Grauber went as white as a sheet and began to tremble. Gregory suddenly remembered that although the German was unquestionably brave in other ways he had an absolute terror of air-raids. They caught the sound of a distant explosion—another—and another—nearer now—until a giant crash seemed to rock the whole building. Outside whistles were blowing and people shouting. The Police Chief pressed a buzzer on his desk and an orderly came running into the room.
“Quick!” cried the Police Chief above the din. “Take all these people down to the air-raid shelter.” He glanced swiftly round at the others and added: “I must see that my men are at their stations. We will conclude this business later.” In three strides he was at the door and out of it.
The orderly beckoned to the rest of the party to follow him. They filed out down the passage, through the main hall that was seething with hurrying policemen, and downstairs to the basement. As more bombs crashed into the street above the man flung open a door and motioned them to enter a big empty cellar that had been fitted up as an air-raid shelter.
In his anxiety to reach the safest place in the building Grauber had been pressing on the orderly’s heels from the moment they had left the Police Chief’s room; now, pushing past the man, he ran to a far corner and leaned against the wall for support; his plump face was grey and sweat streamed down it.
Wuolijoki followed Grauber into the cellar. He was calm but puffing heavily upon a cigarette he had just lit. The others filed behind him. The orderly slammed the door after them but did not lock it, as in his hurry to attend to his duties the Police Chief had given no instructions that the party were to be detained as prisoners.
Overhead the roar of the planes had intensified as squadron after squadron came into action circling over the almost defenceless city and discharging their deadly cargoes. Now and again between the crump of the bombs they caught the sound of a series of whip-like cracks as the few anti-aircraft batteries opened against the planes, but the crashes of the bombs succeeded one another with terrifying swiftness.
Gregory waited until the orderly had had ample time to get upstairs again; then he said loudly to Wuolijoki: “Our parole automatically ended when we were charged with murder. We’re going now and you’d better not try to stop us.”
“Dont be a fool!” Wuolijoki snapped. “This building is strong enough to resist anything except a direct hit. Even if you could get past the police upstairs once out in the street you’d be blown to pieces.”
“Perhaps. I’ll chance that.” Gregory smiled at Erika. “They’ve nothing on you, darling, so you’d better stay here. Come on, Freddie.”
Grauber was too overcome by his own fears to attempt to stop them, but he screamed above the din: “I’ll get you! I’ll get you yet.”
Gregory turned at the door and shouted back: “It’s lucky for you I haven’t got a gun on me or I’d shoot you where you stand, you white-livered slug.”
Wuolijoki made a move to follow them and call for help but Freddie roughly pushed him aside. “Stay where you are, little man,” he cried, “or you’ll be sorry you ever met us. You can’t expect us to stay here and be hanged because we shot a few Gestapo swine to get you that report.”
“That’s the stuff to give ’em, Freddie,” Gregory muttered. He had the door open and was peering down the passage to see that the coast was clear when he found Erika beside him.
“I’m going with you,” she said. “I must; otherwise God knows when I shall see you again.”
It was no time to start an argument and Gregory knew that Erika could be as pigheaded as a mule. The bombing had eased a little in the immediate neighbourhood and he felt confident that if they could get clear of the police headquarters they would soon find equally good shelter elsewhere.
Wuolijoki stood there scowling but impotent. He realised that it was two strong, desperate men against one small one and a snivelling, crepitating lump of fear, so he made no further effort to stop them as they slipped out into the passage.
Having locked the door behind them Gregory abandoned all precautions and taking Erika by the arm walked forward with a quick, confident step. On the stairs they almost collided with a policeman who was clutching a fire-hatchet, but the man took no notice of them and hurried past, intent upon his own urgent business. Up in the front hall the crowd of police had disappeared. There was only a sergeant there and he was gabbling furiously into a desk telephone. He never even looked up as they marched out.
On the doorstep Gregory paused. Across the road a building was in flames. Further along a block of flats was a smoking ruin; in front of it lay piles of debris that had fallen into the road completely obscuring the pavement for about a hundred yards. An ambulance came clanging down the street and the little crowd of fire-fighters who were busy opposite began to carry screaming, wounded people out to it.
“Come on,” said Gregory, and with Erika beside him he ran down the steps and along the street towards a big square of sand-bags which bore a placard that he guessed to be the Finnish equivalent of A.R.P. Shelter.
As they ran the planes were still circling low over the housetops; some were machine-gunning the Red Cross workers in the streets. Further away in the direction of the harbour, bombs were still detonating with a horrid crump every few seconds. Great clouds of black smoke were pouring up into the sky from a number of burning buildings. A one-decker bus came careering down the street with another fire-fighting squad in it. There was a burst of machine-gun fire from a swooping plane; the driver was riddled with bullets and slumped over his wheel; the bus, now out of control, suddenly swerved, mounted the pavement and crashed through a shop window.
They were half-way to the shelter when a woman staggered out of a house just in front of them, carrying a little girl. The child’s left foot hung half severed from the leg which was mutilated and bleeding, with only a rough tourniquet twisted above the calf to check the flow of blood. The woman seemed dazed and panic-stricken so Gregory snatched the child while Erika and Freddie seized the woman by the arms and they all dashed on together. Machine-gun bullets spattered the pavement but they reached the shelter in safety.
