V for Vengeance (22 page)

There was a knock at the door, and on Madeleine's calling ‘Come in!' Gregory saw the tall, good-looking, dark young man who had helped him with the stretcher enter the room. It was Madeleine's old neighbour, Pierre Ponsardin; but, having had his eyes shut when he was carried in, Kuporovitch had not seen him, and Pierre had thought the Russian really unconscious. Laughing now, they greeted one another.

Pierre was introduced to Gregory, and having congratulated them on having made the trip to Paris safely he said that he had only come up to let them know that breakfast had been on the table for the past ten minutes. He had already had his and left them to go about his work.

When he had gone Madeleine explained to Stefan that after his arrest Pierre had been a great comfort to her, and that since there could be no doubt of his personal loyalty to her, and hatred of the Nazis, she had roped him in as a good man for the post of male attendant at the nursing-home.

They then went downstairs to a dining-room in the basement where the best part of a dozen people were gathered, already eating the morning meal. Two of the women were in nurse's uniform; the rest, mostly men, were in ordinary clothes and formed the bulk of the patients, for whom breakfast was really supper, as they had just come in
from their night's operations and were about to go to bed for the day.

Madeleine did not introduce her new “patients” to the others, and during the meal they both observed that the conversation was kept strictly general. No one even hinted at the work upon which they were secretly engaged, and when they spoke of the war at all it was only in the light of the latest news in the papers and news bulletins.

When they had finished breakfast Madeleine took her new charges up to their rooms, which were side by side on the fourth floor. During their beating-up on the island both of them had lost the rucksacks they had been carrying, so neither had a scrap of luggage, but she provided them with pyjamas, dressing-gowns, and even shaving tackle, as she kept a store of such things, as well as a large wardrobe of secondhand clothes, in order that any of Lacroix's agents who frequented the place could be provided with a complete change of costume in any emergency.

Gregory asked when they would be able to see the Colonel, and Madeleine replied: ‘He only visits us about once every ten days, because there's no disguising his exceptionally small figure, and every visit he makes to Paris exposes him to special danger of recognition by those of his ex-agents who are no longer trustworthy. Your safe arrival will have been reported to him by tomorrow, so he may turn up any time after that; in the meantime, I'm afraid you'll have to amuse yourselves as well as you can.'

For the next few days Gregory and Kuporovitch read and slept a lot, only leaving their rooms to take their morning and evening meals in the basement, or to sit with Madeleine when she was off duty. That was never for long spells except in the evenings, as although the nursing-home was a phoney one, appearances had to be kept up, the patients' beds made, their rooms cleaned, and the catering attended to. The work was not unduly hard, as she had three fake nurses, a cook, who before the collapse had been a famous hostess, and Pierre to help her, but the house was a large one, and there always seemed a dozen little jobs in it waiting to be done.

Kuporovitch was more in love with her than ever, but the times when he could get her to himself were few. Gregory
did his best to help his friend by providing such opportunities, whenever the chance came his way, but Madeleine herself nearly always made some excuse to avoid them, as in spite of her fondness for the Russian she felt a strong aversion to the idea of letting any man make open love to her.

It was late on the afternoon of October the 31st that the inmates of the home were thrown into a sudden state of apprehension. As a precaution against a surprise raid by the police, a trusted electrician had wired every room in the building with a secret alarum. Near the door in the front hall an inconspicuous button which was raised a fraction of an inch above the surface of the floor had been inserted in the parquet. If anyone placed their foot on it a tiny electric bell tinkled in every room, not sufficiently loudly for anyone in the hall to hear it, but quite loud enough to warn all the patients and nurses that strangers were entering the house, and possible danger threatened. This device gave ample time for any patients who were in another's room or doing anything which they would not normally have been doing as invalids to get back to their own beds and prepare themselves for a visit.

At the time Gregory was sitting with Kuporovitch idly discussing the news in the afternoon papers. Immediately the bell tinkled he jumped up, tiptoed softly back to his room, slipped off his dressing gown and settled himself in bed. For the best part of twenty minutes he lay there, wondering what the devil was going on downstairs; then the bell tinkled again, and he knew the danger was over.

