Faked Passports

"In that case, they'd never attach you to an Embassy." "Perhaps not. But I might manage to slip over the frontier one dark night."

"In that case, what's kept you here so long?"

"Valuta foreign exchange my boy. I'd rather teach Russian in Paris than be a General here; but I've got to have the money for the journey and I want to take a good sized nest egg so that I don't starve in my old age. I've been saving up and secreting foreign currency for years. I should think another twelve months ought to do it."

Gregory glanced at the clock. It was half past three and they were attacking the third bottle of sleivowitz. He was a little tight himself now but he could drink most people under the table and for some time past plans had been forming again in his agile brain. "I suppose," he said casually, "if you fail to get any information about us from your Military Intelligence people you'll send my friends and myself under escort to the German Embassy in Moscow?"

"That’s it," the General nodded.

"Well, to be honest with you, that wouldn't suit our book at all."

"Why?" asked the Russian suspiciously, and he suddenly seemed to become quite sober again.

"Because I and my friends are not very popular with the Gestapo that's why we arranged to get ourselves given special work in Finland. `Out of sight, out of mind', you know; and since we've failed to do the job we were given, we're going to be even more unpopular when we get home."

"Will they shoot you?" asked Kuporovitch with interest.

"I don't think they’ll go as far as that; but we'd much rather remain out of Germany until the wars over. I suppose as between friends you couldn't fix it for us to be sent to some neutral country, like Estonia, for example?"

The General raised his dark, pencilled eyebrows which contrasted so strangely with. his grey hair. "Sacre Tonnerre, no! Oggie will be back tomorrow morning. I call him that because he's a member of the Ogpu. When he arrives he'll want to know all about you. If I failed to put in a report to the proper quarter afterwards it would probably cost the my life."

"In that case, what about letting us go to night?"

"Help yourself to some more sleivowitz, my friend, and try to talk sense. Those two cretins who serve me as orderlies will report to Oggie that you all dined with me this evening; so I've got to produce either the four of you or your bodies, haven't I? Otherwise, what would Oggie say?"

"I see," said Gregory thoughtfully. "Still, if it could be arranged, may I take it that you would have no personal objection to our leaving Kandalaksha?"

"None at all. None whatever, now I know that you're not spies," the General said suddenly.

"How D’you know?" Gregory asked with quick curiosity.

"Because of what you just told me. And, anyhow, there's nothing worth spying on up in the Arctic, since Petsamo fell. You and your friends are just a party of Germans who managed to get out of Germany and want to keep out of it because the Gestapo's after you."

Gregory grinned. "You've hit it, General. Now, how are we going to work this thing? If you can't get us out of Russia into a neutral country, and you must report us if you keep us here, who could get us out of the country?"

"Stalin could, if he wanted to or Molotov or Krassin or Voroshilov; but I don't see why they should, do you?"

"If only I could get to one of them I believe I'd manage to persuade him to, all right."

"Well, you can't, so I'm afraid that's the end of it," said the General thickly.

"Saying I could," Gregory persisted, "which of them d’you think would be likely to prove the most reasonable?"

"Oh Clim-Clim Voroshilov every time. He may be a red-hot Communist but he's not like these mealy mouthed politicians. He wanted a fair deal a fair deal for all; but he's not like the other fellows he's human; used to like his drink and a pretty girl when he was younger. Nom d'un nom! The scandal there was after one of our victories at Tsaritsyn, when Clim and all his staff drove through the streets as drunk as hell with a whole lot of girls and danced the trepka in a restaurant. All the seedy intellectuals in Moscow said we were a disgrace to the Party but Clim didn't care. Their bally revolution would have gone to blazes if he hadn't held Tsaritsyn. D'you know what we called him? The Organizer of Victories. Aloe Dieu! What a man 1 Did I ever tell you how he threw the Chief of the Leningrad Ogpu down his own stairs?"

"No," said Gregory.

"Well, he did. Found out that the fellow had bribed one of his mistresses to spy on him. Anyone else would have had ten fits but not Clim. He walked straight round into that den of assassins and 'beat the fellow up with his bare fists. God! It makes me cold to think of it. There isn't another man in Russia who would have dared to do that. Have some more sleivowitz."

"Then, if I could get to Voroshilov he might be sympathetic when he hear that the Gestapo are after myself and my friends?"

"He might; but he won't; because you can't get to him, No one has ever escaped out of this old castle since I've been here. It's no good your trying; and in this country a man is either above suspicion or else he's dead. I haven't managed to keep alive among these blackguards for twenty three years b) taking any chances, so don't imagine that because I'm a bit tight I'm taking any now. If I let you go Oggie would be on the warpath to morrow and I might receive an invitation to Moscow. Then I'd never get to Paris again before I die."

The General was certainly tight very tight indeed but Gregory knew the type of man with whom he was dealing too well to set any great hopes on that. The Russian was one of the old school who could take any amount of liquor and might show it by a slight slurring of his speech but would keep all his mental faculties about him until lie suddenly passed out. The fact that he had managed to keep alive so long, although he liked his liquor and loathed the Soviet regime, was ample evidence that he was an efficient officer and never made a serious slip. Since he said that it would be impossible for his prisoners to escape Gregory accepted that as a fact; but he felt that to night was his one big chance. From to morrow onwards the little "filth" referred to as Oggie would be snooping round and, in consequence, the General would have become ten times more difficult. If the all important schedule for the Nazi "Family Reunion" was ever to reach London it must be got out of the castle that night.

Russians, Gregory knew, were notoriously open to graft and it had already occurred to him to try to bribe Kuporovitch; but he wondered desperately if he dared to risk it. The fact that the General had been collecting valuta for years with a view to shaking the dust of the Soviet off his feet would make him eager to acquire foreign currency that he could secure without risk of being reported. But if he were offered a large bribe he would know that his prisoner had had no opportunity to secrete the money since he had arrived at the castle; so he must be carrying it on him. Having played a lone hand successfully against murderers and bandits for so long it was heavy odds in favour of the General's being a most unscrupulous man. Once he learned that there was money to be had for the taking what was there to prevent him from having his prisoner shot and acquiring the cash without any risk to himself? Yet how else, except by taking this desperate chance, was there any hope of getting out of the castle?

Drawing a long breath Gregory said: "You were talking about valuta just now. If it could be arranged for me to try to reach Voroshilov I should want some Russian roubles. Make your own rate of exchange. I'm prepared to pay four times the normal value if you like in German or Finnish marks and I've got a big sum on me." He had played his ace, but for all he knew it might be the Ace of Spades the death card.

Chapter XXVIII

Gregory Gambles With Death

FOR a moment the Russian's face remained absolutely impassive, then he asked sharply: "How much have you got?"

"About six thousand five hundred marks."

"A nice sum." Kuporovitch eyes narrowed and he stared at Gregory with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Enough to keep you in moderate comfort in Paris for the best part of a year," Gregory said slowly.

The General did not reply. He stood up, walked to the door with a slightly unsteady gait and left the room without a word.

Gregory helped himself to another ration of sleivowitz. He was pretty tight himself but he had a head like a rock and was a very long way from passing out. As he might be dead within the next quarter of an hour he didn't feel that it would make very much difference if he got slightly tighter; but he could not keep himself from wondering why the General had left him. The most likely answer to that all important question was that he had gone down to the guard room to fetch a couple of soldiers. These Russians were quite used to shooting people without a trial. It was all in the day's work to them and they would think nothing of it if they were told to take a prisoner down to the castle execution chamber in the middle of the night; then good bye to Gregory Sallust.

`Well,' he thought, 'I haven't had a particularly short life and I have had an extremely gay one; and, after all, death is the greatest adventure upon which any man can set out!' He had been near death on too many occasions for the thought of it to worry him; but he was worried about Erika and the others. Those hectic nights that he had spent with her in Munich and Berlin had been very marvellous; but recently, since he had got his memory back, he had grown to feel a far deeper and more profound love for her. In his life he had known many women and it seemed hard that now he had found the one whose presence gave him such utter satisfaction and contentment their ways should be parted after a few brief weeks of happiness and worse that he should have to leave her as a prisoner, menaced by the grim prospect of being handed over to the Gestapo, which he could do nothing to avert.

The door opened again and the General came in alone. His gait was brisker and Gregory noticed that his hair was slightly damp. Evidently he had been to his room and poured a jug of cold water over his head to bring himself back to a complete state of sobriety before taking any decision. Such an act was typical of the man and Gregory did not yet allow himself to hope. It might be that the Russian wanted all his wits about him so as to trick his prisoner out of the money before he had him shot, in order that the execution squad should not see him take it from the body and report the fact to Oggie.

With a steady hand Kuporovitch collected the three empty sleivowitz bottles from the small table, replaced them on the sideboard and said abruptly: "Say I give you a quarter of the value of your marks in roubles, what d'you wish me to do?"

Gregory breathed again. Although he might have soiled his hands in all sorts of dirty business for nearly a quarter of a century, the Russian was, at the rock bottom, still the man of honour that he had been as a young officer in pre Revolution days.

"Since your Political Commissar is bound to hear about us to morrow," Gregory replied, "fix it so that it looks as if we had escaped during the night."

Kuporovitch shook his head. "Four of you including two women? No. Oggie would never believe that. Besides, only a strong and resolute man could leave the castle, even with my aid, in a way which would enable me to avoid all suspicion of complicity. The best I can do is to arrange matters so that it appears that you have escaped. My record is so good that no one will hold the escape of one prisoner against me; but your friends must remain and the report about them will have to go in to morrow morning through the usual channels. If you can reach Voroshilov within a week or ten days and get an order for your friend's release, with permission for all of you to leave the country, you'll have cheated the Gestapo. If not, your friends must take their chance."

Gregory was thinking swiftly. Nothing would have induced him to desert his friends in ordinary circumstances but if he could get away himself it would at least offer him some chance to save them; and above all there was the typescript. That must be put before everything. He nodded slowly.

"In that case it's imperative that I should get to Voroshilov's headquarters at the earliest possible moment. I can't speak Russian and I may have difficulty with the railway people. Are you willing to throw in a railway voucher for my journey, faked in any name you like?"

"Yes, I'll do that." The General moved towards the door again.

"All right. That's a deal, and I'm eternally grateful to you."

Gregory removed his boots and took out all his bank notes except five hundred German Reichmarks. The General was away about a quarter of an hour and when he returned he was carrying Gregory's furs as well as the railway voucher.

The money was changed and the voucher handed over. Kuporovitch said that he had made it out for a mythical Vassily Stetin and that it was signed by Imitroff, one of his clerks whose name he had forged; but as the man was in hospital even if the paper were ever traced the clerk could not be held responsible for its issue and it would be impossible to find out who had forged his signature.

Gregory drew on his furs and said: "I'll just go along and tell the others what I propose to do; so that they'll know what's happened to me and at least have something on which to pin their hopes during the coming week."

"Oh, no, you don't " The Russian shook his head. "Oggie will question them all to morrow and I'm not going to risk their giving anything away. They mustn't know that I've had any hand in this, or even that you've escaped until they learn it for themselves. That's why I collected your furs from your room on my way back from the office."

It was a bitter blow to Gregory that he had to leave without even being able to say good bye to Erika and the others but he saw the soundness of Kuporovitch's dictum.

"Very well," he said reluctantly. I'd better get off, then. But I shall want the Russian for 'railway station', in case I get lost in the town, and the name of the place at which I'm most likely to find Voroshilov."

" 'Railway station' is Vogzal Borzair," replied the General, and went on: "The Supreme Command is at Nykyrka, in captured Finnish territory, on the south of the Isthmus. Would you like one for the road?"

"Thanks." Gregory nodded, so they moved over to the sideboard to empty the remains of a bottle of vodka into glasses.

"Good luck, mon cher Baron " The Soviet General winked.

"Good luck and a thousand thanks, Comrade General." the impostor Nazi Colonel smiled back, and they emptied the glasses.

Outside on the landing it seemed that the whole of the ancient castle was sunk in grim, foreboding silence. No sentries were about and although they trod as softly as they could their footfalls echoed on the stone steps of the grand staircase. Down on the ground floor the General turned along a narrow passage. At its end he produced a large bunch of keys, shone a torch and unlocked a door; then they tiptoed down two more long, chill corridors till they reached a heavy postern. The bolts creaked a little as they drew them back, but no other sound disturbed the stillness. Kuporovitch unlocked the door with another large key and swung it open as he put out his torch; the cold, night air struck their faces.

As Gregory stepped out into the snow the Russian said "Keep along this wall as far as the corner then turn left for a hundred paces; that will take you past the sentry. Ahead of you, you will find a shed that is used as a wood store. If you get on to its roof you'll be able to climb to the top of the outer wall of the castle. It's a nasty drop about twenty feet but the snow will break your fall. Go straight ahead again and you'll reach the nearest buildings of the town."

Gregory gripped his hand and slipped away into the darkness. He was free again; but he had only seven days or ten at the most to save his friends from being sent back into Nazi Germany to face a Gestapo execution squad.

It was nearly five o'clock in the morning so the moon had set and he was almost invisible against the blackness of the castle. Gaining the corner he paused for a moment to peer ahead in case the sentry was patrolling there; but he could detect no trace of movement in the shadows so turned left and crossed the open space. The store of wood had overflowed and at one side of the shed was a great heap of logs which made an easy way up to its roof; but as he scrambled up the pile some of the loosely stacked logs rumbled down under his feet. Fearing that the noise, which sounded like hammer blows in the silence, might attract the attention of the sentry he crouched on the roof's edge for a moment holding his breath.

Nothing stirred so he pulled himself up to the apex of the roof and, by balancing himself upon it, found that he was just able to grasp the edge of the castle wall. With a heave he wriggled up on to its broad surface and lay there, flat, so that even in the dim light his silhouette would not be conspicuous against the fainter darkness of the sky line. The next stage was a tricky one, as twenty feet is a nasty height from which to have to drop. Had there been no snow on the ground he would have had to risk injuring himself seriously and, even as it was, he feared that if he let himself drop feet first he might break a leg, which would put an inglorious finish to his enterprise. But Gregory was an old escaper and knew a trick or two. Wrapping his arms round his head to protect his face he just rolled off the wall. The act required much more courage than jumping but it distributed his weight over a greater surface. He struck the snow full length and suffered no ill effects apart from a hard jolt as his body buried itself in the soft cushion of whiteness.

Picking himself up he went forward until some buildings loomed in his path and, skirting round the nearest, entered a narrow street, down which he proceeded at a rapid pace, to keep his circulation going. The houses were all shuttered and silent, the infrequent street lights dim and the road deserted.

He had a vague idea that Kandalaksha was at the head of a gulf running westwards from the White Sea. From what he had seen the previous evening it was quite a small place and dreary in the extreme. There were a certain number of brick and stone buildings in the centre of the town but most of the houses were made of wood. There were no tramways or buses. But the important thing was that it lay on the Murmansk Leningrad railway. Five minutes' walk downhill brought him to the little square and, turning left out of it, he reached the railway station ten minutes later.

In peace time it would certainly have been shut at this hour as it is doubtful if more than one train each way passed through it per day, but the war had caused a big increase in traffic. The line was Russia's only link with her northern forces operating round Petsamo and trains were coming through at all sorts of odd hours, so the station was open day and night. Marching into the booking hall he handed his railway warrant to an official who, after examining it, said something to him in Russian.

Gregory tapped his lips and ears and shrugged his shoulders, conveying that he had the misfortune to be a deaf mute. He then pointed to himself, to the voucher and to the door on to the platform; upon which the official nodded kindly and indicated by signs that Gregory should go into the waiting room and that he would fetch him when the next train for Leningrad came in.

The waiting room was incredibly stuffy and already full of people. Most of them were soldiers but there were a certain number of peasants and townsfolk who had evidently gathered them not knowing when the next train was likely to come in and, for fear of missing it, had parked themselves at the station for the night. All the benches were occupied, and a good portion of the floor, where dirty, smelly people lay sprawled, looking extremely repulsive in their sleep. Gregory found a corner and, as he had not slept for nearly twenty four hours, dropped off almost as soon as he had stretched himself out.

When he awoke daylight was filtering through the grimy window, so picking himself up he left the waiting room to see if he could find some breakfast. There was a small buffet on the other side of the booking hall and after doing his deaf mute act again he secured a huge doorstep sandwich, which contained some sort of sausage between the thick layers of greyish bread, and a steaming cup of substitute coffee. As he had had a good dinner the night before he did not want the sandwich and forced himself to eat it only because he did not know when he would be able to feed again; but the boiling hot coffee substitute was extremely welcome, since the amount of vodka, Caucasian champagne and sleivowitz that he had had to drink the night before had given him a most frightful hangover and he felt like death. While paying for his snack he also bought some biscuits rather like stale sponge cakes which were the only kind available and a packet of chocolate that cost him about ten times as much as it would have done in England.

He then showed himself to the official again so that the man should not forget about him and went back to the waiting room to nurse his splitting head. The fug and smell there were quite revolting but it was the only warm place available. A sharp wind was coming up the frozen gulf across the harbour, which lay on the far side of the station, and the cold outside was bitter.

Two trains going north rolled in during the morning and both waited in the station for the best part of an hour before proceeding further, while the troops with which they were packed got out to stretch their legs and crowd the little buffet. Gregory's awful state, the pain behind his eyes and the evil taste in his mouth to some extent took his mind off his impatience to get started on his journey; which was just as well, since it was nearly midday when the official came to fetch him. Many of the other people in the waiting room went out on to the platform with them and a long train slowly chugged its way in.

Only one coach was allocated to the civilian passengers so there was a free fight among them for seats and many had to stand in the corridor, although some of them were proceeding upon journeys which would occupy a day and a night or more. As Gregory had a military voucher he was able to get in with the soldiers. No sleepers were available but he considered himself lucky to secure a corner seat in one of the roomy carriages, which, owing to the broader gauge of the Russian railroads, were much larger than those on the railways in Western Europe. An hour passed before the train started and when it did it chugged out in such a hesitant manner that it seemed as though the driver had really not made up his mind if he intended to take it any further.

Gregory's companions were a mixed lot. A few of them had pleasant, open faces but the majority were almost brutish types and obviously conscripted from among the totally uneducated land workers. They did not seem unhappy and apparently the simplest witticism could raise a laugh among them. It soon transpired that Gregory was deaf and dumb; a fact that provided matter for some crude fun, as he could judge from the way they looked at him. But it was not meant unkindly and after a few minutes they soon left him to himself, which was all that he desired.

The early coming of night soon shut out the dreary, snow covered landscape. The train rumbled on, its top speed being not more than thirty miles an hour, and it halted from time to time for periods of from twenty minutes to an hour and a half without any apparent reason. Gregory made a snack meal with the soldiers, who exchanged some of their iron rations for a part of his biscuits and chocolate, then he dozed for a good portion of the night.

