Above Suspicion (33 page)

They waited in the silence of the wood, and watched the tops of the trees moving gently against the background of the evening sky. The strain was beginning to tell on Richard. Again the fear came back to him that they might be on the wrong trail. Frances might be a hundred miles from here—injured, dead. He began to count the branches above him. Anything, anything, to keep him from thinking.

Thornley felt a sudden wave of excitement as he neared the edge of the wood and saw the small chapel and the quiet little houses beside it. It was the kind of feeling he had when he’d stand patiently waiting for the birds to break cover; only this time he was one of the birds. It wasn’t the excitement of fear or nervousness. It was the excitement of expectation. He had always lived in the country, and what might have been difficult for Richard or van Cortlandt seemed fairly simple to him.

He moved confidently and quickly, knowing that under cover of this string of bushes he could only be seen from the woods behind him. In that case he would be seen even if he went slowly and carefully—and time was short: they could hardly wait until complete darkness, for he felt that the castle might not remain deserted so very much longer. This was what Henry called playing a hunch; well, he was going to play it as hard as he could.

He had almost reached the chapel. He flattened himself out under the last clump of bushes and waited. So far so good. He strained to hear any sound from the cottages or the chapel, but they were completely silent. What was more, the doors and windows of the cottages were shut. It would be strange for anyone inside them to sit that way on a warm summer’s evening. He measured the short dash to the chapel with his eye, and timed it neatly. He stood flat against the wall, hidden from the main buildings. In two or three moments he would slip round the corner of the chapel and reach the path. The fruit trees would shelter him from the castle gardens, the large shrubs growing along the path would shelter him from the castle’s windows; the only danger lay in being seen from the other end of the path. As he waited, motionless, he became aware that the windows beside him were not the usual high, narrow windows of a church. They were square and broad, with ordinary glass. He edged to one and looked cautiously inside over his shoulder. The interior was very strange for a chapel indeed—it was a very complete gymnasium. He gained confidence; only now would he admit to himself that the responsibility of discovering Dreikirchen’s existence had worried him. Now he was pretty sure of its purpose. It would be the natural place for Frances to be taken if von Aschenhausen hadn’t turned her over to the regular police, and it wasn’t likely that he had done that. This was more a case for secret police, with abduction, not arrest, as their weapon.

He left the security of the east wall of the chapel, and entered the kitchen garden. Fortunately the path curved to suit the arm which the buildings formed. He was hidden from the end of the path where it probably skirted the castle. If he could reach the
pear-trees, then at least the path would be safer because of the shrubbery. At this point it was rather unpleasant. There wasn’t much shelter in a row of cabbages, or on the long north side of the chapel.

He had reached the pear-trees. As he did so, he side-stepped into the shrubbery. The path itself was now too open. It curved straight to a door in the castle itself, a side-door just where the low wing was joined to the main building. The smoke from the wing was curling up steadily. Kitchen, almost certainly, thought Thornley, and regained his breath in the shelter of the bushes. The door had been unexpected. In fact, it had given him a jolt as he had come round the path and suddenly met it staring at him from the end of the path. It meant he would have to push his way carefully and slowly between the thick shrubs, sometimes almost through them. Not the pleasantest way of travel, he thought savagely. The earth here hadn’t the clean wholesomeness of the earth in a wood. It seemed dank and stale, and a fine dust from the branches and leaves blackened his hands.

He had almost reached the castle wall… And then he heard voices; at first distant, and then gradually getting louder. But they were far enough away to be indistinguishable. He must get almost to the end of the bushes before he would be near enough to hear them. The voices were clearer; two men were talking. Only two, he was sure of that. But he still couldn’t hear any words. He knelt down on the mouldering earth. He pushed down gently the branch in front of him. It let him see the side of the castle right up to the front corner. He saw that there was a broad path along this wall of the castle, which must cross the path from the kitchen garden in front of the side-door.

