The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace (20 page)

“It’d look a bit suspicious if we were
seen running,” he
said. “And anyhow we’re going to need
something to take us
a bit faster than feet.”

“I think,” Frankie said, “I
am going to have a baby.”

“Bully for you,” said the Saint
abstractedly, his mind still casting around the enigma of who had blown their
fictitious
identities. “Will you name it after me?”

He was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder from behind,
with a fierceness that brought him up short and
turned him
around.

“You swine!” Leopold shouted, and
came at him with
flailing arms.

“Take it easy,” Simon murmured,
catching him by the
front of his shirt and holding him off with ease.
“What’s all
the excitement about? Simon’s a good name, unless you’re
bothered
by its non-Aryan origin.”

Frankie was almost collapsing with laughter.

“It’s all right, Leopold,” she
gasped. “Simon is not the fa
ther. Nobody is.”

“Sounds positively biblical,”
remarked the Saint, turning
Leopold loose. ‘

“It will not do us much good to try
‘hitch-hiking,’ as I have seen it in American films,” Frankie explained.
She raised the
hem of her dress and stuck her leg out in a provocative
pose.
“They would misunderstand that in Austria. No, we must
stop the
first driver who comes along and tell him that I must
get to the hospital
quickly because I am going to have a
baby.”

The Saint looked at her critically,

“I’m not an expert in these matters, but
do you really look
the part? I mean, expectant motherhood does make ladies
…
er
…
bloom a bit usually, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t be silly,” snorted Frankie. “Stop a driver
and tell
him I’m a hospital case, and he’s
not going to start taking my
measurements.
Anyway, in this peasant costume, you couldn’t really tell, could you?”

The Saint had to admit that she was right.
What was more,
her idea was a good one. He looked back over his
shoulder.

“Well, this is a chance to try it,”
he said.

A large truck was thundering up behind them, headed in
the direction of Rust. Getting into the act,
Leopold stepped
into the road and
flagged it down. The driver stuck his head
out of the cab window.

“Was
geschieht?”
he
asked.

Leopold pointed to Frankie who was being
supported by
Simon’s arm and looked as if she was enjoying it.

“My wife,” he said loudly.
“She is having a child. We must
get her to the hospital in
Rust.”

The driver laughed.

“It is a very suitable place.”

Simon was amused by the joke, for he was
aware that Rust was a town noted as a dwelling place for storks and boasted a
stork’s nest for every chimney.

The driver jerked his thumb at the Saint.

“Who is he?”

“He is my cousin from Munich.”
Leopold was learning
fast. Simon was not so much a good teacher as
a marvellous
example. “But he is not a doctor or a midwife.”

At that moment Frankie let out a loud moan and swayed
on her feet.

“I don’t have room for three.” The
driver leaned over and
opened the door of the cab. “If you
want him to go too, one
of you will have to get in the back.”

“We all will,” Simon said
agreeably. “Then we can look
after the woman if things start to
happen.”

The driver shrugged and slammed the door
shut. The trio
hurried around to the back and climbed into the open
truck.

“Right,” Simon signalled to the
driver. “Full speed ahead.”

They drove on down the road at a fast clip.
As they went,
Simon was watching for the eventually inevitable pursuit,
but there was still no sign of it.

It did not take them long to reach Rust.

“Where is the hospital?” inquired
the driver, leaning out
of the cab window and looking backwards at
his passengers.

“I have no idea,” shouted Simon
over the noise of the en
gine and the rattle of the chassis,
“but if you let us off we’ll
find it.”

“No, no,” replied the man. “I
will help you get the woman
there. We can always ask a policeman.”

“I shall ask St Peter if you don’t look
where you’re going,”
Simon told him, and the man turned round just
in time to
avoid running into a telephone pole.

Farther along, the driver stopped and asked
a peasant carry
ing two milk pails filled with dung on a wooden yoke over
his
shoulders the route to the hospital. The man, who looked
older than
he probably was, as is so often the case with
peasants, said he
knew of no hospital.

“Where is the police station then?”
inquired the driver.

For an Austrian peasant the man was admirably
and
efficiently concise.

“Down the road, first left, second
right and third left.”

He spat and plodded off, his back indicating that he had
had enough idle chatter for one day. The Saint
wondered
whether his pails would get
scrubbed out and sterilised before being used for milk later on. He guessed
probably not.

The driver ground the truck’s gears and moved off. He
seemed incapable of proceeding at less than a
breakneck
speed.

“Get ready to jump out,” Simon told
the others. “We’ll go
when he slows up round the next corner.”

He did not even have to lower his voice. The
groaning of
the engine and banging of the truck’s body effectively
prevented the driver from hearing anything to arouse his suspi
cions as
they all three slid to the back of the truck and got
ready to jump.

