The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace

1

The Saint slept until midday. Then he got up and had a long hot bath and a shave. Feeling much rested and quite peckish, he followed Anton who came to lead him to the dining-room.

The inside of the Castle betrayed its medieval origin, although the stone walls had been plastered over and slit windows replaced by wider ones. According to upper-class Austrian custom, wall spaces whenever possible were embellished with the skulls, horns, and antlers of slaughtered animals. The passion which aristocrats in all lands have for killing wild creatures in great numbers always struck the Saint as distasteful, although he had shot some big game himself when it had seemed adventurous. But whatever killing he did was very selective, and it would not have done to hang the heads of his victims on the walls of his home, since many of them were human.

Anton led him through an enormous drawing-room, furnished for the most part in Louis Quinze style, but containing some comfortable-looking sofas and armchairs as well.

He stopped for a moment by another door.

“May I point out to your lordship,” he said in English, “that the central part of this house is wired with burglar alarms on this floor because of the great value of its contents. One cannot go even from one of the state rooms into another without setting off an alarm in this part of the building.” He cast his eyes to heaven. “Alas, it is necessary in these schreckliche modern days of danger and violence. In the old times before the War such a thing would never have been thought of.”

“I take it,” said the Saint, “that guests are expendable. I mean, the guest wing isn’t wired, or is it?”

Anton shook his head.

“No, sir. There is nothing of great value there.”

“I suppose that goes for me,” murmured the Saint, as Anton opened the door to the dining-room for him.

Max, Frankie and Leopold were seated at the table and had already begun their meal. Thai was once again curled in his favourite position round his master’s shoulders. It was a pleasant domestic scene of upper-crust life in Central Europe. But it had overtones which jarred slightly.

For one thing, Annellatt, suave and well-mannered though he was, was not upper-crust. The Saint could not help but feel that the other two were only there because of Max’s dubious respect for conventional ethics and procedures. Of course, that should not be held against them. Their partnership with Max was a purely pragmatic one. In the ordinary course of society life they and Max would have been in different orbits.

But there was more to it than that. The Saint felt almost as if he were looking at one of those drawings in magazine competitions which incorporate deliberate errors. There was something wrong with this picture, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Perhaps it was no more than the rather bizarre events which had brought them all together.

He decided that for the time being he was not going to let it bother him. He was hungry and in a cheerful mood.

“Ach, good morning, Simon,” cried Annellatt, getting to his feet. “I trust you slept well?”

“Like the proverbial baby,” said the Saint. “Except that real babies usually seem to wake up yowling.” He tickled the Siamese cat behind the ears. “How did he get here — don’t tell me he drove his own little car.”

“Frankie brought him, in his travelling basket. I did not want to risk having to leave him at the flat in an emergency.” Max pulled out a chair. “Please forgive us for having started lunch, but I did not want to hurry you.”

The Saint smiled at Frankie as he took his seat.

He said: “I did have a nasty dream that I was kidnapped by the Gestapo. Most realistic it was.”

“Max has told us about your unpleasant adventure,” she said. “Really, Austria has become quite barbaric since the Germans took over.”

Her voice was warm, and her concern seemed genuine and spontaneous.

Simon was struck anew by her unusual charm. He wondered how much of it was deliberate — or conversely, to what degree it was natural. One never knew with Austrians. Charm was a national characteristic which with them was both hereditary and cultivated. They used it delightfully — and quite ruthlessly.

Leopold, who had also risen to his feet, gave Simon a short stiff little bow and sat down again. As far as the Saint was concerned, the young Count’s Austrian charm must have been sent to the cleaners. It certainly wasn’t around, and hadn’t been since they met.

Anton and a serious young footman called Erich waited on the table, and the conversation touched only on general topics. For some reason, the Saint took an instant dislike to Erich. He was at a loss to explain this to himself, for Erich was respectful, polite, and efficient, which is all that is really required of footmen. But there was something about the young man’s carefully blank dark eyes, and the way his sandy hair and bleached eyebrows seemed to make his personality fade away, that made the Saint vaguely uneasy about him.

Coffee and liqueurs were served after lunch in the drawing-room, and when the servants had withdrawn, Herr Annellatt quickly got down to business.

“Now, about the Necklace,” he announced briskly, “we must complete our plan.”

Simon rotated his balloon glass gently, swirling its pale gold contents up the sides.

“I thought we already had a general plan,” he said. “All it needs is a man of exceptional strength, agility and cunning, who can climb in and out of castles like a cat and fight his way out of trouble if necessary — or think his way out if needs be.”

“In fact, someone like the Saint,” Annellatt said. For a moment Simon thought he was actually purring, but then he realised it must be the cat.

“Since you don’t seem to have anyone who fits the bill,” Simon replied modestly.

The Count sprang to his feet.

“Mr Templar would be worse than useless,” he blurted out angrily. “He is a foreigner and speaks no Hungarian. If anybody goes it should be me.”

