Come into my Parlour (14 page)

The fact that Erika was clearly anxious to obtain a divorce could not be taken as definite evidence that she wanted to marry Sallust, but in view of their known relationship for the best part of the last two years it certainly pointed that way. In any case, she was an enemy of the Reich and a most dangerous woman, so it would be a good move to put her under lock and key.

Yet, in order to do so, and still leave the trap open for Sallust to follow her inside, Einholtz knew that he had several knotty problems to solve.

In the first place, he could not leave von Osterberg behind. If he did, the Count would seize the opportunity to rat on them; and, not only disappear, but quite probably go over to the enemy. That would be absolutely disastrous, since, as well as giving away all that had occurred at the Villa Offenbach, and thus preventing Sallust following Erika into Germany by a route upon which he could be seized at any time it suited them, he might also betray the real secret of the “K” weapons, which was of such vital importance to Germany.

At the thought, Einholtz shuddered slightly, seeing a swift mental
picture of himself, weakened from weeks of torture, and bruised and bleeding, as he was finally clubbed to death in the yard of some concentration camp.

Yet, if he took von Osterberg back to Germany with him the sole point of Erika going herself would be washed out; since the apparent function of the one, to assure the loyalty of the people at Niederfels, would cancel that of the other.

Again, the part he had led her to believe that he would play—of securing the right papers—would be redundant if von Osterberg went; and to her it would appear very strange if they both proposed to risk their necks when the job could be done by one of them. For a moment he contemplated sending them in together; von Osterberg ostensibly to get the notes, and Erika, ostensibly, to give him courage. But that would not do either. Within ten minutes of having left the Villa in the launch, von Osterberg would spill the beans and, instead of proceeding to the German shore, they would turn the boat and head for another Swiss village, to land and disappear together.

Einholtz knew that he could easily secure help. It would be easy enough to get someone else to look after von Osterberg while he accompanied Erika to Schloss Niederfels, but he did not favour that idea. The appearance of a stranger at the Villa would be difficult to explain when they were supposed to be living there in such secrecy, and Erika might smell a rat.

The only really satisfactory idea that emerged from his cogitations during his short journey was that he had only to produce his rubber truncheon to make von Osterberg agree to say whatever seemed desirable when Erika paid her next visit to the Villa.

On Sunday morning he shackled the Count to his bed again and went into Zurich. There was a small hotel there actually run by the Gestapo, which often proved useful to them for accommodating their agents when they were in difficulties with the Swiss police. In consequence, it was a very simple matter for Einholtz to secure from the Gestapo man who ran it a forged hotel bill, purporting to show that the
Herr Graf
von Osterberg had stayed there with a woman for the weekend, passing her off as his
Gräfin
. If it later proved necessary to produce a suitable girl, that could easily be arranged; but Einholtz did not think it would, as he reckoned that Erika would be in the net long before her solicitors got down to checking up the evidence with which he proposed to provide her. But he took the name and description of the young woman it was proposed to use, if that proved essential, and duly primed von Osterberg with the information that night.

Next morning he made the Count telephone Erika, asking her to pay another visit to the Villa that evening. On the Monday night,
therefore, she took the same precautions as before, dined at the little hotel in Steinach, and arrived at the Villa soon after nine o'clock.

She thought her husband looked more ill than when she had seen him the previous week, but as soon as he told her that he had got the evidence she required she put his poor state down to the probability that the whole business had been most repugnant to him and he was now showing the strain he had been under in going through with it.

He produced the hotel bill and also a letter that he had written for her that afternoon. It simply said that since they had not lived together for the past two years he had lost all affection for her and entered into another relationship; that he had now definitely made up his mind that in no circumstances would he return to her or contribute in any way to her support in the future, and that he enclosed a hotel bill upon which she could act, if she wished.

Having perused the two documents carefully she thanked him and said, “Can you give me particulars of the girl you stayed with, in case the solicitors say that the court will require her to be identified?”

