Come into my Parlour (61 page)

Gregory noted the past tense and said, “So she played you up, did she?”

“The old girl played herself up in the end,” Helga laughed. “Didn't Fritz tell you? Her temper was something awful. One day she threw a plate of stew at me, so I slapped her face, and it seems she had a heart attack. It came on quite sudden and I didn't know what was wrong with her at first. I just left her, to learn her manners, and next time I went down to give her a meal there was the old bird dead on the floor.”

Gregory could be a very good actor when the need arose, and he laughed as though he thought the episode intensely funny. After a moment he said: “I expect that after tomorrow night they will send the Countess Erika to a concentration camp. Will you be sorry?”

Helga took the question to apply not to Erika but to herself. “It all depends,” she said, a little pensively. “I wish I could read the stars a bit and see what life has to offer me round the corner.”

“Fritz might find you a job in Nürnberg,” Gregory suggested.

She stretched her arms above her head, and folded her hands behind her neck, the thin stuff of her blouse becoming taut across her bosom, as she replied:

“If it was something exciting I'd like that. On the other hand, I wouldn't mind staying on here if he could come over and see me frequently. It's pretty cosy living here as the
Hochwohlgeboren
used to, even though we're left with a wartime staff. Nürnberg would certainly be nice and cheery, whereas most of the time this place is so dull, with never a man about. I'm sort of torn between two stools, as they say.”

“What about the police boys who are billeted here?” Gregory asked. “Don't they ever provide you with a little mild entertainment?”

“Oh, them!” She shrugged contemptuously. “They're not S.S. but old fogies, or middle-aged; and no class, anyway. I wouldn't let any of that lot so much as put a hand on me.”

“Don't be unkind. I'm getting on for middle-aged myself,” Gregory grinned.

“I wouldn't say that.” Helga gave him an arch smile. “You're different, too. Anyone could see that much. And, after all, age doesn't count if you're the right sort, does it? I think you're nice.”

“Thanks.” Gregory smiled. “That's a charming compliment, coming as it does, from a very beautiful girl.”

“You'd better be careful,” she admonished him coyly, “or you'll have Fritz on your tail.”

“I'm quite capable of taking care of Fritz,” he said lightly, but with far more reason than she knew. “And I'm glad you think I'm nice—because I think you're an absolute stunner.”

He had struck the right note and Helga was now thoroughly
enjoying herself. But with the natural female desire to play any new and good-looking fish that appeared to be nibbling at her line, she sat up, and, pushing a bell beside the fireplace, made a pretence of changing the conversation, by saying:

“I'm sure you'd like some coffee. The old geezer who has been butler here for the best part of a century is just about due to bring it.”

“Thanks, I'd love some.” He deliberately offered her his cigarette-case, although he knew that it contained only Sullivans. She took one without noticing; he lit it, and as she drew in the first mouthful of fragrant smoke, she exclaimed:

“Hallo! What's this?”

“Something that will make you forget Fritz and see me as twenty years younger than I am,” he laughed.

“Really!” Her dark eyes looked into his quite seriously.

“No. Not really,” he admitted. “They're just some very fine oriental cigarettes that a friend of mine in the Marines, who doesn't smoke, sent me from a captured British ship.”

She smiled at him. “Well, I wouldn't want you to be twenty years younger, anyway. I never have found it amusing to be practised on by boys just out of their
Gymnasiums.
”

The old, lame man that Gregory had seen through his binoculars on the terrace earlier in the afternoon came in with a well-laden tray, and set it down on a small table near Helga.

“Thanks, Johann,” she said pleasantly, but he did not smile or reply by a single word, and walked stiffly from the room.

Helga made a grimace behind his back, then smiled at Gregory as she began to pour the coffee, and said:

“See what I've got to put up with. The only staff we've got left are a lot of old doodlers like that who have been growing hay in their hair at Niederfels most of their lives. They don't much like my being mistress now, and I have to show a pretty firm hand to keep them in their places.”

“I should have thought they would be glad to have a change of mistress, after being under that tyrannical old harridan for so long,” Gregory replied.

