Come into my Parlour (65 page)

From Wilflingen, Gregory had a choice of ways of getting back to von Lottingen's Villa. He could either go south-east through the Hauberg to Beuron, then in a curve via Sigmaringen, Herbertingen and Saulgau to Ravensburg, from which a by-road would take him to just the point on the lake he wished to reach; or he could go south to Spaichingen, Tuttlingen and Stockach, then follow the road that ralright along the north shore of the lake.

The former was slightly longer, but the latter had the disadvantage that he would have to pass through Friedrichshafen, and he thought that the police in the big frontier town were much more likely to be on
the
qui vive
for the stolen car than their colleagues in the small island towns and villages. He hated to have to give the extra time to the additional half-dozen miles, but he felt that as a precaution it was wise to do so. Therefore, on leaving the village he took the road south-east that led up into the higher parts of the Hauberg.

Owing to his inspiration of starting the fire he now felt that they still had a sporting chance of getting clean away from Grauber. When the Gestapo man had first entered Helga's room it had flashed upon him that, although there was still a chance that he might get Erika out of the Castle, the game was up as far as any hope of crossing the lake in the Villa Offenbach's launch was concerned. Whatever happened, it seemed that within half an hour at most Grauber must learn either of his enemy's presence in the Castle or Erika's escape, and that it was her lover who had rescued her. In that case he would guess at once that Gregory had fooled Einholtz and immediately telephone Friedrichshafen for a squad of men to go out and surround von Lottingen's boathouse.

Gregory had had little time to realise how very nearly his line of retreat had been cut, but he saw now that it might yet hold long enough for him to get across it. When Grauber learned of the fire there was no reason why he should connect it with either Gregory or Erika. He still supposed the one to be enjoying his last night of freedom in Switzerland and the other to be safely locked in her dungeon. There was no water handy down there, and all Helga's loot in clothes and furnishings would keep the blaze going merrily, so it would be very difficult to put out.

Even when they had broken down Erika's door and discovered that she was no longer inside, they would probably assume that the Gestapo man had taken her into Helga's room to dress and that all three of them had been trapped there by a sudden outbreak of fire, through one of the lamps being knocked over. But by that time the room would be a raging furnace. It would be impossible to get at the bodies before the fire had died down. That might not be for several hours, and only then would they find that the charred remains left one woman unaccounted for.

They would jump to it then, that, somehow, Erika had succeeded in escaping during the confusion resulting from the fire. But there would still be no reason to suspect that Gregory had played any part in her escape. It would be regarded as the spontaneous seizing of an opportunity, and thought that she was either seeking shelter at some neighbouring farm or hiding in the forest. In consequence, there seemed no reason at all why Grauber should take measures to have von Lottingen's boathouse guarded.

But, once more, everything hung on the time factor. How long
would it take them to break down the door of Erika's dungeon? How long to get the bodies out of Helga's still smouldering room? It should be an hour at least, probably two, perhaps even several. And there was always the chance that once both Erika and her charred body were found to be missing Grauber's alert mind might jump to Gregory right out of the blue. Moreover, when the two remaining bodies were properly examined it would be found that the victims had not met their deaths through fire at all. The Gestapo man's ankles had both been broken by bullets and his forehead smashed in; Helga's spine was broken and the base of her skull shattered. Even the roasting of their bodies would not permanently conceal that. If Erika had managed to get hold of a gun, could she have succeeded in doing such deadly execution? On that count Grauber's mind would jump to Gregory on a basis of reason. It seemed certain then that the moment it was discovered that Helga and the Gestapo man had met their deaths by shooting would also be the moment when the danger bell would ring for the escapers.

Knowing that, Gregory drove with the maximum speed that could possibly be combined with safety. His ribs pained him badly, but he was too elated by having Erika once more beside him to think much of his pain. Yet they spoke little. Without any explanations she guessed the terrible necessity for speed and, much as she longed to hear how he had succeeded in finding her, she knew that for both their sakes she must leave him to concentrate on his driving. Instead of saying anything she kept her hand on his leg, just above the knee, and, now and then, gave it a fond little squeeze.

