Faked Passports gs-3

by Dennis Wheatley

  Gregory nodded. "I imagine it's the long winter nights which make people in the northern countries like Scotland and Scandinavia so keen on education plenty of time for reading and once people get interested in books they almost always educate themselves."

  "Yes. They are terrific readers. You've only got to look at the bookshops here to see that. Practically every worth while book that comes out is translated into Finnish, and a bookseller was telling me the other day that the editions they print are very often as large as those printed in England; which is absolutely staggering considering the relative smallness of the population.

  "This business of make up, then," Freddie brought the conversation back, "is, I suppose, due to the same sort of strict morality that the Church of Scotland enforces so far as it can?"

  "Oh, no. It's not that they're the least straight laced," Angela hastened to assure him. "In fact, women are remarkably free here and the Finns have a passionate belief in the equality of the sexes. They were the first people to give women the vote; and if a servant girl here has an illegitimate child nobody thinks any the worse of her: she just stays on in her job and the child’s adopted into the family.'

  Glancing at his watch Gregory saw that it was nearly half past two, and he wanted to be in plenty of time for his appointment at the Finnish Foreign Office so he stood up and excused himself.

  Having collected his furs from the cloakroom he thrust his way through the jam of people in the hall to the desk and said to the fair haired clerk who had booked him in: "I want those papers back now that I gave you just before midday to put in the hotel safe."

  The fair man Looked 'at him in blank surprise. "But you sent for them yourself half an hour ago, sir." He reached into a drawer and produced a chit. "We have your signature for them."

  Chapter XIII

  The Beautiful Erika Von Epp

  Told you not to give that packet to anyone-on any pretext," Gregory snarled, the second he could give expression to his amazement and anger.

  The clerk gave back before his angry scowl. "But, sir, you» aid you would be wanting the packet again after lunch and I thought…"

  "But you say you gave it to someone half an hour ago. It would then have been barely two o'clock."

  "In Helsinki many people lunch at midday, sir, and would have finished by then. I thought you were busy, perhaps, and so had sent your friend to collect your parcel."

  "If I had, he would have produced the receipt you gave me; and I still have it here. What have you to say to that?"

  "Only, sir, that visitors are often careless and mislay the receipts we give them. We consider it quite satisfactory if instead of the original receipt we have the visitor's signature for anything deposited. And here is yours." The clerk extended the slip of paper again.

  Gregory glanced at it. "That's not my signature."

  "Well, it's very like it, sir." The man shrugged apologetically and pointed to the place in the visitor's book where Gregory himself had written his name earlier that day. The forgery would not have been passed by a bank but it was a pretty fair imitation, and as Gregory, stared at the fair, blue-eyed, bespectacled clerk he suddenly formed a very shrewd suspicion as to what had occurred.

  The man behind the desk might be of Finnish nationality but he was certainly not one hundred per cent. Finnish. The Finns have no blood ties with other Scandinavian peoples-they are a race apart-and the only nation to which they are allied y blood and language is Hungary, for over a thousand years ago a colony of Finns migrated into middle-Europe and settled round Lake Balaton. The Finns are of two main types-the Karelians, who come from the North and the East and are a gay, pleasure-loving people, and the Tavastlanders, from the South and the West, who provide the more sober element-but neither, has any resemblance to the Teutons; whereas the clerk's square head and thick neck betrayed his German origin.

  That, almost certainly, was the key to what had transpired. The fellow was either a German or had relatives in Germany, which enabled the Gestapo agents in Helsinki to exert pressure on him. As part of his secret duties he had evidently reported that an Englishman had lodged a packet of important papers with him. The member of the Gestapo to whom he reported had then copied Gregory's signature out of the visitors' book and made the clerk hand over the packet.

  Gregory knew that he could create a fuss, send for the manager, threaten to sue the hotel and call in the police; but none of these things would get back his vitally-important papers. He swiftly made up his mind that he would try to get the clerk sacked later, if he had time to spare, as the man was dangerous; but there was not a second to lose now. With the smallest possible delay he must try to get on the track of whoever had stolen the packet.

