The Black Baroness

Gregory was intensely interested. He knew that the Russians had formed parachute battalions years ago and it had seemed to him then that the idea was an excellent one. Such troops could land far behind an enemy's lines and seize aerodromes or strong points and cut communications almost without interference.

He had spoken of the idea with considerable enthusiasm to a Staff Colonel of the British War Office, but the Colonel had poured cold water on the scheme. He had said that the Russian experiment had not proved at all a success, as many of the men had injured themselves on landing, and that Britain could not afford to risk that sort of thing happening to her fellows; also that the parachutists landed so far apart from one another that they afterwards had great difficulty in forming up into a coherent unit and therefore could be picked off or rounded up and captured separately before they had time to do any serious damage.

Those arguments had not seemed to Gregory to hold water, for he considered it part of a soldier's business to risk being injured in training just as an R.A.F. pilot has to risk his neck while learning to fly, and he felt that it must be possible to reduce the number of casualties on landing to an insignificant proportion if the parachutists were given proper training. Moreover, if they floated down on to a patch of peaceful countryside, far from any troop concentrations, who was going to capture or kill them before they succeeded in joining up, however widely they were dispersed on landing?

The Colonel had not attempted to argue the matter further, but had implied that the whole thing was rather the sort of comic-opera business that one might expect from people like the Russians, and that it did not really come into the sphere of serious soldiering.

Gregory had again heard of parachute troops being used in the Polish Campaign; this time by the Germans. But the reports about it were rather vague and, whatever British Military Intelligence may have known about the actual facts, the Press had inferred that most of the Germans who made parachute descents in Poland were spies, dressed in civilian clothes, whose business it was to spread false reports and sabotage communications. It was, therefore, with positive fascination that he now saw for himself that the Germans had adopted the new technique and actually had companies of fully-equipped troops specially trained to make parachute-landings.

The spectacle was the most charming thing to watch. The planes had circled round and were on their way back to Oslo, but the whole sky to the west of the road was dotted with the green hemispheres of the wind-filled parachutes as they floated gracefully down carrying either a man or a big, tubular drum.

The drop was not a great one, as the planes had passed over at about five hundred feet, and in a few minutes the soldiers were landing all over the fields for a mile or more either side of the place where Gregory stood. Even the refugees streaming along the road, who had at first been terrified by the approach of the German aircraft, had now, in many cases, halted as though spellbound at the sight of this manoeuvre which seemed more like a number in a military tattoo than an act of war.

A few of the parachutists were dragged as they landed or became caught up in trees and bushes, but after cutting themselves free from their parachutes most of them remained where they had fallen for about a minute, as though acting on a routine drill, to recover from the shock of landing. Then the officers'

whistles sounded and, springing up, they began to run at full speed towards the drums which had been landed with them.

One of these had fallen into a ditch quite near Gregory and he saw some of the men fling themselves upon it. Ripping open its zip fasteners they pulled out an amazing variety of items, including automatic rifles, leather ammunition-carriers, two heavy machine-guns and a squat, fat-barrelled affair that looked like a cross between a trench mortar and a small howitzer. Within five minutes the platoons had assembled and were numbering off so that the officers could make certain that none of their men had been stunned in his fall and was missing. The second that this check-up had been completed the officers gave an order and the men dispersed again in little groups to take up positions behind the most advantageous shelter immediately available from which they could cover the road against any possible attack.

Von Ziegler then went forward and introduced himself to the nearest platoon commander, upon which the officer gave a signal by whistle and a few moments later they were joined by two other officers; a major who commanded the parachute troops and his second-in-command. Introductions were made all round and although, technically, Gregory was the senior officer present and the paratroop commander, Major Helder, the second senior, it was clear that von Ziegler was still to be regarded as the director of the whole force. After informing Major Helder that the capture of Lillehammer and the person of King Haakon was the objective of the expedition he gave him certain orders which were rapidly carried out.

Having recovered from their astonishment at seeing German troops descend from the air most of the refugees were hurrying on again, though some of them in a panic had abandoned their vehicles and were taking to the hills on the far side of the road; but the column halted again, as the parachutists who had landed a mile farther to the north had drawn a cordon across it. The hundred-and-forty-odd troops turned the Norwegians out of the best cars available in the traffic jam, made all the other vehicles drive into ditches or fields and formed up in a long, unbroken column. For the time being Gregory decided to go with von Ziegler and the Major. They drove along to the head of the column and it set off for Lillehammer.

Among the commandeered vehicles were three motor-cycles and German soldiers mounted on these now went ahead to clear a way for the column. Soon they caught up with the last refugees who had got through before the road was closed and, waving their automatic pistols with threatening shouts, they drove all stragglers right into the roadside so that the German column was able to pass with a minimum of delay.

Gregory wondered why the parachutists had not been dropped nearer Lillehammer, but as they advanced the reason became obvious. The strip of flat meadow-land to the left of the road gradually narrowed until it gave place to a steep bank with pine trees, running down to the water, and on the right-hand side the slope rose, even more steeply, towards the mountains. Evidently von Ziegler had chosen the site as the only one suitable for a parachute-landing south of the town he meant to attack.

At first Gregory hoped that someone who saw the Germans might telephone a warning of their approach to Lillehammer but he soon saw that precautions were being taken against this. Every few hundred yards one of the motor-cyclists dismounted and, swarming up a telephone pole, cut the cables so that no one in the scattered houses which they passed could get through to the north. News of their approach could not be carried by word of mouth, either, as they were moving faster than the procession of refugees. Within an hour of landing the motorcyclists reached a sharp curve in the road. Two of them again cut the column of refugees and the third rode back to report to Major Helder that Lillehammer was in sight a mile farther on round the bend.

After consultation with von Ziegler and Gregory the Major began to make his dispositions for the attack.

Half the troops were ordered out of their cars and down the bank to the water's edge. For many miles past this long arm of the Mjose Lake had had the appearance of a river and it had gradually narrowed until here it was no more than two hundred yards wide. A number of the Germans began to blow up rubber boats that had formed part of the contents of the drums which had been dropped with them, while others cut branches with which to paddle themselves across; the intention being that one half of the force should continue along the road and that the other half should advance along the far side of the water so that Lillehammer could be attacked simultaneously from two directions.

While the troops were still busy blowing up the boats von Ziegler said to Gregory: 'The men in the cars will have to wait here until the others are ready to go forward.'

'Quite,' Gregory agreed. 'But in the meantime, since you and I are in civilian clothes, don't you think it would be as well if we drove on in one of the cars to see if the Norwegians have posted a guard at the entrance to the town?'

Von Ziegler shrugged. 'As they can't know that there are any German troops within miles of them that's most unlikely; and if we meet with any opposition our fellows on the other bank will be able to enfilade and outflank it.'

'Oh, certainly. But as the King is in the neighbourhood there's just a chance that some local reservists have been erecting a road barrier, and I really think it's up to us to spy out the land and make quite sure that our men are not exposed to any unpleasant surprises.'

'Perhaps you're right,' the airman admitted, 'and we can't be too careful. Major Helder will need a car so we'll leave him mine. The men who were in yours have gone down to the river, so we can use that.' As he spoke he walked towards it and, getting in, they drove at an easy pace towards the town.

It was just the opportunity for which Gregory had been waiting. During the whole of the last hour he had been acutely conscious that it was up to him somehow or other to get another warning through to the King of this new danger that threatened him, yet he had been completely powerless, for he was at von Ziegler's mercy so long as they were surrounded by troops; but now that he had the airman on his own again he had at least an even chance of overcoming him, since the weapons of both had been taken from them by the Norwegian police the night before.

Gregory believed in never taking any unnecessary risks, and von Ziegler was sufficiently powerful to knock him out in a scrap by a lucky blow, so he decided that the best thing to do was to drive straight in to the police-station and hand the German over to the authorities; then they could telephone to the King a warning of what was impending. But his plan was frustrated by an irritating though quite simple mishap.

Earlier that morning he had realised that his petrol was getting pretty low, but as he had not been driving the car for the past hour he had not thought about the matter since, and now, with a sudden sputtering of the engine, the petrol gave out. Fortunately they were only half a mile from the first houses of the town and two hundred yards ahead there stood a petrol station, so they got out and walked towards it.

In front of the station there was—somewhat to Gregory's surprise—a handsome Rolls-Royce which was just being filled up. As he and von Ziegler halted beside it, waiting to ask the pump attendant if he had a tin of petrol, the solitary occupant of the Rolls turned round, looked at Gregory and, flinging open the door of the driving-seat, jumped out. He was a tall, thin, prosperous-looking individual with a drooping moustache and a beautifully-cut suit of Glenurquhart tweeds. Advancing on the petrified Gregory he exclaimed in English with jovial delight:

'Well, I'll be jiggered! If it isn't my old friend, Gregory Sallust!'

As Gregory was in civilian clothes there was nothing whatever about him to indicate that he was posing as the Colonel Baron von Lutz, and the tall man's recognition was so convincingly confident that Gregory knew that he would never be able to persuade von Ziegler that any mistake had been made. At that second he caught the German's eye; in it amazement was struggling with sudden comprehension and the dawn of fanatical hatred.

CHAPTER 9

When Greek Meets Greek

Gregory could almost see the thoughts racing through the German's brain. He was putting two and two together with extraordinary rapidity. He had been too wrapped up in his own plan to kidnap or kill King Haakon to wonder why a German staff-colonel should, within five hours of the invasion, have completed any work he had to do and be at liberty to set off into the blue as a casual helper in this wild chase. Here was the explanation. His companion for the last twenty-seven hours was not a German officer at all, but a British spy. The Rolls-Royce car had a diplomatic number-plate, so evidently its owner was an Englishman who had escaped from the British Legation in Oslo, and he had given away this old friend of his, Mr. Gregory Sallust, without realising what he was doing.

It must have been this spy who had somehow managed to warn King Haakon to leave his Palace at a moment's notice. It was this wolf in sheep's clothing who on the previous night had suggested that instead of remaining in the police-station to be bombed they should give warning of the air-raid; so he had managed to save the King again on the specious excuse that if they saved themselves they could always capture or kill him the following day. Now it was this snake that he had been nurturing in his bosom who had proposed that they should go ahead of the column to make quite certain that Lillehammer was undefended; but evidently his intention had been to get yet one more warning to the King so that he could leave the town before the German troops came up. Von Ziegler was an ambitious man and he had counted upon receiving signal honours from his Fuehrer for the capture of King Haakon; now he saw how step by step his plan had been foiled by the British agent whom he had been fool enough to take as his companion and confidant.