“I can’t see that it makes any difference whether one speaks Hungarian or not,” said the Saint. “If the breaker-in is discovered they’ll merely shoot him out of hand or slap him in jail for the rest of his life. It won’t do him any good to protest in his best Magyar that he’s just a plumber who’s forgotten his tools.”

“So how do you plan to break into the Castle?” asked Frankie in her most adoring manner.

“Yes, how?” echoed Leopold, in a contrastingly scornful tone.

The Saint felt sorry for him. The young man was obviously in love with Frankie and was insanely jealous of her undisguised fascination with the Saint. Flattering though it was, it was a complication that Simon could have done without. But since it was inescapable, as some philosopher said about something similar, he might as well relax and enjoy it.

His smile was like a kiss in her direction. It was no ordeal for him to play her game in spite of recognising the innate ruthlessness of her character.

“The plumber routine might be a gambit, at that,” he said. “But I’d rather save it for a defence. I’ve always preferred a head-on surprise attack to complicated plots which are liable to trip over their own webs.”

“But this is not some farm cottage,” retorted Leopold. “It is a castle, with modem improvements.”

“And I’m an old-fashioned retired burglar,” Simon replied amiably, “which is the last kind of person they’d expect to be having a go at their battlements.” Max drew on his cigar.

“In Vienna, I showed you as much as I could,” he said. “That agricultural drain will bring you close to the castle—”

“And Frankie may know something about its weaknesses from the inside. Like secret passages and what not.”

The girl shook her head.

“We were never at Este very much. My father liked his castle in Bohemia better.”

“I see,” said the Saint. “What you might call an embarras de châteaux.”

“I don’t know any secret passages, and I was not brought up to look at it like a burglar,” Frankie said, with a flash of hauteur. “I can show you where the wine cellars were, and from there one could make one’s way quite easily to where the Necklace is hidden.”

“Suppose Mr Templar did get in,” said Max, “how would he get out again?”

“That would be quite easy. If he took a rope he could let himself down from almost any of the outside windows. He’d have to wait until it was dark, of course. But there are so many rooms that I don’t think even the Gestapo can have occupied them all.”

“Right,” said the Saint. “If I took a rope, a sleeping bag, a picnic basket, and a good book, I could stay for a week if I liked the place.” He turned to Annellatt. “I shall have to give you a shopping list.”

Max nodded.

“Natürlich. Anything you need can be obtained.”

“The rope isn’t a bad idea,” said the Saint seriously. “And a few tools. Also, some clothes. Dressed as we are now, any of us would attract attention, whatever we were doing. We need the sort of things that any local workman would wear.”

“—or a peasant girl,” Frankie put in.

“You are not going,” Leopold insisted.

Frankie drew herself up.

“If anyone is going to fetch the Necklace, I shall have to be there. I am its Keeper, and only I know where it is.”

“You and Mr Templar,” said Max. “Don’t forget you have told him.”

Simon shook his head.

“She has told me nothing except that it’s in the Castle.”

For a moment Max looked disconcerted.

“Oh. I thought you said...?” He looked at Frankie., enquiringly.

“I only said I had told him where it was. By that I meant that it was in the Castle. I did not say where it was hidden.”

“I see, said Max thoughtfully. “But is that wise? Let us pray that nothing ever happens to you. But if it did, someone else should know where to look for it.”

Frankie’s expression was enigmatic.

“I will do what I think best.”

“If you tell anyone, you will tell me!” exploded Leopold. “I am one of the family. Mr Templar is a stranger and a noted... er...”

“Scoundrel?” supplied the Saint affably. “But that’s what makes me the man for the job. Now, as a professional scoundrel, I’m thinking of something a bit more difficult for Max’s list. To go with the clothes, we should have suitable identity papers. I know that they’re always possible to get, if you know where to get them. Do Max’s connections extend to that?”

Annellatt pursed his lips.

“It could be arranged.”

“Then while you’re at it, it would be better still to have a second set, in totally different names, to fall back on if the first lot get blown and we find ourselves on the lam — should I translate that?”

Annellatt’s brown eyes bubbled momentarily with the impish merriment to which they were disarmingly susceptible.

“For my sins, I have learned some of those expressions,” he said, but made a colloquial German translation.

He turned back to Simon.

“If one can be done, both can be done,” he said. “Anton will take and develop the necessary pictures, at once. They could be ready tonight. But the papers will take a little longer. It may take two days.”

“The Hapsburg Necklace has been around for quite a few years,” said the Saint. “I expect it can hold out for a couple more days, if the moths don’t get to it.”

Max stood up.

“Then make your list, Simon, and you can rely on me to do my part. While I am busy, will you all please regard Schloss Duppelstein as your own home.”

2

Simon Templar, as a natural sybarite, greatly enjoyed the next forty-eight hours. Schloss Duppelstein was run luxuriously. He had a sumptuously furnished bedroom, with a bathroom attached, in the east wing of the Castle overlooking the courtyard. Frankie and Leopold were housed in the west wing. Max’s quarters were in the central section. What delighted the Saint most about his accommodation, however, was the beautiful porcelain stove which stood in the corner of his bedroom and filled it with heat. He considered such stoves to be works of art and regretted that in Austria they were getting rarer as more modern forms of heating took over.