  "What was the name of the man to whom you gave my papers?" he asked quickly.

  "I don't know, sir."

  "Is he staying in the hotel?"

  "Oh, no."

  "But you knew him?"

  "Yes. He has been in here several times in the last two days." "D'you know where he lives?"

  The clerk smiled blandly, with almost open insolence. "Na, sir, I haven't the least idea."

  "All right. Describe him to me," Gregory snapped. "And remember this: the packet was such a big one that somebody must have noticed you handing it across the counter, and one of the porters would certainly have seen the man walk out with it. I'll have every person in the hotel questioned and if I find that you've lied to me about his description I'll have you put in prison for aiding and abetting a theft. Now, then!"

  The clerk wilted slightly as he protested. `But I wouldn't dream of lying to you, sir, and the management will be most distressed about this unfortunate occurrence. The man said you had sent him for the packet and produced your signature, otherwise I should never have given it to him. He was a big man, very strong, I should say, but rather fat. He had fair hair, cut like a brush in front."

  "A German?"

  "I couldn't say, sir, but he spoke to me in English and I thought he might be Scandinavian or Dutch. He had a heavy, pasty face, spoke in a shrill voice and was wearing a black patch over his left eye.

  It was all Gregory could do to suppress an exclamation. The description exactly fitted his old enemy,Herr Gruppenführer Grauber, the chief of the Gestapo Foreign Department, U.A.-1. What was Grauber doing in Finland? But that was easy. Grauber had his spies and agents in every capital and, naturally, now that Finland had become the new storm-centre of the war the Gestapo agents there would be working overtime. Grauber must have come to superintend their activities in person. He had probably walked into the hotel a little before two o'clock, glanced down the visitors' book and seen Gregory's name there. in questioning the clerk he would have learned about the packet that had been deposited and immediately decided that, Whatever the papers were, they were very well worth getting hold of if they belonged to Gregory Sallust. With the clerk's connivance it had been a simple matter to copy the signature from the visitors' book and secure the packet.

  By giving a correct description of Grauber the clerk had cleared himself of all but suspicion of complicity, while definitely confirming Gregory's conviction as to the manner in which the papers had been stolen. The fact that Grauber had obtained them under false pretences was of no immediate help, as with the Finnish crisis at its height it would take hours-if not days-to get a warrant for his arrest.

  Without another word to the clerk Gregory turned abruptly away It was unlikely that he would be able to get hold of monsieur Wuolijoki before three o'clock, but Erika must have been in Helsinki for the last three weeks and through her connections among the German colony she would be certain to know something of Gestapo activities in the Finnish capital.

  Crossing to the hall-porter, he gave him another lavish tip for the use of the telephone in his office and rang up the von Kobenthals. When he had asked for the Countess von Osterberg was told to hold the line and a moment later a low, husky rice, that made his hand tremble as he held the receiver, said:

  "Hal
lo? Who is that?"

  "Colonel- Baron yon Lutz," Gregory replied.

  There was a little pause and then her voice came again. "I know your name, of course, Herr Oberst-Baron, but I don't think we have met. What can I do for you?"

  "Oh, but we have met." Gregory allowed a smile to creep into his voice. "I last saw you at a farm-house outside Berlin, on the night of November the 8th."

  There was a little gasp 1 then a swift whisper. "Gregory, is it you? It must be you. Oh, darling "

  "Hush” Gregory whispered back. "For God's sake be careful. Can I come up and ‘see you right away?"

  "Yes, yes, at once-instantly."

  "It is Colonel-Baron von Lutz speaking. You will remember that, won't .you? I'll be with you within a quarter of an hour."

  Replacing the receiver, Gregory pushed his way through the crush back to the crowded dinning room where the Fordyce’s and Freddie were sitting.

  "Is anything wrong?" Mr. Fordyce inquired, on seeing Gregory's anxious face.