Twice during the following day the train stopped at stations where they were able to get hot soup or the substitute coffee and other food from buffets in addition to the meagre rations issued to the troops; and as Gregory had enough money to stand treat he became extremely popular with his companions. Since he had now slept as much as he was able the second night proved much worse than the first, particularly as he was intolerably tired of sitting in one position hour after hour in the crowded, smelly carriage; but early next morning the train at last steamed into Leningrad. It had taken him forty two hours to accomplish the seven hundred and fifty mile journey which, including the many halts, worked out at an average speed of eighteen miles per hour. Although it had proved a dreary and wearisome experience he felt that that was not at all bad going for a Russian train and that the railway people, probably considered they were doing wonders to help on the Soviet war effort.

Gregory could not read the signs on the platform but he had no doubt at all that it was Leningrad since the station was a great terminus with a dozen or more platforms, where everyone left the train. Having arrived there he felt considerably easier in his mind. Britain was not at war with the Soviet Union so for an hour or two he could reassume his own identity without fear of running into immediate trouble. It is true that he had no Soviet visa on the British passport which had been faked for him by the German Foreign Office, but he did not propose to try to cross any frontiers for the time being so there was no purpose for which he was likely to be called upon to produce it.

He was just one inconspicuous person among two or three million who thronged the streets of the capital of the old Russian empire. Every other person that he could see was clad in some sort of fur lamb, goat, seal, pony or rabbit so there was nothing in his appearance to mark him as a foreigner and, as he was both extremely dirty and still wearing a beard, he did not look the least like an Englishman who normally wore clothes cut in Savile Row.

His first job was to find the British Consulate but he was much too wary to make his inquiries at the Intourist Bureau in the station, which was there for the convenience of foreign travellers. Instead he walked straight out of the station and along a broad boulevard.

It was only just after six o'clock in the morning so the streets were still dark, but there were plenty of people moving in them. Gregory waited for a few moments under a big lamp standard, watching the passing crowd, until he saw a man who was better dressed than the rest coming along. He then tackled him in French, German and English. The man did not understand any of these languages, so this first attempt was a failure, but at his third trial a tall young man in a smart black leather jerkin responded with a cheerful smile and answered him in halting German. Gregory explained what he wanted. The young man did not know the whereabouts of the British Consulate but he led Gregory down the street to a rank which contained three ancient taxis and, after a voluble discussion in which all the drivers took part, he was put in the leading vehicle and driven away.

He knew quite well that, as a British Secret Agent, he had no right whatever to involve the Consul in his affairs but, strictly speaking, he was no longer a British Secret Agent. His original mission had been given him through an unofficial channel and he had completed it early in November, so for the best part of three months he had been off the record. That was to some extent begging the question, but as he could not speak Russian and did not know a soul in Leningrad he felt that he had a very adequate excuse for going to the Consul.

The taxi pulled up in front of an old, stone faced building in the Krasnaya Ulitza. Gregory got out and, displaying some loose change in the palm of his hand, trusted to the honesty of the cabman to take the fare due.

A Russian dvornik who was standing at the door eyed Gregory suspiciously as he entered the building and went upstairs to the first floor flat in which the Consulate was situated. His ring at the door was answered by a Russian maid, who smiled brightly at him but informed him in hesitant English that the Consul did not live there and the Vice Consul, Mr. Hills, was not yet up.

On Gregory's asking if he could write a note she led him across a small hall straight into an office, where he scribbled a few lines which ran:

"In return for breakfast this morning I can only offer you lunch at Boodle's on some future date, but as I have a train to catch we must do our business over the eggs and bacon."

This cryptic message gave nothing away but it conveyed two facts. One, that the writer had urgent business to transact. Two, that as he was a member of one of London's most exclusive clubs he was a person of some standing and therefore his business was presumably of importance.

A few minutes later the maid returned and led him along to a sitting room, where a tall, beaky nosed, fair haired man was standing in a dressing gown. He had evidently only just got out of bed and he regarded his dirty, bearded visitor with a by no means, friendly eye; but Gregory apologized with his most charming smile for having got him up so early and without waiting for an invitation to do so began to remove his furs.

"In the ordinary way I should have sent the girl to tell you to wait until the office opens," Mr. Hills confessed, "but, quite frankly, your note intrigued me. One doesn't often receive an invitation to lunch at Boodle's in this godforsaken city. Not that I am likely to be able to accept it until the war is over, but it was a clever way of making me curious to find out what you want at once."

"As you've probably guessed," Gregory said, "I'm a British Agent."

Hills frowned. "Then you know quite well that you ought not to be here."

"Don’t worry. I'm not being hunted by the Ogpu at least, not for the moment and I don't want you to hide me, or anything of that kind, but I had to come to you because several people's lives are hanging on my time and I can't afford to waste a moment. I want to get rid of this beard and. I'd be immensely grateful for a bath. Will you be a good chap and save me a precious half hour by listening to my story while I'm shaving and tidying up?"

"Well if it's as urgent as all that." Hills smiled, and leading Gregory to the bathroom he produced clean towels, scissors and a razor.

As Gregory went to work to make himself a little more presentable he gave the Vice Consul an outline of his doings in the last few months, then he passed him the pencilled translation of the typescript that had come out of Goering's safe.

"Amazing " muttered the beaky nosed Vice Consul when he had finished reading. "And you're quite right about this thing. It proves up to the hilt just what so many of us have been afraid of. Germany never meant to fight over Czechoslovakia or Poland but, if she had to, her game was to make the war as short as possible, and localize the conflict; get a negotiated peace as soon as she could, then gobble up another slice of Europe a few months later."

"That's it," Gregory agreed, "and the devil of it is, the plan still holds. There's a strong party among the Nazi leaders who're for changing it now that a major war is actually on. They want to overrun Belgium and Holland in order to have a slap at Britain, or to go down into Rumania and collar the oil; but the really clever boys are for keeping a stalemate going and their Army and Air Force virtually intact. Goering himself told me that and, although he didn't say it, there's no doubt now that he's hoping that Britain and France will get bored with the war and worried by its financial strain; so that through the mediation of Roosevelt or Mussolini they'll agree to a round table conference. Hitler will just give way a little bit but hang on to most of what he's got and after a nice breather be all ready to jump a new and bigger claim this time next year."

"Well, what d'you want me to do?" Hills asked.

"As time is such a vital factor and I can't speak Russian there are several ways in which you can help me," Gregory replied and, over breakfast, he went into details.

When they had finished the meal they went into Hills' office and Gregory sat down to a typewriter on which he drafted a letter in German. It' was headed: "Karinhall, 27.rr.39," addressed to Marshal Voroshilov, Commissar for Defence of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, and ran:

"My dear Marshal,

"This is to introduce to you Colonel Baron von Lutz. The Colonel Baron is not a member of the Nazi Party and unfortunately some of his criticisms have given great offence to certain of our Party Chiefs, particularly Herr Himmler. The affair will, I hope, blow over in due course but it is most desirable that the Colonel Baron and three friends of his should leave Germany for a time.

"As he is an old war comrade of mine, and a very dear personal friend, I should naturally afford him my protection; since there is no question at all of his being a tractor to the Fatherland; but I do not wish to enter into a quarrel with my colleagues if this can be avoided.

"He is a most able officer so it occurred to me to send him to you as he may prove of assistance should the Finns maintain their resistance to the Soviet demands and it becomes necessary to launch a campaign against them.

"If you would receive him kindly and enable him. to arrange accommodation in the Soviet Union for the other members of his party, which includes two ladies or, if they wish, give them facilities to travel to one of the Scandinavian States I should consider it a personal kindness.

"Heartfelt greetings and, in the event of a campaign, all success to your Arms."

Having addressed an envelope for the letter Gregory took from his pocket Goering's original letter of introduction to Wuolijoki.

With great care he proceeded to trace the signature, Hermann Goering, in pencil, again and again upon a thin sheet of paper. Then taking a pen he wrote over each signature until, after a ‘hundred or more trials, he was satisfied that he could do this with a bold, flowing hand. He next traced one more signature on a clean piece of paper, blacked its back with his pencil and, writing over the name, got a faint rubbing of it at the bottom of the letter. When he had inked this in it would have taken an expert in caligraphy to tell that it was a forgery.

Having completed his preparations he asked Hills to accompany him to the station for Helsinki, as the line to Finland now terminated at the Russ6n rail head on the Karelian Isthmus, and the Vice Consul would he able to inquire about trains for him and see him off. It was still only nine o'clock in the morning when they left the house and Gregory, bathed and clean shaven once more, felt that in the last two and a half hours he had accomplished some most satisfactory work.

They visited several shops, in which Hills purchased a fibre suitcase, shaving tackle and other necessities for Gregory, then proceeded to the station, where no difficulties arose. Gregory's railway warrant was made out to carry him to the Soviet G.H.Q. and as the Karelian Isthmus was the major front of the war, which was raging less than seventy miles away, trains were leaving for it with troops or supplies every half hour. After seeing Gregory into his carriage and having received his heartiest thanks Hills departed. Ten minutes later, just as day was breaking, the train moved out.

For the first few miles there was little of interest to be seen; the creeks around which Leningrad is built were frozen over and once they had left the city behind the panorama was the same snow covered landscape that Gregory had known for many days, except that it was broken by many more buildings. The train travelled no faster than the one on which he had come south from Kandalaksha and it halted just as frequently; but after an hour it reached the pre war Russo Finnish frontier and half an hour later entered the southern part of the Mannerheim Line from which the Finns had been forced back.

Here, in spite of the snow, there were many evidences of the war that had swept over the land a month or more earlier. Broken down lorries and limbers lay abandoned at the roadside; here and there a now silent gun still reared its muzzle to the sky out of a concrete emplacement that had been battered to pieces. Every village through which they passed, and every

building, not only bore the marks of shell fire but in most cases had been blasted to the ground by the terrific pounding of the Russian bombardments. In many places tangled heaps of barbed wire straggled up out of the snow, sometimes with a frozen corpse still hanging on them like a scarecrow V the train puffed on there was more and more evidence of the frightful carnage which had taken place as the Russians had hurled division after division against the Finnish lines. By one o'clock Gregory could hear the distant booming of the guns and at a little before two the train halted in a siding. All the troops got out and Gregory saw from the many trains collected there that they had reached rail head.

The notice boards were all lettered in Russian, so he had to ask his way to the Railway Transport Officers' quarters, but he found an officer who could speak German; a tall, fair faced fellow who obligingly took him along to a block of hutments which housed the R.T.O.

Having explained that he was a German officer who had to report to Marshal Voroshilov he was told that the Marshal had gone forward to Battle Headquarters as he had now taken over the direction of operations in person; but after a short wait Gregory was led out to a car which was taking two other officers up there.

The road was a solid jam of troops moving up and down lorries, tanks, guns, infantry, ambulances, motor cycles and horse drawn vehicles so, even in the car, they made slow going. One of Gregory's companions spoke a little English but not enough to carry on an intelligent conversation and, after smiling an exchange of greetings, Gregory contented himself with watching the thousand activities that were going forward in the wintry scene.

Soon they had reached the area where the Russian heavies were shelling the Finnish positions ten miles or more away. These monster guns were mostly on railway sidings to which lines had been specially run for them from rail head. Their blast was terrific and where the sidings were near the road each round nearly shattered the ear drums. Flights of great black bombers were roaring overhead as they came up from their bases at Leningrad and Kronstadt to pass over the Finnish line. They saw no Finnish planes and Gregory guessed that owing to their smaller numbers they were having all their work cut out to protect the Finnish towns so were unable to spare aircraft for bombing the Russian back areas.

By three o'clock the road was winding through an area of big, irregular mounds covered with snow, out of which stuck jagged bits of brick wall and occasionally a twisted steel girder. The officer who spoke a little English told Gregory that it was the Finnish town of Nykyrka which had been virtually obliterated by the Russian guns before its capture. Soon afterwards the car left the road and going down a side track of sleepers which had been laid across the snow, entered a wood. Among the trees there were many lines of hutments and the car drew up before one of these, from which officers and orderlies were constantly coming and going. Gregory's English speaking companion took him past a sentry and secured him admission to an office where a big, shaven headed man with a fierce moustache was seated behind a table.

Gregory introduced himself and stated his business, upon which the Russian replied in German:

"As you can imagine, the Marshal is extremely busy. If you will give me the letter I will see that it reaches him."

Presenting the letter, Gregory said: "I should be delighted for you to read it, but I would prefer to hand it to the Marshal in person."

The Russian glanced through it and shrugged as lie handed it back. "As you wish, Herr Oberst Baron, but I doubt if the Marshal will be able to see you until next week."

Gregory's throat muscles tightened. He had left Kandalaksha on the morning of Saturday, February the 24th, and it was now Monday afternoon. He had made the journey in just over two days, which was remarkably good considering conditions in Russia in the winter; but he could only count upon his friends remaining out of danger for seven days from the time he had started. After the coming Saturday orders might at any moment reach Kandalaksha for them to be sent under guard to Moscow and the beginning of the following week would be the absolute deadline.

"Surely you can arrange for me to see the Marshal before then?" "he said quickly. "I am anxious about those friends of mine who are mentioned in the letter and it is a matter of great urgency.'

The Russian shrugged again. "At the moment the greatest offensive of the war is just opening; the battle for Viborg. So for some days, at least, the Marshal will be much too occupied to give time to other people's personal affairs. In the meantime you had better be attached to the German Military Mission which we have here. Even if you are in bad odour with some members of your Government your personal introduction from Marshal Goering will be a recommendation to your brother officers. General von Geisenheim is the head of the Mission. I will send an orderly with you to his quarters. Report to him and he will arrange for accommodation to be provided for you."

There was nothing that Gregory could do but thank the officer and accompany the orderly, through the twilight that was now gathering in the woodland camp, to another block of hutments a quarter of a mile distant; where, after waiting for ten minutes in an ante room, he was shown in to the German General.

Knowing that ninety per cent of the German army officers detested Himmler and admired Goering, he had little trepidation about producing his forged letter. Having saluted smartly, he handed it over to the General with the words: "I have been told by the camp commandant to report to you,Herr General, and this letter will explain my presence here."

General von Geisenheim was a tall, thin, blue eyed man with an aristocratic face and greying hair. He read the letter through carefully and replaced it on his desk. Quite casually he picked up his pistol holster from a near by chair, took the weapon out and waggled it at Gregory.

"This letter is all right," he said with a frosty smile. "I know Marshal Goering's signature well. But I should be interested to hear where you stole it, because you, my friend, are not Colonel Baron von Lutz."

Chapter XXIX

The Battle For Viborg

THE German Army can muster, with its reserves, some 5,000,000 men. Its officers, therefore including both the active and retired lists with staffs and specialists must number at least a quarter of a million, so it seemed incredibly bad luck to Gregory that out of 250,000 men he should have run into one of the' few hundred at most whom the late Colonel Baron should have known even as a passing acquaintance.

He had realized that he had to take that risk, as it was certain that a number of German officers would be attached to Voroshilov's headquarters, but he had not thought it sufficient for serious concern and he had taken up the imposture of the Colonel Baron again simply because he had no choice in the matter. It was essential that he should be able to prove his identity to the Russians, if asked, by some other means than the letter and, while he had a perfectly valid passport issued by the German Foreign Office in the name of the Colonel Baron, it was quite impossible for him to fake another.

"Come along! " snapped the General. "Who are you? And what game has led you to attempt this imposture?"

Gregory sighed: "It's a long story, Herr General, and of course you're quite right I'm not von Lutz; although he was a friend of mine. I'm sorry to say that he died on the night of November the 26th, shot by the Gestapo on his estate in Brandenburg."

"I'm sorry to hear that, as he was also a friend of mine." Von Geisenheim frowned. "But if he died on November the 26th he couldn't possibly have passed this letter on to you himself, since it is dated November the 27th."

"That's right," Gregory said. "It was on that night I had the honour of dining with Field Marshal Goering."

"How nice for you," the General smiled cynically. "Have you any other tall stories?"

"Plenty," said Gregory, "if you have time to listen to them."

"Unfortunately I have not. Quite obviously you are a spy, so you can tell them to the Gestapo. We have several Gestapo men with us here; they like us so much that they can't bear us to travel without them."

Gregory's brain was working like a dynamo. If von Geisenheim once handed him over to the Gestapo his number was up. But as he studied the lean features before him things were beginning to come back to him and he felt almost certain that he had seen the General's face before. Anyhow, he must chance it.

"There's one story that I could tell the Gestapo, Herr General," he said slowly, "but as one gentleman to another I think it would be only fair to let you hear it first. It starts at the Pleisen Palace out at Potsdam on the night of November the 8th."

"Eh, what's that?" The General sat forward suddenly.

"I was present at a great gathering of high German officers there and they were preparing to attend a little party that was to be held at the Hotel Adlon later in the evening. The entertainment was to consist of arresting the three hundred odd members of a dining club called the `Sons of Siegfried', who were actually the Inner Gestapo, while Herr Hitler and his principal supporters were blown to pieces by a bomb in Munich. Are you too busy to hear any more?"

"That's quite enough! " said the General. "If you were at the Pleisen Palace I suppose you saw me there, or afterwards at the Adlon?"

The long shot had come off and at that moment there flashed into Gregory's mind the actual circumstances in which he had seen the General, so he replied: "I saw you shoot the very tall man, near the service entrance to the banqueting room, in the terrific gun fight that followed von Pleisen's assassination. It would interest me a lot, though, to know how you managed to escape arrest afterwards?"

Von Geisenheim shrugged. "When the Putsch faded out most of the others changed into civilian clothes and tried to get out of the country. I didn't like the idea of being hunted like a hare or living concealed in an attic until the war was over, so the following day I went back to my office in the War Ministry just as though nothing had happened. Naturally, I expected to

be arrested and executed within an hour of my arrival; but evidently any Nazis who recognized me in that horrible mere must have been shot afterwards. Nobody's ever questioned me about the matter from that day to this, so it was a case of a supreme bluff coming off. But I thought I knew most of the officers who took part in the affair, at least by sight, and I don't remember your face. What is your real name and regiment?"

"I have no regiment," Gregory had to admit. But, loosening his furs, he took out the Iron Cross that had served him so well already, and added: "Yet General Count von Pleisen gave me this for the part I played. You will see his name engraved on the back of it."

Von Geisenheim looked at the inscription and handed the Cross back. Lowering his bright eyes he stared thoughtfully at the blotting pad in front of him.