It seemed to him, now that he had got her safely out of Niedertels, that the luck was running with him again. The feeling strengthened when they had got clear of Sigmaringen, which was the biggest town through which they had to pass, without being challenged; since the fact that they were using a stolen car was now their greatest danger.

But three miles outside the town, on rounding a bend, they suddenly came upon a farm wagon full of boisterously singing yokels. Drawn by two hefty, slow-moving horses in tandem, it occupied the middle of the road, and there seemed no possible way of avoiding it.

Only Gregory's magnificent driving saved them from complete catastrophe. Braking fiercely, he skidded the car half off the road up on to a low bank. There was a loud bang and the car almost turned over; but it righted itself again, and ran back on to the road. With a sinking heart he brought it to a standstill a hundred yards further on. He knew only too well what that bang had meant. When skidding, he had burst one of his back tyres.

The farm cart too, had stopped; the singing ceased, the yokels
climbed out and came straggling up the road towards them. Gregory was already out of the car and preparing to change the wheel. It emerged that the yokels were belatedly returning from a wedding party in the neighbourhood. Most of them were drunk but they willingly offered their help and, although it was rather doubtful if they really helped or hindered, the spare wheel was fixed with the minimum possible delay. With a wave of good-bye to their bibulous helpers Gregory and Erika drove on again, but the accident had cost them a precious quarter of an hour.

They passed through Herbertingen and Saulgau without event, and having accomplished four-fifths of their journey ran into Ravens-berg, but their run of bad luck had not ended. In the suburbs of the old town there lay a railway crossing and its gates were closed against them. Annoyed at this new delay, but unperturbed, Gregory pulled up, expecting that in a few moments a train would pass and that then the gates would be opened. Instead, four uniformed men ran out from the shadow of the gate-keeper's lodge and jumped upon the running-boards of the car.

“Got you!” exclaimed a fat man who seemed to be in charge of the party.

“What the hell!” cried Gregory. “What the devil do you mean?”

“It's a fair cop,” laughed the fat man. “You nearly ran down a wedding party some thirty miles further back, didn't you?”

“Yes. What of it? No one was hurt.”

“Maybe not. But by a bit of luck the village policeman was in the party. He thought at the time the number on your car seemed somehow familiar, and when he got home he looked up his list of stolen cars. This Stutz was stolen in Stuttgart last night. He telephoned round for traps to be set for you and we're the lucky lads to pull you in.”

While listening to him Erika felt as though she would sink through her seat with mortification and distress. To have survived so much only in the end to be caught through a village policeman was unutterably galling. But Gregory was now speaking again, coldly and angrily.

“This car was not stolen, Sergeant; it was commandeered. I am a Lieutenant-Colonel of the S.S. and I needed it for an affair of the greatest urgency.”

“What! With the lady?” The sergeant laughed. “You can tell that one to my officer. Come on! You're going to drive us to the station.”

The fat man shouted to the signal-box, then climbed into the back of the car. One of his men got in with him, the other two remained on the running-board and hung on to the wings. The gates of the
railway crossing swung open. Gregory realised that it was useless to argue further with the sergeant, and, having registered a most vigorous protest, drove on into the town under his direction.

On arriving at the police-station they were put into a small room while the sergeant went to report Gregory's protest to the night duty officer. As the minutes ticked by they felt an increasing perturbation; yet they knew that the one thing they dared not do was to lose face, so Gregory began to call out, demanding attention.

The result was that a few minutes later they were taken into an inner office to confront an inspector. He was a lean, grey, tired-looking man.

“What is this story about your being an S.S. officer?” he asked at once. “Have you your papers to prove that?”

Gregory bowed from the waist, snapped, “Einholtz,” and producing the dead Gestapo man's pass, laid it firmly on the desk in front of the inspector.