With a roar of rage he sprang; but Gregory side-stepped and put out a foot to trip him. For once Gregory had met his match. Von Ziegler was still much too concerned for the preservation of his own plans to be willing to risk sabotaging them further for the joy of injuring the man who had tricked him. The thing uppermost in his mind at that moment was the urgent necessity of escaping from the two Englishmen, who might try to hold him prisoner, and of getting back to his troops round the bend of the road. He had leapt at Gregory only in order to drive him out of the way. Swerving suddenly, he jumped into the driving-seat of the Rolls. Its tall owner grabbed at him but he fended him off with one hand while releasing the brake with the other. Next minute the big car slid away in a cloud of dust.

Gregory could not help admiring the tactics by which von Ziegler had made his get-away and he smiled at the Englishman. 'Well, Gussy, old friend, I'm afraid that's good-bye to your Rolls.'

The Honourable Augustus Langdon-Forbes stared after four thousand pounds' worth of the world's most excellent machinery, which was now streaking southward. Then he looked ruefully at Gregory.

'Who's your ill-mannered friend? I seem to know his face.'

'You should,' Gregory replied. 'He's the Air Attache at the German Legation in Oslo and he rejoices in the name of Captain Kurt von Ziegler.'

'Of course. Still, damn'd unsporting of him, I think, to make off with my car like that without so much as

"by your leave".'

'There is a war on, Gussy, old thing,' Gregory remarked quietly.

The other's eyes suddenly flickered with amusement. 'So I gather. In recent months we've even had one or two dispatches about it from London.'

'I should have thought you might also have seen something of it yourself in the last few hours. Did you by any chance pass through Hamar early this morning?'

'Yes; and I found it a most regrettable sight—most regrettable. I see no reason at all why we and the Germans shouldn't kill one another, if we feel that way, without burning up the houses of a lot of unfortunate Norwegians.'

'The Germans considered that they had an excellent reason. They were out to capture King Haakon—and they'll get him yet if we don't do something about it. Do you by any chance speak Norwegian?'

'A word or two. I've been en poste here for over two years you know.'

'Enough to make yourself understood over a telephone?'

Augustus Langdon-Forbes' brown eyes twinkled again. 'I might succeed in that.'

'Come on, then; you must get on to the police—or, better still, to the Sandvig's house, where the King is staying, and warn him to get out at once. There's a column of German troops lurking round the corner up there all ready to come racing into the town, and another lot are making their way up through the trees on the other side of the water.'

'God bless my soul! D'you really mean that, Gregory? I know the German motor-cyclists are pretty swift movers but I never thought that they'd get here as quickly as this.'

Gregory had turned and was striding towards a long, low building just beside the petrol station, as he replied grimly: 'They didn't come on motor-cycles; they dropped straight out of the sky like a lot of lovely fairies who had been cursed by a wicked witch and turned into sausage-eating hoodlums with two-ton boots.'

'Parachute troops, eh?' Augustus said lazily.

'How did you guess, Gussy dear?'

'Oh, we are not altogether without our sources of information,' the diplomat shrugged, 'and I had a sort of idea that they might try out their new technique if they decided to go for Scandinavia.'

'Then why the hell didn't you pass on your "sort of idea" to the War House?'

'We did, old fellah—we did; but the wallah who received this epic testimony to our foresight and care for our country's weal probably thought we were pulling his leg. After all, it's asking a bit too much to expect a British general to believe in fairies.'

As they hurried into the low building Gregory realised that it was not, as he had supposed, the rather spacious bungalow of the owner of the petrol pumps, but some sort of club. There was a man behind a desk in the hallway, which opened into a broad lounge-room where a number of Norwegians with worried faces were earnestly talking together in little groups.

Langdon-Forbes stepped forward and proceeded to air his word or two of Norwegian. This proved to be a complete and rapid command of the language, without any attempt to speak it as it was spoken by the Norwegians, and his rather high, clipped accent still branded him as Winchester and Balliol although he was speaking in a foreign tongue. What he said to the man behind the desk Gregory did not know, but the man was galvanised into instant activity and two minutes later Gussy was speaking swiftly and clearly on the telephone. As he hung up the receiver he said to Gregory:

'Well, that's that. Dr. Koht, the Foreign Minister, is with the King and I spoke to his secretary, whom I know personally, so they will be on their way in half an hour.'

'Half an hour?' exclaimed Gregory. 'That's no good; the Boche are only just round the corner; once they start they'll be in the town inside ten minutes—and they may start at any moment.'

'Sorry; but the King is in his bath. He's had rather a trying time, poor old chap, and he thought a bath and a bit of massage would restore him. They'll tell him at once, of course, but it's bound to take him a quarter of an hour or so to get dried and dressed.'

'Has he any troops out there to defend him?'

'No. I asked about that, but Lillehammer is not a garrison town and so he hasn't even an acting unpaid bombardier for escort—only a few policemen with those funny old revolvers.'

Gregory groaned. 'We must try and gain him a flying start somehow. I know! We can't stop the troops across the water but what we can do is to stop the motorised column by making a road barrier. We'll have to be darned snappy about it, though. Go and talk to those chaps in there; tell them as quickly as you can what's happening and get them to lend a hand dragging out the furniture.'

Langdon-Forbes advanced into the open doorway of the lounge and raised his high-pitched voice.

There was instant silence, and after he had spoken for a moment a fat man stepped forward and said something to him; upon which he turned to Gregory.

'Our luck's in. This place is the Lillehammer Rifle Club and our friend here, who is its President, suggests that all the members should get their rifles.'

'Splendid!' Gregory nodded to the fat man and added: 'But for God's sake tell them to be quick!'

The President called loudly to his friends and a stampede to the gun-room ensued. Two minutes later the first members of the club to reach it came hurrying back with rifles and boxes of ammunition. As they started to run out on to the road Gregory spoke quickly again to Gussy.

'Tell them that I'm a British officer and that they'd better let me take charge while you act as my interpreter. They won't stand an earthly if they line up out there in the open. The Germans have got tommy-guns and will simply shoot them to ribbons. The thing to do is to man the windows of the club and lie in wait until the Germans come down the road.'

Gregory's suggestion was adopted and under his directions the clubmen began to smash the long line of windows; afterwards removing the fragments of glass to prevent their flying when the Germans fired at the place. They then sorted themselves out inside the building while Gregory stood in the doorway watching the curve of the road half a mile away. Word was passed round that not a shot was to be fired until he gave the Norwegian word of command, with which Langdon-Forbes furnished him.

The preparations for the ambush were only just completed in time. A moment later he saw the Rolls suddenly shoot round the corner, and it was followed by a string of about sixteen other cars containing the parachute troops.

He stepped back a little in case he was spotted and von Ziegler took a flying shot at him when the Rolls drew level. Unconsciously holding his breath, he waited until the first four cars had passed him; then with all the strength of his lungs he-roared the word for 'Fire!'

There was a deafening crash as the thirty-odd rifles of the clubmen flashed at the German column. The cars were a bare twenty yards away, the attack was totally unexpected and the fusillade created absolute havoc among them. It was as though the drivers of the first eight cars had suddenly been struck with madness. From an orderly, fast-moving procession the leading half of the column was instantly thrown into the utmost confusion. Cars swerved, skidded and crashed into one another. Two of them plunged headlong down the bank on the far side of the road; one was caught sideways-on by a tree, while the other, rocketing from side to side, plunged into the water. A third came roaring towards the club-house but hit a telegraph-pole, which it tried to climb and became stuck with its front wheels eight feet in the air.

A fourth charged a petrol pump and, turning over, burst into flames.

Above the din could be heard the screaming of brakes as the drivers in the latter half of the column tried to pull up. They bunched in an almost solid jam, swivelled in all directions across the roadway, and the Norwegians sent a second volley into them. Gregory took in the general scene with grim satisfaction, then his glance ran swiftly along to the leading car— the Rolls—and remained fixed there. One of the back tyres had been exploded by a bullet and the car had run up the bank about fifty yards past the club-house.

As he watched he saw von Ziegler, Major Helder and another German officer climb out of it. Helder staggered a few paces then fell, either dead or wounded. The other officer turned and sent a stream of bullets out of his automatic towards the clubhouse, but von Ziegler, with his head low, was running hard towards the town. Suddenly he halted and shouted an order to the officer. The officer yelled something to two other men, who had just scrambled from the third car, and all three of them abandoned the fight to pelt after von Ziegler.

Somebody in the club-house drew a bead on one of the men and he was hit in the back as he ran.

Flinging up his arms he pitched forward on his face, but von Ziegler, the officer and the other man managed to reach cover before the marksman could fire again.

Gregory cursed softly to himself. It was the German Air Attache who was the brains of the party and he had got away with two armed comrades. He was not the sort of man to have fled from the fight on account of cowardice, and the fact that he had drawn two others off with him showed that, although he might consider the ambush into which his party had fallen as an infuriating setback, he was still unshaken in his determination to capture or kill King Haakon.

However, von Ziegler was without a car for the moment, and even with two armed men to help him, both of whom were in uniform and so likely to prove a target for the revolvers of the Norwegian police or the brickbats of the population, he would probably have considerable difficulty in getting another; so Gregory did not feel that he was called on to risk his life by giving chase immediately.

To have left the shelter of the club-house would certainly have been to do so, for, in spite of the devastating surprise attack, the Germans were now fighting back with determination and ferocity. Those who had escaped death or serious injury had climbed out of their cars and taken refuge behind them or in the ditch at the far side of the road and were blazing away with their tommy-guns at the club-house windows.

The Germans lost over thirty men before the Norwegians sustained a single casualty, but after that it became more or less tit-for-tat. Allowing for the many casualties which the Germans had suffered in the first few minutes after the attack opened, their numbers were now about even with those of the Norwegians; and although the soldiers had enormous fire superiority, that was largely offset by the fact that every one of the clubmen was a trained marksman.

