Come into my Parlour (55 page)

“They should still be there, then?”

Einholtz shook his head. “They may be, but I doubt it. After our visit it is pretty certain that the S. S. would have blown open the safe to see if there was anything worth pinching inside it, and have burnt or removed them.”

He spoke without emphasis and while staring thoughtfully into the fire. Gregory, who was watching him narrowly, felt that if the German was attempting to deceive him he was doing a beautiful job of work. If, too, Grauber was really at the bottom of all this he would know that the fact that Erika was a prisoner would alone be quite sufficient to lure his enemy into Germany; but, all the same, it seemed strange that they should deliberately play down one of the principal inducements to make the trip. Although he felt only a reluctant pity for the Count and a vague dislike of Einholtz he was tending more and more to the opinion that the two men were really anti-Nazis, and were telling the truth.

Einholtz suddenly asked him if he would care for a drink. “Would you not like some
Glühwein
perhaps?” he added. “It is a good thing to warm one up on a cold night.”

Gregory hardly hesitated a second. Even if his hosts were in active league with the enemy the odds against their attempting to drug or
poison him were enormously high. He had already expressed his willingness to go into Germany of his own free will, so there was no point in undertaking the laborious business of shanghaing him there. And as they could not have had any warning of his visit no preparations to that end could have been made.

“Thanks,” he said, “I should love some.”

“Kurt will oblige us, I'm sure,” Einholtz smiled at the Count. “He has his own recipe and makes it better than anyone I know.”

Von Osterberg came to his feet at once. “Of course,” he said quickly. “I like to make
Glühwein
. It is always so good.”

When he had left the room Einholtz remarked in a conversational tone: “It is over five weeks now since Kurt wrote to Sir Gwaine-Cust. We were beginning to think that either the letter had gone astray or that having had Kurt's message you intended to ignore it.”

“I was in Russia,” Gregory replied frankly. “For two months I was working in the Press Section of our Embassy there.”

“How very interesting. Do tell me what you think of those strange people and the situation there.”

For a little while Gregory discoursed quite truthfully on Moscow and the Russians. Then von Osterberg returned with a large jug of mulled red wine and three tumblers. As he poured out the steaming drink his dull eyes took on a sudden lustre and the reason for the alacrity with which he had agreed to make it was soon apparent. With his eyes glued to the remaining contents of the jug he hurriedly sipped away as quickly as he could at the near-scalding liquor in his tumbler, evidently in-tent on getting in first for a second helping. As Gregory watched him covertly, he thought, “Poor devil, he's certainly been through the mill all right, and drink is about the only thing that can make him forget.

The conversation having turned to Russia, Einholtz kept it there. He made no secret of the fact that, although he was an anti-Nazi, he was an infinitely more violent anti-Communist.

“Those barbarous swine!” he exclaimed. “Well, however much we may dislike Hitler's methods in our own country, at least he will crush the Bolshevik menace for us. They'll cave in when he takes their capital, I expect; and it is pretty certain now that he will be in Moscow before Christmas.”

“I don't agree,” said Gregory quietly. “I'm no lover of the Bolsheviks either, but I'm certain that their army is a long way from being beaten yet; and, if Hitler is not careful, having gone into Russia may yet prove his Waterloo.”

“But that is absurd!” Einholtz protested. “The Russians, so far, have been defeated in nearly every battle. Already half their principal
cities are in our hands, and it is quite clear that they cannot possibly resist the assaults of our magnificent German Army. They have no organisation.”

“Oh, yes, they have,” countered Gregory. “And in its own peculiar way it may prove more efficient than yours, in the long run. I was lucky enough to obtain private interviews with some of their top men when I was in Moscow, and I know what I'm talking about.”