He looked at it for a moment, then handed it back, remarking quietly: “That's all in order. But you will agree that one does not often see S.S. officers out of uniform, and, beyond question, the car you are using was taken without any legal authority.”

“The S.S. does not need legal authority.”

“Still, I require further proof of your identity before I can consider letting you go.”

Pulling Einholtz's letters and bills from his pocket, Gregory flung them on the desk with an angry gesture:

“All right! Look at those, and if your curiosity carries you so far, read them. But I warn you that you are exceeding your authority. I am an officer of Gestapo Department U.A-I, and many of my duties have to be carried out in plain clothes. I have shown you my pass, and that should be sufficient.”

The inspector glanced at the superscriptions of the letters then handed them back. “Those appear all right, too,” he said, “but, like the car, the whole lot may have been stolen. I propose to detain you.”

“You! Detain me?” Gregory thundered. “By God, if you do that will be the end of you! Can't you get it into your thick skull that I am on an urgent mission? If you don't believe me, ring up my chief,
Herr Gruppenführer Grauber!
”

It was the supreme bluff, and Gregory gambled everything upon it. If it worked they would be freed. If it did not and the inspector put a long-distance call through to Berlin that would avail the prisoners nothing, as the Alexanderplatz would inform him that the
Gruppenführer
was at Schloss Niederfels. Another call would be made and within an hour or so Grauber would arrive in triumph to collect them.

Gregory was banking entirely on the fact that, at heart, all German officials are bullies, and when they get up against a bigger bully they invariably cave in. Yet every nerve in his brain was alive with apprehension as he waited to see the inspector's reactions.

After a second he saw him blanch slightly. The dread name of Grauber had rung a bell with the inspector. Like all civil police officers, he loathed the privileged S.S., yet went in fear of them. He was old enough to remember another, freer, Germany of the Kaiser's day. He had had to join the Nazi Party to keep his job, but he was old-fashioned and did not like their methods. Now that Hitler had gone to war with Russia, he secretly believed that the Nazis were leading Germany to destruction. But they were still the masters, and their power was absolute. If the man before him was a car thief he would be caught again, sooner or later. If he was, as he declared, a Lieutenant-Colonel of the S.S., detaining him might lead to the officer responsible losing not only his job but his pension. On long-distance calls there were often considerable delays. It might take an hour or more to get through to Berlin; and if the Colonel was on an urgent mission such a delay might cause its failure. Then there would be hell to pay. No, obviously, the risk was not worth it.

“All right,” he said, after a moment, “I must accept your word,
Herr Oberstleutnant
. The car is still outside. You are free to go.”

“
Ich danke Ihnen,
” replied Gregory frigidly. With a stiff bow he stalked arrogantly from the room, leaving Erika to tail along behind him.

As they drove down the street in the car they both let go a heavy sigh, and smiled at each other in the darkness.

“Heavens! That was a near thing,” Erika murmured.

“It certainly was,” he agreed. “And even though we got out of it, the car number being spotted by that blasted village constable has cost us half an hour of our invaluable time.”

The last lap, from Ravensburg to the lake, was a matter of only fifteen miles. After turning into the lakeside road they drove along it for a little way; then Gregory ran the car through an open gate, into a field, and they got out. He looked at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to three.

Instead of the journey taking two hours, the burst tyre and their temporary arrest had caused it to take two and three-quarters. However, the moon was not due to rise until a little before dawn, so they still had several hours of darkness before them. There remained the awful question as to how long it would take Grauber to get the fire under and make damning deductions from the charred bodies. If he had managed to do so already the boathouse at von Lottingen's
would now be surrounded and prove another trap, but Gregory still felt that it would be well on towards morning before the fiery furnace he had created in Helga's room would be cool enough for anyone to enter it. So, in good heart, they set off on foot to cover the last third of a mile to von Lottingen's.