There was only one small cloud on his horizon. Erich was seconded to be Simon’s valet, and the Saint got the impression that his work entailed a bit more snooping and curiosity about the Saint’s affairs and effects than was normally permissible. Still, he reckoned he could deal with Erich firmly enough should the need arise, and he was never one to let such small matters, or the opinions of servants (or anyone else, for that matter) bother him.

Cars and tennis courts were at the disposal of the guests, and the weather was still warm enough to allow hardy individuals a quick dip in the icy, highly ornamented outdoor swimming pool. There were many lovely walks and rides in the hills around the Castle, and Max Annellatt had his own stables, filled with thoroughbreds, which he frankly admitted he could not ride.

Max was kindness itself, and he personally drove Simon, together with Frankie and Leopold, to see some of the sights of the surrounding countryside. His cat came along on the expedition, and even when his master drove, Thai lay on his shoulders like a fur collar. Simon came to the conclusion that the Siamese was the only creature Max really loved, for he treated it with a tenderness he never showed to humans. When they drove into the flat Burgenland to see the tomb of Haydn at Eisenstadt in the extraordinary church built in the shape of a huge rock, but not in a huge rock, Thai wandered off and got lost, and Max was distraught until the cat was discovered in one of the sentry boxes of the nearby Esterhazy Palace. Max joked that as a member of the Siamese Royal Family, Thai had probably been looking for a sentry to salute him, or even for Prince Esterhazy himself.

The following morning, Max left early on his self-imposed errands. Either from tact or malice, he asked Leopold to go with him for company, which the young man could scarcely refuse. A little later, Frankie suggested to Simon that they go for a drive in Leopold’s car.

“I don’t think he’d like that,” Simon demurred.

“Perhaps,” she said carelessly. “But if I tell him it was my idea, he won’t dare to say so.”

They both enjoyed each other’s company and recognised that they shared a certain cavalier attitude to life, and they found it very pleasant to be temporarily free of the jealousies of Leopold, and Max’s somewhat overpowering hospitality. Although Patricia Holm was never far from his thoughts, it was very tempting to accept Frankie’s open readiness for a flirtation. And he would have had no guilty feelings about Patricia, who had never tried to tie him any more than he tied her. He was more wary of feeling guilty about Frankie, who he felt might get in deeper than she intended, if he went too far with her game. For all her independence of spirit, the Saint figured, she was the sort of girl who would take a love affair seriously, and seriousness in such matters can lead to the sort of complications the Saint did not want at that stage of his career.

However, he had no compunction about taking advantage of her ardour to make another attempt to find out from her where the Hapsburg Necklace was hidden in Schloss Este. She was wickedly cagey and enjoyed teasing him with hints while at the same time never giving him a clue as to its whereabouts. She told him her father had told her mother where the Necklace was hidden as he lay dying from a heart attack. Her mother had given the secret to Frankie when the girl came of age. Frankie told Simon all this while they were driving through the Wienerwald in the midst of glorious autumn colours.

He finally changed the subject, to try something else.

“How did you meet up with Max?” he asked. “He’s not your league at all.”

“My what?”

“Your class. He’s not Erstegesellschaft, or even Zweite. In fact, he’s not Gesellschaft at all. He admits it himself. He’s a self-made man, and he’s made a pretty good job of it, but you know how snobby you Austrian aristocrats are.”

“That’s why we adore the British and the Americans. They are the only other people who assume that the entire world was made for them. The Germans think that even if it was made for someone else, they can conquer it. The French think that France was made for them and the rest of the world doesn’t count. The Italians say ‘See Naples and die’ or ‘See Rome and pay.’ They are not even a nation. And so it goes. But the English and Austrian upper classes seem to have sprung from the same womb.”

“But not from the same father. Funnily enough I’ve heard exactly the same piece from some of my other Austrian friends. Do they teach it to you in school?”

For a moment Frankie looked annoyed. Then she burst out laughing.

“Certainly only the English-speakers can be as rude as the Austrians,” she said. “But seriously, we are not nearly so snobby as we used to be. Nowadays we are quite democratic. We mix with all sorts of people.” She gave Simon a mischievous look. “Especially if they have money.”

“Well, Max certainly has that.”

“Yes, he does. He’s very well-known in business indeed in many other circles. I met him at a party given by an Archduke — a very poor Russian archduke.”

“And you liked him straight off?”

She shrugged.

“One can like anyone one needs if one puts one’s mine to it.”

“I don’t think you’re as cynical as you pretend,” Simon said.

“I’m not cynical at all. I’m just a realist. I needed someone like him, powerful and unscrupulous, with the power and influence money brings to help me get the Necklace back. I also knew that he is a strong Royalist. He would like to see the Pretender, young Archduke Otto, back on the throne. He told me himself that he was prepared to use all his power and money in the cause of the Monarchy. And that means that he must be in favour of the aristocracy.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “But he is the type who never does anything which he does not consider an investment.”