Gregory waited there in silence. Fate had given him a bad break in facing him with an officer who had known the real von Lutz but she had evened up the scales by making him one of the rebels who had participated in the anti Nazi conspiracy, and so given Gregory a hold over him; but how slender and fragile that hold was Gregory knew only too well. He could almost see the thoughts racing through von Geisenheim's brain.

`This man is not one of my brother officers. He may have stolen the Cross just as he stole the letter. He is a spy of some kind and damnably dangerous to me. I thought that I'd got away with murder, but I haven't not quite. This fellow can denounce me to the Gestapo. They will arrest me on suspicion and send me back to Berlin. Inquiries will be made about my movements on the night of November the 8th. 1 shall not be able to account for them satisfactorily. That will be quite enough for Himmler. I shall find myself facing a firing squad. How can I protect myself from that? The best way would be to shoot this impostor dead where he stands and simply say afterwards that he attacked me. A nasty business, but it's a case of his life or mine.'

"Herr General," Gregory broke in upon his thoughts, "1 imagine that you're now considering the best way to eliminate me with as little trouble as possible before I have a chance to tell the Gestapo what I know; but I would ask you to remember that von Pleisen gave me this decoration because he considered that I, an Englishman."

"An Englishman! " exclaimed the General. "Well, really; You speak remarkably good German."

"Thank you. As I was just saying, I was decorated because I had rendered a great service to all those who had the best interests of Germany at heart, In the past you also have served that cause. The time may come when both of us will have an opportunity to work for it again. Will you not, therefore, regard me as a friend at least until you have heard what I have to say?"

"Very well. Sit down and tell me about yourself."

As Gregory pulled up a chair he was easier in his mind. He knew that if only he could convince the General that he had not the least intention of betraying him the German would observe his confidence as far as the Russians were concerned and even, perhaps, do much to help him; so he told the truth for once, but not the whole truth, and these were its limitations.

He recounted the failure of his attempt to get out of Germany with Freddie on the night of November the 8th, their meeting with the real von Lutz, their stay with him in Hans Foldar's cottage, the fight that had followed and the manner in which he and Freddie arrived at Karinhall. He cut the reason which had induced Goering to send him to Finland and said only that the Marshal had agreed to do so on compassionate grounds when as was the fact he had virtually signed his own death warrant by telling the truth about himself because he was so anxious to learn if Erika were dead or alive.

Von Geisenheim had been regarding Gregory with polite attention yet with a reserve which suggested that it was hardly reasonable to expect him to swallow this incredible story in its entirety. But when Erika's name was mentioned he suddenly laughed. "Come, come! This is too much. You can't honestly expect me to believe that you were having a love affair with the famous Gräfin von Osterberg the most beautiful woman in Germany."

"I am still," Gregory replied seriously. "I left her only two nights ago up at Kandalaksha; you can check that up. And I'm proud to say that if only we can get out of this alive she has promised to divorce you Osterberg who has never been anything to her but a friend arid marry me."

Donnerwetter! You are lucky then, as well as brave. So the Frau Gräfin is here in Russia? Go on, now. This becomes much more interesting."

Gregory then told how he had found Erika in Finland, how his English pilot had run into his ex fiancée and how the four of them had decided to fly to Sweden on the first day of the Russo Finnish War. He refrained from giving any account of their affair with Wuolijoki and Grauber, as to have done so would have necessitated his giving away the part that Goering had played in inducing the Finns to fight, but told how their aeroplane had been commandeered and that rather than remain in Helsinki they had flown with Captain Helijarvi to Petsamo. From that point he told the whole truth, except for suppressing his visit to the British Vice Consul in Leningrad that morning.

When he had finished the General glanced at the letter again. "But this mentions the other members of your party, and it is addressed to Voroshilov. Why should Marshal Goering have given you such a document when he thought you were going to Finland?"

"Oh that," Gregory laughed, "I forged it in a hotel in Leningrad only a few hours ago. The ink of the signature is hardly dry and that worried me rather. Somebody might have noticed that its colour doesn't tally with the fact that it was supposed to have been written nearly three months ago."

"Umph I missed that; but the signature appears to be genuine. How did you manage to fake it?"

"I was able to copy it from a letter Goering gave me to Erika; which she had fortunately kept and passed on to me before I left Kandalaksha."

"May I see it?"

Gregory shook his head. "I'm sorry; but I destroyed it after having forged the other; I thought it was too dangerous to carry it about any longer."

"It doesn't matter." Von Geisenheim shrugged. "The details of your story hang together too well for me to doubt you further. Now, what am I going to do about you?"

"Both of us are neutrals here and both of us have risked our lives to destroy the Nazi regime," Gregory said slowly, "so I think we should forget for the time being that our countries are at war. And, since you appear to know Erika, I very much hope that you will use all the influence you have to secure me an early interview with Voroshilov, in order that I can prevent her falling once more into the hands of the Gestapo, who are the common enemy of us all."

The General nodded. "I'll do what I can but don't count on that too much. It's the very devil to get these Russians to do anything. Voroshilov himself is a very able man but, as you doubtless know, they've massacred thousands of their best officers in the last two years and most of the present staff are

hopelessly incompetent. The mess they have been making of their campaign is almost incredible. I and my colleagues were sent here to help them but they hardly ever consult us and generally ignore our advice on the rare occasions that they ask for it."

"How is the war really going?" Gregory asked. "I have heard little authentic news since it started."

"They thought it would be a walk over and that the Finnish workers would greet them with open arms, so they made no proper preparations at all before launching their first attacks. In consequence, their only initial success was in the far north. On January the 1st the 163rd Soviet division was trapped and cut to pieces at Suomussalmi and a week later the 164th division was routed with heavy losses in the same area. On January the 10th the Finns won another major victory down here on the Isthmus, but at the end of January Voroshilov left Moscow to take command himself. The Finns managed to annihilate the Soviet 18th division at Kitella on February the 5th, but by the 7th Voroshilov had brought up some 200,000 fresh troops and nearly all of them were Budenny's famous shock battalions. Since then the attack has been continuous. The Finns have put up a wonderful resistance, but by mid February they had to abandon Suoma and had been driven from all their positions in the southern half of the Mannerheim Line. They are still holding a line outside Viborg but I have no doubt at all that Voroshilov will go right through now, as he is outflanking them by throwing the left wing of his Army across the ice where there are no prepared positions except for the island forts."

Gregory nodded. "That looks bad for the Finns, then."

"Yes. The punishment they are receiving now is terrific; as you will probably see for yourself if you're here for any length of time. They generally let us go up to see a big attack every few days and I propose to consider you as a member of our Mission, on one condition."

"What is it?"

"There are about twenty of us here and we have our own Mess. If you are to continue as von Lutz you will naturally be made a member of it. I want your word that you will not use anything which you may learn in conversing with my brother officers to the detriment of Germany should you succeed in getting back to England."

Gregory readily gave the undertaking. He felt that the request was only reasonable and, in any case, it was most unlikely that he would learn anything of real importance about projected operations in the West from casual talk of the officers in the German Mission, whose sphere of interest was at present so far removed from their own war with Britain and France.

"Good, then," van Geisenheim went on. "There's one other point. How d'you propose to account for your arrival here and the fact that you are not in uniform?"

"I shall say that I left Germany by plane, that my pilot lost his way and was forced down in desolate country by engine trouble and that I've been snowbound there until I managed to get away a few days ago. As I was leaving Germany on a foreign mission there is nothing very extraordinary about my having departed in civilian clothes and my uniform could have been destroyed with my baggage when the plane crashed."

"That's quite sound… But where will you be if some of the others knew von. Lutz and expose you?'"

"It's extraordinary long odds against even one out of twenty officers having known the Baron and the fact that you did so makes the odds twenty times longer. Would any of them have known that he was a friend of yours?"

"I don't think so. I only knew him in a social way; we were never in the same regiment or command."

"Then if I am found out you can always say that you didn't know him and so had no idea that I was an impostor."

"All right, we'll risk it. I'll take you to the Mess and arrange for a room and a servant to be given to you."

The Mess consisted of a big ante room and dining room, in a neighbouring hut. In the ante room half a dozen German officers were talking or reading and the General introduced Gregory to them, placing him in charge of a Major Woltat, who gave him a drink and led him to another hutment which contained a long corridor and about a dozen rooms. A German soldier servant was sent to the Quartermaster for bedding, etc., as Gregory had no equipment of his own, and one of the rooms was made over to him.

He dined in the Mess and would have thoroughly enjoyed the experience if he had not been so worried about the apparent difficulty in securing an interview with the Russian Generalissimo. The Germans were nearly all officers of senior rank and although they were very careful to make no reference to the Nazi Government, on account of the three black uniformed Gestapo men who were present, they discussed the war with considerable

Intelligence.

Gregory learned that a few days before R.A.F. planes had made successful leaflet raids over Vienna and Prague. This seemed an extraordinarily fine performance, owing to the great distance over enemy territory that had to be covered, and it perturbed the Germans considerably because Goering had transferred some of his largest aeroplane factories to the neighbourhood of Vienna; believing that they would be out of bombing range there and so not only safe but able to work three shifts a day unhindered by the necessity of black outs.

That Monday night Gregory went to bed thanking his stars that he had happened to see General von Geisenheim among the conspirators at the Adlon, but extremely worried about his prospects of being able to secure the release of his friends.

He spent most of Tuesday morning sitting about in the Mess, for he had no duties to perform, but the Germans also appeared to have very little to do, so he was never without company. However, in the evening Major Woltat informed him that on the following day the Military Mission was to make one of its periodical visits to the front, as part of marshal Voroshilov's entourage, so Gregory retired to bed hoping that luck might serve him and that he would be able to get a word with the Marshal.

Next morning he was called early with the rest and long before the late dawn they piled into a fleet of cars which left the wood, moving in a westerly direction until they struck a main road running north that led them to the shore of the great bay south of Viborg. There, in a totally ruined village, they left the cars and changing into sleighs drove out for several miles across the ice until the higher ground of the opposite shore of the bay could be seen in the distance.

The sleighs drew up at a small island which rose out of the ice. It had been a Finnish strongpoint until the day before, but its concrete forts had been reduced to rubble and its abandoned guns lay broken and twisted from the Russian shells. The party numbered about fifty people in all and Major Woltat pointed out to Gregory the Russian Generalissimo as he led the way in the short climb to the island's top. He was a square built man of middle height, with a rather plumpish face but good, open features. Beside him his trusted second in command, the old ex Sergeant of Dragoons, Marshal Budenny, was easily recognizable from his huge moustaches.

Having taken up their positions they began to scan the bay through their field glasses and to study the maps which some of the officers were holding. To the north, which was now on their immediate right, they could just make out the square tower of the old castle which rose above the shattered roofs of Viborg; but it was directly in front of them and to their left front that the main Russian attack was being launched; its objective being the ten miles of coast line running south westward from the city and behind the last positions in the southern flank of the Mannerheim Line.

Major Woltat explained to Gregory that while the weather had favoured the Finns at the outbreak of the campaign by heavy snow storms which hampered the Russian advance, the severe winter had now reacted in the Russians' favour. Normally the bay would have frozen over but the ice would not have been thick enough to send anything but infantry across it; whereas, owing to the extraordinary degree of cold which had continued for so long, the ice had frozen to such a thickness that the Russians were able to send tanks and guns over it without any fear of these falling through.

Individual men could not be seen at any distance as the crack Russian regiments which were now being flung into the battle were all equipped with snow shirts; but as wave after wave of them came past the island towards the firing line the great, flat ice field seemed to undulate with their perpetual motion. From what Gregory could gather, their morale was good, as they pressed forward in spite of the shells from the Finnish batteries which were exploding among them, and all those who passed near enough to the island to recognize Voroshilov raised a cheer for him, which he acknowledged from time to time with a wave of his hand.

Gregory had seen the bombardment which the Germans had out over on March the 2lst, 1918, when they launched their last offensive in the first Great War and broke through between the British and French Armies. That was said to be the most devastating that had ever taken place in the history of the world, but from what he could judge the one that he was now witnessing was even greater.

Major Woltat told him that the Soviet artillery was putting over 300,000 shells a day and, from the sector that Gregory could see, he had little reason to doubt this estimate. The whole Finnish line from Viborg in the north to a point far away in the south west was one continuous ripple of light from the shellbursts. The hundreds of explosions per minute merged into one unceasing roar that made the air quiver and rocked the senses.

The island on which they stood was in a constant state of vibration as though an earthquake threatened or a concealed volcano was rumbling beneath it, and the Finnish coast, now obscured by a dense pall of smoke which sparkled like a black sequin dress with innumerable shifting flashes, appeared such a veritable hell that it seemed utterly impossible for anything to remain living upon it.

By comparison the Finnish artillery retaliation seemed only like a few batteries doing a practice shoot with all the economy which they would have had to exercise in peace time; yet it was miraculous that they continued to fire at all, and the Russians were so massed that every Finnish shell did deadly execution. Here and there the Finnish heavies blew holes right through the ice causing men and horses to plunge to their death in the freezing water and scattering a great hail of ice splinters, as deadly as the steel fragments of the shell itself, to whiz through the air killing and wounding scores of Russians.

They remained on the island watching this incredibly terrible spectacle for just over an hour. Then Voroshilov said something to Budenny, which made the old Dragoon laugh, and, turning, led the way back to the sleighs; the whole party following. This looked to Gregory just the opportunity for which he had been waiting, so hurrying up to van Geisenheim, he asked the German if he could possibly request the Marshal to give him a moment; but von Geisenheim shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but I'm sure it would be useless. You see, he is intensely nationalistic and resents any suggestion that Russia is not capable of concluding this campaign successfully without help from Germany. In consequence, he won't even speak to any of us in public except on ceremonial occasions, in case it is thought that he is seeking our advice. But I'm having an interview with him to morrow and I'll ask then if I can present you to him."

It was a maddening situation but there was nothing that Gregory could do about it so with bitter disappointment he accompanied the others back to Battle Headquarters.

On Thursday evening he asked von Geisenheim if he had been successful in obtaining an interview with the Marshal for him and the General said: "I'm afraid I haven't managed to fix any definite appointment but he said that he would send for you as soon as he is able to spare a moment," so Gregory could only endeavour to possess his soul in patience.

All through Friday and Saturday he waited in the German

Mess hoping for the Marshal's summons; but Voroshilov was away long before dawn on both days visiting various sectors of the front. Unlike most modern Generals who spend nearly all their time in conferences far behind the lines, he maintained his old routine which had won him his brilliant victories twenty years earlier. Utterly fearless of death, he was always to be found in the most dangerous forward areas observing things for himself while daylight lasted, and it was only when he got back to camp at night that lie reviewed the general situation with his Staff from the day's reports.

The battle for Viborg raged with unceasing ferocity. By Saturday, March the 2nd, the Russians had fully established themselves on the coast south of the city. The Mannerheim Line was still holding in the north, at Taipale, on Lake Ladoga, but in the south it had now been completely outflanked and nothing except one wing of the small exhausted Finnish Army lay between the Soviet host and an advance direct on Helsinki.

By Sunday morning Gregory was becoming desperate. It was eight days since he had left Kandalaksha. Instructions might be arriving at any time now for the prisoners to be transferred to Moscow. Even when he was allowed to see Voroshilov he had yet to get over the big fence of securing from him an order for their release, and in the desperate conditions of this ghastly weather it might take a considerable time to get the order through. Except by railway, communications with Kandalaksha were most unreliable. Kuporovitch had told him how he always sent his reports by courier as the quickest and surest way during the worst months of the winter. It seemed certain to Gregory now that under the pressure of his own affairs Voroshilov had forgotten his promise to give him an interview; so he made up his mind that, legitimate means of getting to see the Marshal having failed, the time had come when he must resort to desperate measures; he would throw all military regulations overboard and attempt to beard Voroshilov personally on his return to camp that night.

Although Gregory had no uniform his civilian clothes did not make him a conspicuous figure about the camp as everybody there was muffled in fur or leather garments of one kind or another. Having dined with the Germans he went out and took up a position among the trees from which he could observe the front of the long hutment that contained the Marshal's quarters. After a few moments the bitter cold forced him to start walking up and down, but as a number of people were constantly moving about the camp, and he kept at some distance from the building, he did not excite the attention of either of the sentries who were on guard outside it. An hour later his teeth were chattering in his head but at last he heard the note of a musical klaxon horn and the Marshal's fleet of cars came twisting down the woodland road.

As the klaxon sounded Gregory moved swiftly forward. At the same moment the sentries shouted something in Russian and he guessed that they were turning out the guard to receive the Marshal. When the leading car pulled up Gregory was still about thirty yards from the road and he began to run; three fur clad figures stepped out of the car as he reached a point halfway between them and the hutments. Pulling up in their path he came to attention and saluted smartly; but even as he did so he caught the sound of running footsteps behind him. Before lie had time to open his mouth the guard had seized him by the arms and dragged him 'aside.

"Marshall Marshal! I have a request," he cried in German; but one of the soldiers clapped a gloved hand over his mouth, muffling his cries, and Voroshilov walked on, followed by his officers who seemed scarcely to have noticed the incident. With kicks and curses the Russians hauled Gregory across the snow towards the end of the long hutment. Two minutes later he was thrown head foremost into the guard room.

Chapter XXX

Voroshilov Signs Two Orders

As Gregory lay bruised and panting on the guard room floor be realized that his crushing fear for Erika had become such an obsession that it had led him into making a blunder which might prove disastrous to them all. If only he had fought down his impatience a little longer the Marshal might have seen him in a day or two and, even if his friends had left Kandalaksha by then, with an order of release from Voroshilov, there might still have been time to intercept them on their journey south and prevent them from being handed over to the Germans in Moscow.

Now that the failure of his plan had sobered Gregory's anxiety racked brain he knew that even the Supreme Commander of the Soviet forces would not keep a German officer of some standing waiting indefinitely for an interview, when he had a personal letter from Marshal Goering and the backing of the chief of his own Military Mission; but by to night's exploit he might have sabotaged his own chances and be held a prisoner during these next few all important days.

When the officer of the guard found that Gregory could not speak Russian an interpreter was sent for and explanations ensued. The Russians became slightly more courteous when they learned that he had not had any intention of attempting to assassinate the Marshal, but they were still frigid as they left the guard room, locking him in.

A quarter of an hour later, to his immense relief, von Geisenheim arrived and, having identified him, vouched for his future good conduct. Gregory had to give his word that he would not try to force himself on the Marshal again. He was then released and, unbelievably thankful at having so swiftly got out of the mess in which he had landed himself, he listened with a good grace to a severe ticking off from von Geisenheim, who privately sympathized with him but had his own position to consider as the responsible head of the German Military Mission.

