V for Vengeance (24 page)

Gregory had purposely come up very close the the Major while he was speaking to him—so close that he was not only within easy striking range, but the German had no room to use his gun. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, Gregory brought his left knee up with all his force into the Major's crutch. An instant later, as the Major's mouth opened and he swayed forward slightly, Gregory hit him with all his force under the chin; he fell crashing into the roadway.

The sight of the assault acted like a signal. The four mutes, the inspector, the
agents de ville
, the two remaining S.S. men and Kuporovitch all jerked their guns from pockets or holsters.

As the Major fell Gregory sprang into the open back of the hearse alongside the coffin, yelling at the top of his lungs: ‘Drive on! Drive on!'

His shout was half-drowned by a ragged burst of firing. Kuporovitch shot one of the S.S. men through the head. Bullets from the guns of two of the mutes hit the other in the body, but not before the shots from his automatic had brought one of them, gulping blood, to the ground.

The inspector and his men came late into action. They knew it to be their duty to support the Germans, but had a natural reluctance to fire at the Frenchmen who were gathered round the hearse. Their indecision gave Kuporovitch his opportunity. His one concern was to save Madeleine. Thrusting aside one of the
agents de ville
who stood in his path, he dragged her back through the open door of the nursing-home and slammed it to.

Next moment shots crashed out again. The inspector knew that he would pay for it with his own life if he allowed Gregory and the mutes to get away with the murder of the Nazis. The hearse was now in motion, and the three remaining mutes, clinging on behind, were twisting themselves up into it. Raising his old-fashioned revolver, the inspector fired at them. Two of his men followed his example. The other had run to the door of the nursing-home and was banging loudly on it. One of the mutes was hit and let out a yell of pain. The glass in the side of the hearse was shattered and came clanging down
among its struggling occupants. Gregory was underneath, but he wriggled free and pulled his gun.

As the hearse sped away they returned the fire of the
agents de ville
, and one of them fell reeling into the gutter, Major Schaub lay stretched out where he had fallen, still unconscious. The two other Nazis and the dead mute made ugly twisted heaps beside him.

The
agents de ville
were now giving chase, firing as they ran. The bystanders were shouting and scurrying for the nearest cover, fearful of being wounded, but a brawny workman thrust out his foot and tripped the inspector before diving into a nearby alleyway. As Gregory's swift glance took in the scene he searched anxiously in the semi-darkness for Madeleine and Kuporovitch, but he could not see them. He could only hope that they had managed to make good their escape in the confusion.

At the far end of the street the group of police were now coming into action. A sergeant bravely stood right in the centre of the road, calling at the top of his voice on the hearse to halt. Its driver drove straight at him, and he only managed to leap aside just in time. His companion sent a ragged volley at the hearse as it sped past them. A flying splinter of glass cut Gregory's cheek, but next minute, almost on two wheels, the hearse hurtled round the corner.

For a few moments the hearse raced through the darkened streets that Gregory did not recognise. Then it roared past a tall archway outside which there was an empty sentry-box, and he realised that beyond the dark courtyard lay the Elysée Palace, the official home of France's Presidents. Swinging to the right the hearse dashed down a side turning into the Champs-Elysées. Here it turned right again and headed up the broad thoroughfare towards the Arc de Triomphe, ignoring all traffic lights and speed limits. Three minutes later they rounded the arch and careered wildly down the Avenue Foch, until at its end they entered the Bois de Boulogne.

Only then did the driver begin to moderate his pace. A few hundred yards farther on he turned off the road down one of the thickly wooded rides of the great park, the use of which is prohibited to motor traffic. Then, when the hearse was well screened by the trees, he pulled up.

Without a moment's delay two of the mutes began to unscrew the coffin-lid while the third held a torch. As soon as the lid was removed Lacroix scrambled out of the satin-lined shell. He had heard the shooting through the ventilation holes concealed in the sides of the coffin, which had been specially constructed for him, and he asked at once what casualties his men had sustained.