  "Yes." Gregory bent down and lowered his voice. "A Gestapo agent has made off with my papers."

  "How damnable Was there anything very important amongst them?"

  "They may make the difference between peace and war here in the next twenty-four hours."

  Fordyce stood up quickly. "Is there anything that I can do to help? An introduction to the Chief of Police? I'll take you round to him personally if you like."

  Gregory shook his head. "No; thanks all the same. We mustn't involve you in this owing to your official position. My situation is a very complicated one. Freddie will tell you all about it. Fortunately I know the man who stole them; he's an old enemy of mine namedGruppenführer Grauber, so I've at least got that to start with."

  "What, the chap you told me all about?" Freddie exclaimed… "The fellow whose eye you bashed in on the night of the Army Putsch in Berlin?"

  "Yes, that's the man. I must fly now and pull every gun I know to get possession of those papers again before Grauber can send them out of the country."

  "When can we expect you back?" asked Freddie.

  "I can't say for certain, but I'll try to return between five and

  six. Still, don't bother about me. You're out of all this now and it's your own affair if you stay here or make arrangements for getting back to England."

  "Good lord, no 1 I'm not quitting at this stage," Freddie announced quickly, "and I'll be standing by to give you a hand any time you want one."

  "Thanks, Freddie, thanks. I'm glad you feel that way, because the chances are that I'll need all the unofficial help that I can get."

  With a nod Gregory hurried away. The porter got him a taxi and he drove through the cold, sunny streets lined with their snow-covered buildings to the address of the von Kobenthals. It proved to be a long, low house standing in its own grounds, above one of the many bays along the shore, with a fine view of the scores of little islands which fringe the coast-line of South Finland.

  He gave the name of Colonel-Baron von Lutz to a trim maid, who was evidently expecting him for she led the way straight across the hall to a comfortable sitting-room that overlooked the sea. Erika was waiting near the window, her eyes fixed on the door, waiting for him.

  Inside the room he paused, drinking in once more all the perfection of her loveliness; her golden hair, her widely-spaced, deep-blue eyes, her generous mouth, the regal carriage of her lead, her slim, beautifully-moulded figure. He knew that she was twenty-eight, but, in spite of her hard youth when half Germany was starving and the life of intrigue she had led since, she did not look a day over twenty-five. She was one of the very few German women he had ever known who had both the taste to dress well and the courage to ignore Nazi convention, which decrees that women's duty is to be useful rather than decorative she was dressed very simply now but not a hair of her head was out of place and she carried herself with the air of a princess.

  For a long moment they stood gazing at each other. The door closed behind Gregory; then without a word she was in his arms. They clung together as though they would never let each they go; not kissing, but cheek to cheek, straining together in fast embrace. Suddenly Erika gulped and began to cry.

  "Darling," Gregory murmured. "Darling, what is it? We're together again now."

  "I know," she echoed, "I know. But it's too much; I can't bear it."

  He laughed gently. "But, dearest, I've never seen you cry before."

  "I- I haven't cried for years. I'm hard as nails-you know I am-at least, I was before I met you. I despise women who cry, but this-oh, I can't believe it's true." She dug her pointed nails into his shoulders.

  "Yes, it's true, my sweet." He began to kiss her very tenderly; then with increasing passion until their mouths were locked in a long, breathless kiss.

  Ten minutes later she was curled up on his knees in an armchair listening as he began to tell her how he had found out where she was and how he had managed to reach Finland himself. He left all details till later, giving her only the bare facts of how he had been shot down on his way out of Germany the night they had parted taken refuge in the woods. managed to get back to Berlin to look for her… seen Goering… become the Marshal's secret emissary and had his papers stolen by Grauber less than an hour before.

  When he had done, he said: "Now where D’you think Grauber will have taken that packet? To the German Legation?"

  She shook her golden head. "No. Goering has too many friends there, so Grauber wouldn't trust those papers to the Legation safe."