The whole of Monday Gregory sat fuming in the glass, hoping for a summons and listening with one ear to the talk which was all of Mr. Sumner Welles' arrival in Berlin on the previous Friday and his interviews with the German leaders on the succeeding days. Von Ribbentrop was on his way to Rome further to strengthen the Berlin Rome Axis and the British were giving considerable offence to the Italians by detaining their coal ships; so the officers hoped that Mussolini might be persuaded to give stronger support to Germany. Gregory smiled to himself that evening when the news came through that Britain had spiked yon Ribbentrop's guns by releasing the coal ships at the last moment. Just as he was going to bed he was warned by Major Woltat that the Military Mission was to accompany Voroshilov to the front again on the following morning.

It was now apparent that the Finns could not hold out much longer although they were contesting every inch of ground, and on the Tuesday of this second visit to the front Gregory saw for himself the frightful price that Russia was paying for her victory. This time Voroshilov and his entourage went right across the bay to the coast that had been the main Russian objective in the previous week's battle. In front of the now abandoned trenches on the Finnish mainland the Russian dead were piled waist high in one horrible, frozen tangle which stretched as far as the eye could see on either side. The carnage there had been without precedent in history and those members of the German Military Mission who had been allowed to question Finnish prisoners said that the Finns declared that they had plied their machine guns upon the massed Russians until their fingers ached to such a degree that they were positively forced to release the triggers. For days on end, until they had lost all hate for the Russians, they had continued the slaughter filled with utter horror at the massacre which duty called upon them to accomplish; then, at last, from sheer exhaustion they had dropped beside their weapons and had been captured in their gun pits fast asleep.

It was that night they heard the first rumours of peace negotiations and Gregory's immediate thought was as to how an armistice might affect his friends; but as far as he could see, it would not be of any help to them at all. They were being held as German subjects and once they reached the German Embassy in Moscow they would be dispatched to Berlin to be dealt with whether the Russo Finnish War was still going on or not.

On Wednesday morning they learned that Doctor Svinhufoud, the ex President of Finland, had accompanied con Ribbentrop to Rome and that Sven Hedin, the pro Nazi Swedish explorer was on his way to see Hitler in Berlin, as apparently both Italy and Sweden were now concerned in assisting the Russo Finnish Peace pourparlers.

By this time Gregory could barely eat or sleep for the gnawing worry that beset him. It was eleven days since he had left the Arctic and nine of those days had dragged by in futile; a nerve racking waiting. He seemed no nearer now to getting ten minutes with Voroshilov than he had been on the first day of his arrival in the camp, and, badger his wits as he would, he could think of no way in which to expedite matters except plaguing von Geisenheim morning, noon and night; which he did without success.

His complete helplessness had driven him to such a state of despair that at first he hardly believed it when, on coming into the Mess for lunch that day, von Geisenheim said to him

Now that peace is almost certain the Soviet offensive is to be temporarily eased, as Voroshilov does not want his troops to be killed unnecessarily. He did not pay his usual visit to the front this morning so I was able to get hold of him. He has agreed to see you at half past two this afternoon."

Over the meal the Germans were all talking of the rumoured Soviet peace terms, which seemed extremely harsh and would give Russia even more than she had demanded before the outbreak of hostilities; but Gregory hardly listened, until his attention was caught by a monocled Colonel named van Falkenhausen saying:

"I hear that the British refused to pass on the same terms to Finland three weeks ago, because they considered them brutally excessive, and that they are now talking of coming to the help of the Finns. No Allied Expeditionary Force could possibly reach Finland in time to be of any use, of course, but it will suit us admirably if they try it. They can't make such a move without declaring war on Russia, which would be playing right into our hands. Then they would have to infringe the neutrality of Norway and Sweden or, if the Scandinavians agreed to allow the passage of their troops, give us a perfect excuse for walking into both countries. And, in either case, when they came down that railway from Narvik to Lulea, which is their only line of advance to the head of the Gulf of Bothnia, our bombers would be able to blow their troop trains to merry Hell."

It seemed to Gregory that the German had put the situation in a nutshell and he prayed with all his might that the Allied Governments would not undertake any such futile and suicidal venture.

At twenty five minutes past two he was with von Geisenheim in the ante room of Voroshilov's office. At half past two, with quite exceptional punctuality for Russia, they were shown in, and the interview proved infinitely easier than Gregory had expected.

The Marshal was a bluff, hearty man who stood up to shake Gregory warmly by the hand directly von Geisenheim presented him. The German General, who spoke Russian fluently, stated briefly that the plane in which the Colonel Baron von Lutz's party had left Germany had run into a blizzard and that, having Lost all sense of direction, they had crashed hundreds of miles from their destination to become snow bound in the Arctic forests for nearly three months. He added that having made a bid to get back to civilization towards the end of February the party had encountered Soviet troops and been arrested on a quite unjustifiable suspicion of espionage; but that the Colonel Baron had been allowed to come south on parole while his friends had been detained at Kandalaksha as a surety for his good behaviour.

Gregory then handed over the forged letter from Goering. The Marshal put on a pair of pince nez, glanced at it and passed it to a Major who was with him. The Major gave Voroshilov a swift translation and the Marshal then spoke quickly in Russian for a few moments; after which von Geisenheim said

"The Marshal condoles with you upon the accident which deprived him of your services for so long but congratulates your ladies on having survived the rigours of the Arctic under such conditions for so many weeks. He says that it is a pleasure for him to give hospitality to any friend of Marshal Goering's. He regrets that you have had trouble with some of the Nazi leaders but assures you of his protection for as long as you choose to remain in the Soviet Union. He is sorry that your friends should have been detained in Kandalaksha and will give an order for their immediate release. He wishes to know now if they would prefer to be given accommodation in Leningrad or travel permits to one of the neutral countries in the Baltic."

"If the Marshal could have them sent to a Baltic port where they could get a ship for Sweden I'm sure they would all, be extremely grateful," said Gregory. "The trouble is, though, that they may already be on their way to Moscow, because a report will have gone in about the party and, as they are Germans, if nothing is known about them it may have been decided to hand them over to the German Embassy."

When this had been translated Voroshilov said that the question of their whereabouts could easily be ascertained by a telephone inquiry to the War Office at Moscow and, when this had been made, he would let the Colonel Baron know.

Gregory thanked him and the interview was over.

It seemed that there was nothing more he could do except wait for news, and he could only hope and pray that he would not be called upon to pass through further days of miserable uncertainty while the Russians were making the inquiries with their usual slowness. The only thing that cheered him a little was the fact that Voroshilov did not seem the sort of man who would let the grass grow under his feet; but having at last become aware of Colonel Baron, von Lutz's existence and his anxiety for his friends, would definitely do something about them. This proved the case, as barely an hour later Gregory was to be sent for by von Geisenheim, who told him that Voroshilov wished to see them again. They walked down the slippery, snow covered track through the woods together, and after a short wait were shown in to the Marshal.

The interpreter major, who was still with him, said at once: "The department concerned in Moscow has just telephoned a reply to our inquiry. On February the 28th they received a report that your friends were being held on suspicion of espionage at Kandalaksha. Apparently they told some story about having been in Petsamo on the day that war broke out, and having left there in an aeroplane for the purpose of getting in touch with the Military Intelligence section of our Northern Command."

Gregory was ready for that one, and nodded. "We said that, because we hoped to be transferred immediately to Murmansk, as from there my friends could have got a ship to take them along to Norway, once I had got in touch with the Marshal and secured his consent to the arrangement."

When Voroshilov learned what had been said he smiled and made a remark which was translated as: "Evidently your friends feel that they cannot get too far away from the Gestapo." And the interpreter went on:

"Moscow got in touch with Military Intelligence at Murmansk by wireless, but naturally, in view of what you say, Murmansk knew nothing of the prisoners, so the inquiry was referred to the German Embassy, who took the matter up with Berlin. The Embassy replied on March the 2nd that the Gräfin von Osterberg is an enemy of the German Reich who has been found guilty of treason, by a court held during her absence, and condemned to death. The German Ambassador requested that in order to save time and expense permission should be granted for Gestapo agents to travel from Moscow to Kandalaksha to examine the other prisoners and carry out the sentence on the Frau Gräfin there."

"What?" stammered Gregory? "But good God, how frightful!"

This bolt from the blue was worse than anything he had feared. He had been comforting himself for the last hour with the thought that the prisoner's journey, via Leningrad and Moscow, to the German frontier was bound to occupy several days, so with the Marshal's assistance he might be able to trace them to the place they had reached and secure their release; but if Gestapo agents had already been sent to Kandalaksha to execute Erika this last hope was now gone.

"Was was the permission granted?" he asked almost in a whisper.

"Yes," replied the interpreter: "on March the 5th."

Voroshilov said something in Russian and von Geisenheim translated. "The Marshal says that he is so sorry to learn that Herr Himmler has managed to overreach Marshal Goering in this private vendetta of his against at least one of your friends. However, he remarks upon your good fortune in having managed to reach his headquarters; because you, von Lutz, were reported as being with the Frau Gräfin and it seems that in your absence you also were condemned to death by a Nazi court held soon after the November Putsch, so if you were still at Kandalaksha you would share the Frau Gräfins' fate."

Into Gregory's stricken mind penetrated the fact that the General spoke of Erika as though she was still alive, and a second later he realized that it must be so. It was only March the 6th, so the Gestapo execution squad could not have left Moscow earlier than the previous evening and the night train would have arrived in Leningrad only that morning. Between leaving

the one train and catching another for the North they would certainly go to an hotel in the city for a meal and a bath and, after their night sitting up in the train, would probably go to bed for a few hours' sleep before proceeding on the much longer stage of their exhausting journey. In no case would they have left Leningrad until after lunch and it was possible that they did not intend to catch a train north until the evening; so the prisoners at Kandalaksha were as yet ignorant of the menace that was moving slowly but inexorably towards them and Erika had at least another day and a half to live.

With a surge of new hope Gregory asked if the Marshal would arrange for the authorities in Leningrad to be spoken to on the telephone and told to hold the Gestapo men, if they were still there; or, alternatively, issue counter orders and have the prisoners brought to his headquarters.

Voroshilov's reply was to the effect that the Gestapo agents would be travelling on a Foreign Office permit and he could not interfere with Foreign Office affairs. On the other hand, in military matters he was the supreme authority and, as the prisoners were in the hands of the Military, he would be happy to oblige Marshal Goering by snatching his friends from the clutches of the Gestapo; but the difficulty lay in conveying such an order to the Governor of Kandalaksha in time to save theFrau Gräfin. There were many lines from this, the main theatre of war, to Leningrad and Moscow, but to the northern front communications were far from reliable. On several occasions the Finns had even succeeded in cutting the railway just south of Kandalaksha, and heavy falls of snow frequently broke the telephone and telegraph wires. One such blizzard had brought down miles of line only two days ago.

"Why not get in touch by wireless?" Gregory suggested at once.

The interpreter shrugged. "Kandalaksha is only a backwoods town. There is no radio station there."

"What would the Marshal do, then, if he had urgent orders for the Governor of Kandalaksha?" Gregory asked.

"Send a plane. But the Governor does not control our fighting forces up there, which are many miles further west on the Finnish frontier, so there are never any urgent orders to be sent to him,"

"Cannot the Marshal send me up there in a plane on this occasion?"

The request was transmitted to Voroshilov and the reply came back. "The Marshal regrets, but that is impossible. The war with Finland is not yet over and every plane we have is required for military purposes. He begs that you will not think that he has been made cynical by the sight of so much death, but he points out that this is a purely private matter and willing as he would be to oblige you in other circumstances he cannot divert a military plane from its duties for your use at such a time."

"Could he have me flown to Leningrad?" asked Gregory desperately. "There must be planes constantly returning there from their advance bases. If he could, I should arrive in time to catch a train leaving this evening; perhaps the same one on which the Gestapo men will travel or, anyway, one that leaves a few hours after theirs; in which case I might manage to reach Kandalaksha before the Frau Gräfin is actually led out for execution."

Von Geisenheim put this up to the Marshal and they had a brief discussion in Russian as to how long it would take Gregory to reach the nearest airfield, get to Leningrad by plane, and from the airport there to the Northern Railway terminus; after which they decided that it was a hundred to one on the Gestapo agents having at least several hours' lead of him, so that the Frau Gräfin would almost certainly be dead by the time he arrived at Kandalaksha. But at the end of the discussion Voroshilov stood up, looked at Gregory and said something which the interpreter translated as:

"Are you a brave man and are you prepared to undertake a most hazardous journey? If so the Marshal can suggest a way which will give you a much better chance of saving the Frau Gräfin than any you would have if he sent you in to Leningrad by plane or car."

"I am prepared to undertake any journey," Gregory replied firmly.

Voroshilov moved over to a large map of Western Russia and Finland that was nailed up on the wall. Speaking swiftly he touched Viborg, Lake Ladoga and the great bend in the Leningrad Murmansk railway. His Staff Major then interpreted for him.

"The Marshal says that while he cannot spare you a plane he will willingly place at your disposal cars, sleighs and horses. He suggests that you should cross the Karelian Isthmus to the south western shore of Lake Ladoga, cross the ice of the Lake to Rabaly, on its north eastern shore, and proceed from there to Petrozavodsk, on Lake Onega. Cars and racing sleighs move as fast as trains in Russia. From here to Petrozavodsk by the normal route is over 560 versts; but by following the tangent across the arc it is barely 300. The Marshal warns you that in crossing the Lake you will risk capture by the Finns and that, in any case, it will be a most terrible journey; but if you decide to adopt this plan it will give you a real chance actually to get ahead of the Gestapo men and catch a train at Petrazavodsk before any train which left Leningrad this afternoon can reach it

"If the Marshal will provide me with facilities for such an attempt I shall be eternally grateful," Gregory replied eagerly, "and I cannot thank him enough for his brilliant suggestion."

There was another short conference, then the Major sat down to a typewriter. He tapped out two documents which the Marshal signed. Picking them up the Major handed one of them to Gregory.

"This," he said, "is an order for the release of your friends. It is addressed to the Governor of Kandalaksha or any other military authority who may be holding them in custody, so that it will still be operative should they have been transferred to any other place during your absence. Now, about your journey. The Marshal will place a car at your disposal to take you across the Isthmus to the Headquarters of the division that is holding

the south western shore of Lake Ladoga. I will telephone them at once, instructing them to provide you with a racing sleigh and guides for crossing the Lake to Rabaly. From thereon you will have to make your own arrangements, as communications with the north western shore of the Lake are difficult and unreliable."

Handing over the second paper he went on: "However, this is an open order to all officers and officials of the Soviet Union within the Zone des Armees to assist the Colonel Baron von Lutz, by every means in their power, to travel, either alone or with his companions, with the utmost speed wherever he may wish to go. Since it is signed by Marshal Voroshilov as Supreme Commander and Commissar for Defence, you may be sure that you will have no difficulty whatever in obtaining the quickest possible means of transport. When will you be ready to start?"

"In a quarter of an hour," Gregory replied, placing the papers carefully in his pocket. He would have said 'at once', but he knew that to keep up his vitality he ought to snatch a quick meal before leaving, and he wanted to collect the few belongings that he had acquired in Leningrad.

"Very good," said the Major. "In a quarter of an hour I will have a car waiting for you outside this office."

The Marshal wished him good luck, asked to be remembered to his old comrade in arms, Kuporovitch, and shook hands again. Gregory expressed his most grateful thanks and, with von Geisenheim, withdrew.

"Two hundred miles across country over snow sounds a most ghastly trip," the General said gloomily, as they walked back to the Mess together. "Do you think you'll be able to make it?"

"God knows " Gregory muttered. "Every moment will be precious, as we can be certain that the Gestapo men won't give Erika even an hour's grace once they get there, so it will be a neck to neck race. But I may just beat them to it if I don't meet with any unforeseen delays."

In the Mess he made a hasty meal of soup, brodchen and coffee substitute, then having had a large flask filled with vodka he repaired to his own hut to collect his things.

The light was on when he opened the door and he saw a broad, uniformed back bent over a suitcase. The man turned at that moment and he found himself staring into the solitary eye of Gestapo Chief Grauber.

Chapter XXXI

Grauber Intervenes

FOR a moment the two men stared at each other, speechless with surprise, but it took Gregory only a fraction of that time to guess how it had come about that he found Grauber unpacking a suitcase in his room.

He had been so preoccupied over lunch with the thought of his coming interview with Voroshilov that at the time he had hardly taken in something Major Woltat had said to him. It had been to the effect that he had received a wireless message from Berlin that a number of other officers were on their way by plane to join the German Military Mission; mainly engineers who were coming out to examine the undamaged forts in the Mannerheim Line when the Finns surrendered and the Russians took them over. The Major had gone on to say that as accommodation was limited he would have to put one of the new arrivals in Gregory's room. Evidently Grauber had come in on the plane that afternoon and an evil fate had decreed that he should be chosen as Gregory's stable companion.

It took Gregory barely a second to realize what had happened and in another he had answered his own question as to why Grauber should have accompanied a group of engineer officers to the Russian front. As the Chief of the Gestapo Foreign Department U.A. 1 that bird of ill omen appeared almost automatically at each point outside Germany to which the main interest of the war shifted. The surrender of the Finns appeared imminent, so what was more natural than that the Gestapo Chief should pay a flying visit to the Soviet General Headquarters, where the military side of the negotiations would be conducted?

The instant Grauber swung round from unpacking his suitcase he recognized Gregory. The black patch still hid his left eye socket but his good eye flashed amazement then deadly hatred. His gun was lying on a camp table just out of reach and he did not make the mistake of trying to grab it. As Gregory thrust his hand into his furs to draw his pistol the sixteen stone Gestapo Chief hurled himself at him. The weight and suddenness of the attack carried Gregory right off his feet. They went down together with a frightful crash, Gregory underneath. With a speed which would have done credit to an all in wrestler Grauber got his hands on the Englishman's throat. Next moment Gregory was fighting for his life.

Wriggling like an eel he twisted himself partly from under the German and bringing up his knee thrust it into his adversary's groin. Grauber let out a harsh grunt and for a second his hold on Gregory's throat slackened. Their faces were within a few inches of each other. As the grip on Gregory's throat relaxed he jerked his head forward and buried his teeth in Grauber's chin.

For two minutes the Gestapo man bore the intense agony, his blood streaming over Gregory's face while they fought with silent ferocity, then Grauber could bear the pain no longer. Withdrawing his right hand he clenched it and lifted it for a sideways blow that would smash Gregory's face away from his own. As the blow came Gregory let go his bulldog grip and flung his head aside so that the German's fist lost most of its force, and only hit him a glancing blow on the left ear. But, twist as he would, he could not get out from under the heavy body.

