The Legion of the Lost

by John Creasey

  He broke off abruptly as Conroy said with relish: ‘You’ll deal more leniently with her, I guess?’

  Erikson gulped and brushed a hand over his forehead, then seemed to shrink back in his corner. Palfrey did not think it was a sudden realisation of personal danger which affected him, so much as a sudden vision of the old Copenhagen, when he had tried so hard to put through reforms, compared with the conditions in the city now.

  ‘What were you doing at the palace?’ Palfrey asked, quietly enough to make the words seem like a continuation of the other subject. ‘I was intrigued by the lumps of fat.’ He raised his brows interrogatively. ‘And—’ he paused. ‘Was it skimmed milk?’

  Erikson drew a deep breath and passed his hand over his eyes, before he said slowly: ‘No-o, not skimmed milk. A mixture of water and chemicals made to look and taste like skimmed milk. I was experimenting in the admixture of vitamins and calories. And the fats were ersatz fats. My stomach heaves when I think of them, but they were the only materials which the Nazis gave me to work on. They believed that I would do all I could to put some goodness into them for the sake of my own people, of course. Whether they would have allowed a useful compound to be distributed in Denmark before going to Germany, I do not know. I hardly think it likely. But—’ he looked appealingly at Palfrey. ‘I had to help. I had to try. There was always a chance that it would do some good.’

  It was nearly dawn when they reached Fredericia. It was pitch dark outside and Palfrey saw that it was just after five o’clock; they were three-and-a-half hours late. The awareness of danger was sharpened by the coldness of the early morning and the others were also affected. They climbed out of the train in company with hundreds of other people, all weary-eyed, stretching, yawning, grunting.

  There was a hold-up at the barrier and Palfrey was afraid that the hue and cry for them would be on by then. He called Stefan aside and said: ‘We’d better split up. You take Erikson, Conroy can take Ohlson—it will make less of a contrast in sizes and they’ll be looking for one long and one short.’

  The patient crowd went towards the barrier slowly, sometimes without moving up for ten or fifteen minutes. Dawn was visible before he and Brian reached the barrier. He saw that there was an armed guard of four men, with two others who were shining torches into the face of every man and woman. Time and time again, the people were pushed on roughly; they accepted the roughness patiently.

  As he drew nearer he saw that on a small table at which an officer was sitting, were two photographs, pinned to it. The officer, his face like a ghoul’s in the light of the lamp which cast intermittent shadows over his features, kept referring to the photographs. Palfrey craned his neck to try to see them, convinced that they were of Ohlson and Erikson.

  A torch was thrust into their faces, preventing Palfrey from seeing the features on the photographs. A man asked for his papers and he fumbled for them – he was described then as a Danish doctor and had authority to travel. Brian’s identity card declared him to be a Swedish national. In spite of that, Brian was pushed through roughly although he was asked a few questions. A dozen were flung at Palfrey and he answered quickly if nervously. The glitter of the torch was no longer in his eyes, but on the photographs.

  They were of Erikson and Ohlson.

  His heart was beating so fast that he hardly heard the curt command to pass on. Dawn was breaking but there was no way at all in which he could warn the others of the photographs although he stood near the barrier until an armed soldier told him to move on, helping him with a shove.

  At last Stefan and Erikson came within the circle of light and the torch was pushed into Stefan’s face. After a few questions he was allowed to pass. He was so tall and massive that no one put a hand to him. He stayed near the barrier.

  Erikson blinked in the brilliance of the torch and began to answer questions. There were two references to the photograph. Palfrey expected him to be marched away, expected the cry of triumph from the officer. Instead, Erikson was bundled out to join Stefan.

  The cheek-pads, the fuller face, and the altered contours all aided the deception in the poor light, otherwise discovery would have been inevitable. Palfrey saw Stefan and Erikson go towards the exit of the station, but he waited for Ohlson and Conroy. He did not doubt then that Ohlson would have the same good fortune as Erikson.