Drum after drum of machine-gun bullets spattered into the club-house, annihilating any marksman who was rash enough to expose himself for more than a quarter of a minute, but every German who showed a limb was an instant target for half a dozen well-aimed rifles. Several of the Germans attempted to throw hand-grenades, but two of them were shot down in the act so that the grenades rolled away and exploded near them, causing further casualties, after which the others desisted, as they could not lob the bombs far enough while lying down.

Gregory and Langdon-Forbes had had no time to get rifles before the attack but immediately it had been launched and Gregory had had a chance to assess its results they dashed inside and collected a couple of weapons from the armoury; then for the next ten minutes they did their share by firing alternately out of the narrow window of the wash-place.

It was Gussy who spotted three Germans behind an overturned car who were fitting together the parts of one of their miniature howitzers. Gregory popped up his head for a second to get a glimpse of them and he knew that if once the gun were allowed to come into action the club-house would very soon be rendered untenable by shell-fire. With a swift word he sent Gussy along a passage to tell the others what was happening, so that the gun's crew might be put out of action, by fire from different angles.

Gussy returned to say that he had found a Norwegian ex-Army Colonel who had volunteered to take half a dozen good men out through the back of the premises; they were to make their way along behind the rifle butts, which would give them cover from the road until they reached a point where they could enfilade the men with the howitzer. For another five minutes the battle raged with undiminished fury. The air was now thick with smoke and the acrid smell of cordite, but the Germans had not gained & foot of ground and as the clubmen were now exercising greater care they were sustaining fewer casualties.

Suddenly there was a blinding flash from behind the overturned car; it was followed instantly by the roar of an explosion. The first miniature shell had fallen just behind the clubhouse and the tinkling of glass could be heard as the panes fell from the shattered windows. There was another flash and the club-house seemed to rock as a second shell pierced its low roof and exploded there, making a gaping hole in the ceiling above the lounge. A third shell followed, pitching right into the long room and causing many casualties; but at that moment the party that the Norwegian ex-Colonel had taken out came into action.

Seven good men and true, all first-class shots, emptied the magazines of their rifles into the crouching group of Germans and the gun's crew was annihilated.

A second later a whistle blew and the fire of the Germans slackened. The officer who was commanding what remained of the enemy force evidently considered that they had had enough and was drawing his men off. In several cases as the Germans retreated they had to expose themselves for a few seconds while wriggling back from one piece of cover to another, and during the process the Norwegians got four more of them; so Gregory estimated that there could be only about twenty Germans now left uninjured out of the seventy-odd who had 'made up the original force. Soon afterwards the firing ceased altogether and the Norwegians were able to assess their own casualties. They had lost five dead and nine wounded; half that number having been accounted for by the single shell which had burst in the lounge. Gregory, Langdon-Forbes, the President of the club and the ex-Colonel then held a brief council of war.

Through Gussy, Gregory explained that a second party of Germans, over seventy strong, were approaching the town on the far side of the water and that, if possible, these also must be ambushed and held off. He added that the leader of the expedition, who was in civil clothes, and two other Germans had succeeded in getting through and were now, presumably, already in the town. It was to be hoped that by this time the Royal party had got away, but von Ziegler would certainly attempt to follow them and, as he seemed to have German agents all over the place, he would probably endeavour to bring up another force of parachutists or send an SOS for bombers to attack the King. In consequence, it was of the utmost importance that he should be caught before he could plot further mischief.

As Gregory knew von Ziegler by sight it was agreed that it would be best for him to go after the airman, with Langdon-Forbes to help him and act as interpreter, while the ex-Colonel took command of the clubmen and did his utmost to hold the town so as to give the King as long a start as possible before the Germans entered it.

On checking up they found that there were twenty-one clubmen still uninjured, three who were only slightly wounded, and six male members of the staff, all of whom were capable of handling a rifle. It was considered unlikely that the surviving Germans from the motorised columns would attack again for some little time and providing they could be prevented from advancing towards the town that was all that was required. In consequence, it was decided to evacuate the club-house and leave it to be shelled by the Germans. With the President in charge, the six members of the staff and the three slightly wounded men took up a position among the trees on the slope at the right of the road, so that they could fire down on the Germans when they proceeded to advance along it after having pounded the club-house to pieces.

All the unwounded members, with the Colonel in command, were to make their way through the trees into the town and occupy houses along the shore so that they could ambush the second German force when it came across the water in its rubber boats. They were also to carry as many rifles and as much ammunition as possible, since they knew that they would find plenty of men in the town only too willing to join them, and with these reinforcements the Colonel hoped to hold the Lillehammer waterfront for some considerable time, if not indefinitely.

There was not a moment to be lost, as it would be touch and go as to whether the Colonel could get his men down to the waterfront in time to prevent the Germans landing. Immediately these decisions had been made everyone set about collecting such arms and ammunition as they could carry. The staff took charge of the seriously wounded and made preparations to take them out into the woods, while the main body of clubmen hurried off through the trees. They entered the town from its east side and as soon as they reached the main street Gregory and Gussy took leave of the Colonel and the others, wishing them the best of luck and congratulating them upon the splendid show which they had put up in defence of their King.

The two Englishmen then set about making inquiries for von Ziegler and the soldiers who were with him.

They soon learnt that the three Germans had entered the town by way of its main street about half an hour before and, threatening the crowd through which they passed with their tommy-guns, had entered the only store in the place, which contained a men's outfitting department. As soon as they had gone inside a section of the crowd had rushed off to get the police; but as almost the entire police force of Lillehammer was out at the suburb of Maihaug, where they had been protecting the King, only two policemen could be found. Very gallantly they had entered the store armed only with revolvers. Rumour said that they had found the two German soldiers changing into civilian clothes, but the third man was standing by them holding a tommy-gun and with a single blast of fire he had cut the two wretched policemen practically in half.

About five minutes later, by leaving the store through its back entrance the three Germans had evaded the crowd which had collected in the main street, but they had soon been spotted and a hue and cry ensued. One sportsman had fired at them with a shot-gun from a first-floor window, slightly wounding one of them in the leg, and they had been driven back to the main square of the town. There they had fired a couple of bursts which had killed and wounded a number of people and had forced back the crowd; they had then piled into a stationary car and driven across the square towards the north.

By this time, however, as nearly every Norwegian shoots by way of recreation, and there is some sort of firearm in practically every house, a number of citizens were arriving on the scene with guns, having either heard that there were Germans in the town or been attracted by the sound of shooting. They had sent a ragged volley after the car which had punctured one of the tyres and, it was thought, killed one of the Germans, who was standing up with his tommy-gun thrust out of the back window, as he had dropped his gun and been seen to collapse in a heap; but the car had got away.

Although accounts varied a little, Gregory gathered that von Ziegler had been gone only five or ten minutes, and it was obvious that he would not be able to get far with one of his back tyres flat. The Germans would have to stop and put on the spare wheel as soon as they were clear of the town, so there appeared to be every chance of catching them if immediate action were taken. A tall, fair young farmer, who had given the most coherent account of the affair, had his car handy and offered it for the pursuit; so with the two Englishmen beside him he thrust his way through the crowd and they piled into his ancient, open Ford. The Ford looked a ramshackle affair and its back seat was occupied with crates of live chickens, but the engine had plenty of go in it and to the cheers of the assembled multitude the car bucketed out of the town.

They had hardly reached the open road when they heard fresh sounds of firing, and turning to peer back over the chicken crates Gregory saw that the new battle for Lillehammer had started. The narrow, forty-mile-long arm of the Mjose Lake merged just below the town into the Gudbrandsdal River, which ran twisting and curving up the whole length of the hundred-mile-long valley ahead, ending in a chain of lakes which almost connected with the fjords on the Atlantic coast fifty miles south-west of Trondheim.

At Lillehammer the river was a good hundred and fifty yards wide, and the Germans were now endeavouring to cross it in their rubber boats. As the car sped up the steep road that ran along the cliff face of the mountains the little figures down on the river grew more distant, but before the car rounded the first bend Gregory saw several of them tumble into the water, and, knowing the folk, of this rural town to be so well equipped with weapons and with men who knew how to use them, he had every confidence that the old ex-Colonel would manage to prevent the Germans crossing, at least until night came and they were able to do so under cover of darkness.

On their rounding the bend the young Norwegian farmer gave a whoop of joy. There on the road ahead, barely a mile farther up the slope, were the Germans. Their car was halted and they were changing the ruined tyre. Gregory wondered if he should risk a shot with his rifle over the windscreen but decided that the car was bumping too badly for him to stand the least chance of scoring a hit. Next moment he regretted his decision as the Germans had completed their work and, jumping into their car, went on again.

The farmer settled down to the grim chase but it soon became apparent that his old Ford was not up to the job of catching the car that von Ziegler had stolen. From a lead of a mile the Germans drew ahead to a mile and a half and as they rounded a second bend, about three hundred feet above the river, the pursuing party saw something which greatly perturbed them. They now had a view right across a broad bend of the valley and they could see the distant line of the road on the far side of the great dip. A little cloud of dust immediately caught their attention; it came from four cars, all proceeding at the same pace and close together. None of them doubted for a minute that it was the Royal party, and the cars were only about four miles ahead of the Germans. Some members of the Royal party might be armed with automatics but it was most unlikely that they would have anything more lethal, whereas von Ziegler had a tommy-gun with him; if he managed to catch up the King and his ministers things might go very badly with them.

Resting his rifle on the top of the windscreen Gregory began to fire over it, but after wasting half a dozen rounds he gave up. It was quite impossible to get the Germans at that distance when both he and his target were in constant and erratic motion. He spoke urgently to Gussy, who held a short conversation with the farmer.

After a moment Gussy turned and shouted: 'Yes. He says there is a road—or track, rather—which serves a few sheep-farms up in the hills ahead; it joins the road at the inner bend there and comes out on the far side of the spur. It'll be a close thing, but if this old bus doesn't jib at the gradients there's just a chance that we might cut von Ziegler off.'

Right!' yelled Gregory. 'Tell him to take it.'