Having freed his chin Grauber jerked himself up and holding Gregory down with his left hand bashed at his face with his right. Gregory dodged two of the blows but the third caught him full in the left eye. The pain was excruciating and for a moment he thought that he was blinded. Gathering all his force he kneed Grauber in the groin again. The German gave another awful grunt and tried to retaliate, but as his body shifted Gregory crossed his legs and stiffened the muscles of his stomach. At the same instant he brought up his right fist with a short arm hook to the side of Grauber's chin. Grauber's face, as he straddled Gregory, was almost out of reach so the blow was not a heavy one; but it was just sufficient to tip him off his balance and, straining every muscle, Gregory forced him over on to his side.

Grauber kicked out and his heavy boot landed on Gregory's shin, but thrusting the German away from him he managed to wriggle to his knees. Rolling right over, Grauber jumped to his feet with the agility of a huge cat; but Gregory was as quick.

Flinging himself at the Gestapo Chief's knees he embraced his legs and pitched him right over his left shoulder to crash, face foremost, spread eagled on the floor.

The fall gave Gregory just time to stagger to his feet. He was puffing like a grampus, sweat and blood were streaming down his face, his heart was pounding as though it would burst through his ribs, but he dared not let up for a second. It was no time for Queensberry rules but a matter of life and death, and much more than his own life depended upon his getting out of that room a free man. As Grauber rolled over and came up on his knees again Gregory hit him full in the face.

He swayed there for' an instant, rocking on his knees, yet such were his enormous powers of resistance that in spite of the blow he jerked up to his feet and came charging at Gregory like a thunderbolt.

Gregory managed to keep his balance but was forced back against the wall. He landed a right on his enemy's ear just as Grauber drew back his right and swung a terrific punch on his opponent's body. The blow left Gregory gasping and he sagged a little. Half blinded and sick with pain he lurched sideways; but his right hand brushed the top of the small table and its fingers encountered Grauber's automatic. There was no time to grasp it properly, as Grauber had drawn back and was coming at him again with a hail of blows. Raising his left arm to protect his face Gregory dodged aside and lifting the clubbed automatic struck Grauber with all his remaining force upon the temple. The German collapsed like a pole axed ox and lay, a limp, still, huddled lump, on the floor.

It was three minutes before Gregory could get back his breath or concentrate his thoughts. Once he could do so he listened for any sound in the passage or the adjoining rooms. It seemed certain that someone must have heard the racket caused by that frightful struggle and come to find out what it was all about; but in spite of its intensity it had occupied only a few moments and at this hour all the other occupants of the line of huts would be gathered in the Mess for their usual afternoon Kafe trinken. As Gregory realized that he breathed a little more easily, locked the door and set about examining Grauber.

Blood was trickling from the German's temple as well as from his chin, but he was not dead, For a moment Gregory toyed with the idea of killing him. He was a murderer many times over and worse a blackmailer and a torturer, who had climbed to high office in the Nazi State upon the blood, the misery and the tears of innumerable victims. With Hitler, Himmler, Heidrich, Streicher and all their crew, he deserved a more agonizing end than the human brain has power to devise; yet, while Gregory would have emptied the contents of an automatic into Grauber's stomach with the greatest possible pleasure if he had been conscious, he could not bring himself to crack the man's skull with one more blow from the pistol now that he lay there helpless.

A great thermos containing two quarts of hot water was kept filled in each hut by the soldier servants for their officers to wash with when they came off duty. Gregory emptied his into the canvas basin and, having cleansed his face and hands of blood, began to bathe his eye; it was horribly inflamed but had not yet started to colour up. lie felt extremely shaky but, using all the speed he could command, he collected everything of Grauber's that he thought might be of use to him and rammed the articles into the suitcase. Next he lashed Grauber hand and foot, lifted him on to his camp bed and drew the blankets over him; so that if anybody looked in they would think that, tired after his journey, he had turned in at once and was sound asleep. With luck he would not be discovered until the soldier servant came to rouse them the following morning.

Gregory had just started to tidy the hut and remove all traces of the struggle when he caught the sound of footsteps. Next moment there came a sharp knock on the door.

For a second his heart stood still but he controlled his breathing and asked in a steady voice: "Who is it?"

"Von Geisenheim," the reply came back. "You said you would be only a quarter of an hour and over half an hour has gone already."

"I'm so sorry. I'll be with you now in one moment," Gregory called out. He felt certain that although yon Geisenheim might be secretly anti Nazi he would never dare to condone a murderous attack upon a Gestapo Chief who had been attached to his Mission. Swiftly righting the remaining things he snatched up the suitcase and opening the door slipped through it before the General had time to get a glimpse of more than a section of the room.

There was a bright, unshaded light in the passage; by it van Geisenheim immediately noticed Gregory's chalk white face and damaged eye. Before he had time to speak Gregory said:

"I've just had a nasty accident. While I was packing I tripped over my suitcase and fell against the corner of the table. I was darned lucky not to lose the sight of my left eye and it hurts abominably. That's what delayed me."

"Hum It looks as though you've caught it an awful smack," von Geisenheim agreed sympathetically as they stepped out of the hut into the darkness together, but he made no other comment.

Five minutes later they were outside Voroshilov's office. A powerful car was waiting in the roadway with a military chauffeur at its wheel and beside it stood the Staff Major. In the half light which came from the headlamps of the car he did not notice the state of Gregory's face as he said that he had made arrangements for a racing sleigh to be in readiness on the south western shore of the Lake and wished him good luck.

Gregory murmured his thanks, shook hands with him and von Geisenheim, saw from a glance at his watch that it was a quarter past five, and got into the car. The chauffeur spoke German but had already been given his instructions. Next moment they were off.

Directly they left the cover of the wood it was much easier to see their surroundings. No moon could be hoped for later that night, as it was the dark quarter, but for several days past it had been what had become known as "Molotov weather"; clear, almost cloudless, blue skies from which the Soviet planes were easily able to pick up their objectives without having to come right down low as an easy target for the Finnish antiaircraft gunners. The nights had been equally fine, with a million stars gleaming in a frosty sky, and now that the early darkness had fallen again they were just beginning to twinkle.

Gregory's head was splitting and his body was one mass of aching bruises, but as they turned on to the main road towards Nykyrka he rallied himself to ask the chauffeur what he thought he could get out of the car. The man gave a figure in versts, which Gregory calculated as about eighty miles an hour; but the chauffeur went on to add that he meant `given a clear stretch of good road', and they would be lucky if they could average a quarter of that speed at night through cross country lanes only a few miles from the firing line where masses of troops were in constant motion. Gregory knew the journey across the Isthmus to be nearly sixty miles. If the chauffeur was right it would take them at least two and a half hours whereas he had hoped to do it in under two; but they were soon out of the snow mounds which were all that was left of the Finnish town and making good going along a road that led almost due east.

Their route lay practically parallel to the battle front as although the Soviet Armies had forced the south western end of the Mannerheim Line and made an advance of nearly seventy miles there they had made hardly any impression upon its north eastern end at all, and the Finns still held Taipale, which lies on Lake Ladoga. That was the nearest point from which to cross the Lake, but to remain within the Soviet lines they would have to keep a little to the south of it.

Fortunately the chauffeur had been driving officers of the Soviet General Staff all ‘over the Isthmus for several weeks past so he knew every road and village on it well. He handled his car admirably, seizing every advantage to accelerate and press ahead whenever there was a free stretch of road or he could slip round a slowly moving vehicle. This part of Finland had been very highly populated so the roads were good, and after each fall of snow the Russians were clearing them by mechanized snow sweepers to enable their troops and transport to move about more freely, but the car had constantly to slow down when parties of marching men or guns and tanks showed up in the headlights.

For the first hour of the journey Gregory sat almost comatose while he slowly recovered from his fight for life with Grauber; then, after the terrible strain of inaction and anxiety for so many days, all he could think of were the precious papers in his pocket and the fact that he was at last on the move again. He had become so accustomed to the constant thunder of the guns that he hardly noticed it any longer except when the road passed near one of the concealed Russian batteries which loosed off with an ear splitting crack, without any warning. Although the Soviet offensive had eased during the last two days and they had not been hurling thousands upon thousands more of their infantry into fresh attacks the artillery bombardment seemed very nearly as devastating as before; the Soviet guns were still battering the Finnish forts night and day without respite.

Rousing himself again he asked the chauffeur: "What is the Russian for `It is by order of the Marshal and my business is most urgent'?"

"Prikaz Marshals ie srotchnya prikaz," said the man, and Gregory repeated the phrase over and over again until he had mastered and memorized it perfectly.

Swerving, darting down to a crawl swerving and darting again, the car nosed its way eastward through farmlands and half glimpsed ruined villages, gradually drawing a little nearer to the firing line until, just before seven o'clock, the chauffeur turned off a main road and up a side track into a coppice that concealed a block of huts which were similar to those they had left at General Headquarters but not so numerous. The car drew up before one of the huts and the chauffeur sounded his horn loudly; the hut door opened and an officer came out who asked in German if it was the Colonel Baron von Lutz.

As Gregory acknowledged his false identity he took a new grip on himself and prepared for trouble. This was evidently the Divisional Headquarters which was to provide him with a sleigh and horses. If the trussed and battered Grauber had been discovered by a soldier servant or one of his own people while the car was crossing the Isthmus there would be hell to pay. G.H.Q. would have phoned through ordering the arrest of the Colonel Baron pending explanations. Even if he could lie his way out of the new tangle vital time would be lost; not moments but hours, or days perhaps, while he was sent back under guard to face his accusers; and Erika's life hung on the ticking of the clock. If he was arrested now the game was up.

"They telephoned us from G.H.Q.," the officer began, but as he went on Gregory allowed himself to breathe again. "In the last two hours I've made all the arrangements and everything possible has been done to assure you a safe crossing of the Lake it's four miles to the foreshore. The horses are waiting so we will go to them in your car." Getting in, he gave the chauffeur directions and turned again to Gregory. "This is a most unusual journey you are making, Herr Oberst Baron."

"It is a matter of great urgency," Gregory replied.

"So I understand. But it's a most hazardous undertaking to attempt to cross the Lake in such a manner; particularly as there is no proper front upon it and our men are constantly engaging Finnish patrols out there which sometimes slip through behind them in the darkness."

Gregory shrugged. "I'm afraid that's a risk that must be taken."

They ran along a twisting road through the trees until it sloped down to a little village which had been almost pounded to pieces. As the car drew up in an open space among the ruins Gregory could see that they were on the edge of a small, frozen harbour which in peace time had sheltered the fishing boats of the villagers. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was 7.20.

They had crossed the Isthmus in two hours, five minutes, averaging about twenty eight miles an hour, which was a magnificent effort considering that for nearly the whole way they had had to pass along troop congested by roads.

Having thanked the chauffeur for his excellent driving Gregory picked up his suitcase, left the car and went down a few ice covered steps to the frozen harbour. A group which consisted of a light trozha, eight horses and two bearded, fur muffled soldiers was waiting there.

"It's seventy two miles from shore to shore," said the officer, "and, as you probably know, it's unusual to drive for more than thirty miles without a change of team. Unfortunately there's nowhere in the middle of the Lake where you can pick up relays, so I'm sending a spare team which will be led with a spare saddle horse. That will enable you to change teams every hour or so. The horses are all young and fresh, the best that could be picked for such a journey, but I'm afraid you may have to kill some of them if you are to get through. The strain upon them will be frightful."

"I know." Gregory nodded. "It's a pretty desperate venture, but it's got to be done, and I'm more than grateful to you for giving me your best horses for such a ghastly trip."

"The two men have been picked because they both speak German and are well fitted to act as your guides," the officer went on. "They will accompany you right through in order to act as your interpreters with the officials in any villages where you have to get relays on the opposite mainland. This" he pointed to the taller man who was standing in the sleigh "is Sergeant Boroski; the other, who is holding the spare team, is Corporal Orloff."

Gregory said a cheery word to the two soldiers; put his suitcase in the sleigh and getting in himself said good bye to the officer, who had been no more than a shadowy form and a voice in the semi darkness. Sergeant Boroski cracked his whip and the horses went forward at a canter out of the little harbour.

With a sigh of relief Gregory snuggled down into the sleigh, pulling the thick fur rugs right up to his chin. One great danger was safely past. Grauber's men might get the Russians to telephone till all was blue but they could not stop him now. Communications ended on the south western shore of the Lake; the very thing which had previously prevented him from getting an order for Erika's release to Kandalaksha was now his protection. They could send a courier after him but they could not catch him, and even a few hours' lead would be enough. If he could reach Kandalaksha before the Gestapo men he could free Erika and leave with her immediately. Now that he had Voroshilov's carte blanche order in his pocket for everyone to facilitate the journey of his party he backed himself to get clear before the pursuit with counter orders could possibly arrive.

Yet he knew that he was still terrifyingly far from succeeding in his bid to rescue Erika and was only now entering upon the most dangerous and difficult stage of his journey. While by no means an impossibility, seventy two miles is a terrific distance for horses to cover without at least one interval for prolonged rest and recuperation; yet in that bitter cold there could be no question of halting for any length of time, as there was no shelter for the teams and if they were given more than a breather at stated intervals the cold might affect them too severely for them to proceed further. He remembered, too, what he had been told about Finnish patrols often penetrating between the Russian outposts on the Lake. For the first six or eight miles, at least, there was the added risk of being shot or captured, and he could riot possibly afford the time to make a wide detour which would have carried him outside the limits of this very definite danger.

Recovered now from his hellish scrap with Grauber, except for dull aches which he knew would not leave him for many hours, he began to calculate times while the sleigh ran smoothly forward., drawn at a fine pace by the fresh, well fed horses. The distance from Leningrad to Petrozavodsk along the great bend in the railway was just over three hundred miles, and Gregory knew from his own experience that on that line the Russian trains averaged only eighteen miles an hour, so the Journey would take the Gestapo agents seventeen hours. If they had not left Leningrad until that evening say, at eight o'clock they would not get into Petrozavodsk before one o'clock the following afternoon; in which case, if he succeeded in crossing the Lake and managed to maintain a reasonable speed in doing so, he should arrive well before them.

On the other hand they might have left Leningrad much earlier. It was possible that they had departed as early as two o'clock in the afternoon. If so, they would get into Petrozavodsk at about seven o'clock in the morning,

Gregory asked Boroski what speed he thought they could make over the ice and the Sergeant replied: "Twelve miles an hour in normal conditions; I might do even better with such fine horses, but if we encounter broken ice we may be badly held up. As we have such a great distance to cover I must husband the strength of the horses or we might never get there at all, so we cannot hope to do more than nine or ten miles an hour at the most."

The man spoke of versts but Gregory translated the Russian measure into English distances as he listened and began another series of calculations. Nine miles an hour would bring them to Rabaly in eight hours about half past two in the morning. They would then have to make arrangements for fresh horses and cover another seventy miles to Petrozavodsk. The going would be better along the road say fifteen miles an hour with halts which meant another five hours. It seemed doubtful if they would arrive at Petrozavodsk before eight thirty at the earliest. He could only pray that the Gestapo men had not left Leningrad until the evening.

Behind them the guns still thundered and,, looking over his left shoulder, to the west, Gregory could see a constant flickering in the night sky as shells and Verey lights burst upon the Finnish defences at Taipale, although the rising shore of the lake and the pinewoods which fringed it hid the actual explosions from him. To his front and right the darkness was unbroken, but the snow and stars enabled them to penetrate it for some distance. Orloff had gone ahead with the spare horses to act as an advance guard and give warning if he sighted any detachments of troops out on the ice of the Lake; but Gregory and Boroski also kept their eyes strained to the north west, as in this first part of the journey there was a constant danger that a white coated Finnish ski patrol might suddenly emerge out of the shadows. Twice they caught the flash of rifles out there to the left and heard sharp reports; once a single wailing cry of a man in his death agony echoed over the snow field.

While keeping alert Gregory began to think about Grauber and wonder if he would die from his injuries in the night. He hoped so, and cursed himself for his weakness in not having killed him when he had the chance. If Grauber survived he would be found, at the latest, when the soldier servants came to call their officers at seven o'clock in the morning and he would have a fine story to tell von Geisenheim and the Russians. The General already knew that Gregory was an impostor but he could not possibly admit it and would have to press the Russians for the speedy capture of the false Colonel Baron. That would make things damnably tricky once the hunt was up. But Gregory thought he knew how to cheat them. He would not come south again; that would be running into trouble. He would maintain his lead of it by heading north. Murmansk was only a hundred and seventy miles north of Kandalaksha and from there, with Voroshilov's order, they could get a ship along the coast to Norway. They would be out of Russia before the news that they were wanted reached the Arctic port. If only he arrived in time to save Erika, if only he arrived in time.

Suddenly a challenge rang out right in front of them. Boroski swerved the sleigh to the right with the intention of making off at a gallop towards the east. Gregory snatched up the sub machine gun that was part of the sleigh's equipment; but Orloff answered the challenge as he was nearer the point from which it had come and had heard it clearly enough to recognize that the men ahead of them were Russians. Having shouted a pass word he called to the others that it was all right and Boroski turned the sleigh back towards the north again. A moment later they passed a group of a dozen silent, ghost like figures on skis, who waved to them before being swallowed up in the darkness.

At the end of the first hour they halted to rest the horses and swap teams. The men changed over duties, too, Sergeant Boroski mounting the spare riding horse to lead his team and Orloff's mount, while the Corporal got into the sleigh as driver. They felt considerably easier now, as it was hardly likely that any Finnish patrols would be so far out on the ice, and Gregory decided to try to get some sleep. His eye was hurting him abominably and his shin ached acutely where Grauber had landed a heavy kick on it; but the mutter of the guns had sunk away to a dull rumble in the distance, which only served to make him drowsy, so after a little time he managed to get off.

When he awoke it was just after ten o'clock and he asked at once how they were going. Boroski was driving again and he replied: "Quite well we are nearly half way across the Lake now."

Gregory was surprised and elated. If that were so, as they had been going for about two and three quarter hours they must be averaging thirteen miles an hour, which was much better than anything he had hoped for; but his jubilance was abruptly checked as Boroski went on here is trouble ahead now, though. It must have been that bad bump that woke you up."

"What was it?" Gregory inquired.

"Broken ice. A ship, or perhaps an ice breaker, must have ploughed her way through here just as the ice was forming and churned it all up so that it is hilly and uneven." As he spoke Boroski brought the horses to a walk and strained his eyes into the semi darkness to catch the signals of Orloff who was riding ahead and picking out the best route for them to follow between the hummocks. For half an hour, while Gregory sat there fretting, impatient and freezing, it was impossible for them to move faster than a walking pace; but at last they got on to smooth ice again and with renewed energy after their change of gait the horses were able to go forward at a trot once more.