“You would, wouldn't you? After all, I'm easy enough to get on with.”

“I'm sure you are. Perhaps it's that they rather resent you acting as gaoler to the Countess Erika.”

“Maybe there's something in that; although she scarcely ever came here, so most of them hardly know her.”

“I wonder,” said Gregory, between two mouthfuls of sugared cake, “that you ever came here. Why did you take this place with the old
Countess originally? A smart girl like you ought to have been going places in Berlin.”

“I was,” Helga laughed, “until I was caught out using the lady's frocks and she refused to give me a reference. Then my godfather, who's head-keeper here, wrote about this place. He has got quite a bit put by, and no children of his own, so it will come to me if I play up to the old so-and-so. Not that that matters now, but at the time it seemed important; so I came here and stuck it for a year. Anyhow, I've since had my own back on the old woman; and now I'm on the up and up, as they say.”

“You certainly are,” agreed Gregory, drinking up his coffee. “A lovely person like you ought to go a long, long way.”

“You're kidding,” she murmured. “Still, every girl likes to hear that sort of thing. And I'll bet you've got lots more pretty speeches where that came from.”

“It's just the simple truth,” Gregory assured her.

“You're telling me!” She gave him a mocking glance from under her long black lashes, as she lit a fresh cigarette from the one she was already smoking.

“I mean it,' he persisted. “And if Fritz weren't coming back tomorrow night I'd have liked the chance to tell you lots more truths like that.”

She drew her feet up on the
chaise-longue
, clasped her hands round her knees, rested her chin on them, and gave him a long, steady look from her dark eyes, as she asked, “Are you afraid of Fritz?”

“No, I'm not the least afraid of Fritz,” he replied with perfect candour.

“Then why not stay and have dinner with me here tonight?” she said quietly. The new attitude she had just adopted had, he knew, been purposely designed to give him a good sight of her silk undies, and an alluring glimpse of the insides of her plump pink thighs, just above where her stockings ended. It was clear that the invitation was not confined to dinner.

He hesitated only a second. To be actually in the Castle when the time came to attempt his coup would simplify things enormously. But he felt that there were certain snags attached to the invitation. He had now extracted from Helga all the information that she could give him, and if he dined with her it was obvious that she would expect him to make love to her. He could have dealt with that, and, for the moment he could not actually put his finger on what other snags there might be; yet some sixth sense warned him that to accept would land him into unforeseen difficulties.

“No,” he said. “Thanks, all the same. I'd simply love to, but the
trouble is that there are certain arrangements that I have to make down in the village tonight.”

She pouted prettily. “Oh, come on. Why not? I'll see to it that the servants put their backs into giving us a jolly good meal, with lots of the Count's best drink; and we might—well, we might have a bit of fun afterwards. Surely you can do whatever you've got to do in the village tomorrow morning.”

He shook his head and stood up. “No! Honestly! It's as much as my job is worth not to get those arrangements made tonight. I'm sure Fritz won't be occupying all your time and that we could have lots of fun together. Leave it to me, and after tomorrow night's business is over I'll get in touch with you.”

“What about coming back later on tonight?” she enquired.

The last thing he wanted her to do was to stay up for him, so he said: “I shan't be through before two o'clock at the earliest. We had much better make it another time.”

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “Still, if you find that you can get back earlier——”

“That's sweet of you,” he smiled. “But I doubt if I can. I've got the hell of a lot to do, and I simply must go now.”

As he moved towards the door she accompanied him, and in the hall outside helped him on with his coat. Then she opened the front door for him.

“I'll be seeing you,” he smiled, as he stepped out into the courtyard.

“
Auf Wiedersehen!
” she called, letting her eyelashes fall in a last gesture of renewed invitation.

He nodded, blew her a kiss, and crossed the big echoing yard. He would have preferred not to go down the main road to the village, but felt that he must do so because she might still be watching him from a window.