The shelter was a converted street-lavatory so running water was available and a young doctor with several amateur assistants was rendering first-aid to each casualty as it was brought in. Gregory passed the poor little girl to him and the mother was taken over to be treated for shock by a grey-haired, uniformed woman whose fine face radiated calmness and courage.
For a quarter of an hour they remained with the little crowd in the shelter while the earth shook and trembled. They found their nerves difficult to control and instinctively ducked at each explosion, but Gregory knew that they were safe down there and he tried to reassure them. He pointed out that the really frightening thing about air-raids was the possibility of being terribly wounded by a piece of bomb, falling masonry or a splinter from an anti-aircraft shell, so that one might die in frightful agony; whereas once one was in a proper shelter there was nothing whatever to be afraid of. Either they would emerge perfectly sound in wind and limb or, if a bomb had got their names on it, they would never know what hit them but be killed instantly by the explosion or concussion.
Erika realised that he was right, but to her the most appalling thing about the devilish business, apart from seeing the casualties brought in, was the noise. The crack-crack-crack of the guns and bombs was positively ear-splitting and although she tried to shut it out by pressing her hands over her ears each detonation seemed like a sledge-hammer blow on her reeling brain.
At last the din lessened. Bombs ceased falling, the droning of aircraft overhead faded, the fire of the anti-aircraft batteries died down and after an anxious wait of ten minutes the sirens warbled the “All Clear”. The raid was over and the still dazed party staggered up into the street.
“D’you know where the British Consulate is?” Freddie asked Erika at once.
“Why?” She looked at him a little vaguely. “Do you want to go there?”
“The police will be much too busy to worry about us for the next hour or two,” Gregory declared, “so there’s no point in our splitting up. We’ll go to the Consulate with Freddie.”
“All right,” Erika agreed, “it’s not far from here,” and they set off towards the harbour.
Great columns of black smoke were still rising from a dozen different points in the city. Here and there the snow in the streets was stained with blood where some unfortunate had been caught by a flying fragment of bomb or a piece of anti-aircraft shell. Stretcher-parties were hurrying hither and thither while civilians were now coming up out of cellars and air-raid shelters to fill the streets once more and lend a hand if they could, or stare dumbly at the shattered buildings.
It was twenty-five to eleven when they reached the British Consulate and on Charlton’s sending up his name a message came down from Mr. Fordyce that he would see them at once. They were shown up to a pleasant room overlooking the snow-covered garden at the back of the house and found the dark, pale-faced Angela with her father.
Just as Freddie’s one thought during the raid had been anxiety for her, so hers had been anxiety for him, and both were unutterably relieved to find that the other had escaped unharmed. While he was still holding her hands and staring at her as though he could never take his eyes off her face Gregory introduced Erika to Fordyce and told him as briefly as possible what had happened to them.
By the time Gregory had finished his recital Fordyce looked very grave. “I’m afraid you can’t stay here,” he said slowly. “You see, in the eyes of the Finnish authorities you’re criminals, and although Freddie and yourself are both British subjects you’re both accountable to the Finnish law while you are in this country. The best I can do for you is to get the Legation lawyer to take up your case and give you all the legal assistance possible.”
Gregory smiled. “It’s very kind of you, sir, but I hope that won’t be necessary. I’m not proposing to stay here to stand my trial. Now the Finns have got their hands full there’s a very good chance that we’ll manage to get out of Finland; and, as a matter of fact, we shouldn’t have embarrassed you with our presence here at all if it hadn’t been for Freddie’s anxiety about Angela.”
“Yes; I quite see that,” Fordyce replied uneasily. “But it may not be so easy to get out of Finland as you think. I haven’t been here very long, as you know, but long enough to realise that the Finns have a remarkable capacity for keeping their heads. The air-raid was pretty shattering, but even so, I think you’ll find they’ll endeavour to carry on normal police activities to the best of their ability. It’s hardly likely that you’ll be able to find a ship which is sailing in the next few hours, and anyway you have no visa to leave the country; so I doubt if you’ll get past the port officials. By tomorrow, if not this afternoon, they’ll all have been notified that you are wanted by the police and will have been told to keep a look-out for you.”
“That’s true,” Gregory agreed, “but we arrived by plane and our machine is still at the air-port, so if we drive out there at once I think we ought to be able to get away in that. Owing to the raid it’s certain that there will be a great evacuation from Helsinki and I doubt if they’ll bother neutrals who wish to get out quickly about such formalities as visas.”
Freddie and Angela had been talking together in low voices on the sofa but they had followed what Gregory said, and Freddie suddenly turned to Fordyce. “Now the Russians have shown their hand, and that they’re out for wholesale murder, this morning’s raid may have been the first but it certainly won’t be the last. I want you to let me take Angela with me.”
Fordyce considered for a moment. “Yes. We must certainly expect other raids now and I’m very anxious that Angela should leave the country as soon as possible. What do you feel about it, my dear?”
She hesitated. “I should hate to leave you, Daddy, at a time like this.”