Soon afterwards Madeleine came upstairs and told them the cause of the alarum. That afternoon she had been to visit her mother, and to her intense annoyance had found Luc Ferrière with the old lady. The Mayor of Batignolles had naturally asked her what she was doing these days, and on Lacroix's instructions that, except in an emergency, it was always less dangerous to tell the truth than a direct lie, she had replied that, young as she was, she had had the good fortune to receive an appointment as the matron of a nursing-home.

He had congratulated her and expressed his interest, asking about her patients. The answers to his questions had presented no great difficulty as a fake case history of each of the agents
who was using the home had been carefully thought out in advance, but she had changed the subject as soon as possible, and then endeavoured to outstay the Mayor.

It seemed, however, that he had time on his hands, so at last she had been compelled to say that she must go, and he had suggested driving her home, an offer which she could not decently refuse. There were few private cars still running in Paris now, but owing to his official position, the Mayor had been granted a small petrol allowance which was sufficient for him to maintain a runabout. In it, his lanky figure crouched over the wheel, and, still wearing his absurd bowler hat on his long narrow head, he had run her back through the almost deserted streets.

In front of her house she had thanked him for the lift and quickly made to say goodbye, but to her annoyance he had wriggled himself out of his little automobile and asked if he might come in for a moment to see something of the home that she was running. Fearing that to refuse might have aroused his suspicions she thought it best to bring him in—hence the alarum which had been given to all the patients.

‘Do you think he's got a hunch that you're mixed up in something, or was it just idle curiosity?' Gregory asked.

‘Idle curiosity, I'm almost certain,' she replied. ‘He's the type of man who loves to poke his nose into everything; but I showed him the waiting-room, the operating theatre, the dining-room downstairs, which I told him was for the staff, and two of the bedrooms which were empty, but ready to receive patients. He was full of smarmy flattery about everything and went off quite happily. The only danger is that he said he must try to send me some patients. Of course, I had to thank him and say I hoped he would, but it's going to be a most frightful nuisance if he does.'

‘It would be an inconvenience, no more,' Stefan strove to reassure her. ‘They would have their own doctor, and we should have to be on our best behaviour during his visits, but any patients would be confined to their own rooms. You could do the dressings that are required yourself, and they might be in the house for weeks without learning anything at all of what really goes on here.'

‘Yes, I suppose so,' Madeleine agreed; ‘but it's certain that
Luc Ferrière is collaborating with the Nazis, so it's unfortunate that he should have found out about this place at all.'

It was the following evening, just about black-out time, that Gregory, when doing his windows, which were at the front of the house, was surprised to see a motor hearse drive up. As he watched, four black-clad mutes removed a coffin from it, which they carried to the front door.

He knew that from time to time one of the secret freedom-fighters who lived in the home was wounded in a clash with the police, and that if they could manage to get back they became genuine patients whom Madeleine looked after personally until they were recovered from their injuries; but he felt certain that she would have told him if one of them had returned the night before so badly wounded from an affray that he had died during the day. However, it was an unwritten rule that none of the inmates of the home should deliberately question one another as to what went on there, so, having drawn the curtains, he thought no more about it.

Five minutes later Madeleine arrived to ask him and Kuporovitch to come downstairs to the first-floor room at the back of the house which was used as the staff common-room. Outside it two of the mutes were standing, and the two others were down in the hall. On entering the room they saw that the coffin was reposing on the floor, but it was now open, and Colonel Lacroix was sitting quietly at the table.

After they had greeted one another with the greatest heartiness Gregory said: ‘What an ingenious idea,
mon Colonel
, to have yourself taken about Paris in a coffin! That's a disguise which it would defeat the ingenuity of even the Gestapo to penetrate.'

A quick smile lit up the little Colonel's monkey-like face. ‘Yes, it serves most admirably, particularly for my visits here. Even the best nursing-homes sometimes lose their patients, and it provides excellent colour for our neighbours to see a coffin carried in and out of the place now and then.'