Thornley moved his head to let him get a clearer view of the front corner of the castle. He dared not push the sheltering branch any more to the side. He judged that the men were walking in front of the castle, that any moment they would appear at the corner. The voices were coming nearer, and he could hear the heavy footsteps of men aware of their own authority… And then there was a laugh, the belly laugh a man gives when he has just heard an unexpected end to a good story. The trooper who had laughed was still enjoying the joke when they reached the corner of the path. They were in their shirtsleeves, and capless, but they still wore revolvers at their side and the one who had laughed carried a loaded cane. He beheaded the large yellow daisies growing at the side of the path as he listened to his companion. They paused as they turned in their walk, and both looked up at the same window as if they had heard something. They were silent for a moment, listening. Then the one who had laughed said something to the other which made them both snicker, and they began their walk back along the front of the castle, and the corner of the building hid them.

Thornley wondered they had not heard his heart-beats. The man who had laughed and chopped off the flower heads was the one who had questioned him last night when he had returned to Innsbruck with van Cortlandt. Anyway, he had found out that there were two of them in front of the castle. They weren’t on guard; they had lounged too much for that. But they were armed. It looked as if no one at the castle expected any uninvited guests. And why should they? This was one of their own strongholds, and once their prisoners disappeared from their own homes the shock or the fear which petrified their
friends ended all help for them. It took weeks, even months, for anyone who was mad enough to ask to discover what had happened to those who had disappeared. So why worry about a foreigner who had walked into an alley and had “vanished” at the other end? Her friends couldn’t even make inquiries about her; they couldn’t afford to. Thornley smiled grimly as he moved back towards the path from the kitchen garden. That was how these blighters worked it. Bribe enough men with a sense of power, reward them with luxury and grandeur, and they’d be loyal terrorisers. It was Faust all over again. Body and soul for sale to the man who could give them the things they had always wanted. And the greater the sale, the greater the rewards.

Thornley had reached the path. There, at the edge of the shrubbery, he could see clearly across the rose beds to the bank of the wooded hill. Would he go back now, or would he try to find out who was in the place he thought was the kitchen? The smoke was rising in greater volume. When he had first seen it, it had only been a trickle. He looked at the door. Could he risk stepping on to the path to reach the wall, and perhaps a window? The two men pacing in front of the castle would have nearly reached the other end of it. Then they would probably turn and come back. Now was the time to move… And then the door opened, and as Thornley automatically drew back into the bushes, he heard a thin voice raised in its anger as high as a woman’s.

The voice followed a man out into the path.

“Don’t waste any time, either,” it screeched. “I’ve had enough of you. Everyone else does the work while you stuff your belly. Go on, now.”

The young man paused, his mouth stuffed with a large piece of cake.

“Shut your gab. If you’re late, then get on with your work. What do you think you are anyway?” He came slowly down the path, grumbling to himself. “It’s Hermann this and Hermann that. As if I hadn’t my own job to do. As if I were a…” He didn’t finish, but pitched forward suddenly on his face. Thornley pocketed the torch again, and dragged the man into the bushes. Quite a neat rabbit punch, he thought. Pity if it had broken the torch. He reached for one of the heavy stones which edged the pathway and cracked the man over the head with it for good measure. He used his own handkerchief as a gag, and the man’s belt and necktie to truss him neatly. The only place from which his attack could have been seen was from the woods. He hoped to God that Myles and van Cortlandt had been watching.

They had. They had seen him clearly as he had come out of the kitchen garden, had seen him hesitate as he left the cover of the pear-trees, had seen him slip into the shrubbery. They waited for some minutes, wondering what on earth he had found interesting there. They hadn’t heard the voices, but they began to understand when they heard a man’s laugh. They strained their eyes, but they could see no one, not until a trooper walked slowly down the path, past the bushes, to drop suddenly like a stone. Then they saw Thornley again as he had pulled the body into the shrubbery. Van Cortlandt grinned: this was more like it. They waited impatiently… But there was no further movement, no signal which they were hoping for.

