The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace (13 page)

“Yes.”

“Then that’s where we’ll cross to
Schloss Este—the shortest
way.”

Annellatt pondered for only a few seconds,
puffing jerkily
at his acrid cigarette.

“The only way,” he agreed.
“But someone must stay here
to be in charge in case anything goes wrong.
That will be you, Leopold. Simon and I will go together.” He drew himself
up
theatrically. “If that is the end of us, you must carry on.”

“No,” said Leopold firmly and with
unexpected authority.
“It is I who must go. Frankie is my
cousin and the Necklace
is to do with my family.” He gave Max’s
pudgy form a cruelly
critical survey. “Besides, you are too
old—or at any rate, not in
condition.”

Max had had his moment, and it might have
been unchari
table to suspect that he was relieved rather than
affronted by
its rather tactless rejection.

“Perhaps you are right,” he sighed,
but could not resist get
ting in a return dig: “And besides,
there should be someone
left with the brains to cope with
emergencies and to organise
another attempt if necessary. You and Simon
will go. I reluc
tantly will remain behind.”

He bowed gracefully to the Saint, who bowed
back.

“Very sensible,” Simon remarked.
“Valour is the better
part of idiocy. Only fools get medals. The bright boys get
made generals by being able to read maps at
Headquarters
Command.”

In less than an hour, Max had the whole
expedition or
ganised, and they were on their way to the border in
Max’s
Mercedes, followed by Anton, Erich, and another man in a
large
Opel saloon. When Max was not being Austrian and
scatty he could act
with positively Teutonic efficiency. That
was probably how he
had become a millionaire in a country where most people are too lackadaisical
to be ambitious, or at any rate to fulfill what ambitions they do have.

The Saint and Leopold were dressed as workmen
and had
papers identifying them as “agricultural engineers”—a
magnificently
sesquipedalian title in German that Max had
dreamed up for the
delectation of a bureaucratic mentality
fascinated by
high-sounding designations, which would cover
almost any simulated
activity from map-making to testing
electric mains. That might not help them much if they were
caught inside Schloss Este itself, but they would
have to
tackle that eventuality if and when it came.

It was a warm night for October. What was
more impor
tant, however, was that it was a moonless one because it
was
overcast. Max gave them more information as he drove.

“The river is a tributary to the Dekes,
which runs into the
Raba,
which flows along the border.”

“Then it is not a very wide river,” Leopold said.

“But a swift one, and that is what we need. Speed is essen
tial, as you will be in a rowing boat travelling
downstream.
The less time you are in
the open the less danger you will
run.”

“The boat is to be supplied by you, I
take it,” said the
Saint.

“Exactly. I keep one there—for fishing!
You will drift silently down river and steer across it. I and my men will
create a diversion farther upstream, while you become sewer rats. I
am sewer
you will do well—that is an English-type, joke, no?”

“And you’ll be our Pied Piper. That is
an Austrian-type
joke, yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Max enthusiastically.

“Austrian corn can be as green as English
com,” said the
Saint philosophically.

Max looked baffled, but then he laughed heartily.

“I am glad we understand each other’s
jokes, my friend.
We
are much the same, you and I. If you will forgive another
English-type joke, we can wave to each other from
the same
length.”

It was Simon’s turn to be momentarily
baffled.

“As Ma Coni said to Pa Coni,” he
quipped weakly, and
winced as he said it.

“I think you two have gone mad,”
interrupted Leopold.

“You are just talking nonsense. How do
we get back with no
boat?”

Max looked at him out of the corners of his
eyes.

“That is up to you. I suggest you may
swim. It will be a bit chilly, but it will only be a short trip. A little way
downstream
you will see an electricity pylon. Near it is my wooden
hut. I
will have someone stationed in it, with a change of clothes for
you both,
and for Frankie, we hope.”

“I hope you get the sizes right,”
said Simon. “My tailor is
awfully particular about what I wear.”

“Here we are,” Annellatt said at
last, manoeuvring the car
off the road and into a thicket.

He switched off its engine and its lights. A
moment later
the second car joined them and did the same, and Anton
and
his two helpers alighted and were dismissed by Annellatt with a gesture,
as if they already had their instructions.

Max led Simon and Leopold along a narrow path
through
the trees towards the sound of moving water which was like a
Wagnerian
overture. The thunder of the rushing stream be
came louder with each
step they took, and suddenly they
came out upon the riverbank and the
water swirled in silver
whorls at their feet, seeming to have a luminescence of its
own.

A boat was tied to a stake on the bank,
straining as if it was eager to be off. The Saint and Leopold each had a
workman’s
satchel
containing the tools Simon had asked for, also a
flashlight, a long knife and a compass. Each of them had a
Walther PPK .32 calibre pistol in a shoulder
holster. Max
carried an old Gladstone
bag that held sausage, bread, cheese,
and
two bottles, which he put in the boat. The Saint consid
ered that some of those provisions were
unnecessary and a bit
bulky for
carrying, especially up drains, but Max had been so
enthusiastic about his preparations that Simon had
not
wanted to hurt his feelings.