“And so you told him about the Hapsburg Necklace?”

“Yes, but not where it is hidden.” She gave him a sideways look. “I shan’t even tell you that.”

“How am I supposed to get it for you then? Just play Hunt the Necklace all over Schloss Este and hope I’ll come across it?”

“No,” she replied calmly. “You are taking me with you.”

The Saint shook his head.

“So you’ve said before. But I’m not, you know. I always travel light. I never take any excess baggage if I can help it.”

Her eyes laughed back at him. “Touché, but we’ll see who wins, you or me. I might try by myself. Then, if I fail, I can always fall back on you.”

“You can fall back on me anytime, darling.” replied the Saint gallantly. “But what has Max done for you so far?”

“He has put his organisation at my disposal, and found out things about the surroundings of Schloss Este that even I did not know. Even now, he is getting us false papers, which I would never know how to get. And he has men who would commit any crime that is necessary, at his orders — or for his money.”

“What does he think he will get out of it, or shouldn’t one ask?”

“When the Monarchy is restored he will be made a real baron. I shall see to it.”

The Saint shrugged.

“I suppose that makes it all worth while.”

“Of course. His grandchildren will even be accepted into the aristocracy.”

“If he ever gets around to having any. But you mean he himself wouldn’t be accepted?”

“Certainly not. He is a tradesman by birth.”

“I see. When is a baron not a baron? When he isn’t two generations removed from vulgar trade. And how did Leopold get in on the act?”

“Because he is my second cousin, and I have known him since childhood and can trust him completely. That is something worthwhile.”

“Yes, definitely. He belongs all right. But whether or not that fact makes him a good Necklace-getter-backer is something else.”

“He is young and foolish sometimes, but he is not a fool. He is also a noted shot.”

“That might certainly come in handy,” said the Saint. “Actually, he seems a nice enough lad, even though I don’t think he’s crazy about me. Of course, he’s in love with you, as you well know.”

Frankie sighed dramatically.

“Ach, it is such a nuisance. But men can get so silly!”

“Sometimes it’s fun to be silly,” said the Saint.

She looked at him provocatively from beneath her long lashes. “Are you ever silly, Simon?”

This was the edge of the thin ice that he still hoped to skate around.

He shook his head.

“Never. I often lose my heart, but never my head.”

He blew her a kiss with the tips of his fingers. She caught it, pressed it to her lips and blew him one back. The Saint pretended to catch it and put it in his pocket.

“I’ll keep it for bedtime,” he said. “It’ll go well with my Ovaltine.”

It was a happy excursion, and they were as far removed from the realities of Nazi-occupied Austria as was Johann Strauss — and indeed most of the Austrians at that time.

When they got back to Schloss Duppelstein late in the afternoon, they were met by Leopold who informed them stiffly that Max was waiting to show them the stables.

“Furchtbar!” exclaimed Frankie. “I quite forgot to tell you, Simon. He wants to show us his prize stallion. It is called Neville Chamberlain because it’s by Aeroplane out of Munich. You see it is a joke.”

“It might have been more suitable to call him Lloyd George,” Simon remarked.

“Lloyd George? What did he have to do with Munich?”

“Nothing at all,” said the Saint, “but he was much more the stallion type.”

She shook her head in puzzlement.

“I do not understand. You too are making a joke, yes?”

“You’re too young to explain it to,” Simon told her. “But come along.” He pointed to where Leopold was already striding in the direction of the stables. “He’ll be your second cousin once removed if he has a stroke.”

Max Annellatt was watching the stallion being led around a tanbark ring by a stable-boy.

“I shall have the papers after lunch tomorrow,” he said. “Also the clothes you wanted — it was easy to buy them but now they are being made to look not so clean and new. My horse is beautiful isn’t he?”

“He is indeed,” Simon said unreservedly.

“Tomorrow morning you must take him for a ride.”

“If Frankie will go with me.”

“I will kill you if you try to leave me behind,” she said.

Leopold scowled, but for once made no protest, and Simon wondered if Max had been giving him some avuncular advice about how not to cope with a young woman’s provocation to the rivalries of courtship.

In spite of the boy’s sulkiness and juvenile jealousies, he liked Leopold and felt considerable sympathy for him. After all, the young man was up against the ruthlessness of womankind and in particular the ruthlessness of Frankie, who, Simon judged, combined the self-centredness of aristocracy with a singleness of purpose which in itself did not allow much room for the consideration of others. Whatever Frankie wanted to do, she did; whatever she wanted to get, she got. It was not that she lacked feeling, but she used people for her own purposes and indeed considered that most people had been created to be used by her.

She was certainly, by her own admission, using Max; but Simon suspected that the reverse was also true. Certainly Annellatt was no fool, and in his way he was certainly as ruthless as Frankie. If it came to a clash of wills and ambitions, Simon wondered which one would win. It might be amusing to find out.