Thornley waited. He was listening for the voices: the men should have reached this side of the castle again by this time. What was detaining them? Or was he misjudging the length of the minutes in his anxiety? And then he heard them. Almost there; pause; turn. They were walking away again. He relaxed, and looked at the man beside him. He was out cold—for a long, long time. He stepped back on to the path, and waved.

The others had seen him, thank heaven. He watched them scramble down the bank near the pear-trees, and then it was difficult to see them. If they hurried they would manage it. His anxious eyes saw them again for a moment. They were moving quickly and silently. They had reached the end of the trees, and like him they had noticed the door at the end of the path. Like him, they shied from it, and worked their way along towards him by way of the shrubbery.

They found him examining the man’s revolver. He gave a satisfied nod, and slipped it into his pocket.

“Complications,” Thornley whispered quietly. “Two thugs in front; one overworked cook in the kitchen; and this.” He pointed with his foot.

“Cook next on the list?” Richard whispered back. Van Cortlandt was testing the knots; he seemed satisfied.

Thornley nodded. “Thugs due back any minute. Quietly…” He motioned them to follow him, and led them to the point where he had watched the two men. Their feet made no noise in the mouldering soil, and the green branches could bend without breaking. And then they heard the voices and were motionless. Richard and van Cortlandt looked carefully through the branches as Thornley had done. Van Cortlandt pursed his lips in a silent whistle as he saw one of the men. That was the guy all right, the one who had questioned him last night when they got back from Pertisau. So Thornley might have found the right
track after all. He looked at the Englishman thoughtfully. Bob was looking at the watch on his wrist. Pause; turn; walk back— he would soon have this timed to a nicety.

They suddenly stiffened and looked at each other. They heard a voice, excited, hurried. The heavy measured tread of the Nazis’ boots broke into a run. The voice was giving directions; they could hear the tone, but not the exact words. Van Cortlandt looked inquiringly at Richard, who shook his head. No, that wasn’t von Aschenhausen. So there was still another on the list. They waited, their bodies tense, their minds alert. The commands had been given. There was a loud “Zu Befehl!” That at least they could hear, that and the sound of running feet, clashing on the stones of a courtyard. And then the noise of motor bicycles ripped the silence.

“Two, I think,” murmured van Cortlandt. They edged to the front of the bushes, and saw the roadway which approached the entrance of the castle. The two motor bicycles had already passed through the large gates, and were sweeping down the broad road. There was something peculiarly ominous in their speed.

“I don’t like it,” said van Cortlandt. “It’s only a hunch, but I think we should get going.”

The failing light helped them. They moved silently, one by one, from the shrubbery over to the castle wall and, keeping close to its shadow, edged towards the kitchen door. They heard a sound of movement inside as Thornley’s nail-studded shoes slipped on a stone at the side of the path. They stretched themselves more closely against the roughness of the wall. Thornley slid the gun out of his pocket and held it by the barrel. The kitchen door opened, and a broad beam of light streamed
down the path to the kitchen garden. They could see the edge of a white apron, as the cook halted on the threshold.

“I heard you. You can come in. Where did you find the parsley? In the red-currant bushes, I bet.” He stepped out of the doorway, peering towards the darkness of the garden. “Hermann. God in heaven! I’ve always to do everything myself.” His thin, high voice rose. “Hermann!” He sprawled forward as the revolver butt thudded dully against his square head.

He was a heavy man. It took the three of them to lift him back into the kitchen. Thornley locked the door and then stood guard at the only other entrance—a door which led into a passage— while van Cortlandt helped Richard to gag the man and tie his hands and feet. Then they thrust him unceremoniously into his own store-room, and locked its heavy door. Richard pocketed the key, and nodded; they moved silently into the passage.

Thornley whispered, “There was a room which seemed to be interesting.”

Richard looked sharply at him. Had he heard something while he had waited? A cry? His speed increased.

The passage led to the main entrance hall, a large, square, imposing place, with a broad stairway curving up the panelled walls. Richard had stopped, and looked again at Thornley. Where was the room? Thornley pointed above their heads to the first floor.