A mile further on they left the road and took the track which wound up into the mountains. It was only about six feet wide and its surface was absolutely appalling. Patches of loose shale alternated with stretches of bare earth intersected by deep gulleys down which water from the melting snows was now trickling. In parts it was more like a river-bed than a highway. There were periods when they had to fight down their impatience as their speed was reduced to six miles an hour, but the old Ford stuck it gamely and climbed slope after slope until they reached the pass, where the track wound for about two miles between grassy hillocks.

Up there they had difficulty in keeping to the winding way, as they had reached cloud level and the misty wisps half-obscured the lonely scene making it seem utterly unreal, so that they all felt as though they were only dreaming this nightmare chase. It was very cold and their clothes were soon half-saturated with the damp, clinging mist; but at last they reached the end of the level stretch and began to descend on the far side of the spur.

This proved even worse than the climb as they slithered and skidded from turn to turn, often in considerable peril of their lives; but the farmer had been born and bred in these lonely, inhospitable mountains and was used to driving his rickety old bus along just such tracks in all weathers. His performance absolutely staggered his two passengers, who perpetually had their hearts in their mouths, but each time the car seemed within a second of hurtling over the unguarded precipice, which was always within a few feet of them, he managed to check it and bucket down to another hairpin bend until he finally brought them safely back on to the main road.

They glanced swiftly to right and left. The King's party was out of sight but the Germans were streaking towards them less than a mile away. Gregory's heart gave a bound when he saw that they had succeeded in intercepting the enemy, but he knew that without the farmer they could never have done it as they had achieved their object only by a matter of minutes.

Without waiting to be told the young Norwegian drew his car right across the centre of the road so that there was no more than three feet between its rear and the rock wall or between its bonnet and the precipice. The Germans could not possibly pass. Gregory and Gussy jumped out with their rifles and knelt down behind it, while the farmer, who had no weapon, ran to the side of the road and grabbed up a large piece of rock.

With a screech of brakes von Ziegler's car pulled up ten yards away. Gregory had crawled under the Ford and in one swift glance from beneath it he saw that the airman was driving. Instantly the car stopped his companion opened fire with a tommy-gun. The bullets spattered into the old Ford like lumps of hail bouncing on to the corrugated-iron roofing of a henhouse. Gussy gave a cry and, grabbing his shoulder, dropped his rifle. He had exposed himself too soon.

For a second there was silence, then Gregory fired from beneath the Ford. His bullet drilled a neat round hole in the unbreakable-glass windscreen of the German's car and the man with the tommy-gun fell backwards spitting blood.

Unnoticed by the others the farmer had crept along the gully by the cliff-face, where a mound of outcrop gave him a little cover, until he was within six feet of the other car. Suddenly he sprang up and hurled his lump of rock. It saved von Ziegler's life as he ducked back at the very second that Gregory fired again; while the rock, landing on the wheel of the car, first smashed it then fell into the airman's lap. A second later an automatic which he must have obtained from one of the soldiers spat twice and the farmer clutched at his throat. Gregory saw the blood well up between the young Norwegian's fingers before he uttered a gurgling cry and sank down on the heap of shale.

'Now,' thought Gregory, 'it's von Ziegler or myself.' But he was mistaken. The third German had not been killed as the car sped out of the town; he was only wounded, and suddenly he came into action, leaning out of the back of the car to throw a hand-grenade.

It bounced and rolled until it came to rest near the rear of the Ford. Gussy was kneeling there, holding his injured shoulder, and Gregory knew that his friend might be blown to bits in a matter of seconds.

Reversing his rifle he thrust it along under the car and knocked the hand-grenade away so that it rolled towards the cliff-face. Next instant it went off.

They were protected by the car from the flying pieces but the blast caught both of them. Gussy was knocked backwards in the roadway and Gregory was rolled sideways from beneath the car. The bomb, having exploded at the back of the Ford, had had the effect of driving it forward so that of its own accord it suddenly ran across the few feet of road. Its front wheels went right over the precipice but with a loud clang of metal on stone it came to rest hanging half over the gulf.

When Gregory picked himself up he saw that the explosion had knocked Gussy unconscious. Grabbing him by the coat collar he dragged him back under cover of the rear end of the Ford, which was still on the road. But the German who had thrown the bomb had wrought better than he knew, as by blowing the Ford half over the cliff he had cleared the way for von Ziegler's car.

Gregory heard the engine start into life. His head was still rocking but he seized his rifle, and as the car roared by he poured the remaining contents of the magazine into it. But it did not stop. It charged on in a wavering, zigzag course and Gregory remembered having seen the rock hurled by the young farmer come hurtling down on the steering-wheel. Snatching up the unconscious Gussy's rifle, he fired after it, aiming for the petrol tank. His third was a lucky shot; the car limped on for another hundred yards then came to a halt. Springing to his feet he gave chase.

He knew that in doing so his life was hanging by a thread as now that he was running down the open road without any sort of cover one of the Germans might lean out of the stationary car at any second and shoot him; but his blood was up and he was determined to get von Ziegler or die in the attempt. Dodging from side to side and ducking as he ran, to make himself a more difficult target, he raced on. To his amazement no shots came at him, but when he was within fifty yards of the car von Ziegler got out of it.

The airman held an automatic in his hand but he did not attempt to use it. Instead he took to his heels and ran.

Pulling up with a jerk Gregory raised his rifle and called on him to halt. Von Ziegler took no notice so he aimed at the middle of the airman's back and gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle clicked but it did not go off; he pressed the trigger again and still there was no report. Jerking back the bolt he saw that the magazine was empty.

Instantly he set off in pursuit. A glance at von Ziegler's car as he reached it showed him that both the other Germans were dead. One was slumped in the front seat, having been killed by the bullet that he had sent through the windscreen; the other lay sprawled across the back with his mouth hanging open, and Gregory knew that he must have finished him only a few minutes before when von Ziegler had driven past the wrecked Ford.

Jumping on to the running-board of the car Gregory hauled aside the dead German in the front seat and pulled out the man's tommy-gun; but its lightness told him what to expect. A swift examination of the magazine showed him that he had been right—that, too, was empty—and evidently that was why von Ziegler had not taken it.

The airman was now half a mile away, still pelting down the road with his automatic clutched in one swinging hand. Gregory wondered how many bullets remained in the weapon. When one is unarmed it is no picnic to go after a man who has a gun, but Gregory knew that if the adventurous Air Attache once got away he would get in touch with some more of his Fifth Column people before many hours were past, and that might cost King Haakon his life that night or on the following day; so it never even occurred to him to give up the chase.

Instead, he stripped off his overcoat so that he could run faster and, picking up the empty rifle, set out at a steady, loping trot. He was not a crack runner but he was tough as nails and he felt confident that if he husbanded his strength he would be able to wear the German down.

It was getting on for six o'clock but Gregory knew that there was little fear of his losing von Ziegler in the darkness, as up there in central Norway at this season of the year there were still many hours of daylight to go.

Had his mind been less occupied he might have admired the scenery, since it was truly magnificent. The great mountains swept away on either side of the valley, their lofty peaks shrouded in mist and snow.

Many of the slopes were fringed with pine-woods and down in the bottom of the valley, where the river curved like a silver ribbon hundreds of feet below, the young green of spring was already showing in the herbage that fringed the river-banks.

As it was, he thought of nothing but the bent figure ahead of him pounding along the twisting road. Twice he lost sight of it as it shot round a corner, and his only fear was that von Ziegler might halt and ambush him from behind one of the spurs round which the snaky road curved every half-mile or so. But apparently the German's only idea for the moment was to try to outdistance his pursuer.

After turning the second corner there was a longer stretch of road ahead and Gregory saw that he was gaining on the airman. He had decreased the distance between them by several hundred yards and he thanked his stars that he had had the fore-thought to abandon his overcoat, as the skirts of von Ziegler's coat were flapping round his legs.

Gregory's breath was coming in gasps but he was a long way from being beaten yet and he saw that von Ziegler was now glancing anxiously over his shoulder from time to time as he ran. Deciding to try to end the business Gregory put on a spurt and in another half-mile he had come up to within fifty yards of his quarry. Von Ziegler glanced over his shoulder again, ran on for about ten yards, then suddenly halted and swung round. Gregory knew that the next second spelt life or death.

He was staring right down the barrel of von Ziegler's pistol and decreasing his distance from it every moment. He counted three as von Ziegler aimed and suddenly bounded sideways. The pistol flashed but the bullet sped harmlessly past its mark. 'One,' thought Gregory; and recovering his balance he jumped again. 'Two,' as the pistol cracked again—and again von Ziegler missed. 'I wonder how many more bullets he's got.'

But von Ziegler did not fire a third shot. As Gregory lurched back to the centre of the road he saw that the airman had turned and taken to his heels once more. Now there were only twenty yards between them.

Gregory's spurt and the great effort of springing from side to side had taken it out of him; he was sweating now and panting like a grampus. For about five minutes the German kept his lead, but Gregory had reverted to his old loping trot and gradually he drew ahead again.

Fifteen yards—twelve yards—ten yards—eight yards—five yards—three yards. Every moment Gregory thought that von Ziegler would swing round and fire at him again; this time point-blank and with little chance of missing. Yet he dared not act prematurely. When only two yards separated them he lifted his empty rifle and, gripping it by the stock and the barrel, swung it up above his head; then with all his force he hurled it at the back of von Ziegler's neck. The rifle caught the German right across the shoulders; his automatic went off in his hand as he staggered and pitched forward on his face. Next second Gregory had flung himself right on top of him with a triumphant gasp.

For two minutes they lay there struggling in the roadway. Von Ziegler was tough, but Gregory was even tougher. By twisting the airman's wrist he made him drop his automatic, then he got his hands upon his throat.

It looked as though von Ziegler was finished. But suddenly he kneed Gregory in the groin. The stab of pain forced Gregory to relax his grip, and the agile German wriggled from under him. Both of them struck out at each other's face as they lay for a second side by side, but both landed only glancing blows. Then, as though by mutual consent, they rolled apart and staggered to their feet.

Next moment they were in a wrestler's clinch, swaying violently from side to side, each striving to throw the other. Gasping and grunting they staggered first one way and then the other across the road while exerting all the power of their muscles. Both were so intent on their struggle for mastery that neither noticed when their violent shuffling brought them right to the edge of the precipice, Suddenly, over von Ziegler's shoulder, Gregory glimpsed the shimmering river far below.