‘They got Alexandre,' replied one of the mutes, ‘and Raoul here is wounded in the shoulder; but the rest of us are all right.'

‘How about the people in the home?' asked Lacroix.

‘The Matron and the thickset man who was with her got back into it and slammed the door.'

‘Thank God for that!' murmured Gregory. ‘The inspector said the house had been surrounded, but Kuporovitch is a cunning old fox. With luck he may be able to get them out through the garden.'

‘Anyhow, your friend got one of the Nazis,' commented the mute. ‘Poor Alexandre and I accounted for the other.'

‘Good!' said Lacroix. ‘Things might be worse then, but we have no time to lose. Already a general call will have been sent out from Police Headquarters for this hearse to be halted wherever it may be seen. We were lucky to get as far as this without being held up, but on all the routes leading out of Paris the Germans have strong road controls armed wih machine-guns. We must abandon the hearse at once and disperse in the hope of getting through separately on foot.'

‘Where will you make for?' asked Gregory.

‘For Vichy. Once we can reach the frontier of Unoccupied France there are a dozen places in which we can cross it unknown to the authorities. For myself and my men I have few qualms, but about you, Gregory, I am anxious. It is important that you should get back to England as soon as possible. If you proceed with one of us to Vichy you may meet with grave delays. It is better, I think, that you should go home by the direct route that I had already planned for you.'

‘That's all right by me,' Gregory agreed. ‘You have only to give me directions. But before we part you must let me
have those particulars about shipping arms and your man in Lisbon.'

Lacroix glanced round his bodyguard. ‘I wish to talk alone with my friend here. You will leave us for a few moments. Take up your positions about fifty yards away; so that we are not surprised if one of the police cars which now must be searching for us happens to turn in along this drive.'

When the men had scrambled out of the hearse Lacroix produced a small pad and fountain-pen from his pocket. While Gregory held a torch the Colonel wrote swiftly upon the paper, then he tore off the sheet and handed it over, as he said:

‘It would be a bad business if you were captured with that on you, so you must memorise these particulars at the first opportunity, then destroy them.'

Taking a cardboard covered booklet from another pocket he handed that to Gregory, as he went on: ‘That is the passport I had faked for you. It is in the name of Lucien Rouxel. Now, about your journey: you'll go tomorrow morning to the office of Dormey, Jamier et Fils in the Rue de la Roquette, which is near the
Cimetière du Père Lachaise
. They are haulage contractors who are working for the Germans. Ask for Monsieur Adolphe Dormey, show him your passport and tell him that you are a night watchman who seeks employment. He will then arrange for you to be smuggled through in one of his lorries either to Boulogne or Calais. At whichever place you arrive I now have good arrangements. The lorry-driver will put you in touch with someone who has managed to conceal a motor-boat under a deserted wharf in one of the small harbours along the coast. German troops are now thick as flies in that area, but, thank God, the women of France do not lack courage, and many of them are becoming very skilful at distracting the attention of sentries when required to do so for their country's sake. Fortunately, the moon is in its dark period, so with the help you'll be given you should have no great difficulty in getting away from the coast. The boat will put you aboard the first British ship that it meets and return either the same or the following night. Is that all clear?'

‘Monsieur Adolphe Dormey of Dormey, Jamier et Fils,
Rue de la Roquette,' Gregory repeated. ‘Yes. Then with any luck I'll be back in London early next week.'

Time was precious if Lacroix and his men were to be well away from Paris before morning. To each of them the little Colonel gave the number of the underground route they were to take; then, having shaken hands all round and wished one another luck, the little group of conspirators abandoned the hearse, striking out in different directions through the night-enshrouded woods.

Gregory was by no means certain in what part of the Bois he was, but he kept as straight a course as possible between the trees, and through the little glades where in happier times thousands of Parisian families were wont to picnic on fine Sundays, and countless pairs of lovers have lingered far into warm summer nights, until he came out in an open space at the edge of the lakes. There he recognised the silhouette of a building which was thrown up against the night sky as the Pré-Catalan Restaurant.