They were now over thirty miles from either shore and even the booming of the great guns could no longer be heard. The only sound which broke the stillness was the gentle clopping of the horses' hoofs and the swish of the snow as the sleigh cut into it. The stars overhead were brilliant and enabled the drivers to find their way in this forlorn, white wilderness without reference to the compass which Boroski was carrying.

An hour later they struck another patch of broken ice which delayed them further; by the time they got though it midnight had come and they still had another twenty miles to go. The horses were flagging now as, apart from the distance they had covered, the strain of pulling the sleigh up and down over the big hummocks on this second patch of bad ice seemed to have taken a lot out of them. The drivers were changing teams at shorter intervals and at each halt they were giving the horses a handful of grain soaked in vodka.

By one o'clock, when they pulled up again, the horses stood with splayed legs and their heads were hanging dejectedly down in front of them, breathing heavily. The lead team seemed in little better condition than the one which had just been unharnessed from the sleigh.

"They're in a bad way," Boroski commented, "and, poor beasts, they will be in a worse state before we reach Rabaly; but it cannot be helped, as there are many miles to go yet and we cannot afford the time to walk them."

When Orloff took over he drove the horses at a steady trot, for the first time using his whip to keep them up to their work. Gregory noticed that he did not halt at the half hour as usual, so some minutes later he asked: "What about giving them another breather?"

Orloff shook his head. "If I do, they will lie down and we may have difficulty in getting them on their legs again. It is better that we should drive them as far as they will go now and, if necessary, walk the rest of the distance."

Gregory's heart sank. If they had to abandon the sleigh and walk in the snow it might be hours yet before he reached the far shore of the Lake. His only consolation was that the night continued fine and that there were no signs of approaching snow; as a heavy fall during the next hour or so would trap them on the Lake and they might die there. He could now hear the sound of gunfire once more and for some time there had been a flicker in the sky, to the north west, where the Russians were pounding the Finnish lines before Sortavala.

At ten minutes to 'two the near side horse of the troika stumbled and fell, bringing the sleigh to an abrupt standstill. The other two stood by it moaning for breath, their heads hanging down within a foot of the snow. Orloff got out and unharnessed the dead horse, then he freed the other two while Boroski brought up the team he had been leading and harnessed them.

For another twenty minutes they drove on, then a second horse fell dead in its tracks; the other two lay down beside it. The Russians replaced the dead horse with the fittest from Orloff's team and, using their whips ruthlessly now, got the others on to their legs. At a slow amble the sleigh slid over the snow again.

Ten minutes later a third horse died, upon which both its companions and the led horses lay down directly they were halted. It was a nightmare business getting them up again and. Gregory, numbed by the cold as he was, in spite of frequent pulls at his flask of vodka, had to leave the sleigh and give his assistance. Both men and beasts were nearly exhausted from the terrific strain which they had undergone, but somehow the job was done and, driven by the whips, the horses went forward once more.

It was with inexpressible relief that a few moments after the last halt, on Orloff's giving a loud shout, they saw a long, low patch of deeper darkness ahead of them and knew that they were in sight of the north shore of the lake. The horses, too, knew it, and made a last effort. But the course of the sleigh across the ice had only been plotted roughly, so they still had to find the little town of Rabaly.

Here luck was with them. They were still scanning the dark, desolate foreshore for lights when a challenge rang out. By great good fortune they had run into another Russian patrol which was able to direct them. The town was only a mile away; just round a small headland to their left front. Another horse; was lost before they reached it and they had to put the spare saddle horse in to make up the team; but when Gregory stepped ashore in the small harbour he was smiling for the first time that night as he saw from his watch that it was only 2.30. They had made the crossing of the lake in seven hours and ten minutes.

Three soldiers from the patrol had accompanied them on the last lap of their journey, running beside the sleigh, and they roused some of their comrades who were quartered in the houses along the harbour. These took over the remaining horses and the sleigh while with an N.C.O. as guide Gregory, Boroski and Orloff proceeded on foot up the main street of the town to a building which housed the local military headquarters.

It was here, while they were waiting for an officer to be fetched, that Gregory had his first chance to see his two guides properly. The tall Sergeant Boroski was a flaxen haired, blue eyed Baltic type, while the shorter Corporal Orloff had a red beard, freckled face and snub nose. They had evidently been specially picked from the Divisional Staff, as they were much above the average Soviet soldier that Gregory had seen during his time in Russia, both for liveliness and smart appearance.

When an officer who was on night duty joined them Boroski acted as interpreter and Gregory produced his chit from Voroshilov with the Russian phrase that he had learnt: "It is by order of the Marshal and my business is most urgent."

On the officer's learning that they had just crossed the Lake he expressed great astonishment but agreed at once to provide them with a sleigh and order relays of horses to be ready at every point to get them to Petrozavodsk as quickly as possible. Dispatching two orderlies from the room he sat down to a telephone.

After a few minutes one of the orderlies returned carrying a tray with steaming cups of tea and some hunks of bread and sausage for the half frozen travellers. They had hardly finished their meal when the second orderly reappeared to say that the sleigh was ready. The officer told Gregory, through Boroski, that he had arranged for a relay at the first village along the road and that directly they had gone he would telephone through to further points with instructions that they were to be given the fastest horses available. Then he took them outside and saw them off.

The magic name of Voroshilov had performed wonders. Instead of the usual Russian delays they had spent barely twenty minutes in Rabaly. Orloff took the reins of the new sleigh while Boroski sat beside Gregory. The hot tea had not thoroughly warmed them through but they were in much better spirits now that they had fast horses again and the really dangerous part of the journey was over.

The road was long and straight, mainly through forest country, but as that part of Russia was much more thickly populated than the far north they passed through villages every few miles. At nearly every village a fresh relay of horses was waiting for them as the whole area was under military control and plenty of horses were available. Whenever possible, while the horses were being changed, they had further hot drinks in Russian troop canteens to warm them as the cold was bitter, and if it had not been for their thick furs they would have got frost bite through sitting still for so long in the sleigh. On and on they drove through the long night, the miles falling away behind, yet new vistas of tree lined road ever opening before them; but now that they constantly had fresh relays that they could count on they did not spare the horses and were making far better going than they had done across the Lake.

The stars were paling in the sky when they came out of the forest to see buildings ahead of them and, from their inquiries at the last halt, knew that they had reached Petrozavodsk: As the sleigh drove up before the railway station Gregory saw from his watch that it was 7.10; they had done the seventy odd miles from Rabaly in four hours and twenty minutes, averaging sixteen miles an hour, and he had accomplished the whole, almost incredible journey from G.H.Q. of nearly two hundred miles in just under fourteen hours.

Since it was only just after seven in the morning Gregory's hopes were high. Even if the Gestapo men had left Leningrad early the previous afternoon they could hardly have reached Petrozavodsk before him. There was a military guard at the station and having handed over the horses and sleigh Boroski and Orloff accompanied him into the building. Thrusting their way into the station master's office they inquired at once about the next train to Kandalaksha.

The sleepy official, who had been on duty all night, shrugged in the true Russian manner. "There should be another at about nine o'clock, or perhaps ten."

"Is there no hope of one arriving before nine' Gregory said, through Boroski. "We are in a great hurry."

"Then you should have got here earlier," the man grunted” and you would have caught the one which left here ten minutes ago."

When Gregory heard that they had just missed a train his language was unprintable; then, producing Voroshilov's order, he demanded to know at what time the train had left Leningrad.

The official suddenly came to life and said that he would do his best to find out. It took him a quarter of an hour to get through on the telephone to Leningrad and while he was speaking Gregory asked that he should also ascertain at what hour the one before the train they had just missed had left.

Boroski interpreted after the man had hung up the receiver. The train they had missed had left Leningrad at 3.45 the previous afternoon, and the one before that at 1.40.

Gregory bit his lip. Although he thought it unlikely that the Gestapo men had caught a train as early as 1.40, there was just a chance that they had. If so, they were two trains ahead of him, and both trains had made a much better speed than he had assumed likely; probably because the permanent way was in better condition at this end of the line than further north; a point that he had left out of his calculation. It was quite definitely on the cards that the Nazis were on the train that had just gone through. If they were, and he had to wait for the next, they would have between two and three hours' start, which he would never be able to make up. Given that much time in Kandalaksha they might execute Erika before he could get there. Somehow or other he had to get on the train he had just missed.

Turning to Boroski he tapped the Marshal's order and said "Tell the station master that he is to hold the train at the next station; we will go on by sleigh and catch it there."

Boroski translated. At first the official demurred but Gregory rapped out his solitary phrase of Russian: "Prikaz Marshala ie srotchnya prikaz."

The station master shrugged and got through on the telephone to a place called Baylik, which, it transpired, was about ten miles further north. After an excited conversation arrangements were made for the train to be held there until the Supreme Commander's emissary could join it. Gregory and his two henchmen then scurried outside to reclaim their sleigh and demand another relay of horses, as the ones which had brought them in had just been watered and fed.

A quarter of an hour later they were on the road again. Their conversation with the station master and military had occupied the best part of three quarters of an hour but the; reached the village of Baytik at 8.25„ and found that the train had been waiting for them for only just under an hour; which, as Gregory pointed out to his companions, was nothing; abnormal for any train on that railway.

The train was packed, mostly with troops, but as Gregory’s warrant conferred almost limitless powers upon him he, determined to see to it that his two men had good accommodation:. Both of them had alternatively ridden or driven during the seven hours' crossing of the lake, and for a further five hours they had taken turns in driving the eighty miles from Rabaly to Baylik; so, tough, hefty fellows as they were, they were both nearly asleep on their feet. Having tackled an officer he had a carriage cleared of troops and made Boroski and Orloff,' lie down at full length on the two seats so that they could sleep in such little comfort as it was possible to secure for them.

He was in slightly better trim as, although it was nearly twenty six hours since he had got out of bed at General Headquarters the previous morning, he had lent a hand with the horses only during the last stages of the terrible journey across the Lake and, not having had to drive at all, he had been able to doze for a good part of the time. Moreover, he yet had work to do. It was essential to his peace of mind that he should ascertain as soon as possible whether the two Gestapo men were on the train, and directly it moved out of the station he set about the job.

The wintry daylight now disclosed the snow covered landscape. To the left of the track the forest stretched almost unbroken with only a clearing round a village here and there; but to the right there were sometimes gaps between the trees several miles in length as the railway ran alongside the creeks on the west of Lake Onega which stretched, a vast expanse of frozen slow, as far as the eye could see. Slowly but methodically Gregory pushed and bumped his way along the crowded corridor of the train, peering at the sleepy, dirty faces of the occupants of each carriage. The Gestapo men would almost certainly be wearing furs in such a climate but he felt sure that he would have no difficulty in recognizing them both from their appearance and their luggage; yet none of the few civilians that he could see in the crowded compartments looked the least like Germans.

However, the train was not connected by corridors all the way along, so having examined one portion of it he had to wait until it had pulled up, get out, and reboard another portion of it to examine that. The business was a long and tiring one and took him the best part of four hours; but when the train pulled into the town of Perguba, at the head of Lake Onega, he had fully satisfied himself that the Gestapo agents were not on it.

Rousing his two companions he took them to the station buffet to give them a good meal and while they ate he considered the position. It now seemed probable that the Gestapo men had not started until the previous evening, in which case they, were one or perhaps more trains behind him; but there was still just a chance that they might have caught the 1.40 from Leningrad. If they had, it would normally have given them a lead of two hours and five minutes over the train he was on, but he himself had held that up at Baylik for just under an hour, whereas in the ordinary way it would probably not have stopped at such a small place for more than twenty minutes. The train ahead, therefore, now had a lead of approximately two hours and forty minutes; five times as long as was necessary to arrange the formalities of the most ceremonious firing squad. Somehow he had got to get on the train ahead and make dead certain that the Gestapo agents had not caught it.

When they had finished their meal he got Boroski and Orloff to take him to the station master and, producing his famous order once again, he demanded that the train ahead should be held until the train in which they were travelling could catch up with it; but here, for the first time, he met with determined opposition.

TO hold a train for an hour or so was one thing, said the man, but to hold it for three hours was quite another. In peacetime Perguba was a quiet little town where officials led a pleasant life and were not bothered with such mad requests, and a couple of trains a day were quite sufficient to satisfy everybody. But now that there was a war on things were very different; everyone had to work night and day; the traffic on the line was chaotic; military officers were always demanding impossibilities. To do as Gregory suggested would upset all the traffic and make bad infinitely worse.

"It is by the order of the Marshal and my business is most urgent," Gregory snapped with a cold authority which he had often found extremely efficacious when forced to browbeat petty officials; but the man was obdurate. He pointed out that the order said that Gregory should be given every assistance to facilitate his journey, but not that trains should be held up for him unnecessarily; and that in this case it was not necessary to hold up the train ahead, because it would have to wait until Gregory could reach it and, therefore, would not get to Kandalaksha any quicker than the train he was on at the moment.

Seeing that it was useless to argue further Gregory began to insist that his train must put on more speed in order to get him to Kandalaksha as soon after the other train as possible. In consequence, the engine driver was summoned.

He shrugged his shoulders a great deal and waved his hands, asking if they thought that his engine was an aeroplane. They knew quite well, he said, that it dated from pre Revolution days and was held together only y bits of wire and his own brilliance as an engineer. Moreover, how could anyone get more than twenty five miles an hour out of an engine when they had only wood fuel on which to stoke it? and that was all that was procurable in this part of the country.

Gregory produced his order again and told the driver that whatever his difficulties might be he had got to catch up the other train because, if he did not, Marshal Voroshilov would have him shot as a saboteur and an enemy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

The engine driver's mouth fell open in comical dismay and promising to do his best he hurried out to get his ramshackle engine going. Five minutes later they started off at a pace quite unprecedented and with such suddenness that a number of the passengers were left shouting indignantly on the platform.

It was now past one o'clock and Gregory was very nearly all in. He had done everything conceivable to expedite his journey, so he lay down on one of thee seats in his carriage while Boroski took the other and Orloff the floor, and they all went to sleep.

Although the two Russians had had four hours' sleep apiece during the morning they slept like the troopers they were, and Gregory was so fagged out that he, too, slept heavily, so it was getting on for midnight when they were awakened by a particularly violent series of jolts. The train had come to a halt in another station, which they soon discovered to be Kem.

Directly they had roused up they went along to see the engine driver to find out how much tune he had managed to make up, and they caught him just going off duty. He protested that he had done his very best, but he had succeeded in making up only an hour. His relief arrived while they were still discussing the matter, so the new man was questioned as to whether he thought he could catch the train ahead before it arrived at Kandalaksha. He proved as pessimistic as his colleague but Gregory cut short his complaints about the engine and asked, through Boroski, for a definite answer as to whether or not they could catch up the other train.

The reply was, "No". From Kem to Kandalaksha was under two hundred miles and the new driver said that it was quite impossible to make up the best part of two hours in that distance. Gregory then ordered the whole party to the stationmaster's office and on the way told Boroski of a new decision he had taken. If the second train could not catch up the first, its engine could; so they were going to abandon the whole string of coaches and proceed on the engine with every ounce of speed that it could muster.

The station master argued and protested. It would take at least two hours to get another engine out of the yard and ready to carry on the abandoned train; and. where, at this time of night, could he be expected to find another driver? But Gregory flung discretion to the winds and sternly pronounced an ultimatum. Either they let him have the engine or he would go straight to the local G.P.U. and have both station master and driver arrested pending the time when he could see Marshal Voroshilov again and make it his personal business to have them both hanged, drawn and quartered. Under this dire threat, with many gesticulations and expostulations,, they at last gave way and Gregory was at last allowed to have his engine.

Once it was going, with only a single coach behind it as ballast to keep it on the rails, their speed was more than doubled and on straight stretches of the line the driver managed to rev it up to the incredible speed of fifty miles an hour. Gregory rode with Boroski and Orloff in the bunker to make certain that the driver did not slacken in his efforts, and as he sat there on the pile of logs he cursed himself for not having thought of this excellent expedient before; since if he had commandeered the engine to start off with, at Baylik, they would easily have overhauled the train ahead by now.

The glowing furnace of the engine gave them some heat, but the bunker was open to the icy wind so from time to time they took a hand in heaving wood to keep themselves warm, as the solitary engine roared on through the dark night, a cascade of sparks streaming from its funnel.

They had left Kern at half past twelve and covered the next hundred miles in two and a half hours; so by three o'clock in the morning they were keeping a sharp look out for the rear lights of the train they were pursuing, expecting to catch it up at any moment Gregory was now satisfied that even if the Gestapo men were on the train ahead they could not reach Kandalaksha before him; but he was feverish with impatience

to board it at its next halt so as to place the matter beyond all possible doubt.

They had been travelling south west for the last twenty miles, as a creek running inland from the White Sea necessitated the line making a huge hairpin bend and they had just reached its extremity, where the track curved back towards the north, when the engine driver shouted something to his stoker and grabbed the brake lever. Peering anxiously from the cab Gregory saw that a red light was being waved on the line ahead of them; with a scream of ill oiled brakes the engine slowed down over the next quarter of a mile and came jerking to a halt within twenty yards of the light.

A man who was holding a red lamp approached and called out to them; upon which Boroski and Orloff, who had now entered into the excitement of the chase with as much enthusiasm as Gregory, exclaimed simultaneously:

"He says the bridge is down."

Gregory used an Italian oath which in the imagination of man has never been exceeded for it’s blasphemy, and asked them to get details. After an excited conversation, in which Boroski, Orloff, the driver, the stoker and the man with the lamp all joined, his guides told him.

"It is the Finns. Before turning north east again the railway crosses a bridge at this point, which spans a river running into the creek. The Finnish frontier is only sixty miles from here. This is the fourth time during the war that one of what the Finns call their `death companies' has come through the forests unknown to us and blown up this bridge in the middle of the night. They creep up so quietly that the sentries cannot see them and they are always cutting the telephone and telegraph wires, because it is impossible for us, to keep sentries posted every fifty yards along the line."

"When did this happen?" Gregory asked.

"It has only just occurred. The man with the light is surprised that we did not hear the explosion, but the roar of the engine must have drowned it and we should not have seen the flash because of the curve in the line and the surrounding trees.

The Finns are cunning fellows and they always try to blow the bridges up Just as a train is passing over."

"Good God!" exclaimed Gregory. "Do you mean that the train ahead of us has been wrecked and gone crashing headlong on to the ice of the river?"