  Ohlson blinked as a dozen others had done. Palfrey, relaxing for a moment, expected him to be pushed through. Instead there was a bellow from the officer at the table and a snapped command: ‘Seize him!’ Two men jumped forward and took Ohlson’s arms, the officer rose to his feet and bellowed: ‘You are Hans Ohlson, recently from Copenhagen, fugitive from justice!’ He gave Ohlson no chance to reply, but bellowed: ‘Don’t lie to me, you are Ohlson! Where is the other man? Where—?

  Palfrey took a step forward, Brian put a restraining hand on his arm. Ohlson stuttered an unconvincing denial.

  Conroy, not two yards away from the nearest guards, suddenly launched himself forward. Two guards went flying, their legs kicked from under them, and Conroy roared to Ohlson: ‘Run, run hard!’

  He pulled at the Dane as the German officer snatched at the gun lying on the table. Conroy put his hands beneath the edge of the table and heaved it upwards, then ducked and began to run, with Ohlson already two yards from the table, racing desperately for the exit.

  Then the guards began to shoot.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Partial Failure

  Two volleys rang out; a man scurrying towards the exit gasped and pitched forward on his face. The crowds surged forward, trying desperately to get away, some slipped in their haste and fell, taking others down with them. In a few seconds there was a struggling, yelling, hopeless mass in one of the doorways, growing larger every moment.

  Then Ohlson stopped running.

  He was so near the door that two more yards would have taken him to temporary safety; but he stopped and pitched forward. Two guards were close behind him and they pounced, shouting in triumph. The officer, a tall, uncouth man in that half-light, stalked towards them.

  Palfrey said: ‘A job for me, Brian. You see if you can give Alex some help, but don’t ask for trouble. I’ll see you later—you know where to go?’

  ‘Yes, but—’ Brian began to object.

  ‘They’ll want a doctor,’ said Palfrey. ‘Off with you!’

  Suddenly the officer roared: ‘A doctor—is there a doctor?’

  ‘Signal for me,’ thought Palfrey. He went forward tentatively from the fringe of the crowd. His papers covered him; he did not think there was much danger and in any case, he wanted to find out how badly Ohlson was hurt. He reached the soldiers who stood aside for him.

  Ohlson had been turned so that he now lay on his back, without moving and with his eyes closed. The officer stirred him with his foot; Ohlson’s body only moved sluggishly; he did not jump nor open his eyes.

  Palfrey said nothing, but went down on one knee. The officer snapped: ‘He is pretending to be unconscious.’ He swore obscenely. ‘Make him come round, at once! I have questions to ask him.’

  Palfrey rose to his feet and said: ‘No, Herr Lieutenant, it cannot be done. No one can do it. He is dead.’

  The German looked stupefied; Palfrey wondered what instructions had been sent through, assuming that Ohlson had been wanted alive and that the man was afraid of the consequences now that he had died. Brutality and fear – I always the same, no matter where you went in Europe. Brutality and fear—

  He drew in a sharp breath, for the officer turned and drove his boot into Ohlson’s yielding body, moving the little Dane more than a foot. Then he began to shout orders to his men, telling them to clear the main exit gates. He ignored Palfrey, who went towards the gates but was stopped when the man caught up with him, gripped his arm and swung him round.

  ‘Who told you to go?’ he roared. You will ask permission first!’

  Palfrey said evenly: ‘Have I the Herr Lieutenant’s permission to attend to the in
jured in the doorway? Many have been hurt.’ It was half-past six before Palfrey managed to get away.

  Trenborg was a little fishing village near Fredericia, made into a suburb as the little port had grown larger and more prosperous; but fishing remained its chief industry. There was a market square with a statue of King Gustav; opposite the statue was a narrow, cobbled street, called Torva, and halfway along Torva a little inn, the Ludvig Holberg.

  The door of the Ludvig Holberg was open, a thin, haggard-faced woman was washing the front step.

  ‘Good morning!’ Palfrey greeted her. ‘I wish to see the proprietor.’

