Come into my Parlour (45 page)

Gregory could not understand what was being said, but he sensed that things seemed to be going quite well, and felt considerably more cheerful.

Having talked to Kuporovitch for some time, their interrogator picked up a telephone on his desk and spoke briefly into it. A few minutes later another officer came into the room, evidently having been sent for, and it transpired that he not only spoke English but had at one time been a junior naval attaché at the Soviet Embassy in London. He questioned the two of them, and particularly Gregory, about the city, and after a little reported to the bald man that, whether they were British or not, they certainly must have lived in the British capital, as they knew it well.

The bald captain murmured something and the other officer said, “Will you please both to remove your collars and ties?”

Gregory wondered what on earth could be the reason for this strange and apparently ominous request; but there was no alternative but to obey; so he took the articles off and handed them over. Kuporovitch did the same and the English-speaking officer looked inside the collars at their markings, and at the labels in the ties.

In a flash Gregory realised what the game was. The ex-naval attaché was checking up on where they had been bought A glow of delighted satisfaction ran through him. He knew that on his return from France Kuporovitch had got himself a new outfit at Harrods, and for many years he had always bought his own shirtings at Beale and Inman's in Bond Street.

The officer handed the things back with a smile and spoke to the captain. The captain smiled too, and said to Kuporovitch in Russian: “I had an idea that you might be two Nazi agents who had taken the opportunity offered by the sinking of the U-boat to try to plant yourselves on us. But if that had been the case you would have had no chance to make such careful preparations as getting your clothes in London, so it is now quite clear that you are not. I take it you now
wish to get home as soon as possible so I must see what arrangements we can make for you.”

Kuporovitch translated to Gregory and they both laughed heartily at the idea that they might have been Nazi spies. The captain then took some forms from a drawer in his desk and began to fill them up.

When he had finished, the English-speaking officer handed the papers to Kuporovitch and said: “There is a liberty boat. She leaves the main pier for Oranienbaum at twelve midday. You show these passes and take her. These other papers here; they are railway vouchers from Oranienbaum to Leningrad. You take the train. You arrive and you report to the Leningrad Central Travel Bureau. For them it is to arrange your journey to Moscow and next home, if that is possible.”

Taking the papers from him, Kuporovitch expressed his thanks and stood up. Gregory followed suit. There was a general bowing, smiling and shaking of hands. Then Dakov, who had remained silent all this time, accompanied them out of the room, saying that he would show them the pier at which the liberty boat lay.

The three of them went downstairs and out into the street. Gregory felt almost like singing with happiness and Kuporovitch was feeling equally gay. They had made the grade and the cream of the jest was that they owed their liberty, their freedom from the promise they had made to Marshal Voroshilov, and an excellent chance to get home safely with the results of their mission in the bag, all to the machinations of their old enemy
Gruppenführer
Grauber.

As they walked down the crowded quay, Gregory asked Stefan: “What is this liberty boat we're going on? I thought naval people sent liberty boats off only from ships.”

“Kronstadt is entirely a naval station,” Kuporovitch explained. “No wives are allowed to live here. They all have homes or lodgings across the water in Oranienbaum. In a way the two places are like your Portsmouth and Southampton. Although Oranienbaum is much smaller, of course, and as far as I know there is no ban against sailors' wives and sweethearts living in Portsmouth. Still, there is a certain similarity, and that is the reason for the liberty boat, which goes to and fro several times a day.”

“Ah well,” murmured Gregory happily. “Anyway, it's the first stage on our way back to England, Home and Beauty.”

Kuporovitch did not reply. He was staring in fascinated horror at two men who were approaching along the pavement, directly in front of him. One was a short, fat, middle-aged man in a dark uniform; the other was some twenty years younger and a Soviet naval rating. They resembled one another so strongly that anyone could have guessed
them to be a father who had come to Kronstadt on a visit to his sailor son. Both had the yellowish skins, almond eyes and high cheekbones of Mongolians. The elder was the
Ogpu
officer who, four nights before, had on Colonel Gudarniev's orders booked them into the Lubianka.

Recognition was mutual. Jerking up his arm and pointing, the fat Mongolian began to shout:

“Help, Comrades! Seize those two men! Seize them! They are the prisoners who escaped last night in the missing Black Maria!”

Once more, Gregory could not understand the words, but he, too, had now recognised the fat Mongolian-featured
Ogpu
officer, and instantly guessed what he was shouting about.

Within twenty seconds his loud cries had caused a score of heads to turn; within sixty a crowd of half a hundred people was milling round Gregory, Kuporovitch, Dakov, the
Ogpu
man and his sailor son; and from all directions another hundred were running up to find out the cause of the commotion. Except for a few longshoremen and two Soviet Wrens the crowd was mainly composed of fine healthy-looking young fellows with flattish faces and shaven heads, all wearing the uniform of the Soviet Navy.

Nothing short of being possessed of wings could have enabled the two friends to get away. Even if they had taken to their heels at the very first shout they could not have covered twenty yards along the busy quay without being surrounded. They could only stand there, stricken silent by the overwhelming disaster which, in one brief second, had brought their hopes and plans crashing like a house of cards about their ears.

Brief, excited explanations followed, punctuated by the angry shouts of the milling crowd. The
Ogpu
man insisted that they were the escaped prisoners and vouched for having booked them into the Lubianka himself four nights before. Dakov told how they had been rescued only a few hours previously from a German submarine. Just as Gregory had only too rightly feared, in the case of such a misfortune, it was immediately assumed that they must be German agents and that a daring coup had been staged by their Nazi friends to rescue them.

As scraps of the conversation drifted to the nearest onlookers and a garbled version of these were passed back to those behind the crowd became angrier and angrier. Shouts of, “They're German! Hitlerite bandits! Spies! Nazi spies!” began to go up in increasing volume, and it looked as if the two friends were in grave danger of being lynched.