The following afternoon, to Simon’s surprise, Leopold asked him if he would like to do a little Auerhahn shooting. The invitation was gruffly tendered, but Simon understood that he was making an effort to be pleasant. After all, except for his unfounded jealousy, there was no reason for him to dislike Simon. The Saint accepted because he wanted to find out more about Leopold’s character, not because he wanted to shoot Auerhahn, a sport he particularly disapproved of because of the peculiar and particular way it was done. The birds could only be shot when they were singing their love songs, at which time the males perched in the branches of trees and sang with their eyes closed. Simon had always thought it was really not quite cricket to sneak up on a lover thus engaged and do him in. After all, he would be seriously annoyed himself if someone tried such a dirty trick on him. Not that he ever sang with his eyes closed, or even open for that matter, while he was making love.

They didn’t get any Auerhahn. Simon had guessed that they wouldn’t, and that the invitation had merely been a friendly overture, because the birds mate in the spring and not in the autumn. Nevertheless, they had a pleasant walk in the woods and Leopold turned out to be a surprisingly amusing companion when he was not being tormented by his love for Frankie. At one point he even entertained Simon with a hilarious imitation of Max talking to Thai.

It was dusk when they returned to the Schloss. They found Annellatt and Anton in the State Drawing-room. It was immediately apparent that something was wrong from the expressions on their faces.

“Thank God you are back,” groaned Max. “The worst has happened!”

“Hitler and Stalin have been jointly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize,” suggested the Saint; but his flippancy was brittle and unsmiling.

Annellatt waved his hands wildly.

“This is serious, Simon. Frankie has gone!”

3

Leopold stopped as if he had been struck. His face was deathly pale.

“What do you mean?” he demanded hoarsely.

Max was more agitated than Simon would have thought possible. His hand shook as he put it up to his forehead, and the whites of his eyes showed like those of a nervous horse.

“She took the clothes I had brought, to try on, and the papers to go with them. And just now, Anton found this note in the hall.”

It was significant that he thrust the paper towards Simon and not Leopold.

The Saint took it. It was short and to the point and said in German:

The Saint felt that old surge of tingling excitement, the herald of adventure to come.

“Perhaps we can still head her off,” babbled Leopold.

“And risk fouling up this plan of hers for getting the Necklace — whatever it is?”

“Who cares about the Necklace?” Leopold ranted. “It is only Frankie who matters.”

Max was lighting a cigarette. It was a gold-tipped Russian one, and its most oriental fragrance, though it evidently pleased him, irritated Simon’s nostrils. In spite of his trembling fingers, Max’s voice was firm and decisive.

“It so happens that Frankie cares a lot about the Necklace. So much that she is willing to risk her life for it. We owe it to her to give her a chance with her plan, whatever it costs her. It would only be tragic if we could not complete the plan, if she fails.”

Simon gave him a quizzical look. This combination of practicality and romantic idealism was very Austrian. It was just the sort of thing which had caused the downfall of their great Empire. No man can serve two masters, and the Austrians always tried to please everyone with the result that their priorities often got hopelessly muddled. But he didn’t think Max’s were.

“Unfortunately,” Simon reminded him, “none of us has the faintest idea where to look for the Necklace. We can only hope that she does get her hands on it.”

“And so you would just leave her to do everything alone,” accused Leopold, ready to work himself up into one of his quick rages.

“Calm yourself, Leopold.” Max spoke authoritatively. “I am sure that Simon is thinking of something more than that.”

“I’m thinking that at least we know where she’s headed for,” said the Saint. “And if it’s too late to stop her, at least we could be a lot closer than this if she needs help. How far is it to Schloss Este?”

“About an hour’s drive. It’s on the border, as a matter of fact.”

Simon looked thoughtful.

“I’d rather avoid the official frontier check-point. That would get us involved with passports, visas, and all the other red tape of customs and immigration.”

Max nodded vigorous agreement.

“Especially since the Germans who have occupied the Castle, the Gestapo, have turned the whole village of Este into a verboten area since they made the Schloss their headquarters for both Hungary and Austria.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things. It is my business to find out as much of what is going on everywhere as possible.”

“Why did they pick Schloss Este?”

“Because it is large, and because of its situation. With the river on one side and their gun emplacements on the others, barbed wire, mine fields and all the rest, there is no way in unless one is officially welcomed.” Max grimaced. “And that is not a welcome many people would like.”

“I wonder how Frankie thinks she can get in.”

Max spread his hands apart, palms upward.

“Who knows? She may have thought of some story to go with her peasant clothes, but what good that would do I cannot think.”

The Saint concurred in that admission with a slight tightening of his lips, but he forced himself to keep thinking constructively.

“She may have thought of using that drain that you were telling us about in Vienna,” he said. “But whether she did or not, it still seems to be the likeliest way in for us. The frontier follows the river there, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s where we’ll cross to Schloss Este — the shortest way.”

Annellatt pondered for only a few seconds, puffing jerkily at his acrid cigarette.

