Colonel Galpin said, “Jedrez, sit down!”
“Sit down?” The Pole stood over the Colonel’s chair. “It is for old men to sit down in such circumstances. It is for younger men to stand up, to fight; to kill.”
“Sit down you old fool! By God it’s no wonder you went arse over tit against that little bastard Hitler’s fellows. You Poles never think. It’s that damned Roman Catholicism! Always the same, always imagine the Almighty’s on their side and what happens? They get themselves stuck through the guts. There isn’t a frontier in Europe’s changed so often as the Polish. Thank God we’re an island; even with the six counties, the old Pope can’t—”
But Giertych interrupted him with a long account of the history of Poland between the wars; he discussed the Christianization of Poland by early missionaries, the battles with Russia, the disarmament fiasco, the rise of Prussia, the unification of Germany, Our Lady of Czestochowa, the Treaty of Versailles, the role of England in the balance of power, the Polish Corridor and Gdynia. After ten minutes of it he was cut short by the Colonel who said, “Same damn thing over again, worse than the Sinn Feiners for remembering everything that never happened. Now if you’ll only sit down and stop wandering about all over the place, I’ve got a plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“A little joke on this fellow Luthmann. I’ve been watching him for a long time. Every Thursday afternoon, I’m told, he drives through my part of the country to see some woman he’s got in Offaly where young Ffynch lives. He spends the night with her and drives back early on Friday morning.”
“Today is Wednesday and tomorrow while this Nazi swine is driving to his woman I shall be flying the Irish Sea,” said Giertych. “I do not think this is a very interesting plan.”
“Wait a minute!” With a silk handkerchief the Colonel removed a tear from his glass eye. “Eight weeks ago I made a bomb, a damned good one. I won’t tell you what I’ve got in it apart from carbide, but I will tell you that it will make a bloody good explosion whether I chuck it over a hedge in front of his car next week or plant it under his backside tonight.”
Giertych asked. “Will it kill him?”
“Scarcely that, I think; but—”
“Then it is no good.”
“My dear fellow, you’ve got to remember this is a neutral country. Much as one would like it, one can’t go about slaughtering people. This bomb of mine will make the devil of a row and should bust up nicely. It’s a two-gallon ginger beer flagon and I’ve got the cork lashed down with wire and solder. With luck he’ll get a slab or two up his crutch and we’ll bust a few windows; depends where we plant it and what circuit we use for the time fuse.”
“It’s no good,” the Pole repeated flatly.
“Well, anyway, who’s for it, a raid on the jerry consulate after dinner? I’ll tell you what, Jedrez, we’ll capture the consulate Prussian eagle for you—it hangs outside—and you can present it to your squadron in England as a trophy.”
“No good.”
Groarke said, “He wants a scalp, nothing less.”
The Pole stood up. “How big is this eagle?”
“It’s a good size, two or three feet high. They’ve got it on the front of the house between the first and second floors. By God, it would be a good gesture to send it to England and leave my bomb in that Nazi bastard’s car with the fuse attached to the ignition. What d’you all think?”
“I’m with you,” Groarke said.
“So am I,” said John.
“I too will come; I will bring with me my knife.”
“No knives, Jedrez, they’re out,” the Colonel warned. He turned to Palgrave. “And you, my boy, will do the recce. We’ll send you up the drive ahead of us to report on the lay of the land.”
“I’d really rather not, sir.”
“By God, you will, by force if necessary,” said Galpin.
The Pole moved over to Palgrave’s chair and put one strong hand on his shoulder. “A decadent, yes? One of those traitors who prefers to fraternize with the enemy rather than lose his estates. I have here my knife; if you do not obey the Colonel I will use it on you. I will make sure that you do not breed more traitors—”
Groarke managed, “Impossible!”
“What is this? Why do you laugh at me? I am very serious.”