His heart missed a beat as he realised that the airman's feet were planted on the very brink of the cliff. If the earth gave way, locked as they were in a deadly embrace, they would both go hurtling down into the five-hundred-foot gulf that yawned within inches of them. Relaxing his hold he made a violent effort to break the German's grip. Von Ziegler thought that his enemy was weakening and with a grin of triumph exerted all his strength to tighten his clutch. Gregory threw his whole weight into a backward jerk and at the same time struck the German a terrific blow in the face. Von Ziegler gasped and his hands came apart from behind Gregory's back. For a second Gregory was free and he stood there panting.

Next instant the earth beneath the airman's left boot gave way. In a desperate endeavour to regain his balance he clutched at Gregory's arm. For a fraction of time he swayed there, but his whole weight was now on his right foot. It proved too great for the unsupported slab of earth beneath it. As his other foot sank through the crumbling mould Gregory made a last frantic attempt to wrench himself free but the clutch on his arm was like an iron vice. As von Ziegler slid down over the edge Gregory was jerked forward and they both plunged into the abyss.

CHAPTER 10

A Strange Armistice

Gregory's face was within a foot of the airman's, as he had been dragged forward head-foremost almost on top of him. In that last half-moment of their struggle he had seen the sudden realisation of the awful end which threatened them dawn in his enemy's face. Von Ziegler's mouth hung open, although no sound came from it, and his brilliant blue eyes seemed to start right out of his head.

At such a moment time ceases to exist and as Gregory hurtled downwards with his arm still in his enemy's vice-like grip, he was amazed to find that he could still think coherently. He found himself subconsciously registering the map-like scene which lay below them; the broad, curving river, the jutting rocks which broke it here and there, churning it into foam, and the fresh spring green of the meadows along its banks. He even found himself thinking what a pity it was that he hadn't got a salmon-rod. Then, in a split second, he was mentally rocking with laughter that such an idea should have come to him in such a situation.

He knew that he ought to be thinking of his approaching death and recommending his soul to God but, although he had a firm belief in the hereafter, he had never paid much tribute to any deities other than the old pagan gods who made life for a full-blooded man very well worth living; and he saw no reason why now, in his extremity, he should cringe before a more modern deity whose devotees denied the flesh and followed a way of gloom.

He had often said in a half-joking way that if ever he were brought before the Judgment Seat he would proclaim aloud that the Judge, having given him his body, his instincts and his opportunities, could bring no charge against him for having put them to good purpose; that if the Judge were not prepared to acknowledge the truth of that he would have no more to say, since one might just as well be ruled by Hitler, and that in that case he would set his wits to work to escape at the earliest possible opportunity from the heavenly concentration-camp.

Now that he was actually about to die he was not in the least afraid. Death held the answer to so many fascinating problems. He wondered . . . His thoughts had moved a considerable way in those few seconds after he was dragged over the edge of the precipice, but he was not destined to speculate any further.

With the suddenness of a blind being drawn across a window the strip of landscape that he could see between von Ziegler's feet and the cliff face was blotted out by a greyish-green curtain. For another second the wind whistled past Gregory's ears as the greyish-green thing that had obscured his view positively leapt up to meet them. With a frightful thump von Ziegler hit the grey-green mass. Instantly everything blacked out for Gregory as his face was flattened against the airman's chest.

His breath had been driven from his body and for a few moments he could only gasp like a fish on a bank while a queer, tingling sensation ran through all his limbs. At last, realising that he was still alive, he very cautiously raised his head a little while keeping his throbbing body absolutely lax. Peering from side to side he saw that they had landed upon a ledge no more than ten feet wide at its broadest point and about twenty-five feet in length, with both its ends tapering in until they vanished into the main sheer wall of rock. The next thing he discovered was that his nose was bleeding, then that one of his legs was still dangling over the awful void. Drawing it in he raised himself a little more and immediately an awful pain shot through his shoulder.

At first he thought that he had broken it but soon he came to the conclusion that he had only wrenched it badly and after cautiously flexing his other limbs he was extremely surprised to find that he had not injured himself in any other way. Von Ziegler had acted as a human mattress for him and had broken the force of his fall.

Kneeling up, he began to examine the airman, who was only semi-conscious and groaning softly. He had landed feet-first. One leg, which had doubled under him, was broken and Gregory thought that he had probably also injured his back; but it was a cut at the base of his skull, where his head had hit a stone, that had rendered him unconscious.

Using his sound arm Gregory drew the airman away from the edge of the ledge to a safer spot under the cliff face, and getting out his flask he forced some of its contents between the injured man's lips. Von Ziegler choked a little, blinked, opened his blue eyes and muttered:

'Where—am I?'

'Somewhere between Heaven and Hell,' Gregory replied grimly.

'What—what happened?'

'You fell over the edge of the precipice and you dragged me with you, but evidently it was your lucky day. Had you pulled anyone else over it's a thousand to one that you'd be a deader by now—a nasty little heap of pulped human matter that would just fall to pieces directly anyone tried to pick it up; but your patron devil slipped up in letting you choose me for your companion in your attempt to get to Hell before you were sent for, because my patron saint wasn't having any. As they couldn't kill one of us without the other it was agreed that the matter should be referred to the big Chief for his decision. In the meantime we are suspended between earth and sky. If my man wins somebody will come along and pull us up to safety, and if your man wins we shall sit here until we're either frozen to death or die of exhaustion.'

'Donnerwetter!' muttered the German, 'Donnerwetter! How my head hurts!'

'I'm afraid you haven't been listening,' said Gregory amiably, 'but you'll gather the facts of our present situation for yourself all in good time.' He raised his voice and added: 'How is your back?'

'Aching—aching all over.'

'Any special pain anywhere?'

'No.'

'Can you move your head?'

Von Ziegler nodded it backwards and forwards twice, then groaned.

'Good,' Gregory said approvingly. 'If you can do that your spine's not broken, and the cut on your head is nothing much so you're not in bad shape, really, except for that broken leg. From what I can see of things, we must have fallen thirty to forty feet and it was lucky for you that this ledge has a little earth on it, with a layer of old pine-needles, otherwise you would have been smashed to bits.'

'Water,' groaned von Ziegler.

'He asked for bread and was given a pancake,' grinned Gregory, lifting his flask, which still had a little of the Norwegian Punch in it, to the German's lips.

The patient gulped down the rum-flavoured liquor without complaint and with a sigh closed his eyes again, so Gregory thought that he had better allow him to rest for a little, while he mopped at his own nose and considered the situation. His recent escape from death had given him a temporary forced cheerfulness; hence his facetious burblings to the still dazed German; but he soon sobered down and the more he thought about the position the less he liked it.

The ledge could not be seen from the road above, so there was no chance that someone coming along it might spot them and bring help. Moreover, they were too far down the cliff to be able to hear passing motor traffic for any distance so they could not send up a great shout to attract attention just at the moment that a vehicle was approaching. By the time they heard it the car or lorry would be rattling away from them, and they could not sit there shouting all the time.

Crawling to the edge of the ledge Gregory peered over, but the distant valley far below offered no better prospect. No one down there could possibly have seen them against the dark rock, except with a pair of binoculars, and there was no village or even house anywhere in sight along the foot of the cliff, the attention of whose inhabitants might possibly have been attracted by the dropping of large stones.

If they had gone over near the wrecked cars there would have been a decent possibility that the first arrivals at the scene of the affray might have seen them while examining the Ford that was hanging out half-over the cliff; but they were now a long way from the Ford. Of course if Gussy were still alive he would cause a search to be made; but was he alive, and, if so, what would be the result of such a search?

The search-party would probably examine the road and the cliffs for a few hundred yards on either side of the two cars and, on no trace of the missing men being found, Gussy would assume that von Ziegler had got away and that Gregory was still pursuing him; perhaps in some desolate valley miles away up in the mountains. He could hardly be expected to guess that his friend had chased the German for the best part of three miles and that after a set-to they had fallen over the cliff together.

At the time of the King's escape from Lillehammer there had been no traffic at all upon the road, because for about an hour before that the Germans had cut off the stream of refugees at the southern side of the town and except on market days there was normally little traffic in the late afternoons between Lillehammer and the villages along the valley. But Gregory reckoned that even if the Germans got possession of the place it was unlikely that they would hold up the flood of refugees indefinitely, so that long before darkness came an unending stream of traffic would be pouring along the road overhead.

For a time he sat there listening intently. Once or twice he caught the faint purr of a motor engine and the note of a distant horn; then, about half-past six he became aware of a steady vibration that gradually increased until it was a regular hum and rumble, occasionally punctuated by the sounding of Klaxons or hooters. Either the remnants of Major Helder's motorised column south of Lillehammer had been mopped up or the Germans had taken the town and released the traffic; whichever was the case the refugees were on their way north again.

Filling his lungs, Gregory began to yodel for all he was worth. He kept it up for about five minutes but nothing happened, so he had a rest. Then, after a bit, he tried again; and for the next hour he spent alternate periods yodelling and resting, but with no result. At the end of that time his voice was cracked and husky so he gave up altogether and acknowledged to himself that as nobody on the road had heard him during the past hour it was unlikely that they would do so even if he had been able to keep his vocal efforts going all night.

Another idea then occurred to him. Since he could not make himself heard he might perhaps succeed in making their presence felt. Part of the ledge was covered with a fall of loose shale and, selecting a piece, he endeavoured to pitch it up on to the road. Until he tried he had no idea how difficult it is to throw a stone almost vertically upward. Had he been able to stand further back he could have managed to land some of his missiles among the procession that was passing above, but although he risked standing almost on the edge of the ledge he could not even get one up to within ten feet of the cliff-top. They sailed up for about twenty-five feet, seemed to hover for an instant and then, infuriatingly, came whirring back at him.

After a score of fruitless attempts he abandoned that game also and gloomily sat down beside the half-comatose German.

He had had nothing to eat since the late breakfast which Elvdalen had provided that morning so he was beginning to feel distinctly hungry. Fortunately he had on him a large slab of chocolate such as he always carried by way of iron rations for an emergency. Taking it out he broke off a bar apiece for von Ziegler and himself and they sucked it slowly, but it did not make a very satisfying meal, and the bulk of the contents of both their flasks had already been consumed so they allowed themselves only a swallow each, saving the remainder with the rest of the chocolate as a last reserve for the following day.