Einholtz proved dogged in his disbelief and Gregory could not resist the temptation to play with fire. He felt now that all the chances were that anything he said would go no further as who was there that mattered to whom this friendless exile could repeat it—if he were a friendless exile? If he were not, well, this was an opportunity which should not be neglected, however slender the chances of its bearing fruit. He told Einholtz the real truth about the organisation of the Soviet Army and repeated, almost word for word, everything that Marshal Voroshilov had said about it during their amazing talk in Leningrad, when the Marshal had been under the influence of the Truth drug.

Einholtz did not interrupt with any questions but just sat there drinking in every word. Von Osterberg had gulped down his second tumbler of the now tepid mulled wine and fallen fast asleep in his armchair.

When Gregory at last fell silent Einholtz said: “This is amazing—if it is true. But tell me, how is it that the Russians, who are normally so secretive, should have disclosed all this to you—a journalist?”

Gregory gave him a curious sideways look and replied:

“I managed to secure the information partly because they wanted to impress me. You see, they are now very anxious to stand well with Britain. Partly, too, because I aw a journalist, and to succeed at my job you have to be a highly trained observer, capable of putting quite small things together and worrying them out until they make sense. But on top of that, in wartime, journalists are often asked to step out of their own rut a bit, and for the past two years I haven't been strictly confining myself to journalistic activities all the time.”

It was as good as an admission that he was a secret agent, but Grauber knew that already, so even if Einholtz, after all, proved to be “the enemy” Gregory was giving nothing new away about himself.

“Since you found out so much I'll bet that you couldn't rest until you had discovered where the Reserve Army of shock troops was located,” Einholtz said, with the air of “the man in the street” who is being let into fascinating secrets.

“Yes, I found out all right.” Gregory gave a self-satisfied smile. “It's sitting pretty in an area about a hundred and fifty miles to the
south-east of Moscow, all ready to spring. That's why I'm convinced that Moscow won't be taken. Your people have been putting everything they've got into this drive for the past six weeks. They must be pretty tired by now. They'll never be able to stand up to this terrific counter-offensive that is about due to be launched against them. The Soviet striking force consists of an entire Army Group, every man of it trained to Guards' standard, and equipped with up-to-the-minute weapons as fine as anything that has ever been turned out by Krupp or Skoda. From south of Moscow this terrific mass of men and metal will be hurled north-west to save the city, and it will tear up the whole central German front as though it were only paper. Believe me or not, as you like, but I'd bet my last cent that that's what will happen within the next two weeks.”

Einholtz had gone quite white; the hand with the amethyst ring was tapping nervously on his knee. The picture that Gregory had drawn was not a pretty one for any German, whether pro- or anti-Nazi, as it envisaged a major defeat of the German Army; that Golden Calf that the German people of all shades of opinion had set up and worshipped as an idol for many generations, because deep down they all believed that Might was Right and that the short cut to affluence lay in the subjugation and robbery of their neighbours.

There was a short silence, then Gregory said: “Well, I didn't come here to yarn about my own activities, or about the war. How soon can we start on our attempt to trace and rescue the
Gräfin
von Osterberg?”

“The moon would be bad for you at present,” Einholtz replied. “It will be much better this time next week. Then there is the question of Kurt's health. You can see for yourself that he is in a pretty poor state. I'll nurse him for you as well as I can during the next few days, but unless I can get a bit more life into him before you start, you would run the risk of having him collapse while you are in Germany; and that would be disastrous.”

Gregory glanced at the sleeping Count. “It certainly would. And from what you've just said I gather that it's not your intention to come with us. I had been hoping that you meant to do so.”

Einholtz shook his head. “I'd like to help, but it isn't really my affair. And if we were caught—well—I gather that death in a Nazi concentration camp can be pretty terrible.”