“I’m sure you would, darling. But think of the strain that your presence here is going to be on me if you remain. In every raid I shall be terrified—not for myself, I hope—but certainly for you; whereas if I only know that you are safely out of it my mind will be at rest and I shall be able to do my job much more efficiently.”
“Do you really mean that, Daddy?”
“Of course I do, my dear. Try and put yourself in my shoes for a moment. If I had no duties which necessitated my remaining here, would you rather have me out of it or prefer me to stay and keep you company for the purely selfish reason that you like to have me with you?”
“You know I’d want you to go.”
“Then since you have no duties here I think you should accept Freddie’s offer. I know that I can trust you to him, and if by any chance he is caught before he gets out of the country the Finnish police have nothing against you; so you might be of great use to him by getting in touch with me and letting me know as soon as possible what has happened. Where do you propose to fly to, Mr. Sallust?”
“Stockholm,” replied Gregory. “It’s less than three hundred miles from here and if we can get off by two o’clock we should be there in time for tea. Freddie can then overhaul the plane and see if he considers it up to flying standard for flying home tomorrow. If not, we’ll go on by the Imperial Airways service which I understand has started up again.”
Mr. Fordyce nodded and looked at Angela. “In that case, darling, you’d better pack at once. The whole essence of the plan is that the plane should leave before the Finnish authorities have had time to turn their attention to civil matters and notify the air-port people that Freddie and Mr. Sallust are wanted for murder.”
“You will be as quick as you can, won’t you?” Gregory added. “Just one suit-case should be enough as I have plenty of money on me and we can get anything else you want in Stockholm.”
“I’ll be moderate—just a dressing-case,” Angela smiled at him, and kissing her father quickly on the forehead she hurried from the room.
When she had gone Erika said: “I’m sure your daughter will be perfectly safe with Flight-Lieutenant Charlton, Mr. Fordyce, but in case she’s air-sick or anything it may comfort you to know that she’ll have another woman with her—I’m going too.”
“Do you mean, darling, that you’ll come to England with me?” Gregory exclaimed.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t say that. I wouldn’t when you wanted me to before because my country was still at war with England and, although I hate the Nazis, I felt that I ought to stay in Germany and see the business through. The situation hasn’t changed materially since; but there’s no point in my remaining in Helsinki to be bombed, and I want to be with you as long as possible, so I’ll come to Stockholm.”
Gregory gave a rueful grin. “I was afraid the conclusion I jumped to was too good to be true, and in any case I meant to insist on your leaving Helsinki with us; but the situation has changed since I last tried to persuade you to come to England with me. Then you were in Germany and thought it your duty to stay there, but you had to leave it in order to escape being arrested and executed.”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “But I went to Finland which, as far as we’re concerned, is neutral; and Sweden, too, is neutral, so for me to go there is very different from my going to live in England, my country’s enemy.” And Gregory saw that it was no use pressing her for the moment.
While they had been talking Fordyce had pressed a bell and given an order to a servant, who now brought in a bowl of biscuits and a decanter, the contents of which Gregory took to be sherry, but as Fordyce poured the wine into the glasses he said:
“One of the amenities of being stationed in the Nordic countries is that one gets such excellent Madeira—a wine we very rarely see at home.”
Gregory sipped from his glass and smiled appreciatively. “You’re right. This is grand stuff.
They talked for a little of the possible effects of the Russo-Finnish War upon the international situation; then Angela rejoined them, looking very pretty in her tweeds and furs and carrying only a bulging dressing-case.
Fordyce had already ordered his car to take them to the airport and he accompanied them downstairs to the front door. The father and daughter were devoted to each other but with the usual British dislike of any display of sentiment their parting was almost as brief as though Angela had been going out shopping. Fordyce shook hands with the others, wishing them the best of luck, and the car drove off.
Gregory felt that, for Freddie and himself to call at the hotel and attempt to collect their belongings was much too risky. It was a bore to have to abandon the things they had bought on the Tuesday morning but they were still wearing their furs and the other items were of no great consequence. What did perturb him, however, was that the police had disarmed them both when they had been arrested. It had become second nature to him to carry a weapon when travelling anywhere outside Britain; so he asked the chauffeur to drive them to a gunsmith’s where, by pulling a bluff that they were neutral Englishmen who were proceeding into Russia on Finland’s business, he succeeded in persuading the shopman to sell him two Luger automatics, spare clips and a hundred rounds of ammunition, without a permit.
Having divided the spoils with Freddie they drove on to the von Kobenthals’. Fredeline was out so Erika left a note for her and ran upstairs to get her passport and pack a bag. Into it she crammed the most useful things that came ready to hand, stuffed a flask of brandy and her own small pistol into the pockets of her furs and was back in the car within fifteen minutes.
They had left the Consulate at about eleven-thirty but it was now after half-past twelve, and they were still some distance from the air-port when the sirens began to wail again. The Finnish chauffeur drove on for another half-mile until he reached a large stone building, the entrance to which was heavily sandbagged; then turning to Gregory, who was seated beside him, he said calmly, in excellent English:
Faked Passports Page 25