It had now become distinctly cold and having no overcoat Gregory began to dread the coming night; but von Ziegler did not appear to feel the cold as he was now in a fever. Gregory had made him as comfortable as he could by scraping up the dried pine-needles to form a pillow for his head but he had no means of setting the airman's broken leg or washing the cut at the back of his skull. They spoke little but all the enmity seemed to have gone out of them owing to the common peril they were now sharing.

Both realised that the other had only been doing his duty as he saw it, and although the airman had stopped at nothing in his attempts to get King Haakon, Gregory knew quite well that he would have been equally ruthless if he had had the least chance to get Hitler.

Very, very gradually the light paled but it was still a long way from sunset when Gregory started to shiver. After a bit he got to his feet to try to warm himself a little by walking up and down their barless, narrow prison. Von Ziegler, who was still feverish but had recovered a little, glanced at him and saw that his face was blue with cold so he sat up and undoing his overcoat began to struggle out of it.

'What the devil are you up to?' Gregory asked through chattering teeth.

'Getting my coat off,' replied the airman. 'Come and give me a hand, then we'll lie down side by side and share it.'

At first Gregory refused to accept the chivalrous offer, but von Ziegler was insistent. He pointed out that there was no question of there being any personal vendetta between them and that if Gregory had wished to carry the World War on to the little ledge he could easily have pushed his injured companion over hours ago. But such an act had obviously not even occurred to him; on the contrary he had done his best for his enemy and had fed him with his chocolate. Clearly then, von Ziegler argued, as long as they remained on the ledge the war had ceased to exist for them and until they were rescued or died there they ought to share the few assets they had.

This reasoning so exactly embodied Gregory's own views that he gave way and they curled up together under the German's overcoat to get as much warmth as they could from each other's bodies.

Gradually the long twilight gave place to darkness and the stars came out in the clear, cold heavens above. Von Ziegler slept little but tossed in feverish restlessness all through the night while Gregory only dozed for stretches of a few moments between long bouts of wakefulness. Morning found them hollow-eyed and miserable. The coming of the new day did not bring them new hope and as they munched the remainder of the chocolate they were both wondering how many hours of agony they would have to endure before they died.

Soon after the sun was up they heard the flapping of wings and a big eagle soared by. The bird veered suddenly and came to rest upon a piece of rock about ten feet from where they were lying, eyeing them malevolently. The sight of it filled them with fresh dread. Eagles are carrion-eaters but they like fresh meat even better than a corpse. Both men were travelled and knew enough about the royal bird of prey to realise that if its nest was near by it might easily attack them and would almost certainly do so when they were too weak to resist. Such a feathered menace was capable of pouncing upon a full-grown sheep and with its talons buried in the poor brute's body lifting it for thousands of feet to its eyrie in the mountains. It would prove a redoubtable antagonist even to a strong, fit man armed with a thick club, as it could attack him from above, and, if it once got home, tear out its victim's eyes with two pecks of its great curved beak.

Gregory did the only thing there was to do. It was better to risk a fight with the brute there and then than to wait until they were so weak that it would have them completely at its mercy and tear strips from their living flesh. Reaching out his hand he grabbed a large stone and flung it.

The stone caught the eagle on the breast and it sailed into the air with an angry squawk. As he scrambled to his feet he grabbed up a larger stone and heaved that. It missed, but the great bird turned in its flight and drew off for the moment. Von Ziegler had struggled into a sitting position and threw another stone which brushed the eagle's tail feathers, while Gregory grabbed up two more. For a second the bird hovered, then in a beautiful curve, with its great wings at their full spread of six feet, sailed away.

The brief episode filled them both with such horrible forebodings that they did not even discuss it; but both hoped that by their immediate attack they had ensured that the bird would leave them in peace and go in search of easier prey.

The murmur of traffic was still coming from overhead so Gregory began to shout again, but after a time he gave up as it was quite obvious that nobody up there on the road could hear him. Fortunately the day was fine, and now that the sun was shining they began to feel slightly better as, even in that northern latitude, its rays warmed them a little. Von Ziegler's fever was no worse but his broken leg pained him badly, and Gregory's left shoulder hurt him every time he moved it; but they had had such a bad night that in spite of their aches and anxieties they decided to settle down again and try to get some sleep. For an hour or so they dozed, but both sat up with a start on hearing a sound that they had already come to dread—it was the flutter of great wings. The eagle's nest must be somewhere near and it resented their presence as it had come back to see how they were getting on.

Grabbing pieces from the pile of loose shale they both went into action simultaneously. The eagle rose at once, then swooped towards their heads, but by a lucky shot Gregory struck it on the beak. With a loud squawk it swerved and flapped up into the air above their heads. Both of them sent more stones whizzing at it. The stones missed but made it swerve again. For a second it hovered, black and menacing, twenty feet above their upturned faces then, suddenly folding its wings, it dropped like a plummet straight on to them.

They had no weapons with which to defend themselves and von Ziegler could not even stand up, but Gregory struck out with his fist at the bird's evil, rapacious face. Its razor-sharp beak came within a foot of his head but his fist landed on its muscular neck. One of the brute's talons ripped his coat from shoulder to elbow and he shuddered mentally as the brute's beady, red-rimmed eye stared into his own; but once more, its attack having failed, it swerved and the tip of its wing brushed his hair as it circled outwards away from the ledge to prepare for another swoop.

Next second there was a loud report. The eagle croaked, twisted in the air and dropped from sight.

Instantly Gregory turned up his face and began to bellow with all the force of his lungs. A moment later a head was thrust out over the edge of the cliff above and its owner shouted back in Norwegian. A hand was waved and the head withdrawn. Gregory sank down with a sigh. They had been found and now it was only a matter of waiting until help reached them.

Twenty minutes drifted by, but they hardly noticed that in the immense relief at the thought that help was now definitely at hand; then several heads were thrust out over the edge above and a rope with a big slip-knot in it was lowered. Gregory fixed it securely under von Ziegler's armpits and, fending himself off from the wall of rock as well as he could, the airman was drawn up to safety. A few moments later the rope was lowered again and having attached it to himself Gregory was in turn hauled up to the cliff edge, where willing hands dragged him back on to the side of the road from which he had descended in such a terrifying manner some eighteen hours before.

He then learnt through von Ziegler that it was the eagle which had been the means of saving their lives.

Some refugees in a passing car had been watching the bird as it dived and swerved, when suddenly they had seen stones shoot past it, apparently hurled from the naked cliff-face. They had realised at once that the stones could only have been flung by human beings trapped on a ledge down there, but before they could set about their rescue they had had to wait until a car that had a rope in it came by. He also gathered that the attack on Lillehammer the previous evening had been defeated and that the survivors of the German force had retreated along the road to Hamar, the ruins of which, it was said, had been occupied on the previous day by a second detachment of parachute troops.

Their elation at the prospect of rescue had temporarily renewed their strength and made them forget their hurts, but this burst of nervous energy soon wore off and it became obvious to their rescuers that they were chilled to the bone, injured and exhausted. A short discussion took place among the crowd of Norwegians, and a father and son who had no women with them very decently agreed to turn their car round and drive the two strangers back to Lillehammer, which boasted the ' only hospital within fifty miles. The back of their car was half-filled with trunks and suit-cases but some of these were shifted round so that the groaning von Ziegler could be propped up with his broken leg stretched out before him, and Gregory squeezed into the front seat between the two Norwegians.

After being hauled up von Ziegler had still had his wits about him sufficiently to realise that his rescuers might become extremely hostile if they discovered that he was a German, so when he told Gregory how the eagle had led to their discovery he had used a few sentences of halting English. The pain that he was in had prevented his saying very much but the Norwegians had taken it for granted that he was a Norwegian himself and that Gregory was an Englishman. It now transpired that the driver of the car could also speak a little English and he and his son were both curious to know how their passengers had become stranded on the ledge of rock thirty-odd feet below the level of the road.

Gregory pulled his tired brain together in an effort to provide an adequate answer to this difficult conundrum without giving too much away. If he told the truth, von Ziegler would, he felt sure, be handed over to the military authorities at the first opportunity and shot either at once or as soon as his leg was mended; yet after the experience they had been through together he had a curious feeling that this would not somehow be quite fair to the man whom he himself had been ready and anxious to shoot the previous afternoon. Von Ziegler was no danger to anyone at the moment, and it seemed to Gregory that until he was in a better state to cheat death, if he could, a sporting chance ought to be given to him and that their personal armistice should continue.

He therefore told the driver that their fall was the result of an accident. He said that they had got out of their car the previous evening but had neglected to put the brakes on before doing so. It had then suddenly run forward and as they had tried to prevent it going over the cliff his friend had been knocked down right at the edge of the precipice; the car had plunged into the abyss and his friend had rolled over the edge, where he had been left hanging by one hand. He had rushed to the rescue but had slipped and so, just as he had grasped his friend's wrist, they had both gone over, but by extraordinary good fortune they had landed on the ledge below.

He knew that with the invasion crisis in full swing neither of the Norwegians would bother to check up the story about the missing car by wasting time looking for its wreckage; and they both accepted his account of the affair in good faith.

Half an hour later they reached the Lillehammer hospital, a fair-sized building with low gabled roofs like those of a Swiss chalet. The place was already crowded with casualties from the affray on the previous day, but extra beds had been put up and Gregory and von Ziegler were accommodated in a small, bright room, facing south, that was normally used as a sitting-room for the nurses. The place was spotlessly clean and the medical attention of the highest quality. A doctor and nurses took charge of them. Von Ziegler's leg was broken and reset under an anaesthetic and Gregory's wrenched shoulder adjusted; then they were put to bed between fresh, clean sheets, with a rosy-cheeked, golden-haired nurse in attendance.

The invasion had actually taken place in the small hours of Tuesday morning and it was now Thursday afternoon, yet to Gregory it seemed weeks since he had been in a comfortable bed without anxieties, so, although it was still early, after a bowl of excellent chicken-broth which satisfied his immediate hunger he dropped off to sleep in a relaxed and contented frame of mind.