John said, “The question does not arise, does it, Palgrave? You see—”
“Nevertheless,” Giertych insisted, “I will cut off—”
Colonel Galpin intervened. “It’s time we dined. We must plan this damned carefully. Someone’ll have to get one of those rods of Bartlett’s, those hooked affairs he uses for closing the upper windows in the coffee room. We’re going to need something like that to fetch down the eagle. Then there’s the question of transport; we’d better use my car. I’ll brief Seamus, he’s a reliable fellow, he can wait down the road for us with his engine running, ready for a quick getaway. While we’re discussing the details he can run out to the Curragh and pick up my bomb.…”
John and Groarke had been up and down the road as far as the canal half a dozen times when at last they saw the Colonel approaching, nursing his bomb like an outsize baby. They crossed the road at once and he followed them. They slowed up and waited for him under a tree beside the weir.
“What’s happened?” John asked.
“It’s tricky,” said the Colonel, putting his bomb beside the parapet. “We had a bit of trouble with him but eventually we got him moving. Jedrez watched him up the drive with that damned knife of his and saw him turn the corner, but he’s simply disappeared. Should have been back half an hour ago.”
“He’ll have to run for it,” Groarke said, stamping his feet on the frosted paving.
“Out of the question. No way out unless he went round the back, and since the first floor lights were on at the time I don’t think he’d have risked the back garden. No. Either he’s been nobbled or he’s got cold feet—should have with his shoes off—and is sitting it out in the laurel bushes at the far end of the drive.”
“Well, it’s freezing cold hanging about,” John said. “What’s the time now and what’s the next move?”
“It’s just on midnight. The street lights should go off any minute now. When they do we’ll go ahead with the second part of the plan. Damn nuisance about young Ffynch, a recce’s invaluable in a night-show, particularly when you’ve only got half a bloody eye. Now d’you remember the details? ‘A’ Party, that’s Groarke and myself, will go ahead to the garage and fix up the bomb; ‘B’ party, you and Giertych with the rod arrangement, will have a go at unhooking the eagle. You’d better give us ten minutes’ start as we may have difficulties with the garage window, or even with the hinges if we have to take off one of the doors. Ah, good!” Galpin looked up as along the Canal Road, right along Merrion Street, the lighting suddenly flicked off. “Now you know where the car is? Once you’ve got the eagle, make straight for it at the double; and for God’s sake don’t forget the window pole, don’t want to leave any clues behind us. Seamus will pick up ‘B’ party lower down the road so that even if you’re nabbed by someone, Groarke and I will still be able to deploy. All clear?”
“Yes,” said John. “By the way, were there any dogs, d’you think?”
“No dogs! or if there are, they’re fast asleep. Wasn’t even a whimper when Ffynch set off. Right, off shoes! And we’ll have a nip of rum to keep the cold out.”
The Colonel passed round his flask as they all sat down on the wall and removed their shoes. “Ten minutes,” he said to John. “Now cut along to the Packard, dump the shoes and pick up Jedrez. If I whistle once, tip off my chauffeur and make straight for the club on foot.”
Groarke and the Colonel disappeared silently in the darkness. The city’s clocks in towers and turrets were chiming midnight, there was no wind and in the quiet every sound carried clearly as though the freezing air acted as an amplifier. John picked up the three pairs of shoes and ran along past the black façades of the Georgia
n houses in the direction of the car. It was two hundred yards along the road and as he drew nearer he saw Jedrez waiting beside it with the club pole in his hand like a squat knight with a very long lance.
John handed in the shoes to the chauffeur and asked him, “Any signs of Mr. Chamberlyn-Ffynch?”
“Not a thing, sir. But the gentleman won’t have got far without his leather, I’m thinking.”
“Don’t let us down, will you, Seamus?”
“I’ll be there, sir.”
John and Groarke set off slowly. At fifteen minutes past twelve they entered the drive of the consulate and found Groarke awaiting them.