“The only way,” he agreed. “But someone must stay here to be in charge in case anything goes wrong. That will be you, Leopold. Simon and I will go together.” He drew himself up theatrically. “If that is the end of us, you must carry on.”

“No,” said Leopold firmly and with unexpected authority. “It is I who must go. Frankie is my cousin and the Necklace is to do with my family.” He gave Max’s pudgy form a cruelly critical survey. “Besides, you are too old — or at any rate, not in condition.”

Max had had his moment, and it might have been uncharitable to suspect that he was relieved rather than affronted by its rather tactless rejection.

“Perhaps you are right,” he sighed, but could not resist getting in a return dig: “And besides, there should be someone left with the brains to cope with emergencies and to organise another attempt if necessary. You and Simon will go. I reluctantly will remain behind.”

He bowed gracefully to the Saint, who bowed back.

“Very sensible,” Simon remarked. “Valour is the better part of idiocy. Only fools get medals. The bright boys get made generals by being able to read maps at Headquarters Command.”

In less than an hour, Max had the whole expedition organised, and they were on their way to the border in Max’s Mercedes, followed by Anton, Erich, and another man in a large Opel saloon. When Max was not being Austrian and scatty he could act with positively Teutonic efficiency. That was probably how he had become a millionaire in a country where most people are too lackadaisical to be ambitious, or at any rate to fulfill what ambitions they do have.

The Saint and Leopold were dressed as workmen and had papers identifying them as “agricultural engineers” — a magnificently sesquipedalian title in German that Max had dreamed up for the delectation of a bureaucratic mentality fascinated by high-sounding designations, which would cover almost any simulated activity from map-making to testing electric mains. That might not help them much if they were caught inside Schloss Este itself, but they would have to tackle that eventuality if and when it came.

It was a warm night for October. What was more important, however, was that it was a moonless one because it was overcast. Max gave them more information as he drove.

“The river is a tributary to the Dekes, which runs into the Raba, which flows along the border.”

“Then it is not a very wide river,” Leopold said.

“But a swift one, and that is what we need. Speed is essential, as you will be in a rowing boat travelling downstream. The less time you are in the open the less danger you will run.”

“The boat is to be supplied by you, I take it,” said the Saint.

“Exactly. I keep one there — for fishing! You will drift silently down river and steer across it. I and my men will create a diversion farther upstream, while you become sewer rats. I am sewer you will do well — that is an English-type, joke, no?”

“And you’ll be our Pied Piper. That is an Austrian-type joke, yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Max enthusiastically.

“Austrian corn can be as green as English com,” said the Saint philosophically.

Max looked baffled, but then he laughed heartily.

“I am glad we understand each other’s jokes, my friend. We are much the same, you and I. If you will forgive another English-type joke, we can wave to each other from the same length.”

It was Simon’s turn to be momentarily baffled.

“As Ma Coni said to Pa Coni,” he quipped weakly, and winced as he said it.

“I think you two have gone mad,” interrupted Leopold.

“You are just talking nonsense. How do we get back with no boat?”

Max looked at him out of the corners of his eyes.

“That is up to you. I suggest you may swim. It will be a bit chilly, but it will only be a short trip. A little way downstream you will see an electricity pylon. Near it is my wooden hut. I will have someone stationed in it, with a change of clothes for you both, and for Frankie, we hope.”

“I hope you get the sizes right,” said Simon. “My tailor is awfully particular about what I wear.”

“Here we are,” Annellatt said at last, manoeuvring the car off the road and into a thicket.

He switched off its engine and its lights. A moment later the second car joined them and did the same, and Anton and his two helpers alighted and were dismissed by Annellatt with a gesture, as if they already had their instructions.

Max led Simon and Leopold along a narrow path through the trees towards the sound of moving water which was like a Wagnerian overture. The thunder of the rushing stream became louder with each step they took, and suddenly they came out upon the riverbank and the water swirled in silver whorls at their feet, seeming to have a luminescence of its own.

A boat was tied to a stake on the bank, straining as if it was eager to be off. The Saint and Leopold each had a workman’s satchel containing the tools Simon had asked for, also a flashlight, a long knife and a compass. Each of them had a Walther PPK .32 calibre pistol in a shoulder holster. Max carried an old Gladstone bag that held sausage, bread, cheese, and two bottles, which he put in the boat. The Saint considered that some of those provisions were unnecessary and a bit bulky for carrying, especially up drains, but Max had been so enthusiastic about his preparations that Simon had not wanted to hurt his feelings.

Leopold got into the boat, and Simon followed him and took up the oars. Max untied the craft and pushed it into the stream where it was immediately taken by the current.

At that moment there was a sudden rattle of firecrackers up the river where Max’s henchmen were starting their diversionary tactic. A series of incandescent balls floated up, suffusing the sky in that direction with a multi-coloured glow.

“Goodbye,” called Max in a low voice, “and good luck, my friends. You will need it.”

Then his figure was lost in darkness as the boat surged into the middle of the stream.