As Simon figured it, in making a left-hand
turn across the
road the man would use the small mirror on his front mudguard
on the left side, which would show him only the outside of the truck. Of
course, it was possible, even likely, that
he would also glance
in the rear-view mirror above his wind
screen, but that was
a chance they would have to take. With
any luck he would be
a typical Austrian driver and conduct
himself as if no one else were on the
road.

Fortune was with them, and the driver was in
a hurry. His
outside mirror showed him plainly that there was no one
over
taking him, and he cut across the road towards a side street.
As he did
so, the Saint and his companions dropped off the
back of the truck. Leopold caught Frankie
as she stumbled,
and the three of them
watched the truck vanish behind the
corner.
No one paid any attention to them, as if this was not
an abnormal way for hitch-hikers to abandon their
convey
ance.

Simon was amused to picture the driver’s
expressions, both
facial and verbal, when he got to the police station and
found his passengers gone. But there was also a graver side to the
matter. Policemen are always
serious and always curious.
They are paid to
be so. The driver’s description of the missing
hitch-hikers would cause the police to make enquiries on their
network and broadcast their descriptions. And by
now the
Saint and his companions
would be officially very much
“wanted.”
Simon decided that they had better play it safe
and get out of Rust as quickly as possible and take the back
roads without trying for any more hitch-hiking,
while heading
for their rendezvous
with Max’s henchman. The journey was
not
all that far and, as he put it to the others, a little exercise
would do them no harm and might even be of
benefit.

Though not far in actual distance, the
journey took them
much longer than they expected. As far as possible they
avoided
the roads in case they might be seen and recognised
as fugitives. Even
rural farmhouses in Austria were likely to
have radios. They
tramped through muddy fields and forged their way through underbrush.
Occasionally they had to hide
from people. Once they even sought refuge in
a pigsty. This
episode
lasted for quite a long time, since a farmer brought
his horse into a neighbouring field and spent an unconsciona
ble time schooling it. When he finally left the
animal to its
own devices, they were
all three suffering from lack of oxygen
and prolonged exposure to an almost insufferable smell.

“Shan’t stay at that hotel again,”
remarked the Saint as
they emerged from their hiding place.
“Ozone is all very well but it can be overdone. Anyway, if it’s smells one
wants, the
sulphur baths at Baden are just as odoriferous but a lot
more
comfortable.”

Since Leopold knew something of the terrain he
acted as
their pathfinder, using the compass he had been provided
with.

“Just like Max,” Frankie said when Simon had finished
his tale of how he and Leopold had crossed over to Schloss Este
and where they were headed now. “He is a
great organiser but
he always only goes so far. I think he never
finishes a plan because he doesn’t want to tie himself down in case anything
goes wrong. It’s the typical peasant mentality. He
always
wants to have several ways
out.”

“So do I,” said Simon. “One
way in and several ways out. That’s always the best set-up—including
prison.”

“Have you tried, prison I mean?”
she asked teasingly.

“Not seriously, but I wouldn’t mind one
day. It would be a
challenge. I mean, one of the really tough ones—Dartmoor
or even Alcatraz. Some place where escapes are considered virtually
impossible.” His eyes had a faraway look. “Maybe the
Lubjianka in Moscow, or Devil’s
Island.”

Frankie gazed at him sidelong.

“You are a strange man. Danger is your
life’s blood, and
the
impossible your only ambition.”

The Saint grinned at her.

“Oh, I have a few others. Like having a quiet
diner
à
deux
with
you some day, some place where none of the Ungodly
would be butting in.
Where would you fancy?”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Leopold
with heavy politeness,
“but it is getting near sunset and we
should hurry a little. It
will be difficult to get through the forest after nightfall.”

“Och aye, laddie,” replied the Saint
docilely. “The camels
are coming, as the Arab’s wife said when he
inquired about
her dowry. So are we. On, on, and the Devil take the hind
quarters.”

He laughed at the expression of baffled
exasperation on the young man’s face.

It had in fact been dark for some time when
the rushing
waters of the stream they had crossed only twenty-four
hours before (although it seemed like days ago) filled the night
with their
deep-toned chatter.

Simon found the place where the rowing boat
had been
moored
and from there led on upstream until they came to the pylon which Max had told
him would be a landmark.
They had, in fact,
come in a vast full circle.

As Max had also said, from the pylon they
could see a log
cabin. Its windows were lighted squares in the
enshrouding
darkness. It struck the Saint as being an interesting
coinci
dence that Max should own a farm so near to Schloss Este.
Or had he
perhaps purchased it for that very reason?

Simon tried the door, which opened without a
creak on well-oiled hinges. The cottage was evidently used frequently
or had
been especially prepared for their coming.

Simon led the way in.
 

2

Anton was standing in the middle of the
room. His air of
nervous apprehension changed to a welcoming smile as he
recognised the Saint.

“Good evening, sir,” he cried.
“Ach, Gr
ä
fin Francesca and
Graf
Leopold! I am thankful to see you all.”