“We’ve had some luck,” he whispered. “Luthmann’s left his car out; it’s standing outside the house. Old Galpin’s nearly finished so you can get started straightaway on the eagle, while we wait here to warn you if anyone shows up along the road. I’ve to come back with you in case he needs my torch again.”
They met the Colonel halfway down the drive. He was jubilant.
“Changed my mind,” he whispered, “wired the thing up to his horn, much better than the ignition. Won’t blow up in German territory then, just simply blast the backside off his car the first time he hoots at anyone. Now hurry up and get the trophy and we’ll rendezvous at the Club.”
“They are asleep in there?” asked Jedrez hungrily.
“No monkey business, Jedrez. Blaydon, for God’s sake don’t let this devil get in at a window or we’ll all be wanted for murder by the morning.” The Colonel peered at his luminous watch. “You’ve got fifteen minutes at the outside. Now double up!”
John was balanced on Groarke’s shoulders, fishing for the hanging plaque on which the eagle was enamelled when Palgrave and the two guarda came out of the laurel bushes. The policemen had bright torches and one of them said, “You can pass down that weapon now and get down to the ground.”
John whistled once and jumped for it. As he and Groarke fled up the drive on their stockinged feet they heard Palgrave shouting, “It’s no good, they’ve got a car. You might as well come back.” But they ran on faster than ever and turned into Merrion Road. They heard the doors of the Packard slam as Groarke and the Colonel got in, the engine rev up and scream as it reversed towards them from the direction of the Canal Bridge. As it came level they jumped on the running board. The car flicked into bottom gear and swept forward, turning right into Canal Road as Groarke and John wriggled in through the open windows on either side.
But they were overtaken by the police car when they were no more than the five hundred yards past the weir. The policemen came past them at an easy eighty and slewed their car across the road a hundred yards ahead of them. Seamus, the Colonel’s chauffeur, stood on the brakes and drew up just in time to avoid a broadside collision.
The Colonel was out before the guarda but they were just a little too quick for him. One of them grabbed him and the other lined the rest of them up alongside the canal.
“Well, that’s the lot of them, isn’t it?” said the first guarda. “Four it would be and the chauffeur.”
“And the other fellow we caught first, him in the car,” said the second.
“Making five in all.”
“Wid the chauffeur?”
“Get the other fellow from the car, him wid the bald head and you’ll see it’s six and the chauffeur.”
The Colonel interrupted. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got a bladder complaint. Running upsets me, I must have a Jimmy Riddle immediately.”
“Go wid him, Mick,” ordered the first guarda. “Now the rest of youz line up there and give me your names in order, together.”
The Colonel fell out and walked with great modesty down by the canal accompanied by the second guarda. When they reached the police car he suddenly shouted, “Now’s your chance, Palgrave! By God, they’re off! He’s away.”
In the confusion which followed this announcement, the Colonel disappeared. The guarda who had been detailed to watch him hesitated between chasing him and preventing Palgrave, who had no intention of doing anything of the sort, from getting out of the police car. In the end he ran back to it and ordered Palgrave to line up with the others and then himself rejoined his colleague.
The first guarda said, “Where’s the other one?”
“I have him.”
“No, the other fellow.”
“Him wid the bald head?”
“No, the little fellow wid the billycock hat?”
“He had no hat. Didn’t he lose it with us chasing him?”
They conferred together a moment and then the first one asked Groarke. “Now how many was there in this?”
“Five.”
“I’m suggestin’ there was six, including the chauffeur?”
“No, five.”
“Well then, what’s happened to the little fellow wid the billycock hat?” persisted the guarda, shining his torch in Groarke’s face.
Groarke blinked.
“There wasn’t no such fellow, guarda. We’ve none of us a hat except the chauffeur.”
“Well what’s happened to him that wanted to pass his water a while back?”
“That was me,” said Jedrez heavily, “I have a complaint of the bladder.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jedrez Giertych.”
The first guarda turned his attention to John.
“How many was there in it?”
“Five,” said John, “or four without the chauffeur, who’s nothing to do with it.”