Leopold got into the boat, and Simon followed
him and
took up the oars. Max untied the craft and pushed it into the
stream
where it was immediately taken by the current.

At that moment there was a sudden rattle of
firecrackers up
the river where Max’s henchmen were starting their diver
sionary
tactic. A series of incandescent balls floated up, suffus
ing the
sky in that direction with a multi-coloured glow.

“Goodbye,” called Max in a low
voice, “and good luck, my
friends. You will need it.”

Then his figure was lost in darkness as the
boat surged into the middle of the stream.

Simon pulled hard on the oars, forcing the
craft diagonally
across the river. A searchlight flashed out from the
Castle
fortifications above, stabbing towards the point where Max’s
men were
putting on their firework display, well hidden in the
underbrush. It looked
as if Annellatt’s plan had worked, and
the Saint and Leopold
would be able to make it safely to the
opposite bank.

Then suddenly, the searchlight began to swing
in their
direction, its operator apparently not being satisfied
that he
was getting the whole picture. The brilliant sword-like beam
played
along the opposite bank of the river, lighting up the
stream as it went as
well. It would only be a matter of seconds
before it discovered
the boat.

Then, all at once, it stopped dead in its
swinging arc. Max
was standing full in its beam, waving gaily in the
direction of
the Castle ramparts.

Simon understood at once what Max was up to.
If the Aus
trian could hold the searchlight long enough, the boat
would
gain its haven. There was a crunch as its keel grounded on the
opposite
bank. Simon and Leopold leapt ashore and shoved
the boat back into the
current where it was immediately
swept away. They then ran, doubled, for the
drain.

The last thing Simon saw as he and Leopold
slid into the
opening was the debonair figure of Max. At any moment he
might as
likely as not have been rewarded with a bullet, but
no shot came. Max
gave a final wave and walked in a leisurely
fashion into the
shadows. It was a typically Austrian gesture,
gallant, heroic and idiotic. But he had
saved their skins for
the time being.

4

Simon and Leopold crawled up the drain. Their
progress was
slow because they had to go on all fours and were encum
bered
with what they had to carry. Also the floor was covered with pools of filthy
water and slippery silted mud.

The Saint led the way, his flashlight
probing ahead along
concrete walls covered with green scum stretching away
into
the darkness. Behind him Leopold scrabbled, panted and oc
casionally
swore.

“Never mind, laddie,” the Saint
encouraged him. “Think
of the poor midgets who have to tunnel the
holes in Gruy
è
re.”

Finally they came upon a small dome in the
roof of the
tunnel. In it was what appeared to be the manhole Max had
mentioned. Rising on his knees with some difficulty in that
cramped
space, the Saint shoved at its lid. It did not budge.
Bracing himself, he
asserted the full force of his great
strength, and when the Saint did that
most things budged or
got moved around in some way. The manhole lid
was no ex
ception, and once it had been loosened from its rusty
moor
ings the
Saint was able to push it aside quite easily, even
though there appeared to be something heavy resting on top
of it. He climbed through the aperture cautiously
and noise
lessly.

All was dark, almost unnaturally so. The
Saint waited for a
moment, listening for some noise which might indicate
what
part of the Castle’s grounds he had come up in, and also
whether
anyone had heard or observed his arrival on the
scene.

Nothing stirred, and in the impenetrable dark
the Saint felt
secure enough to risk moving around. Almost immediately
he ran into something hard with a sharp edge. It seemed to be a
large box.
Feeling his way around it the Saint encountered a
wooden wall. He was
evidently in some sort of shed, and he
decided therefore that it would be all
right to have a quick
look around with his
torch.

His flashlight showed him immediately why the
manhole
had remained undiscovered by the recently arrived Germans.
It was
indeed in a shed, and had been covered by the heavy
wooden box which the
Saint’s shin and probing fingers had just encountered. The box was stencilled
GEHEIMWEIT
GESELLSCHAFT. L
Ü
BECK. HOLSTEIN
., and it
had once probably
contained farming implements or something of that order,
for the shed was evidently used as an agricultural storage place,
judging
by the spades, forks and other farm tools which leant against its walls. The
box had obviously, perhaps fortuitously, been placed on top of the manhole,
which explained why the
Germans had not found the latter and also
why the Saint had
had some extra difficulty in moving the lid.

The Saint called to Leopold to come up
through the aper
ture and lend him a helping hand. When the other stood
panting
beside him, Simon made a sweeping invitation with
the flashlight.

“Make yourself at home, chum. It’s not
exactly the Ritz,
but it’s so difficult to get the right sort of staff
these days.”

He stood his torch on the wooden crate,
opened the Glad
stone bag beside it, and began to take out the
provisions.

“What is that for?” Leopold
demanded.