“She stayed there as my wife,” he replied, “but her real name is Mitzi Winkelweiss, and she is a German. She was about your height, but dark, and with a small mole on her right cheek. She has a job as a typist in the
Deutscher Reisebüro
, but they don't pay her very much so she makes a bit extra now and again by going to the dance room at the Café Hiller, when she feels like it, and picking up any man who takes her fancy. That is where I found her.”

He reeled it off quite tonelessly, and Erika felt sorry for Mitzi Winkelweiss, who obviously could not have had a very enjoyable weekend. She hoped that Kurt had at least paid the poor girl well for the uninspiring hours she must have spent with him; but that, after all, was not her business, so she simply said:

“I think you arranged matters very well, as it should be easy enough to find her, if that proves necessary.”

“I don't think it will,” Fritz Einholtz put in. “As the case will be undefended, it should be quite sufficient if Kurt is identified as the man who stayed at that hotel, with a girl, on the night in question. After that, all your solicitors will have to do is to get you to point Kurt out to them so that they can serve the papers on him.”

“There is still the best part of three months to go before I can start proceedings.”

“That cannot be avoided. But Kurt will not run away.” Einholtz laughed suddenly. “He cannot, anyhow, until you give him the thousand pounds to do it with. But I think I see at what you were driving. You were about to say that there is not much point in your going to see your solicitors yet; and you are right. Kurt has shown
that he means to deal fairly with you by giving you the evidence you will require with a minimum of delay, but no more can be done for the moment.”

“Wasn't it a bit risky to choose a German girl, when you meant to stay with her at an hotel under your own name?” Erika asked, glancing at her husband.

“I was a bit scared about that, too,” Einholtz said, before von Osterberg had a chance to reply, “but Kurt thought it would seem more natural and look less like collusion. Of course, he didn't learn till later that she was in a German Travel Agency, which increases the risk of her talking to someone who might be interested in us. Still, the odds are that she never mentions her lapses into prostitution to anyone in the office, and, anyway, she has no idea where Kurt lives—so I don't think we need worry overmuch.”

Einholtz was rather proud of this little subtlety and would have been disappointed if Erika had not given him a chance to work it in, because it was just the sort of touch likely to strengthen her belief in their good faith. After a moment, he went on:

“I've been talking to Kurt about that other matter too, and we both feel, now, that there's a great deal in what you said when you were here last.”

“Oh, I'm so glad,” she said, smiling at Kurt, but she left it at that for the moment, as she did not know if he knew of Einholtz's visit to her, so thought it best to say no more until one of them had given her a lead.

Einholtz stood up to get a cigarette and from behind her back made a swift, imperative gesture at the Count, on which he began to speak, although with obvious reluctance.

“It is all very difficult,” he said. “Fritz and I have agreed that we ought to enable the British to protect their civilian population from this—er—gas, if we can; but I left my notes in the safe at Niederfels. I've been through a lot and my health is not very good, so, to be honest, I'm not really up to undertaking such a dangerous journey—at all events on my own. Fritz is braver than I am, and he is prepared to put his head into the lion's jaws again, but the trouble about that is that I don't like to let him. You see, our people at Niederfels would never give me away, but if he turned up there on his own the risk that one of them might split on him to curry favour with the local Nazis is quite considerable.”

As he paused, Erika felt certain she knew what was coming next, but she was mistaken. He added, rather heavily, “So it seems, the only thing for us to do is to go together.”

Erika gave an imperceptible sigh of relief. She had been dreading
this dangerous venture more than she realised, and now, it seemed, quite unexpectedly, a merciful dispensation of Providence had let her out of it. If Kurt went with Einholtz there was no reason at all for her to leave the comparative safety of Swiss soil. But, once again, she was jumping to conclusions.