As he walked down the curving slope he was thinking what marvellous luck he had had so far. When he had set out from London it had seemed that he had set himself an almost impossible task. Yet, he had had one good break after another. There was the cardinal fact to start with that Erika was still at Niederfels and in good health, instead of a poor helpless wreck in some heavily guarded concentration camp deep inside Germany, as she so easily might have been. Then his turning back after his first visit to the Villa Offenbach, to see Einholtz setting off across the lake and von Osterberg handcuffed to his chair, had given him an enormous advantage over the enemy. The raid on the Villa had gone without a single hitch. He had met with no difficulty in disposing of Einholtz's body. He had reached von Lottingen's villa without even being challenged by a patrol boat. No one had spotted him coming ashore. Everything had gone according to plan once he
was inside Germany, and he had got away with a first-class car. To cap it all he had learned from Helga's letters that Erika was guarded only by herself and two or three middle-aged road patrol men, and those letters had enabled him to reconnoitre the inside of the Castle in daylight.

Look for snags where he would he could not see them, and the job now seemed unbelievably easy—if only his luck would hold for another few hours.

He was halfway down to the village, and just about to turn off into the woods to recross the valley, when he caught the purr of a powerful car approaching. Swiftly as he jumped aside into the fringe of trees the car was almost upon him. As it raced round the bend he had a full view of its occupants. Inside, with their backs to the driver, sat two heavily jowled Gestapo thugs. Facing them was a handsome young S.S. man, whose face had obviously been painted, and beside him sat
Gruppenführer
Grauber!

Gregory's coat collar was turned up and the brim of his soft hat pulled down over his eyes, as some protection against the cold; so, even if any of them had noticed him, he didn't think there was any chance that he had been recognised. But the very sight of Grauber was for him, at that moment, like a terrific punch landing straight on his heart.

Only a moment ago everything had looked so easy. Now, by arriving on the scene a night earlier than Gregory had expected him, Grauber loomed like a dark and terrible menace over any prospect of spiriting Erika simply and swiftly away.

Instead of the occupants of the Castle going to bed at the early hour usual in the country, with Grauber there they would be sure to sit up until midnight or later, talking and drinking. When Gregory stealthily made his way to Erika's dungeon he might find it empty, as it was quite possible that Grauber would have her upstairs to taunt and torture her with the news that her lover would also be a prisoner by the following night. Worse, Helga might mention his recent visit.

He had told her that he was making certain arrangements in the village in connection with the trap. Grauber would know that no instructions of that sort had been issued to any of his people. He would ask Helga to describe her visitor and from the description he would recognise Gregory at once. If that happened when he made his way to Erika's dungeon, they would be there in the dark, waiting for him. The trap would close with a snap. It would then be impossible for him to make any second attempt to rescue Erika, and he would have to bite through the capsule of poison that he carried in his mouth.

In a terrible wave of depression he knew that he had been counting his chickens too soon. His luck had now run out.

Slowly and dejectedly Gregory walked across the valley bottom and up its further slope, to the car. Darkness had fallen by the time he reached it, and glancing at the luminous dial of his watch he saw that the time was twenty-five to seven.

Thinking matters over, he realised that just before he had seen Grauber he had had one last piece of luck. His refusal of Helga's invitation had been nothing less than a miraculous preservation. Had he accepted it, or even lingered with her for another ten minutes, Grauber would have arrived to find them together and the game would have been up. As it was, he was at least still alive and free.

While he was still cursing the
Gruppenführer
for his most untimely arrival Gregory had formulated a probable reason for it. At first, he had jumped to the conclusion that something must have gone wrong at the Villa Offenbach and Grauber had somehow found out that he had entered Germany forty-eight hours before he was expected. But it could not be that. Einholtz was safely in a place where he would never more tell tales, and Kuporovitch could be trusted to look after von Osterberg. Even if Stefan had conceivably slipped up and the Count had escaped he had neither the guts, the means or any incentive to make his way back to Germany and, for the sake of reporting Einholtz's death, place himself once more in the hands of the Gestapo. Even a surprise visit to the Villa by one of Einholtz's colleagues could have revealed nothing of Gregory's own plans. He was quite confident of that.