Gregory sat down opposite him, and Kuporovitch took another chair as he said with a smile: ‘No doubt you've heard about our somewhat adventurous journey.'

‘I have indeed, and you were both lucky to escape with
your lives. We owe you a great debt for bringing Gregory over.'

Kuporovitch shrugged. ‘That's nothing. I'm only sorry that it took so long. I left Paris on the 16th of September, you may remember, and here we are on November 1st. Nearly six weeks for a trip from Paris to London and back is pretty poor going, but I assure you that the delays were absolutely unavoidable.'

‘I fully appreciate that,' Lacroix said quickly, ‘but such matters will, I hope, be easier in future. I'm happy to be able to tell you that things have been going well here in your absence. It's still early days to contemplate any major operation against the Nazis, but our movement grows in a most encouraging fashion. France is very far from dead. We now have people pledged to support us in every town of importance in the country, and hundreds of villages as well, both in Occupied and Unoccupied France.'

‘That's splendid,' murmured Gregory, ‘but the greater the numbers the greater the danger. Forgive me if I suggest that it might be a mistake to move too quickly before all these good people have been fully tested as to their loyalty.'

Lacroix nodded. ‘In a general sense I agree. But, apart from a few headquarters establishments, such as this, where my principal agents cannot do their work efficiently without to some extent coming in contact with one another, I'm working on the cell system. In the provinces we're forming groups of five, who at the worst could only betray one another; and in each group the leader only is in contact with five other leaders, and so on. From time to time I now issue general instructions which percolate right through the movement, giving our members guidance as to how best they can hamper the Nazis from day to day without drawing any special suspicion upon themselves. Soon I hope to initiate carefully planned acts of sabotage; but for that we shall need arms, explosives and money.'

‘To get arms and explosives to you is going to be one hell of a job,' Gregory said thoughtfully. ‘Only your Mediterranean coast is open now, and even there, unless your organisation is much more advanced than I imagine it to be, the difficulties of running the stuff through the Vichy-controlled Customs
would be immense. To be honest too, I very much doubt if the British Government is in any position to spare arms at the moment. We lost such masses of stuff at Dunkirk that the major part of our regular army had to be entirely re-equipped, not to mention the needs of the new militia divisions and the hundreds of Home Guard units that we've been raising.'

Kuporovitch leant forward and with a sinister gesture drew the side of his hand across his throat. ‘I should have thought,
mon Colonel
, that you already had all the arms in France that you wanted—for the taking.'

Lacroix nodded. ‘You mean by garotting German sentries and making off with their weapons? Yes, a certain amount of that sort of thing is already being done, but I don't want to encourage it too much for the moment. If the number of Germans murdered increases to an alarming extent they will take counter-measures. They'll start rounding up all the ex-soldiers and fit men into concentration camps, and that would deprive me of my most stalwart fighters when the time is ripe to launch a full-scale revolt.'

‘I take it nothing of that kind would be justified for a long time yet?' hazarded Gregory.

‘No, no! Many months must pass before the privation that the French people will have suffered through the winter can prepare them to back such a movement wholeheartedly. It may even take a second winter to drive them to real desperation, and it is of the first importance that we should not spoil everything by acting precipitately.'

‘In that case, the question of arms is of no great urgency.'

The Colonel frowned. ‘As you point out yourself, the running of arms into France presents a difficult problem, so we can only hope to smuggle through small quantities at a time. When we are really ready it is my intention to stage a new Saint Bartholomew's Eve, on which all the Nazis in the country will be murdered in their beds, or hunted to death like the rats they are. But to carry through such a coup successfully I shall need great numbers of men and weapons. I have little doubt that the movement will spread, and that when the time comes plenty of stout-hearted men will be available, but to provide arms for them all means many months of systematic smuggling. I already have a few safe channels in the south
through which the goods could be shipped, and that is why I wish you to take the matter up with your Government without delay.'