"No. This time the Finns exploded their dynamite a few minutes too late and the train was almost across; only the two last coaches were wrecked. It was lucky, though, that this man happened to see the sparks flying from our engine; our train is not due here for another two hours yet. If he hadn't pulled us up we should have gone through the broken bridge and all been killed.

The man with the lamp climbed on to the running board of the engine and the driver turned over the lever. Puffing on slowly for a few hundred yards they rounded the curve and pulled up again. Ahead of them they could now see the silhouette of the bridge and moving lights beyond it where the people from the train were examining the wrecked rear coaches and rescuing their occupants.

Gregory was half numb with cold and most terribly tired but his brain was still quick enough to realize that, for him, the wrecking of the train ahead was a blessing in disguise. He had only to cross the river to find out whether or not the Nazis were on the train. If they were not, he had got ahead of them by his dash across Lake Ladoga; if they were, it mattered no longer now that they could not possibly reach Kandalaksha before him; but the confirmation of either fact would be a blessed relief after the crushing anxiety that had tortured him for so many hours.

Leaving the engine they walked to the river bank and scrambled down it on to the ice. Shouts and cries came from ahead and they could now see that it was the furthest of the three spans of the bridge which had been wrecked. The last two coaches of the train had snapped their couplings, run backwards down the collapsed span of the bridge and crashed through the ice, where they lay, half submerged, one on top of the other.

As Gregory's party mingled with the crowd of people from the train he learned that one of the coaches contained only military stores and that the other was the guard's van in which eight or ten people had been travelling. An officer had taken charge of the proceedings and was directing some of the troops as they tried to rescue the poor, shouting wretches entrapped in

the van; while the rest stood on the ice round the great hole which the two coaches and the broken bridgework had made in it.

A number of the men had torches or lanterns so there was quite enough light in which to see people's features, and for ten minutes Gregory moved among them trying to ascertain if the Gestapo agents were anywhere in the crowd; but he could see no one who looked even remotely like a German S.S. man. Yet there were two or three hundred people standing there in the uncertain light, so having sent Boroski off with his suitcase to secure seats for them in the train, which he assumed would start again when the injured and dead had been got out of the guard's van, he continued his search.

Suddenly a cry of terror went up from a dozen men all round him. The ice upon which they were standing had begun to move. It tilted beneath him quite slowly but he instantly, guessed what had happened; the falling coaches had cracked the heavy ice for some distance round the hole that they had made, and the weight of so many people as they all crowded together at the jagged edge of one huge slab that had broken free was causing it to turn over. With screams and shouts the terrified men strove to dash for safety but as the ice tilted more sharply they could not scramble up its slope and slid backwards from it into the water. Swept off his feet in the press, Gregory was carried in with them.

As he went under the cold was so intense that it seemed to pierce his heart like a knife. Striking out blindly he came to the surface; only to be clawed round the neck by a frantic soldier who could not swim. Gregory knew that he would be dead himself in another minute if he could not get out of that deadly, gripping cold which went through his furs as though they were paper and paralyzed his muscles. In a fierce determination to live he thrust the man off and grabbed the edge of the ice which, being relieved of its weight, had now fallen back into place. Next moment a man who had managed to retain his balance hauled him to safety and as he crouched, shuddering where he lay, he suddenly realized that it was Orloff who had rescued him.

Half a dozen other men had also been saved but a number of their comrades had died instantly from the shock of the immersion while others, again, had come up under the ice and so were past all aid.

The cold was so intense that the drips from the victims of this new catastrophe were already freezing into icicles as they were hurried away up tire far bank towards the train. By the time they got to the engine their clothes were frozen on them; but huddled by the furnace they thawed out and as soon as it was possible began to strip. In spite of the heat from the furnace the, cold of the air seemed to burn them as parts of their bodies were exposed to it, but blankets were brought to wrap them in while their clothes were dried. The cab of the engine was only just large enough to hold them all but they huddled up there, with their teeth chattering and their limbs aching, until their clothes, which the driver was holding garment by garment to the engine fire, were dry enough to put on again.

It was an hour before Gregory was able to rejoin his companions. He still felt chilled to the bone and had a splitting headache; but he resisted their attempts to persuade him to lie down as he was determined to make certain whether or not the Gestapo men were on the train. Now that he had succeeded in catching the train it no longer mattered in the least, since he had Voroshilov's order for Erika's release in his pocket and General Kuporovitch would naturally accept that as a higher authority than any document the Gestapo men might produce from the Foreign Office, but to find out if the Nazis had caught the 1.40 from Leningrad on the previous day had now become an obsession with him.

When they had arrived at the bridgehead it had been three o'clock in the morning. It was half past five before a move was made for the train to proceed again. As the people climbed on board Gregory went from carriage to carriage and he was still at it long after the train was in motion. It was after seven before he had fully convinced himself that the S.S. men were not on this train either. Half dazed with fatigue, but completely satisfied, he made his way back to Boroski and Orloff and sank down to sleep in the seat they had kept for him for the rest of the way to Kandalaksha.

It was after ten o'clock when they roused him to tell him that they had at last reached their journey's end. When he awoke he felt positively ghastly and knew that he was running a high temperature. Ire could hardly think for himself any more, except to realize in a dazed way that he had done the job which he had set out to do. He had beaten the Gestapo men and got to Kandalaksha before them. Boroski and Orloff, seeing his state, took charge of him, secured a drosky outside the station and drove with him to the castle.

They were kept only for a few moments in the gloom

Vaulted waiting room that Gregory well remembered; then they were led upstairs to the great chamber with the incongruous furnishings, where Kuporovitch, his dark, slanting eyebrows contrasting so strangely with his grey hair, was seated behind his pinewood desk.

"So you've conic back?" the General said, standing up. "But you look in a pretty mess. Whatever have you been doing to yourself?„

Gregory was in an appalling condition. Beads of sweat from a raging fever were standing out on his forehead; the black smuts from the wood fuel of the trains had smeared and run all over his face as a result of his plunge into the river. His left eve was entirely closed and the flesh all round it was a bright purple. His teeth were chattering and he could hardly stand, so that Boroski and Orloff were supporting him by the arms on either side; but he managed to stammer out:

"I've beaten them I've beaten the Gestapo I've got the order for release, signed by Voroshilov, in my pocket. Send-send for the Countess von Osterberg."

For a second the General's face went quite blank, then he said slowly: "You are too late. The Countess was taken away by two Gestapo men in a plane yesterday."

Chapter XXXII

The Road to Berlin

O w the morning of Saturday, February the 24th Erika was roused by a sharp double knock. She woke to find herself in pitch darkness and for a moment wondered where she was. In their Arctic home it had never been pitch dark, as there was always the warm, gentle glow from the cracks of the stove. Then a door opened and a light clicked on.

The glare from the single unshaded bulb lit the worn and ancient furnishings of the bedroom in Kandalaksha Castle and memory returned to her. Apparently there were no women servants in the castle, as one of the General's shaven headed orderlies had come into the room carrying a large can of hot water. As he put it down and laid one minute towel beside it she wondered why Gregory had not been in to see her on his way to bed the previous night.

In those hectic days they had spent in Munich and Berlin together early in November they had been the most passionate lovers. When they had met again in Helsinki his absence from her seemed only to have increased his eagerness; but their opportunities for love making had been lamentably few. Then his injury at Petsamo had changed his mentality in that respect as in all others. On waking on their first morning in the trapper's house he had accepted quite naturally the fact that he was in love with her, but it had been an entirely different kind of love. He was tender and thoughtful for her and followed her every movement with an almost dog like devotion, but he did not seem to know even the first steps in physical love making any more.

Erika had known the love of many men but to be treated as a saint and placed upon a pedestal was an entirely new experience to her and she had thoroughly enjoyed it. There was something wonderfully refreshing in Gregory's shy, boyish attempts to hold her hand or steal a kiss on the back of her neck when the others were not looking; and she had known that at any moment she chose she could reawake his passions just as they could open up the cells of his memory upon other matters. But she had deliberately refrained from doing so; feeling that they had many weeks ahead of them and that it would be such a wonderful experience for them both if she allowed him to develop his full physical love for her quite unaided.

During those weeks she had grown to love him more than ever before; but she had been cheated of the consummation of her subtle plan by the sudden flooding back of his memory after his fail upon the ice roil. All his old desire for her had returned with renewed force. But within a few hours of that Freddie had solved his puzzle, Gregory had brought home to them the immense importance of it and they were on their way again in a desperate endeavour to get the German plan for world dominion back to London; so in the last five days there had been no opportunity for them to be alone together for more than a few moments.

It was for that reason that she had felt certain that he would come to her the previous night' and kiss her into wakefulness directly he succeeded in getting away from General Kuporovitch. But she knew the reputation that Russian officers had for hard drinking and tried to console herself with the thought that their host must have plied Gregory with so much liquor after she had left them, which out of tactfulness he had fell bound to consume, that by the time he got away, hard headed as he was, he had felt that he would spoil a very perfect moment if he roused her.

When the orderly had left the room she got up to wash and dress. As she looked at her clothes she sighed a little. Her one set of undies had had to do duty with constant washings for twelve weeks and they were in a shocking state. Perhaps she would have been wiser to have availed herself of some of the things belonging to the dead wife of the trapper, but she simply had not been able to bring herself to encase her lovely limbs in those unlovely garments. The tweeds in which she had left Helsinki had weathered their hard wear fairly well, but the soles of her snow boots were wearing thin and the cold had driven her to make use of the Finnish woman's great, thick, woolen stockings. Fortunately her golden hair had a natural wave so, although to her critical eye it badly needed the attention of a hairdresser, she knew that as far as other people were concerned it still passed muster; but powder, lipstick and face creams had all been abandoned in her dressing case. Nevertheless, as she studied her face in a cracked Venetian mirror she had to admit that she was looking little worse for the lack of them.

She would have given a lot for a lipstick and some powder for her nose but she had managed to keep her face from chapping and the cold Arctic air had given her back a natural complexion which was better than anything she had had since she was a young girl. As she studied herself she decided that nobody would ever believe she was twenty eight. She did not look a day over twenty four and her figure, kept in perfect trim by the work she had had to do in these last few months, was as beautiful as ever.

On going out into the corridor she found the orderly there and Freddie standing beside him. He looked at her, blushed scarlet and looking quickly away again, said:

"Angela won't be a minute."

"Have you seen Gregory?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I went into his room a few minutes ago but he wasn't there so I suppose he's already with the General."

"It's rather queer that he didn't look in on me first, to say good morning," she remarked; but her mind was distracted by Angela's appearing at that moment.

Angela had not the good fortune to possess a natural wave so her dark hair was now neatly drawn back and pinned up in a small bun on the nape of her neck; but with her deep blue eyes and milk white skin she still looked extremely pretty and Erika, with a knowing eye, took in the fact that she looked prettier than ever this morning. She showed none of Freddie' embarrassment but smiled gaily as she said:

"Wasn't it fun to sleep in a proper bed again after all these weeks of dosing down on the top of the old brick oven? I wish they hadn't got us up, as I should like to have stayed in bed all day."

Erika took her arm affectionately. "Well, darling; let's hope the time is soon coming when you'll be able to, as perhaps Gregory has persuaded the General to release us. I'm sure he wouldn't have sat up all night drinking unless he thought that he could get something out of him."

The orderly beckoned to them and they followed him down the corridor to the room where they had fed the night before. The General was there, looking somewhat bleary eyed, and his manner was abrupt as he addressed them:

"I regret that I shall have to make a change in your accommodation, since the Colonel Baron has abused my hospitality."

"Really?" Erika raised her eyebrows. "What has he done?"

"As he can't be found, he must have left the castle in the early hours of the morning; although how he did it is not yet clear. If he had dropped from his window he could not get out that way, as all your rooms overlook interior courtyards; in any case, he couldn't have made the drop without using his bedding as a rope; and his bed is undisturbed."

Their first feeling oh learning that Gregory had escaped was one of elation; but it was quickly crushed as the General went on: "I expect he will soon be brought back again. The fact that he cannot speak Russian, together with this godforsaken climate, will prevent him getting very far. In the meantime I intend to see that none of you others plays me any tricks. I am having you transferred to cells downstairs until I receive instructions about you from Moscow."

While they remained silent for a moment Freddie struggled to compose a sentence in French, then said haltingly: "How long do you think that will be; and what sort of orders do you think you will receive about us when they do come in?"

The General frowned. "I should receive instructions about you in a week, or ten days at the most. What they will be I don't know, but in view of what the Colonel Baron told me last night after you went to bed, I should think that you will be sent to Moscow under guard and handed over to the German Embassy there for transfer to Berlin, as it appears that the Gestapo are most anxious to interview you."

His words were a most frightful blow to them all. It seemed impossible to think that Gregory had betrayed them; yet, on the face of it, that appeared to be what he had done. He had escaped himself without endeavouring to take them with him or even letting them know his intentions, as he obviously could have done if he had gone to his room after leaving his host. Worse; before going, either because he was too drunk to know what he was saying or for some inexplicable reason, he had told the General that they were wanted by the Gestapo.

They had barely taken in this almost unbelievable and very frightening piece of news when the General went on: "You will be treated well white you are here and, you have nothing to be afraid of; but in your own interests I advise you to stick to the story that you told me last night until you are out of my keeping. Nobody here speaks French, German or English except myself, so no one else can question you; but I shall have to do so formally this morning in front of my Political Commissar and I shall naturally translate accurately any answers which you make to my questions. Follow the orderly, please, and he will take you to your new quarters."

The orderly shepherded them downstairs to the ground floor, where some of the stone wailed rooms of the old castle had been converted into cells. They were given one apiece, each of which was furnished with bare necessities and a stove; but the General had provided them with the additional amenity of a fourth cell in which to take their meals together and sit during the day. As soon as they had been shown their cells a plain but eatable breakfast was served for them in the sitting room cell and they were locked in there.

At first they were almost too puzzled to discuss the situation. All of them felt that Gregory would never have acted as he had done without good reason; yet whether he had acted wisely was quite another matter. They had no doubt at all that, having escaped, his first concern would be to try to secure their release, but he would have to travel many hundreds of miles as a fugitive himself before he could get in touch with anybody who could possibly assist them, and by the end of the week they might all find themselves on their way to Moscow; after which they would very soon be beyond the aid of Gregory or anyone else.

Later in the morning they were taken upstairs again and questioned by the General in front of a small, fair, ferret faced man who asked innumerable questions, for which the General acted as translator; but after an hour of this it was found that they were merely going over the same old ground in circles, so they were sent downstairs again.

When they were back in their sitting room cell they discussed the situation further and decided that they did not at all like the look of it. From their long examination they gathered that the Political Commissar was greatly intrigued that such unusual fish as themselves should have swum into his isolated net and the General's attitude puzzled them greatly. His questions had shown little intelligence, and during the interrogation he had frequently glowered or shouted at them, all of which was in surprising contrast to his behaviour the night before, when he had been extremely courteous and quite clearly a man of considerable astuteness.

Freddie put the change down to the General's annoyance at Gregory's escape, but Erika said she felt that there was more to it than that; otherwise, why should he have gone out of his way first thing that morning to warn them to stick to their original story and say as little as possible in front of his Political Commissar?

Angela agreed with her. She also had felt that Kuporovitch had been pretending to be thick witted, when they knew him to be nothing of the kind, and that he was therefore hiding some secret of his own which might later prove to be to their advantage. In consequence they hoped that he might come down to see them, or send for them again when he was alone, so that they might talk to him without restraint and perhaps get a clearer view of his true feelings towards them. But the day passed without their seeing any more of him.

On the Sunday morning one of the jailers, who had now taken charge of them, indicated that they should put on their furs and led them out into one of the inner courtyards of the castle for an hour's exercise; after which they were brought back and locked up again. The same thing happened on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. This single hour a day was all the respite they had from boredom, which after the first day or two began to outweigh their anxieties. The General neither sent for them nor came to see them; so they decided that a hangover had been responsible for the sudden deterioration in his wits and manners. They had no books, papers or games and, unlike the long spell of voluntary confinement which they had spent in the trapper's house where they had had all sorts of jobs to occupy them, here they had not a stroke of work to do, apart from cleaning out their own cells which occupied only a few moments each morning.

They talked of this and that, but owing to the many weeks they had spent constantly in each other's company each of them already knew the other's views upon practically every subject, so they were reduced to useless speculation as to what had become of Gregory and their own possible fate.

It was on the Friday afternoon that Angela announced: "We shall have been here a week to night, you know, so our time of grace is. nearly up; and if you ask me, we've been counting without any justification at all on the idea that having got away himself Gregory will find some means of helping us."

"I'm quite sure he would if he could," said Erika swiftly.

"Naturally you feel that way, darling," Angela replied, not unkindly, "because you love him; but you know the old saying, 'Love in. a man's life is a thing apart; 'tis woman's whole existence'. I believe that applies in this case. If you had escaped, the only thing you'd give a damn about would be trying to save Gregory; although, of course, I'm sure you'd try and get Freddie and me out too, if you could. But Gregory probably views things differently not because he doesn't love you, but because he's a man; and so would put what he considers his duty before his personal feelings."

Freddie nodded. "Yes. I know what you're driving at. I didn't want to depress either of you by saying so, but I've been thinking on those lines myself from the very beginning."

"On account of the typescript he got from Goering's safe?" said Erika.

"That's it," Angela agreed. "You know how immensely important he considered it was; so much so that he readily risked all our lives in an attempt to get it back to London. We should never have left our refuge in the forest until the spring if it hadn't been for that. Well, the fact that we were arrested hasn't made it less important. Gregory saw a chance to get out so he took it. He may have felt like hell at having to leave us in the lurch but the typescript was the thing that was uppermost in his mind. He's probably resigned himself by now to the fact that we're all as good as dead and is trying to console himself as well as he can with the knowledge that he couldn't have helped us if he had remained a prisoner, whereas, once he was free, it was his definite duty to try to get through with those vitally important papers."

Erika smiled. "I didn't say anything about it either, but I made up my mind long ago that having once escaped that is just what he would have done; and I don't think any of us can blame him."

"Not a bit," Freddie said quickly. "The only thing I don't understand is why lie should have given it away to the General that we're wanted by the Gestapo."

"You two are not," replied Erika quietly "at least, Freddie may be, for that affair in Helsinki, but even that is doubtful; and Angela certainly isn't."

"No," Angela admitted uneasily. "It's you and Gregory they are really after, darling."

"Yes; I realize that, and, of course. once we get to Moscow there is no one to whom I can appeal, whereas both of you can demand the protection of the British Ambassador."

Freddie laughed, a little uncertainly. "I've been keeping that up my sleeve, because I didn't want Angela to count on it. You know what these Bolshies are they may not allow us to appeal to anybody. I'm afraid all we can do for the moment is to stick together and hope for the best."