Simon pulled hard on the oars, forcing the craft diagonally across the river. A searchlight flashed out from the Castle fortifications above, stabbing towards the point where Max’s men were putting on their firework display, well hidden in the underbrush. It looked as if Annellatt’s plan had worked, and the Saint and Leopold would be able to make it safely to the opposite bank.

Then suddenly, the searchlight began to swing in their direction, its operator apparently not being satisfied that he was getting the whole picture. The brilliant sword-like beam played along the opposite bank of the river, lighting up the stream as it went as well. It would only be a matter of seconds before it discovered the boat.

Then, all at once, it stopped dead in its swinging arc. Max was standing full in its beam, waving gaily in the direction of the Castle ramparts.

Simon understood at once what Max was up to. If the Austrian could hold the searchlight long enough, the boat would gain its haven. There was a crunch as its keel grounded on the opposite bank. Simon and Leopold leapt ashore and shoved the boat back into the current where it was immediately swept away. They then ran, doubled, for the drain.

The last thing Simon saw as he and Leopold slid into the opening was the debonair figure of Max. At any moment he might as likely as not have been rewarded with a bullet, but no shot came. Max gave a final wave and walked in a leisurely fashion into the shadows. It was a typically Austrian gesture, gallant, heroic and idiotic. But he had saved their skins for the time being.

4

Simon and Leopold crawled up the drain. Their progress was slow because they had to go on all fours and were encumbered with what they had to carry. Also the floor was covered with pools of filthy water and slippery silted mud.

The Saint led the way, his flashlight probing ahead along concrete walls covered with green scum stretching away into the darkness. Behind him Leopold scrabbled, panted and occasionally swore.

“Never mind, laddie,” the Saint encouraged him. “Think of the poor midgets who have to tunnel the holes in Gruyère.”

Finally they came upon a small dome in the roof of the tunnel. In it was what appeared to be the manhole Max had mentioned. Rising on his knees with some difficulty in that cramped space, the Saint shoved at its lid. It did not budge. Bracing himself, he asserted the full force of his great strength, and when the Saint did that most things budged or got moved around in some way. The manhole lid was no exception, and once it had been loosened from its rusty moorings the Saint was able to push it aside quite easily, even though there appeared to be something heavy resting on top of it. He climbed through the aperture cautiously and noiselessly.

All was dark, almost unnaturally so. The Saint waited for a moment, listening for some noise which might indicate what part of the Castle’s grounds he had come up in, and also whether anyone had heard or observed his arrival on the scene.

Nothing stirred, and in the impenetrable dark the Saint felt secure enough to risk moving around. Almost immediately he ran into something hard with a sharp edge. It seemed to be a large box. Feeling his way around it the Saint encountered a wooden wall. He was evidently in some sort of shed, and he decided therefore that it would be all right to have a quick look around with his torch.

His flashlight showed him immediately why the manhole had remained undiscovered by the recently arrived Germans. It was indeed in a shed, and had been covered by the heavy wooden box which the Saint’s shin and probing fingers had just encountered. The box was stencilled GEHEIMWEIT GESELLSCHAFT. LÜBECK. HOLSTEIN., and it had once probably contained farming implements or something of that order, for the shed was evidently used as an agricultural storage place, judging by the spades, forks and other farm tools which leant against its walls. The box had obviously, perhaps fortuitously, been placed on top of the manhole, which explained why the Germans had not found the latter and also why the Saint had had some extra difficulty in moving the lid.

The Saint called to Leopold to come up through the aperture and lend him a helping hand. When the other stood panting beside him, Simon made a sweeping invitation with the flashlight.

“Make yourself at home, chum. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s so difficult to get the right sort of staff these days.”

He stood his torch on the wooden crate, opened the Gladstone bag beside it, and began to take out the provisions.

“What is that for?” Leopold demanded.

“Dinner,” said the Saint succinctly. “An army marches on its stomach, as Napoleon was always telling me.”

“But we have not the time to waste—”

“We can’t find a way into the Schloss in the dark. And we can’t creep around looking for one with flashlights, unless we want someone to hose us down with a machine gun. And even if we were only challenged, I don’t think we could convince anyone that agricultural engineers work at night. We’ll have to wait for the crack of dawn.” Simon was cutting slices of bread and capping them with slices of sausage, and he proffered one to Leopold on the point of his knife. “Meanwhile, this’ll be something less to lug around.”

They had a surprisingly pleasant meal and were hungry enough for the liverwurst, cheese and hunks of bread to taste like food fit for kings — or at any rate monarchs on the run. They drank most of the wine, and to his delight the Saint discovered that the label on the other bottle declared it to contain Delamain cognac. “Nothing but the best,” murmured the Saint appreciatively, and poured them each a noggin in the glasses which Max had not forgotten to pack, but had thriftily not chosen from his finest crystal.

After which, he took the Gladstone bag for a pillow and stretched himself out as comfortably as he could on the bare floor,

“Switch off the chandelier when you settle down, and save the electricity bill,” he said, and closed the eyes.

Even after the light went out Leopold could be heard moving restlessly and unhappily, until the Saint, with his amazing capability of controlled relaxation, drifted away into peaceful slumber.