  ‘A moment,’ the woman said. She scrambled to her feet and hurried into the inn. After a few minutes a voice called him. He went along a narrow, ill-lit passage into a room on the right. An old, bearded man in his shirtsleeves was sitting in front of a tiny wood fire. The woman was by the door; she went out and closed it as Palfrey entered.

  Palfrey said with a smile: ‘There are fewer gulls this year.’

  ‘The death rate is high,’ said the old man evenly. His calm blue eyes searched Palfrey’s face.

  ‘Not so high as in other places,’ objected Palfrey.

  ‘That is a question of doubt,’ said the bearded man. He stood up, extending a hard, calloused hand. ‘I am glad to see you,’ he added, warmly. ‘I was worried lest you would be detained. All the others are here.’

  In spite of the death of Ohlson, Palfrey felt lighter-hearted; it was no more than a partial failure.

  The bearded man went on. ‘They are having breakfast in the cellar. There is a honey-comb of cellars and should there be any alarm then you can get through quite safely. You are Dr. Palfrey?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘Your evidence, please?’

  ‘You have a chromium-plated cigarette case here, recently delivered and bearing the initials “S.A.P.”,’ said Palfrey. ‘It cannot be unfastened except by opening it at what appears to be the hinge.’

  The sober eyes smiled.

  That is good,’ he said. ‘And I am Carlson.’ He took a cigarette case from his pocket, handing it to Palfrey, who thanked him and put it into his own. Five minutes later, Palfrey was in the cellar.

  It was eleven o’clock when Palfrey took out the chromium-plated cigarette case. He had wanted to let things settle down before seeing what message had come from the Marquis, yet he knew the others had been waiting eagerly for the news. He opened the cigarette case at the hinges, then prised up a thin layer close to one of the sides; it stuck out like the page of a book. Beneath it was a thin piece of folded paper. He extracted and unfolded it, then Conroy came towards him, holding a match. Palfrey warmed the paper first at the match and then at a candle which Stefan lit. After what seemed a long time, black lettering showed up on it.

  The message was in code.

  Palfrey put it on the table so that they could all read it, but was the first to decipher the opening paragraph. Erikson would be taken off by submarine that night. There were full instructions, which were simple enough to follow in the second paragraph, but there was no suggestion that they should go with Erikson.

  Palfrey started on the third paragraph and was halfway through when he felt his heart beating faster. His excitement increased as he came to the end. There was little enough there; Jan Machez, the Czech, and Ridzer, the Pole, were both in Berlin. The Marquis’s final words were: ‘If you think there is a reasonable chance, try. Full information will be brought to you in the submarine.’

  Conroy was the first to break the silence, with a laconic: ‘We do go places, don’t we? What do you think, Sap?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Arrangements for Four

  He stood on the sea-washed beach of Trenborg, hearing the faint splash of oars in the water. Half an hour before, he had seen the two green flashes which had appeared some way out to sea in the Vejle Fjord. He knew that the Germans were less careful with regard to the inland seas and coastline, the defences at Fredericia and the east coast of Jutland being negligible compared with those of the North Sea Coast. He realised, too, that once through the Skagerrak and Catte-gat, the submarine’s course would be comparatively easy.

  Two men had rowed Erikson away; there had been little time for farewells. Now the splash of muffled oars reached Palfrey’s ears. Two shadowy figures waded towards him.

  A brief exchange of words, then a hushed request for him to help the boatmen to carry some packages which they had brought from the submarine. Palfrey expected two or three and was amazed to find that there were at least two dozen, none of them small and some requiring two men to handle.

  ‘A number of very useful things,’ said the old man of the inn. ‘Powdered milk, butter, a number of other things to help our women and children; some explosives and firearms. It is not often that we have a visit like this, but whenever there is one we are always sent gifts. It gives us hope, Doctor.’

  They drew nearer the entrance to Trova, making no sound, for rags were tied over their boots and they walked cautiously. The quiet of the night was so profound that, when it was a long way off, they heard the sound of a car engine.

  The car drew up, the headlights lending a strange beauty to the wooden houses and the little church.