That conversation was the last which they were fated to hold on the subject of Gregory's escape and their own gloomy prospects but, afterwards. Erika was glad that they had had it. In the past six days, she had been gradually veering towards the opinion that Gregory would not return, and this talk fully confirmed her in it.

For some inexplicable reason he had given away to General Kuporovitch the fact that they were wanted by the Gestapo, so sooner or later she would be handed over to the Nazis and taken back to Berlin to be executed. They were well guarded in the castle and, even if they could have escaped, their inability to speak Russian and the climatic conditions would have made it utterly impossible for them to get away from the Arctic town. She had never shirked facing anything except poverty and dirt in her brilliant but hazardous career. Whatever hopes Freddie and Angela might pin on being allowed to communicate with their own Embassy when they reached Moscow it was better that she should no longer buoy herself up with day dreams of Gregory's accomplishing her rescue by some brilliant trick or great feat of daring; but make up her mind to endure, with as much dignity and courage as she could muster, the ignominy and death which were in store for her.

It was as well that she made this resolution on the Friday night, because in the middle of Saturday morning two guards came and beckoned to Freddie and Angela; but when Erika made to follow them the soldiers pushed her back and relocking the door left her alone in the cell. Half an hour later the furs and few belongings of the other two, which they had brought from the trapper's house, were collected. Afternoon drew into evening and as they did not come back Erika slowly began to realize that in all probability they had been separated from her for good.

No message was brought to her from them, so evidently they had not been allowed to communicate with her, and she had no means of asking the guards what had happened to them. When breakfast time came on Sunday morning and they still had not returned, she made up her mind that she must nerve herself to even greater courage, as she would now have to face future eventualities quite alone.

By Wednesday four days' solitary confinement had begun to tell upon her, as with nothing to occupy her the hours in the silent, gloomy fortress seemed to crawl by; but she knew that the period the General had mentioned was already up. At any time now instructions about her might be arriving from Moscow, and on the Thursday, just after she had eaten her midday meal she was sent for.

With the General, upstairs in his room, were the little ferret faced Political Commissar and two black uniformed S.S. men. Erika's footsteps faltered as she saw them. She had expected at least the further respite of the journey to Moscow and, although she had tried very hard to put it away from her, there had lingered in her mind the small but persistent hope that even if Gregory could not get her out of the castle he might Be planning some attempt to rescue her on her way south. Now, she felt, that hope, too, was shattered. She knew the methods of the Gestapo. They never wasted time or put themselves to unnecessary expense in eliminating their enemies. Evidently, as these two Nazis had come all the way to Kandalaksha, permission had been obtained from their Russian friends for them to execute her there; so her life could now be measured in hours or perhaps minutes.

One of the S.S. men, a big, fleshy, red faced young brute, stepped forward and looked at her curiously. "So you're the celebrated Erika von Epp? I've often heard of you."

It was pointless for her to deny it as he was holding her passport, which the General had given him, in his hand. Inclining her head she walked, with that regal carriage which Gregory loved so much, to a chair and calmly sat down.

The General, the Commissar and the S.S. men had a short discussion in Russian. The Germans signed some papers, the General bowed politely and said to her in French:

"The courage which you show in such a situation has all my admiration, Countess. I deeply regret that my duty prevents my being of any assistance to you, but I must hand you over to these gentlemen"; and, having thanked him courteously, she was led from the room.

Down in the main hall her furs were brought to her and she was taken out to a large sleigh in which the Gestapo men placed themselves on either side of her. The sleigh drove through the gates and down into the little square of the town, but the driver did not turn towards the railway station. Instead, he took the opposite direction and after a quarter of an hour, when they had passed beyond the last scattered buildings, it pulled up on a long, flat expanse of snow where a black German plane was waiting.

Erika sighed. When she had found that they did not mean to execute her at once her hopes had risen again, but if she was to be taken back direct to Berlin in a plane, that once more eliminated any lingering possibility that Gregory might succeed in rescuing her on the journey. But she admitted to herself that she had never really thought he would. That typescript he was carrying was of such immense importance. He had been gone twelve days now; with his wit and courage he had probably succeeded in getting out of Russia by this time and was no doubt in Sweden or Norway or, if he had succeeded in getting a plane, perhaps he had even reached London.

Owing to newly fallen snow they had great difficulty in getting off the ground but after three unsuccessful attempts the pilot made them all crowd themselves into the tail of the machine and managed to get into the air. It was 'Molotov weather' again, and as the plane roared southwards they could see the frozen lakes and vast forests spread below them. For the first two thirds of the tourney they were well to the east of the Finnish border but the country was very much the same as Eastern Finland.

As Erika watched the countless millions of trees sliding away below them she remembered how Gregory had said that unless the Allies and the Scandinavian countries came to Finland's assistance, making an advance into Russia possible and giving the Finns air superiority, the war must be over by the spring. All Finland's wealth lay in such endless forests, and newly planted trees took forty years to reach maturity. Once the snow which was protecting them through the long winter had melted, the Russians would be able to start huge forest fires by scattering incendiary bombs. The Finns might hold the Mannerheim Line but they would have to surrender if faced with the destruction of the entire potential wealth of their country for two generations to come.

At last the forests ended and just when dusk was falling a great, white expanse lay before them which Erika knew must be the Gulf of Finland. Far away in the distance there was a streak of colour. It was March the 7th and further south the thaw had already set in; the ice in the Baltic was breaking up and giving place to blue green water.

Before they reached the coast line the plane circled and came down on a big military airfield where many Soviet planes were in evidence. At first Erika thought that they had descended only to refuel, butt she was told to get out, and was led between the hangars to a car; so she guessed that they were to break their journey here for the night…

The car took them a few miles through the area where the battles of January had raged, until it entered a deep wood in which there were many hutments; to pull up before a block that had bars across each of its long line of windows and a Russian sentry on guard outside it. The Gestapo men got out and shepherded Erika across some duck boards to the entrance, an N.C.O. was summoned and she was taken inside to one of the row of rooms. It had a stove to warm it but only a palliasse and, blankets on the floor. Leaving her there they locked her in.

Twenty minutes later a Russian soldier brought her a meal of stew, rye bread and coffee substitute. It was still quite early only a little after seven o'clock but she felt so tired and dispirited that, after eating what she could; she tried to settle down for the night.

She had not been lying still for long before she discovered, to her horror, that the straw of the mattress was alive with bedbugs and that the blankets held a colony of lice. Abandoning the palliasse in disgust she curled up on the floor, near the stove, but its hardness, together with the irritation of the vermin which had now got under her clothes and were biting her in a score of places, made sleep impossible; all through the long hours of the night she tossed and squirmed in abject misery.

In the morning she attempted to delouse herself but the vermin were so numerous that her slaughter of them seemed hardly to decrease their numbers and. after a time, the job made her physically sick. She expected the Nazis to come for her to continue their journey but, to her surprise, they did not appear, and except for the soldier, who brought her more food, she was left alone until the afternoon.

She had just switched on the electric light when the door was unlocked and Grauber came in. It was a moment before she recognized him. One bandage swathed his head, covering his empty eye socket, another covered his chin and the whole of the lower portion of his face, but his remaining eye glinted at her with evil satisfaction.

"Guten Tag, Frau Gräfin," he said in his thin, piping voice. "So we have run you to earth at last."

Erika did not reply, so he went on with evident enjoyment: "Jawohl; we've got you now, and I had you brought here because long ago I promised myself the pleasure of breaking that aristocratic pride of yours. It will be fun to see you scream and whimper before all that I intend to leave of you is dragged out to the execution yard. And don't imagine that your English boy friend, Mr. Gregory Sallust, will be able to come to your assistance. We've got him too."

At that Erika was stunned into retort. "You swine you filthy swine " she whispered between closed teeth.

"That makes you sit up, doesn't it?" he laughed in his high falsetto. "He was here two nights ago, posing as von Lutz again, and he had succeeded in wangling an order for your release with which he left for Kandalaksha; but I got on to his game in time and the men whom I sent to fetch you in the plane also took an order to the Governor there to arrest him directly he turns up."

Erika's heart was thudding. Dear Gregory dear Gregory. So he had risked everything to try to save her, after all; but he was caught this time and worse those all important papers would never get to England now.

"I shall proceed about your extermination slowly, 'Frau Gräfin," Grauber went on with studied malice. "We have none of the usual aids to questioning prisoners or even an-er examination room, but I don't need accessories to make little traitors like you go on their knees and beg for death."

Suddenly he struck her a violent blow in the face with his clenched fist. Reeling backwards she fell upon the filthy palliasse, with her mouth cut and bleeding. Having watched her for a moment as she lay there moaning he kicked her twice and, turning away, left the room.

The Russian soldier who brought her evening meal looked at her with round, pitying eyes when he saw the blood on her face and brought her a little lukewarm water with which to bathe her mouth; but that night it seemed to her that she had, descended into the depths of hell.

In attempting to save her Gregory had been caught himself. At the very moment of his triumph, after heaven knew what superhuman scheming and endeavour during the last twelve days, he had walked straight into a trap; and been re arrested the instant he produced the order which was to free her. They would make very certain, too, that he did not escape again. It was the end for him, and the end for her. In a torment of misery she sobbed herself into an exhausted doze which was constantly broken by the biting of the vermin and nightmare thoughts of Grauber.

He came again the following afternoon, bringing with him a thin, flexible riding switch, and he spent an hour in her cell. Perhaps he did not wish the Russians to hear her screaming, or it may have been that he delighted to start her torment very gently, since he did not apply the switch savagely but struck her on the hands, the hips, the upper arms and the calves of the legs, little stinging blows every few minutes, while he taunted her and told her some of the things that he had in mind to do to Gregory.

On Sunday and Monday he came again and plied his switch each time with increasing vigour until the tender flesh of her whole body was criss crossed with thin, aching red weak. On the Sunday she fought him, driving her nails deep into his cheek above the bandage and burying her teeth in his hand; but he hit her a blow in the stomach that drove the breath from her body and doubled her up in a writhing heap on the floor. On Monday, with the intention of rousing the guard, she deliberately began to scream the moment her tormentor entered the room; but the soldier who came in response to her screams was not the wide eyed young peasant who had brought her the water three nights before. He was a sullen looking lout who, on a sharp word from Grauber, shrugged his shoulders and slammed the door. After that she could only moan and submit to each further vicious little flick which was never hard enough to harm her seriously but which in succession were fraying her nerves to tatters.

The remainder of each twenty three hours, when Grauber was not with her and she was not drowsing in torpid nightmare ridden sleep, she spent in an agony of dread anticipating his next visit. She no longer even noticed the lice and bed bugs that were now swarming on her or cared about her filthy, unwashed condition; and thought only of the fresh torments that were in store for her. But on the Tuesday afternoon when she shuddered with apprehension at hearing the key turn in the lock of her cell a new figure entered; a tall, thin faced man in the uniform of a German General.

Scrambling to her feet she ran towards him stretching out her bruised hands and stammering a plea for his protection, but he gently pushed her back and closed the door carefully behind him.

"You don't remember me, Frau Gräfin?" he said in a low voice.

"Why, yes “she exclaimed. "You're Rupprecht von Geisenheim."

He nodded. "Yes. I'm the head of the German Military Mission to the Soviet and I don't know if you know it, but this camp is Marshal Voroshilov's Headquarters."

The tears sprang to her eyes as she muttered: "Oh, take me away from that fiend Grauber, he he's killing me by inches."

Von Geisenheim shook his head sadly. "I can't possibly express how sorry I am for you, but you know the power of these Gestapo chiefs. It's more than my life is worth to try to give you my protection in fact, I am risking a great deal by coming to see you here today, and I only decided to chance it because Grauber has gone into Leningrad for the night."

"Why have you come, then?" she cried desperately.

"Just to tell you two things which I thought might enable you to die more bravely. Firstly, I wanted you to know that the man you are in love with did not desert you; he moved heaven and earth to get an order for your release and to reach Kandalaksha before the Gestapo."

"I know that," she said quickly. "I know that."

"I'm aware of his real identity," the General went on, lowering his voice to a whisper. "We recognized each other when he arrived here. We were together in the fight that night at the Adlon, but by a miracle none of the Gestapo people who were there appear to have noticed me, so I was not arrested afterwards."

"You-you're one of us, then?" Erika said slowly.

"Yes. And the movement is still going on. As you know, it was only our friends in Berlin who revolted on the night of November the 8th. Since the Putsch was a failure the officers who commanded at the battle fronts and in the garrisons all over Germany did not join in, so there are still many thousands of us who are ready to make a new bid for freedom when the time is ripe. You have been out of things for the last three months so you know nothing of our new plans and therefore can give nothing away however much they may torture you. But I wanted you to know that, although you will not live to see the day, all that is best in Germany will yet rise to overthrow Hitler and make our people great, free and respected again.

Thank you." she murmured, the tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, Herr General; it was good of you to come to me. I shall bear things better now that I know that our country is really to be freed from men like Grauber and all the evil they have brought into the world."

"You see now why I must resist the dictates of all decency and chivalry," Von Geisenheim went on. "By seeking to intervene on your behalf I should 'Jeopardize my life; and it is my duty to live because I have work to do for the salvation of Germany. You will die, I know, with the courage of a true von Epp; in the meantime I can only wish you fortitude." Clicking his heels he bowed low over her swollen, blistered hand and kissed it; then he left the room as quietly as he had come.

That night she tried to fortify herself again with the thought that what she was undergoing was no worse than the sufferings of thousands of other men and women in the German concentration camps who had earned the hatred of individual Nazis or of the countless Czechs and Poles they had enslaved. Yet the knowledge that these brute beasts, who were now seeking to bring the whole world under the scourge of their whips at the orders of their soulless, power lusting Leader, would be swept away in due time by the forces of Good which were rallying against them was scant comfort beside the fact that she had yet so much to suffer before she died.

On the Wednesday morning she was shivering with fear again and even the sound of prolonged cheering in the camp about eleven o'clock did not rouse her curiosity. At three o'clock in the afternoon the door of her cell opened once again to admit Grauber.

He was in high good spirits and told her that the Russo Finnish War was over. As he plied his switch from time to time he gleefully outlined the humiliating terms which the unfortunate Finns had been forced to accept after their magnificent resistance. In a spurt of rage Erika flared at him:

"You laugh too soon, you filthy brute. The Russians and you Nazis can smash these small people at your will, but you yet have Britain and France and America to deal with and they'll get you in the end; then the German people will revolt and crucify every one of you."

He laughed and flicked her across the face with his whip. "You little wild cat; you're talking nonsense. And, anyhow, if things do go that way you'll never live to crow over us. Now this war's over I'm going back to Berlin and I mean to take you with me. You remember that private cell of mine in my own house? We can have many pleasant little sessions there when

I'm off duty. Auf weidersehen, Frau Gräfin. He stressed the last

word mockingly as he turned and left her.

That night of Wednesday, March he 13th, was the worst of

all the ghastly nights that she had spent during the past fortnight. The picture of the cell of which Grauber had spoken was constantly before her eyes; he might keep her there for weeks while satiating his sadistic brutality upon her. All night through she tossed and turned and when morning carne she could hardly think coherently. She was afraid now that she would go mad

before she died and barely had the strength to wonder what was about to happen; when, long before dawn, her cell was opened, her furs were thrust at her by one of the Russian soldiers and she was led outside to a sleigh.

In the faint Light she saw that Grauber was already sitting in it dressed for a journey. He was wearing his eagle crested peaked cap, instead of the fur papenka that he had worn on his visits to her hut, but he had a fur coat over his uniform and its collar was turned up round his ears to protect him from the cold. A Russian soldier was driving the sleigh and another sat on the box beside him. When she got in Grauber grunted at her as he moved over a little to make room, and the sleigh drove off.

Once it was clear of the wood it turned south. A few miles further, having reached the coast line, it left the shore and drove on, continuing in the same direction over the ice. Erika roused herself for a moment to wonder if they were taking a short cut to the nearest railway station by crossing a big bay; but she was so cold and utterly wretched that she no longer cared. Grauber, hunched up in his furs beside her, had gone to sleep and, having been roused so early, she tried to follow his example.

A bitter wind was blowing and it was still dark when, after two hours' driving, they reached a break in the ice beyond which blue water could be faintly seen. The sleigh halted and, getting out, Grauber began to flash a torch. His signal was answered.

A quarter of an hour elapsed and the sound of oars splashing in the water became perceptible; then a boat drew up along, side the edge of the ice.

Grauber motioned to her to get into the boat and she obeyed he turned back to talk to the two soldiers for a few minutes. She noticed that in comradely Russian fashion he shook hands with them before he joined her. The boat pushed off and were rowed away through the gloomy dawn light to a small tramp steamer which was standing out about half a mile away in the bay where the ice had melted. Some sailors helped Erika up the ladder and Grauber followed her. The boat was hoisted in and the ship's engines began to turn over.

Erika had already guessed what was happening. Now that the ice in the Baltic was breaking up it would be quicker and more comfortable to go down by ship to Danzig than to spend two nights sitting up in a railway carriage on a journey through Russia and Poland. Grauber was standing beside her on the deck as she watched the icy shore of mutilated Finland recede. Suddenly she felt him put his arm through hers and the voice she loved more than anything else in the world said:

"Take it easy, darling."

She swung round with a half strangled cry. Her companion had taken off his uniform cap and removed the black eye shade. Next moment she was in Gregory's arms.

"But how-how did you do it?" she gasped between her sobs f joy when at last he released her.

His old gay smile lit up his lean, strong face. "I was a day too late when I arrived at Kandalaksha and I reached there in a raging fever that held me up for three days; but I left again on Monday evening. When I heard the Gestapo had sent a plane to fetch you I felt certain that must have been Grauber's work so I hurried back to Voroshilov's headquarters. Von Geisenheim told me what had happened and we planned this coup directly I got in last night."

He paused to kiss the red weal that ran across her cheek,' where Grauber had struck her the day before, then hurried on: "I already had Voroshilov's order for your release and when I half murdered Grauber a week ago I took everything of his that I thought might be useful to me, including his uniform and his eye patch. With the patch and the bandages he had been wearing it wasn't difficult to get myself up well enough to pass for him in the darkness. The two soldiers on the sleigh were grand fellows who had accompanied me to Kandalaksha and back; but I didn't dare to let you know about my imposture in front of them, because they both speak German."

"But the ship, darling how did you manage to get a ship? And where are we going?"

"We're going to Norway first, as this is a Norwegian vessel. If only Hitler hasn't walked into it before we get there. You remember the plan. And now the Finnish business is settled Denmark and Norway are the next on the list,