The built-in alarm clock which was another of the Saint’s mental gifts awakened him within what his luminous watch hands told him was only minutes of the hour for which he had set it. The hut was still dark, but there was just enough light outside to limn the crack underneath the rickety door.

He was cold and stiff but quite pleased with life. This was the sort of expedition which compensated for the boring interludes when there was no excitement, no danger, and no fun and games. That such dull periods were not all that frequent, nor of great duration, in the Saint’s life, made no difference. They did come along occasionally and that was too often as far as he was concerned.

He roused the snoring Leopold, who must have dropped off eventually, if only from exhaustion and the wine and brandy, and the young man sat up in sudden alarm. “Wo sind Wir?” he gasped, his eyes still glazed with sleep. “The Hotel Sacher,” Simon replied cheerily, and handed Leopold a staling crust. “Room service coming up.” They made a swift meal of the rest of the sausage and cheese and wine, discarding the glasses and the empty wine bottle along with the bag in which they had been carried; but the Saint stowed the remaining brandy in his workman’s satchel. Delamain ’14 was too good to chuck away. Then he opened the door of the shed cautiously.

Staying well in the shadows, they both peered out into the new day.

The sight which met their eyes would have been well suited to a travel poster. Two ridges of low tree-clad hills converged. Between them lay a small valley where nestled the hamlet of Este, which consisted of a few high-gabled cottages clustering around a large baroque church with an onion-shaped spire.

The village, however, was not what held their attention. Above it, set on a sheer stone cliff and perched like an eagle on its nesting place, was the Castle.

Even under such tense circumstances, Simon appreciated its beauty. The towering façade, shining white plaster on massive stone walls, rose storey upon storey. It was surmounted by a red-tiled roof, and behind this the immense medieval keep tower loomed, its battlements gnashing at the sky.

But not being tourists, they could not linger just to appreciate the view. They had to get up to that castle without being seen, and, what was more, they had somehow to get into it. Looking at its vast unwelcoming frontage, this last enterprise would have disheartened most men. That two unwanted strangers could penetrate such an imposing stronghold would have struck the average surveyor as a frivolous pipe dream. But Simon Templar was not average in the least degree, and his whole life was dedicated to making just such fantasies come true. Motioning Leopold to follow him, he made off quickly across the area of small vegetable garden allotments in which their overnight shelter was one of a number of similar sheds. The villagers of Este evidently practised some form of communal farming in the small amount of arable land available. This often occurred in the hinterlands of Central Europe, especially when the land was owned by a single landlord and rented out to tenant farmers. The Saint judged that there was no danger of minefields so far away from the surrounding barbed wire perimeter defences, and he only hoped that whatever sentries were on duty there at that hour would be looking outwards from the enclave and not inwards. He headed for the left-hand hills rather than the right, for up against the latter was a huddle of new-looking wooden huts which probably housed part of the military garrison.

It was only a matter of minutes before they had reached the shelter of the woods, and they then set their course towards the Castle. The going was easy, for on the continent of Europe forests are an industry and are kept clear of undergrowth.

The sun was now well up and was beginning to warm even the inner regions of the woods. A few late butterflies danced, madly amid bracken as if they knew they were performing a last waltz before winter and death overtook them, and warm woody scents began to fill the air.

Their passage, though easy, was slowed down by the fact that they had to try not to be seen. But even so, it was not long before they came to an opening in the trees where some time ago the face of a cliff had fallen down the side of the hill. The jagged rocks of this fall presented quite an obstacle. For one thing they were steeply stacked, jumbled and in some cases as jagged as dragon’s teeth. For another they were clearly visible from the entire valley below and especially from the road which ran along the foot of the rock fall and up to the Castle gate.

This hazard would have to be crossed as quickly as possible and they would have to trust to luck that no one saw them from the valley or came along the road while the traverse was being made.

Simon moved out into the open with Leopold following. The young man seemed at last to have tacitly accepted the Saint’s leadership, or at least recognised his superior competence in this kind of activity. They squirmed Indian-fashion between the rocks on their bellies, only rising when a particularly large obstacle forced them to. The farther they got out into the open the more they could see of the road and conversely the more chance there was of their being spotted.

Suddenly a hoarse shout of command made them both duck down behind a large rock. Peeping cautiously around it they saw a small detachment of German soldiers marching up the road towards the Castle.

The Saint was surprised. Hungary, though sympathetically inclined towards Hitler’s regime, was not then officially in the German orbit, and Admiral Horthy still managed to preserve autocratic rule in his own country. It must have gone against his grain and the feelings of many of his colleagues to be forced to allow the Gestapo to take over Schloss Este. And these German troops implied much more. Max was obviously right. The Castle was garrisoned by the Wehrmacht. That was going to make entry even more difficult.

Then Simon saw that the troops were guarding a prisoner, who walked along proudly, head up, in their midst. Leopold saw too, and gave an involuntary gasp. The Saint stilled him with a gesture.

The prisoner was Frankie.