblenz and that the hole in the haystack was infinitely more comfortable than a stone cell in the local gaol.
Yet, before he managed to drop off into an uneasy sleep, he mustered all his courage to face the cold, hard truth. His General’s uniform was no longer an asset but a liability, the Nazis had his description and he was a hunted man.
9
Death Intervenes
When Gregory awoke on the Wednesday morning daylight was already filtering through the hay piled up at the entrance of his cave. Carefully pushing some of it aside he looked at his watch to find that it was just half-past eight.
Peering out, he saw that the field was deserted. Only one house was visible, on a slope some half-mile away, and it was doubtful whether any of its occupants would be able to identify
his uniform as that of an officer, even if they happened to be looking out of one of the windows as he crawled out of the haystack; but if anyone there did chance to see him they might think that he was a deserter and inform the police or some local military authority.
However, there seemed little point in leaving his hiding place at the moment. It was quite certain that he would meet people if he started out on the road to Ems in broad daylight, and as the authorities in Coblenz would now be hunting everywhere for a man in General’s uniform if would be a hundred to one on his being stopped and questioned. Feeling that the only thing to do was to remain where he was for the day, he turned over and went to sleep again.
It was past noon when he awoke once more, and he was both hungry and thirsty. The Nazis having met him the night before on his return to Coblenz had prevented him from getting any dinner, and it was now nearly twenty-four hours since he had eaten luncheon with Herr Rheinhardt in Traben.
Luckily, as an old campaigner, he had entered Germany prepared for such an emergency and he carried a large flask of brandy-and-water and a packet of slab chocolate. Breaking off a bar he ate it slowly and washed it down with the diluted brandy. It was not a very satisfying meal, but at all events, it staved off any pangs of hunger.
The afternoon still remained to be filled in somehow, so he endeavoured to sleep again; but a fitful doze was the best that he could manage, and he was heartily glad when twilight came and made it possible for him to become active once more. In the meantime he had thoroughly sorted out his ideas and had decided quite definitely that the most important thing to be done was to get all the information he could from Wachmuller. and that therefore he must not disclose the fact that he was an English spy, but take his chance of being able to get away so as to utilise later anything that he had learned.
During the early afternoon the weather had changed; dark clouds had rolled up in the sky and it had begun to rain. The rain would add to his discomfort on his walk into Ems, but on the other hand it would drive indoors everybody save those who were on duty or had some urgent job to do, and it brought dusk considerably earlier than if the sun had been shining. On balance he was by no means displeased by this break in the weather, and hoped that the same conditions were prevailing in Poland. If they were, the change would prove a perfect godsend to the Poles, as the cocksure Germans would soon find their tanks and motor vehicles bogged up to the axles in mud.
At six o’clock he ate another bar of chocolate and took a drink from the flask. Then he made his way out of the hole, pushing the loose hay slowly in front of him. Using it as cover he wriggled cautiously along the side of the haystack until he got to the corner, thus making it less likely that he would be seen, or at all events recognised as a soldier, should anyone be looking out of the windows of the house two fields away. Once he had the haystack between the house and himself he stood up, walked quickly to the road and set off towards Ems.
Bad-Ems is famous for its medicinal springs, and its delightful situation in the valley of the river Lahn makes it one of the beauty-spots of Southern Germany. A visit to the town is consequently one of the excursions most popular with holiday-makers in Coblenz, and Gregory had been out there on numerous former occasions in circumstances far happier than those in which he found himself at the moment.
The road wound up the valley so, his range of vision being limited, he was unable to spot cars either meeting or overtaking him until they were quite close and had to proceed with the utmost caution.
Wherever there was a hedge at the roadside he got into the field and walked behind it; where there were woods he used them as cover, and each time he heard the noise of an approaching car when on the open road he turned his back to the direction from which it was coming so that its occupants should not see more of his face or rank-badges than was absolutely unavoidable.
Owing to these delays it took him an hour and a quarter to cover the three miles to Ems, and by the time he entered the outskirts of the town darkness had fallen.
As well as his own gun in his pistol holster he had the weapons of the two Nazis; one in each of his overcoat pockets; and though this triple armament tended to weigh him down it was comforting to think that if he were to get into any trouble out of which he could not bluff his way he had at least the means of putting up an extraordinarily good fight for it.
Having once entered Ems he abandoned all further attempts at concealment and walked briskly forward. There were few people in the streets but he passed occasional groups of A.R.P. men knocking up such houses as had not got their lights fully obscured.