He had often dined there in the old days and danced within the circle of coloured fairy-lamps that hung from tree to tree in the garden, or enjoyed one of the shows at the open-air theatre, but now the laughter and the music were still, the whole place dark and deserted.

Having found his bearings he headed south-west, and after a quarter of a mile's walk came out of the Bois at the gate opposite the junction of the Boulevard Suchet and the Boulevard Lannes. Pausing there for a moment under the shaded traffic-lights, he took out the passport that Lacroix had given him and had a quick look at it. The Colonel had evidently gone through hundreds of photographs, as the one selected was of a man not at all unlike himself, and it was certainly as good as the average passport photograph, which in nine cases out of ten is little more than a caricature of its owner. Noting that he was supposed to have been born at Montélimar and had been given the occupation of commercial traveller, he put the passport back in his pocket, crossed the road and proceeded at a brisk pace down the Avenue Henri Martin, until he reached the Palais du Trocadéro.

One of the now infrequent buses was just getting under
way there, and he hopped on to it. The bus carried him across the Pont d'Iéna, past the Tour Eiffel and the Invalides, into the upper part of the Boulevard St. Germain. At the corner of the Boul Mich he got off and walked through several side streets until he found one of the many small inexpensive restaurants which abound in the Latin quarter. It was still only just on eight o'clock, so he ordered himself a modest meal from the meagre bill of fare and a carafe of Vin Rosé to wash it down.

He was acutely anxious about Madeleine and Kuporovitch, but he knew that it would be an extremely risky proceeding to go back to the nursing-home in the hope of finding out what had happened to them, and that in any event he must not do so before he had thoroughly mastered the notes that Lacroix had given him, in case he was caught with them still on him.

The little restaurant, which in better days must have known generations of jolly students making merry with their girls, now had a sleepy, half-dead atmosphere, as though it were in a small provincial town. The great University of Paris was closed, and the studios were empty except for a handful of half-destitute French artists. On this evening the restaurant's entire clientèle consisted of three woebegone-looking diners besides Gregory, so he was in no danger of being overlooked. When the waitress had served his food he was able to study Lacroix's notes at leisure, reading them over again and again and photographing them upon his brain; by the time his meal was finished he felt quite certain that every detail of them was firmly fixed in his mind.

Having finished his wine, he screwed the paper upon which the notes were written into a squill, lit a cigarette with it and let it burn out on his plate, afterwards breaking up the ashes. He then paid his bill and went out into the street.

As the night was moonless it was now very dark, but the slope of the ground gave him his direction, and he headed north. On reaching the Seine he walked along the quay where the second-hand booksellers hold their street market from open boxes set up on the stone balustrade, crossed the river by the Pont Neuf and made his way past the Louvre along the Rue de Rivoli until he reached the bottom of the Champs-Elysées.
Having proceeded up it a short distance he turned left into the maze of narrow turnings beyond the Elysée Palace, in one of which he knew the nursing-home lay.

After a quarter of an hour's search he found it, and looking neither to right nor left walked rapidly along the side of the street opposite to the home as though he were in a great hurry to get somewhere. As far as he could see, no one was about, but that was no guarantee that watchful eyes were not peering from some darkened window. Halting abruptly at a house that was actually facing the home, he pressed the bell and waited anxiously, praying that it would be answered quickly.

After a moment the doorchain rattled, and the door opened a crack. With a quick ‘
Pardonnez-moi!
' Gregory gave it a strong push, which almost sent the person behind the door off their balance; then stepping into the entrance, he shut the door firmly behind him.

In the dim light of the hall he saw that a neatly dressed elderly woman had answered his ring, and her eyes were now full of fear, as she crouched back against the wall.

‘Please don't be afraid,' he said gently, in the voice that he could make so charming when he wished. ‘I shan't keep you a minute, but I should be most grateful if you could give me a little information.'