For a moment Gregory considered the situation afresh. The fact that Einholtz apparently did not wish to go with them impressed him strongly. Von Osterberg was obviously quite incapable of either arresting him or efficiently leading him into a trap when they reached the other side. If, therefore, they were working under Grauber's
direction it seemed essential that Einholtz should be in the party to stage-manage the Judas act. Otherwise, if he, Gregory, decided to quit von Osterberg at any time the Gestapo would lose track of him, and the last thing Grauber would want was for him to be on the loose in Germany. Einholtz's refusal to go in therefore seemed a spontaneous testimony to his honesty. And if he was on the level, and Grauber was not at the bottom of the whole thing after all, his presence with the party would prove invaluable. Although he had not actually said so the inference was clear enough that it had been his initiative and courage which had twice brought the weakling Count and himself out of Germany and, much more important, he knew the lie of the land at Schloss Niederfels. Therefore, it now seemed that no price was too big to pay for his help.

“I can well understand your not wanting to go back again,” Gregory said. “But, all the same, I wish you would. It looks to me as if von Osterberg is going to be more of a hindrance than a help. If only we could come to some arrangement I'd far rather leave him behind and take you with me.”

“What do you mean by ‘some arrangement'?”

“Well, before going into Germany the Countess wrote to Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust, giving him particulars of certain financial arrangements she had made with you in the event of your securing von Osterberg's scientific notes. From what you say the prospects of doing that now seem very remote; but I take it you are still in need of money. You must know the Niederfels district pretty well by now, so, if you'll accompany me there and back, I am willing to pay you that ten thousand pounds myself, providing we succeed in bringing the Countess safely to Swiss soil.”

Einholtz nodded. “Yes. As long as Kurt and I stay here there is always a danger of our being kidnapped and taken back to Germany. We need money to get right away to South America and start our lives afresh. But even if I went with you we'd have to take him too. You see, although I know the Niederfels district I am still practically a stranger there. I don't know any of Kurt's tenants and if one of them is hiding the Countess, or knows where she is, they would never take the risk of disclosing it to you or me. Whereas, if her own husband was searching for her their attitude would be quite different. They would talk then, freely enough.”

“Yes, I quite see that. All right then, the Count must come in any case. But in his present state it would be dangerous to leave him alone, and he would be a heavy liability if I get mixed up in a fight. It may happen that I might wish to act independently, and, if so, I'll badly need someone I can trust to leave him with temporarily. If I
undertake to handle any situation that looks dangerous on my own, will you come to look after him?”

“I don't know. I must have time to think about it. The money would be immensely useful, but the risk …” Einholtz shuddered.

Gregory stood up. “Well, I'm staying at the Pension Julich in St. Gall. When you've made your decision perhaps you'll let me hear from you. Can we fix a provisional date now for my going in?”

“The moon will be right a week hence, so, if Kurt is fit enough, any night from then on would be suitable.”

“Then let's say the tenth. In any case we'll meet to discuss details before then. We've talked so long that I'm afraid I've kept you from your dinner.”

“No, no,” Einholtz smiled. “We live very simply here and had finished our evening meal before you arrived; later we have only coffee and a
brötchen
before going to bed, otherwise I would ask you to stay.”

He moved over to rouse von Osterberg, but Gregory said: “Please don't wake the poor fellow. Just make my adieus to him when he wakes of his own accord.”

Einholtz nodded and they went quietly out into the corridor. At the front door they shook hands, then Gregory set out on his way back to St. Gall.

The moon had now risen, silvering the lake, and as he walked rapidly back into Steinach he was thinking over his long talk with Einholtz and the Count. It was quite natural that after Erika's disappearance Sir Pellinore should have jumped to the conclusion that the whole set-up was a trap, but it seemed almost certain now that he had been wrong. There had not been a single suspicious circumstance in the whole discussion. Von Osterberg was much too ill to be the pivot of any complicated conspiracy and Einholtz's interests were evidently tied up with those of the Count.

Gregory hoped that Einholtz would decide to go into Germany with him. He was not a particularly likeable man, but what German was, at bottom? and anyhow, the fellow had his wits about him, was the lean, strong type that stood up to hardships well, and, having risked his neck twice already to get away from the Nazis, evidently had plenty of guts.