  ‘They have gone to the Kommandant’s headquarters,’ said Carlson, not uneasily but in a more thoughtful voice than he had used before.

  Three men appeared from the car, which had drawn up a little beyond the door of the house which the Kommandant was using; the three men were clear in the headlamps. Two were in uniform, both big men: the third was in mufti, and Palfrey would have thought little of that had not the light shone on his bare head. It had a reddish glint; and the civilian was much smaller than either of his fellows.

  ‘I think I recognise one of them,’ said Palfrey slowly. ‘If I do, I don’t like it at all. Can you get Debenham to come and join me?’

  Nothing happened for some time, until at last he heard a door opening behind him, and a moment later Brian’s voice.

  ‘What’s the excitement, Sap?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Palfrey. ‘There’s a man I want you to get a good look at. He’ll probably show up again in a minute or two.’

  Then the quiet was broken by footsteps. Two men left the Kommandant’s house, both moving at the double.

  The confusion of sounds, voices, clatter of rifles and banging of doors threatened to distract their attention from the Kommandant’s house, but both were looking towards the door when it opened again and the little man reappeared. This time he was facing them and walked straight into the light.

  ‘Sap!’ gasped Brian hoarsely. ‘That’s—’ he drew a deep breath, Palfrey felt his arm quiver, there was an incredulous note in his whispering voice. ‘That’s the little swab on the motor-cycle!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey crisply. ‘Open the door, Bry!’

  Brian obeyed, as more orders were barked at the far end of the street. Palfrey did not think that the name of the inn was mentioned. There were eight guards in all, in double file, and they approached Torva. The men stopped with a single click of heels and the man in charge thundered on a door some distance from the inn.

  Palfrey stepped inside the passage, closing the door behind him. Carlson nodded his head towards the cellar door and they followed him. On the way down the wooden steps, he said: ‘Now, I want you to listen carefully. You will go through here and join the others’ – he put a hand on a door which Palfrey had seen before but not used. ‘I will come and tell you where it is wise to go in a few minutes. They will have searched other places before this, Doctor, and you will go to the cellar beneath that house. Even the Germans do not search the same place twice on the same night.’

  Stefan and Conroy were in a small passage lighted by a single candle. The ceiling was so low that Stefan had to crouch down, and Brian was forced to keep his shoulders hunched.

  ‘Carlson will get us through this time, I think,’ said Palfrey. ‘But there are c
omplications.’ He smiled crookedly at Stefan. ‘Do you remember the little red-haired man? He’s outside. Looking for us, I fancy. It can’t be just coincidence.’

  None of them spoke. After a while it was time to go through the labyrinth of cellars and passages.

  They were wading through the water at the back of the building. They could see nothing but the faintest of glows from the square itself, probably from the headlamps of the car. They walked perhaps for ten minutes in single file, a fat Dane leading the way. Then they left the water and walked up stone and rock, stumbling from time to time although their guide was as sure-footed as a mountain goat.

  ‘There are caves here where you can hide, if need be for a long time. I will return as soon as I can, just wait here!’ he said.

  Footsteps on the rocks. Slow, dragging – perhaps also stealthy – certainly not the confident approach of the little fat man. They went nearer the entrance of the fissure and waited tensely as the sound drew nearer.

  Then they heard a woman’s voice, speaking in Danish and in a tone so low that it was difficult to hear the words.

  ‘They must be here,’ she intoned. ‘They must be here.’

  Palfrey stepped forward.

  ‘What is it you want, madame?’

  ‘Dear God, I have found you! The doctor! Please, they have taken my father, they will shoot him and torture him. Please, he did this to help you, you must help him!’

  Then he recognised the woman from the Ludvig Holberg, there was no doubt now as to what had happened to Carlson.

  Suddenly she moaned and collapsed at their feet.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Barricade

  She wore a dark coat and heavy rubber boots; Palfrey unbuttoned the coat slowly. As he did so the light reflected a patch of red about her chest; blood soaked the whole of the top of her dress. Conroy, also bending over her, said: ‘Any hope, Sap?’