Darkness now hid the pretty little Kursaal which overlooks the river in the centre of the town, and although Gregory felt certain that there must be a telephone kiosk somewhere outside, and had counted on it, he could not find one, so, as he dared not loiter, he went boldly in by the restaurant entrance, which he knew from his previous visits. He had to inquire from somebody where Pastor Wachmuller lived and thought that he would get the information there more readily than by accosting the A.R.P. wardens, while for obvious reasons he had no intention of asking the police. A few officers, Nazis and civilians were sitting about drinking beer and apéritifs in the foyer of the restaurant, but no one seemed to take much notice of him as he turned straight towards the bar, keeping his back to the room, and asked the girl if she could tell him Pastor Wachmuller’s address.
She did not know it herself but obligingly turned it up in the telephone book; afterwards telling him the easiest way to find the Pastor’s house, which was only a few streets away.
Gregory thanked her and got out of the place as quickly as he could without showing any obvious haste. Following her directions he found his way to a street of old, semi-basement houses; they had not gardens but their doors were reached by flights of stone steps leading up from the narrow pavement. By counting them he located the one in which the Pastor lived; a biggish house near the middle of the irregular block. The door was opened by an elderly woman who told him that the Pastor was not at home, but that she was his housekeeper, and asked if she might take a message.
Gregory inquired when the Pastor was expected back and learned that he was not likely to be home much before midnight, as he was at the Church Hall with some of his women parishioners who gathered there every evening to roll bandages and knit woollies for the troops.
He said that his business with Pastor Wachmuller was urgent and suggested that the woman should go and fetch him, but this she refused to do, excusing herself on the plea that her sight was not very good and that she was terrified of going out into the streets during the black-outs as she might so easily be run over.
Having told her that his business was urgent Gregory could hardly suggest, as he would have liked to have done, that he might be allowed to wait for three or four hours in the Pastor’s house until his return; the only alternative was to go to the Church Hall and seek him out amongst his parishioners.
The housekeeper gave him directions and he set off once more, locating the Church Hall, not without difficulty, some twenty minutes later. From what he could see of it in the gloom it was a large, modern building, and directly he had passed the light-screens at its entrance he found himself in a long, barrack-like room where two hundred or more women were gathered round long-trestle-tables busily engaged in war work.
He caught sight of the Pastor at once, at the far end of the hall, but before he could advance towards him, a fat, middle-aged woman had fussed forward from one of the nearest tables to inquire his business. He said that he wanted a few words with Pastor Wachmuller and gave his name as General von Heintisch, since that of von Lettow was now much too dangerous for further use.
The woman bustled away to deliver his message and in the meantime he had to stand in the entrance of the hall with scores of eyes fixed upon him; the appearance of a General at their meeting having aroused the natural curiosity of the women.
To his relief the Pastor came hurrying down the hall as soon as the fat woman
had spoken to him. Gregory liked the look of him at once. He was a well-set-up man of about forty-five with dark hair, greying at the temples, and brushed smoothly back from a fine forehead, quick, intelligent eyes and determined features.
‘What can I do for you, Herr General?’ he asked, and lowering his voice Gregory replied:
‘I’m sorry to have to drag you away from your meeting, Herr Pastor, but I have important matters to discuss with you; I’ve just come from Herr Julius Rheinhardt.’
‘I see.’ The Pastor gave Gregory a sharp glance and half-turned his head to make sure that they were not overheard, ‘In that case we’d better go to my house. Wait here a moment and I’ll tell one of the members of the committee that I’ll return later if I can but that I may not be able to get back this evening.’
Gregory waited with what patience he could muster while Wachmuller went over to talk to some of the women, but he was considerably cheered by the fact that the Pastor had not inquired for particulars of his business and had apparently taken it for granted on learning that he had come from Rheinhardt.
Having collected his black soft hat and his cloak from a nearby peg the Pastor rejoined Gregory and they went out together. Immediately they were in the dark street Wachmuller said: ‘I have no idea what your business may be, Herr General, but Julius Rheinhardt is an old friend of mine and on his account I am delighted to receive you.’
Although the Pastor spoke casually, Gregory sensed that the little speech had been dictated by caution and that Wachmuller had no intention of talking of those matters which interested him unless he produced some proper credentials, so he replied:
The Scarlet Impostor Page 9