“Then what’s happened to the little fellow that wanted to pass his—”
“That was my friend here, Mr. Giertych.”
The second guarda approached. He said, “Now what’s your nationalities?”
“Irish, Anglo-Irish, English and Polish,” Groarke said.
“And your occupations and addresses?”
“Not forgetting your passports,” put in the first.
There was a pause; then one of them said to the other, “O’Donovan, I think we’d better be getting them back to the Castle before we lose any more of them.”
“You’re right on that. Just a minute, though.” The speaker flashed his torch down the row of faces. “Now who would be responsible for the Pole here?”
There was silence.
“Now come on, we’ll have it out of you sooner than later. Whose is the responsibility?”
John said, “He’s a friend of mine, from England.”
The guarda swallowed something. “There’s no call for humour now. I’m meaning this.” He brandished the club equipment angrily. “The pole wid the hook on it.”
Angrily he hustled Groarke and John into the police car, while the other, with Palgrave arid the chauffeur, tailed them through the deserted streets to Dublin Castle.
John whispered to Groarke, “Where did he put it?”
“What?”
“The bomb, you fool.”
“In the boot. Holy God! Was this the car?”
“Of course it was.”
“No whispering there,” called out the guarda.
“In the boot,” Groarke said, “and we’re in the back seat.”
“Be quiet there.”
But the guarda did not touch the horn until they had reached the Castle yard and he had handed them over to the night duty sergeant. Then as he reversed out of the way of the incoming Packard he accidentally pressed the horn with his elbow. The resulting explosion blew the cover of the boot twenty yards and broke five of the Castle windows and it was decided that the prisoners should be transferred immediately to the Bridewell Gaol on the charge not only of infringing Irish neutrality but of damaging civic property.
They arrived there at two o’clock in the morning and were made to hand over their money, keys, knives and wristwatches to the night officer. They were then taken up a stone staircase to the first floor and shown into a four-bedded cell.
Jedrez Giertych walked in first, appraised the four plank beds, the internal water closet and the
dull bulb in the ceiling and walked out again.
“This will not do, officer.”
“So you don’t like it?”
“It compares favourably with Colditz and the Russian prisons. It is a great deal better than many of our Polish political institutions. But there are four beds in there.”
“And four blankets,” said the officer grimly, “and one flushing closet wid the chain on the landing.”
“I will sleep with three, with four, five or six men. I will share my imprisonment with twelve men for the sake of my unfortunate country. But I will not sleep with even one informer.” Jedrez pointed in through the open door at Palgrave, who was squatting miserably on one of the plank beds. “Officer! Remove that man at once!”
“At once, is it?” The officer looked bewildered.
“He has betrayed his country and his comrades into the hands of the police. This night he awaited our arrest with your country’s Gestapo. Do you think I do not realize that he is an agent provocateur imprisoned with us to report on our conversation and our plans for escape? As a Colonel in my country’s former army I order you to remove the traitor immediately or he will be dead when you bring us our breakfast in the morning.”
“Escape, is it? And just where d’yez think you’d be escaping to from the Bridewell? Now, sir, you get back into that cell before you find yourself below ground.”
But Palgrave came forward to the door.
“Frankly, officer, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather be put somewhere else. I don’t know if you quite realize it but my father, Captain Chamberlyn-Ffynch—I don’t feel awfully like sleeping in any case; but if anything happens to me—I really must insist on a separate room.”
“Holy Mack, what the devil’s into you all with this talk of Gestapo and agents and captains and colonels. Even if you don’t feel like sleeping, sir, perhaps you’ve no objection if other people feel the need of it.”
“Anywhere at all will do,” said Palgrave hopelessly, “as long as I’m on my own.”
The door clanged shut and they heard the officer locking Palgrave into an adjacent cell. In a few moments they heard the rattle of his key chain as he passed their door and descended the stairs. In the ceiling the light went out.
Through Streets Broad and Narrow Page 36