They both woke early the following morning and Gregory found that von Ziegler, while still in considerable pain, was well enough to talk, so he told him about the explanation that he had given on the previous day as to how they had become marooned on the ledge of rock and that he had refrained from disclosing the German's real identity.

Von Ziegler expressed his gratitude and said that an occasion might later arise when he could repay Gregory's forbearance, in which case he would certainly do so. In the meantime, it was agreed that their armistice should continue at least until both of them were out of hospital, and to prevent complications the airman said that while he was there he intended to pose as a Swede, since he spoke Swedish fluently and the change of nationality would prevent the checking-up of any awkward questions that he might have to answer about his address and occupation.

After breakfast they asked for news, and before going to fetch them a local paper—which was the only one available— their golden-haired nurse brought them up to date. On the Wednesday many German transports had been sunk in the Kattegat and Skagerrak, but in addition to Oslo, Bergen, Trond-heim and Narvik the Germans had managed to establish themselves at Kristiansand, Stavanger, Egersund and Vallo. There had been a number of air-raids and the industrial district of Porsgrund had been severely bombed. The British and German Fleets had been in action at various points along the Norwegian coast, but no details were yet available except that five British destroyers had steamed into Narvik Fjord against seven German destroyers. One British and one German had been sunk and two British and three German badly damaged, but the British had also succeeded in sinking seven German supply-ships and partially wrecking the quays.

Gregory wondered why, when we had such immense naval superiority, five of our destroyers should be sent in against seven Germans, but even with the odds against them the British seemed to have put up a remarkably good show, as they had evidently gone in to destroy the supply-ships and had had to concentrate their fire upon them before becoming free to return that of the enemy destroyers.

When it arrived the local paper gave further particulars of the events of the previous day. The headline was devoted to the reaffirmation of Norway's rejection of the German demand for a Quisling Government by M. Nygaardsvold, the Norwegian Premier, and the rest of the front page was devoted to King Haakon's escape, the attack on Lillehammer and Mr. Churchill's speech in the British Parliament.

Von Ziegler gave Gregory a translation, and after hearing it he felt that although the British might declare that Hitler's attack on Scandinavia was a fatal strategic blunder the Nazis had carried out the job with amazing speed and efficiency.

Reading between the lines he could make a pretty good guess at what had happened. With brilliant and impudent daring the Germans had sent a squadron, led by the Scharnhorst, right up the coast of Norway.

Immediately the British had learnt of this they had dispatched their battle-fleet north in pursuit with the intention of cutting off the Germans when they turned and made for home. In the meantime, the rest of the German Fleet, in three squadrons, had convoyed their main landing-forces to Oslo, Bergen and Trondheim where they had forced the defences of these three ports and covered the landing operations with their guns.

The British were probably somewhere about half-way up the coast when they received news of this and apparently they had detached a squadron led by the Repulse to follow the Scharnhorst, while their main fleet had turned south again, arriving too late to intercept the Germans there but in time to sink a number of their transports bringing up reinforcements on the following day. The Scharnhorst must have arrived off Narvik at about the time that the other German forces arrived off the more southerly Norwegian ports.

She had sent her destroyer flotilla up the fjord to assist in the capture of the town but had herself continued with her escorting cruiser, the Hipper, on her northern course with a view to drawing the British away from Narvik and up into the Arctic.

When the Repulse had come up it had appeared out of the question to let the Scharnhorst get away, so apparently the British Admiral had left his destroyers to bottle-up the German forces in Narvik while he continued with the chase. He had caught the Scharnhorst and severely damaged her, but by sheer bad luck she and her companion had managed to get away under cover of the mist and snow. Meanwhile, although his force was inferior to that of the Germans the commander of the destroyer flotilla had decided with a gallantry typical of the British Navy to go in to Narvik and destroy the supply-ships before the enemy could land any considerable quantity of munitions from them.

That was about the size of it. The Germans had acted with such boldness that they had succeeded in pulling the wool over the Allies' eyes for the first few vital hours of this brilliantly-executed operation.

Rough seas and bad visibility had probably greatly hampered the British and they had made the best out of a bad business when they had at last got to grips with such portions of the enemy as had not escaped them. But what Gregory could not understand was why the British Fleet had not been cruising off the Skagerrak all ready to intercept the Germans if they took up the challenge issued to them by the mining of Norwegian waters on the Monday. Even less could he understand what had happened to the British Army. The Germans had made their landings early on Tuesday morning and it was now Friday, but apart from rumours which had been officially denied there was no news of a single British Tommy having as yet set foot on Norwegian soil.

When the doctor came he said that Gregory had been worse, shaken by his fall than he had realised and that he must stay in bed for at least three days. As there seemed nothing that he could do for the moment which might give the Nazis a headache, he accepted the doctor's order quite cheerfully. He loved staying in bed reading, smoking and dozing when he had nothing better to do. Moreover, he knew that while he was there he would have less occasion to move his injured shoulder and that after the strain of the past few days the rest would do him a lot of good.

During the night it had occurred to him that the Honourable Augustus Langdon-Forbes might possibly be in the hospital, so when the doctor—who spoke quite good English—had finished his examination Gregory made his inquiry. To his delight he learned that Gussy had been brought in on the Wednesday evening and he obtained permission to go along in a borrowed dressing-gown to see his friend, for ten minutes.

He found the diplomat in one of the proper wards. Gussy had a nasty wound, as he had been hit by three bullets from the tommy-gun, but it had been cleaned up at once and was going on as well as could be expected. He had also been slightly concussed by the explosion of the hand-grenade, but he was already over the worst effects of that and his forty hours in bed with excellent medical attention had restored him to his normal philosophic calm.

He was amazed to see Gregory and hear of his narrow escape from death, as when he had come-to and found both Gregory and von Ziegler gone he had naturally assumed that the German had succeeded in getting away and that Gregory had gone after him, so he had imagined that by this time they were probably miles away up the Gudbrandsdal Valley. To his delight, Gregory learnt that the young Norwegian farmer was not dead but also in the hospital, although he was still in danger as one of von Ziegler's bullets had penetrated his throat.

In a low voice Gregory told Gussy of his understanding with von Ziegler, and Gussy agreed that as the German was now rendered harmless by a broken leg it would be rather an unsporting business to take any steps which would result in his being shot. By this time Gregory's ten minutes were up, so he retired to his own room and went back to bed; but later he had a talk with von Ziegler, who at once acquiesced in the suggestion that he and Gussy should swap beds so that the diplomat could share the little room with Gregory, and the arrangement was carried out the following morning.

That day the news seemed better, as the British had occupied the Faroe Islands and were guarding Iceland, while the R.A.F. had made some large-scale attacks on the German-occupied Norwegian ports, and on the Friday the Navy had sealed the Baltic with vast minefields; but there was no news yet of any Allied troop-landings.

On Sunday they heard that there had been a second action at Narvik. The 31,000-ton battleship Warspite had accomplished a brilliant feat of navigation and led the way up the long narrow fjord with another destroyer flotilla. The squadron had silenced the land-batteries which the Germans had established on the shore and had destroyed every one of the six remaining German destroyers stationed there. The Admiralty also announced that the Admiral Scheer had been torpedoed and the Karlsruhe sunk; but there was still no news of any Allied Expeditionary Force, although both the British and the French Governments had announced days before that they would render Norway every possible assistance against the common enemy.

As Gregory talked it over with Gussy he was almost in despair. He simply could not understand what the military were up to. The crossing from British to Norwegian ports could be accomplished in some thirty hours and even if they had not had troops ready to sail at once, as it was reasonable to assume that they would have, twenty-four hours seemed ample to embark light elements for a first force which could seize all sorts of small places and strategic points along the coast before the Germans could get to them.

Tanks and heavy guns could come later, but even a few companies pushed in here and there would have made later operations on a larger scale infinitely easier.

Neither Gregory nor Gussy could see why the Allies had not had a considerable number of small units in Norway within three days of the German invasion. Such scattered bands could have penetrated inland without waiting for transports, other than their ammunition carriers, since they were operating in a friendly country and so could live on the land. They could have made contact with the Norwegian troops, blown up bridges, seized railway junctions and done all sorts of things to hamper the Germans. Yet a whole week had been allowed to go by in which nothing had been done. Meanwhile, the Germans were not losing a moment but, according to all reports, were constantly reinforcing their Army by air, despatching flying columns upcountry in all directions and digging themselves in. at their bases so that they would be ten times as difficult to dislodge when at last the Allies arrived on the scene.

By Monday the 15th Gregory was allowed to get up, but his shoulder still required daily massage. As there had been no further fighting in the Lillehammer district his bed was not required immediately so it was agreed that he should retain it for the time being in order that he could remain with Gussy, whose wound was progressing well but who it was expected would be confined to bed for another fortnight at least.

Now he was well on the road to recovery again Gregory was naturally anxious to get home. Without any definite plan to follow and no knowledge as to the Allies' intentions it did not seem that he could serve any useful purpose by remaining in Norway a day longer than he had to, and during the time that he had been laid up he had been thinking a great deal about Erika. The sooner he could get back to England the sooner he would be able to rejoin her and Kuporovitch in Holland and he was convinced that now that Hitler had really started the war in earnest he would not be content with the conquest of Norway. The next act would almost certainly be an invasion of the Low Countries; then, whether the Allies went to their assistance or not, the big scene of the war was due to open, as there would either be a terrific pitched battle in Flanders or, if the Germans were allowed to march through it, on the Franco-Belgian frontier between the end of the Maginot Line proper and the sea.

If he could get into Holland before that opened he felt certain that Erika and Kuporovitch would already have prepared the ground for him to do further useful work, and he was eager to play another hand against the Nazis as he was to have Erika in his arms again, but the devil of it was that first he had to get out of Norway.

To begin with he had assumed that that would be fairly easy, as he had counted on British landings, upon which, by contacting the British he would be able to get back to England via one of their bases; but the Allies had not as yet established any bases and as the days went by the Germans were extending their control from all the principal ports over larger and larger stretches of the Norwegian coast. Their moves were so swift that no one in Lillehammer knew from day to day which new point they would seize next; so to make for any port now meant running the risk of walking straight into them. He knew that by once more posing as a German he could evade capture, but that would not help him to get back to England, as each port that the Germans occupied would automatically be sealed to any but their own coastal sea-traffic. It seemed, therefore, that the only thing he could do was to remain where he was until the situation clarified a little.