Her husband puffed nervously at his cigarette, and resumed: “However, this job really needs a third person. I—well—I've got cold feet about entering the Castle alone, in case the Nazis have taken it over in my absence. With someone to stand by me, I'd risk it, but not alone. We should be able to do the whole job in a few hours if things go well. But that depends on our not running into trouble, and being able to make our getaway immediately I've collected my notes. When we get to the other side of the lake we can use one of Willi von Lottingen's cars, but we dare not drive up to the Schloss; so before we reach it, we'll have to park the car on the roadside somewhere. It's for that we need a third member of our party. If it were found unoccupied by anyone and reported to the police, or stolen, our lifeline would be cut, and we simply daren't risk that. We need someone who will remain with the car while we are away to ensure that it is still there when we get back.”

Erika caught Einholtz's eye, and guessed that he had said nothing to her husband about their meeting, but had mentally designated her for the part which would overcome Kurt's last objection.

“All right,” she said, slowly, “if that is the way you feel, I will come with you.”

“Erika,” he began, “I really don't think—”

But Einholtz had jumped to his feet and, seizing her hand, kissed it, as he cried enthusiastically: “Then all is well. It is most brave of you,
Frau Gräfin
, to take this risk with us. But to know that the car is there safe and ready for our getaway means so much. Together we will do this thing. Let us put behind us all thought of failure.”

Erika forced a smile. “Yes, and now we've decided to do it, the sooner we can get it over the better.”

“We can't go while the moon's like this.” von Osterberg said hurriedly. “There are patrol boats on both sides of the lake. They would—”

Unseen by Erika, Einholtz shot him an angry glance, and he lapsed into unhappy silence. But one look out of the long window which ran half the length of the room on its northern side showed how right he was. Bright moonlight silvered the lake and any boat upon it could have been seen the best part of a mile away.

“That is true,” Einholtz had to admit, “but the moon is past the
full and if we plan the timing of our trip carefully it should not prove a serious disadvantage to us. Say we made an early start in three or four days' time, we could be clear of the coast here before the Swiss boat comes on duty, and sneak in to the German side just as darkness is falling.”

“But we'd have the moonlight coming back, then,” Erika objected.

“Not necessarily. If the Castle has been taken over we shall have had our journey for nothing, anyhow; but if it has not there is no reason why we shouldn't remain there a few hours, then start back about half past three when the moon is setting. Even if we find the place full of Nazis, we could sit quietly in the woods till the moon is going down, then it would be dark by the time we reached the lake on our return journey.”

“Wouldn't it be better to wait for a fortnight, when there won't be any moon at all?” von Osterberg hazarded.

“If we wait so long, the thought of the risk we are going to run will get on our nerves to such a degree that when the time comes we may funk it altogether,” Einholtz argued. “Don't you agree,
Frau Gräfin?
”

Erika knew that her husband was right, and that during the dark period of the moon there would be the minimum of risk; but she also knew that the delay of a fortnight might make all the difference between success and failure to the British scientists and manufacturers who would have to design and make the new gas-masks, perhaps at breakneck speed, if they were to be issued in time to be effective. She also felt that there was a lot to be said for Einholtz's view, so she replied, “Personally, I'm all for doing the job as soon as conditions are reasonably favourable.”

“Right then.” Einholtz consulted a little pocket diary. “Today's Monday the 18th, isn't it. Well, on Friday next, the 22nd, the moon sets at four-fifteen. That should still give us ample time to get back across the lake while it is still dark. How about making it Friday night?”

The others agreed and it was arranged that Erika should come to the Villa that evening at six o'clock, so that they could get well out on to the lake by sundown. She then returned to the hotel and drove back up the winding valley to St. Gall.

Next morning she breakfasted early and caught the express via Zurich to Berne. In the Swiss capital she called on the firm of solicitors who acted for the British Legation. Having presented a letter of introduction which Sir Pellinore had obtained for her she had an interview with a pleasant middle-aged Swiss who undertook to handle the proceedings of her divorce. He confirmed the fact that no steps could
be taken until November, but filed the hotel bill and the particulars of
Fraulein
Mitzi Winkelweiss that Erika gave him. He did not think there should be any difficulty about the case as husband and wife would both have established residence in Switzerland and the Swiss courts usually granted decrees automatically in undefended cases.