In vain Kuporovitch strove to drown the uproar by yelling: “We're British! We're British, I tell you! We were captured by the Germans and taken aboard the U-boat against our will.”

A sailor struck him a blow on the back of the neck; another seized Gregory by the arm and attempted to drag him off the pavement. A dozen hands were stretched out to grab at them and pull them down.

The situation began to look really ugly, but they were saved by the intervention of several officers who were among the crowd. Dakov and the
Ogpu
man called for their assistance. After a few curt threats that disciplinary action would be taken if the prisoners were harmed, the sailors sullenly drew off and made a passage so that they could be marched back to the Admiralty.

Realising that there was no possibility of their learning the
dénouement
of this exciting scene the crowd now melted away as rapidly as it had gathered, so that by the time they reached the door of the big block Gregory and Kuporovitch were accompanied only by Dakov, the
Ogpu
man and his son. The youngster was sent into a waiting-room while the other two, having shown their passes, silently escorted the prisoners upstairs to the first floor.

On reaching the door of the room where they had been interviewed Dakov went in, leaving the others outside in the corridor. The fat Mongolian evidently had no fear that the prisoners might attempt to escape, now that they were actually inside the building, and it did not even cross the minds of either of them to attempt to do so since he was armed, which they were not, and at his first cry help would have been so readily available to detain them.

The whole disaster had occurred so suddenly, and so little time had elapsed since their denunciation, that neither of them had had a chance to think out a story which might offer even the remotest possibility of getting them out of their mess; but, while he was walking up the stairs, Gregory had realised that they must at least endeavour to adopt the same line when questioned, otherwise they would damn themselves irretrievably by contradicting one another. So when they halted in the passage he took a chance that the
Ogpu
man might understand French and seized the opportunity to say to Stefan:

“Quick! Tell me what course you mean to adopt.”

“We'd better deny everything and refuse to talk,” suggested Kuporovitch.

“Silence!” snapped the
Ogpu
man, in Russian. Evidently he had not understood, but all the same had no intention of allowing the prisoners to formulate a common policy before they were examined.

Gregory nodded quick approval, just as Dakov reappeared and said:

“The captain has just put through a long-distance call on the telephone, so we must wait five or ten minutes before going in to him.”

The little group then remained there for some moments in complete
silence. As Gregory thought it over he did not feel that in the face of their positive identification by the Mongolian there would be very much point in denying that. In fact, it was absurd to do so since he had booked them into the Lubianka under the same names as they had on their passports, and these were already known to the captain before whom they were shortly to be re-examined. On the other hand, to refuse to talk at all seemed much the best policy for the present, as if they were left together they might yet have an opportunity of concocting an account of what had happened which would appear slightly less damaging than their case as presented in the facts known to the Russians at the moment. With that in mind he ignored the
Ogpu
man's order and said:

“We must admit our identity, but let's say that only Marshal Voroshilov knows the truth about us and that we refuse to discuss matters until we are brought before him.”

“Silence!” snapped the Mongolian once more; and, drawing his pistol, he jabbed it into Gregory's side.

Having got his point across Gregory shook his head and smiled at him, as though he had not understood. The four of them then fell silent again.

The thing that worried Gregory so intensely was their apparent complicity in their own escape. There was no avoiding the Naval Intelligence captain learning in the next few moments that they had told him a pack of lies about their having been in Sweden and Esthonia. In consequence, he would be furious with them for having tricked him so completely and immediately become convinced that his first theory, about their being German agents who, on the sinking of the U-boat, had endeavoured to plant themselves, was correct. The fact that they had escaped while being moved from the Lubianka the previous night would only serve to corroborate that. He would have every possible reason for condemning them out of hand, and their only tenuous line of temporary safety lay in that, as they had escaped from the Lubianka, he might send them back there to be dealt with. Even if that happened the odds were that Voroshilov would not grant them another interview but order the suspended sentence of death to be carried out at once, merely on the written report that they had succeeded in escaping and been recaptured. The more Gregory thought about it the more slender he felt their chances were.

They had been standing there for about three minutes when Kuporovitch looked at the
Ogpu
man, pointed at the next door along the corridor, and said something in Russian.

There was some lettering on the door which Gregory could not read, but on the Mongolian nodding Kuporovitch moved towards it and
Gregory stepped after him. As the door swung open at a touch he saw that the room beyond was a man's washplace and lavatory.

As they went in the
Ogpu
man and Dakov followed them inside. Kuporovitch walked straight over to one of the cabinets, entered it, and shot the bolt behind him. Gregory stepped into the one next door and did likewise.

The bottom of the window was open a few inches. Easing it gently up, Gregory saw that it looked down into a small courtyard surrounded by a well in the building. As they were on the first floor the ground was only about twelve feet below; and the courtyard was empty. The second Gregory realised that, he stepped up on to the seat and thrusting a leg over the sill began to wriggle through the window. However slender this chance of escape might be, to take it was better than submitting tamely to being shot that night, or, at best, being sent back to the Lubianka.

Turning over on his tummy, he lowered himself till his hands were gripping the sill and his legs dangling. As he dropped, he blessed Stefan with all his heart for the brilliant idea that had inspired this eleventh-hour attempt to get away, since it would at least enable them to give their captors a run for their money.

He came down feet first, staggered, and fell heavily. In a moment he was up again and looking round for Kuporovitch, whom he had expected to reach the ground as soon as, or perhaps even before, himself. To his amazement no trace of his friend was to be seen. He certainly had not had time to get down and out of the courtyard without Gregory catching a glimpse of him as he jumped himself, and not even a projecting limb showed that he was, so far, attempting to get out of his window.