  "Wait a minute," Gregory interrupted. "He can have no idea-thank God where I got all that stuff. My letter of introduction from Goering is still in my pocket so the Marshal's not involved. Grauber will assume that I managed to get back to Berlin and stole those papers somehow."

  "Good. I'm glad for Hermann's sake that Grauber doesn't know the part he played. He's quite capable of looking after himself but its better that he should choose his own time to have a row with von Ribbentrop on the question of major policy."

  "That's exactly what he said to me himself."

  "But what about the report? Won't that give things away?"

  "No. I might have drafted that myself or it might have been compiled for me by a high-up German official in the pay of the British. Grauber will know that I couldn't have stolen all those documents without some sort of inside help. The thing is-what will he do now he's got them?"

  "It's difficult to say," Erika replied thoughtfully. "There's no point in his sending them back to Berlin unless he can find out where you got them. That would simply be sending coals to Newcastle. He certainly won't hand them over to the Finnish Government, because he is Himmler's man and Himmler and von Ribbentrop are hand-in-glove. Von Ribbentrop naturally wants Finland to accede to Russia’s demands without fighting so that there should be no further excuse for Russia’s delaying supplies which he is counting on from her. Grauber won't pass the papers to the Soviet Legation here, either; there would be no point in doing that and it would only show how much we know of Russia’s real weakness. As far as I can see, he will simply put them in his own safe at Gestapo headquarters."

  "They have a headquarters here, then?"

  Erika smiled, showing her small, even, white teeth. "Is there a capital in the world where the Gestapo have not got a headquarters? Their H.Q. is a fair-sized private house in the north eastern suburbs of the city. It's almost country out there and I suppose that's why they chose it; they didn't want too many people constantly watching their comings and goings. Every German in Helsinki knows it, though."

  "Well, it's one of the things I wanted to know and it looks is if our chance of getting back my packet is by robbing the safe there." '

  "That's easier said than done."

  "Don't I know it, darling? D'you think we could get any help 'from the Finns?"

  "It all depends. To whom was your letter of introduction 'from Goering addressed?"

  "It's not addressed to anyone but he told me to present it to Monsieur Wuoli
joki, at the Finnish Foreign Office."

  "Oh, Wuolijoki-he's a grand little man; I've met him at parties several times during the last few weeks. He's very pro-German; but by that I mean he's pro my kind of German not Hitler's."

  "Yes, I gathered that from Goering. But what matters now is-do you think he's the sort of chap who would be prepared to risk his job by adopting very unorthodox methods in the service of his country?"

  "I don't know. But these Finns are extraordinarily patriotic. Both Germans and British consider themselves patriotic people gut I don't think either of us has this love for our country so deeply in us as the Finns. Perhaps it's because they have only had theirs as a free people for such a little time. Every one of `the men whom I have talked to these last few days says he would much rather fight than give in to Russia; and by that they don't mean fight as our peoples would-with a good chance of coming back alive or, if they're wounded, being evacuated to a comfortable hospital where they'll have every attention until they're well again. By fight they really mean go out and die; because even the most optimistic of them know that Finland can't possibly stand up to Russia’s weight of numbers. They're openly- making bets with each other as to how many Russians each of them will kill before he is killed himself."

  Gregory remained silent for a moment. By his impostures in England, France and Germany he had caused the death of numerous innocent people, through no fault of his own. It was just his luck that he had managed to get away whereas they had been caught and had died as a result of their association with him; yet he had left a scarlet trail of blood behind him. Now he was an impostor once more, posing as Colonel-Baron von Lutz; and to what end? To plunge a whole nation into war when perhaps the wholesale suffering and death which war would inevitably bring might possibly be avoided.

  He sighed. "Poor fellows, it's pretty frightful for them, isn't it? And it makes me feel an utter swine to think that it's my job to try to persuade their Government to take the step which will make their sacrifice necessary, when their lives would at least be safe if they gave Russia what she wants."