On the Wednesday, the 17th, they heard that Allied troops were operating in the region north of Trondheim, and on that following day it was definitely confirmed that the British at long last had landed at Namsos the previous Tuesday. The only ways to get to Namsos were by road up the Gudbrandsdal Valley or to go south again to Hamar, then east to Elverum, where the Norwegian Government had now established their headquarters, and thence up the Osterdal Valley. But both these great parallel valleys ended south of Trondheim and Trondheim was in German hands, so it looked as though there might be considerable difficulty in getting through to the British base.

On consideration it seemed to Gregory that since the Allies had at last come to the assistance of the Norwegians and committed themselves to sending an Expeditionary Force they would have to make other landings further south, otherwise they would virtually be wasting troops to little purpose; and another two days of inactivity proved him to be correct.

On Friday the 19th news came through that a second Allied force had landed at Andalsnes, some distance south-west of Trondheim, and it became clear that the first intention of the Allied General Staff was to execute a pincer movement from north and south with a view to defeating the isolated German forces at Trondheim and recapturing Norway's ancient capital. It still seemed to Gregory, however, that they would yet have to make a third landing, still further south, if they wished to establish themselves in Norway before the Germans had dominated two-thirds of the country, including all its principal industrial and agricultural centres, so he decided to sit tight for another day or two.

One good thing which seemed to have come out of Hitler's assault on Norway was that it had put new life into the French. Daladier had seemed a good man, yet there was no doubt about it, from their almost total inactivity during the whole of the winter, that the French were not really bringing a fighting spirit to the war; but the shock of Hitler's coup now appeared to have shaken them up. The Daladier Government had been replaced by a new ministry under Paul Reynaud, who had come to office, just before the invasion, with such a dubious reception that it looked as if he would not be able to stay the course for more than a few weeks; yet by a magnificent fighting speech delivered at the time of the Allied landings Reynaud had suddenly swung the whole French nation behind him.

The British, it now transpired, had also landed troops near Narvik earlier in the week, although they had not yet succeeded in forcing their way into the town. They were carrying out terrific aerial attacks night after night on the German-occupied Norwegian seaplane-base at Stavanger, while the Germans were apparently employing enormous numbers of their aircraft for attacks on Allied shipping. In the meantime the Norwegian Army had established several ragged fronts in Central Norway and was endeavouring to confine the Germans to the areas they had already occupied; but the Germans were reinforcing their armies by air-borne troops each day and it was now said that General Count von Falkenhorst had over 60,000 troops at his disposal. The Germans, too, had succeeded in bringing over large numbers of light tanks and armoured vehicles, against which the Norwegians had no adequate protection; so the enemy was spreading out fanwise from Oslo and constantly pushing further north.

On Tuesday the 23rd Gregory learnt that two battles had taken place on the previous day in the Trondheim area. The British had taken Stoeren, thirty miles south of the city, while their Northern Force was advancing along the shore down the inland end of the Trondheim Fjord. However, the Germans had sent warships up the Fjord, which had not only severely shelled the British columns as they pressed forward but had landed troops in their rear, thereby cutting off their advance detachments. The result had been a nasty check for the Allies and they were reported to have sustained many casualties.

On Wednesday, however, he received better tidings. British troops had actually been seen coming down the Gudbrandsdal Valley, so it looked as though sufficient forces had now been landed to take care of Trondheim and also justify an advance to the south. A few more days at most and they should reach Lillehammer, so he could remain there now with a quiet mind and, as soon as they put in an appearance, go down their line of communication to their base, and so home.

It was now a fortnight since the affray on the mountain road in which Gussy had been wounded, and as his injury had received expert medical attention within a few hours it was healing well. It would be several weeks yet before he could use his arm again but he had recovered from the loss of blood and was able to get up for an hour or two every day. Gregory played chess with him and they spent many interesting sessions discussing the war and the international situation, as although Gussy appeared at first sight to be a fool he was actually an extremely knowledgeable man. Both of them were of the opinion that as the Allies held the seas they could put more troops into Norway by water than Germany could possibly send by air; so that although the Germans had the enormous advantage that they had been given so long to consolidate their positions in the south the Allies would easily be able to establish a front in Central Norway which would contain them there and gradually wear them down.

It was on the evening of Thursday the 25th that they heard the sounds of cheering and Gregory went out at once to see what was happening. He found that the excitement was caused by a company of the Leicester Regiment which was marching into the town. They looked fit and well and were evidently the advance guard of the British Army, so they were receiving a great ovation from the Norwegian inhabitants. As he stood watching them with a pleased smile on his face he felt a touch on his elbow and turned to see that von Ziegler was standing beside him.

He had seen the German from time to time during the last fortnight, and for the past few days von Ziegler had been hobbling about on crutches, but while they had maintained their armistice, by an unspoken mutual consent, they had refrained from any form of fraternisation.

'Well, what d'you think of them?' asked the airman.

'They look pretty good to me,' said Gregory guardedly.

The German grinned. 'Yes—the men look all right. But I was thinking of their equipment. I see that your officers still carry those clumsy old-fashioned revolvers of the same pattern that they used in the Boer War; while the men are armed only with rifles and have the air of being about to take part in an act at the Aldershot Tattoo.'

'True,' Gregory agreed. 'But there are their Bren-gun carriers coming along behind them and I imagine that they're marching in column of threes like this only to make a semi-formal entrance to the town.'

'Oh, quite. But they have no motor-cyclist scouts, no armoured cars, no tanks, no flame-throwers, no anti-aircraft guns, not a tommy-gun between them and no aerial protection; so how do they propose to operate against a German armoured column when it puts in an appearance?'

The question was an awkward one but Gregory replied quietly: 'I don't doubt they'll make out all right.

This is only the advance guard and you can be quite certain that they have plenty of tanks in support on their way down the valley.'

'You think so?' von Ziegler drew slowly on his cigarette. 'Of course, even poorly-armed flying columns like this could have done an immense amount for you if you had had them here a fortnight ago, but now that we have a fully-mechanised army established in the south, is it wise to send infantry against it? I should have thought that the tanks would have provided the advance guard.'

"They probably will when contact is established with the enemy.'

Von Ziegler grinned again. 'Now, look here, Sallust, you saved my life and I want to repay that. I'm going to tell you something and you can take my word for it that my information is correct. As you know, I have any number of reliable agents in this country and I have naturally been keeping myself well-informed as to what is going on.

'Our Air Force has been playing the very devil with your bases at Namsos and Andalsnes, so you're having very great difficulty in getting your heavy equipment ashore. Your trouble is that, for some reason best known to yourselves, you allowed us to seize every air-base in Norway; so while we can operate from close at hand your people are having to rely almost entirely upon their Fleet Air Arm, and that was not intended to support large-scale military operations.

'You may have some tanks up the valley, but there can't be very many of them, so these poor devils are in for a thin time. We have an armoured column advancing north by this road, and it's only a few miles away, so before dawn at the latest we shall take Lillehammer and any of your men that are left will be driven back up the valley. I say "any of them that are left" because our aircraft will be letting go twenty tons of bombs on this place in about half an hour, and that's really what I came out to tell you. If you want to save your necks, you and that flowing-moustached friend of yours had better get out of here while the going's good.'

CHAPTER 11

'He Who Fights and Runs Away . . .'

'Thanks,' said Gregory quickly. 'That's very decent of you. As you made no stipulation that I should keep this to myself I take it that you don't intend trying to prevent my passing it on?'

Von Ziegler shrugged. 'I could hardly expect you to do otherwise, and I have no objection at all, since I feel sure that I can rely on you not to have me arrested as the source of your information.

'You see, the fact of your warning the officer in command of these troops will not materially affect the military situation. In addition to the armoured column which is now approaching Lillehammer, a second armoured column captured Elverum last night, so King Haakon and his Government are on the run again, and the way is now open to us up the Osterdal Valley. In consequence, this British force is already outflanked, and hour by hour its situation will become more precarious as our Eastern column moves north. Still, that needn't worry you as it will be destroyed or driven back by our Western column which is moving direct on Lillehammer. With these two armoured divisions advancing up the parallel valleys we'll have you out of Stoeren and Dombaas inside a week, so nothing you can do now will prevent us relieving Trondheim.'

Gregory gave a wry grin. 'We'll see about that, but for the moment you've certainly got the whip-hand of us and I must get busy. Anyhow, I'm very grateful and, personally, I wish you the best of luck.'

'The same to you,' called von Ziegler as Gregory hurried away into the hospital.

Gussy was sitting up in bed reading a ten-days-old copy of The Times which had somehow found its way into Sweden and then across the border. In a few swift words Gregory told him what was happening, asked him to warn the doctor so that the hospital could be evacuated and said that immediately he had done so he had better get the nurse to help him dress. He then dashed out again and ran down the street to the central square of the town where the British troops had now formed up.

A freckled-faced young Captain in a fur jerkin was standing in front of the men with several other officers, a Norwegian interpreter and the Mayor of Lillehammer, with whom they were arranging the matter of temporary billets for the troops. Without wasting a second Gregory barged in amongst them and addressed the Captain.

'My name is Sallust. That won't convey anything to you, but I'm an Englishman and I've been in Norway since the latter part of March, on special duties. I've just received reliable information that a German armoured column is approaching the town and that the German Air Force is going to bomb it in about twenty minutes; so you'd better withdraw your men and tell the Norwegians to get into their air-raid shelters.'

'Thank you,' said the Captain. 'Mine is Renetter. Would you be kind enough to put your hands above your head?' He turned quickly to a sergeant. 'Search this man for arms and examine his papers.'

Gregory shrugged, but he did not put up his hands and he waved away the sergeant as he said: 'I suppose you think I'm a Fifth Columnist?'

'That's it,' the Captain nodded. 'Ever since we set foot in Norway we've been meeting gentlemen of your kidney who've been spreading false rumours and telling us to evacuate positions when there was no need to do so; we've developed special techniques for dealing with people like you.'

'Well, in this case you're wrong,' Gregory smiled, producing his passport. 'Run your eye over that, and if you think it's a fake you'd better come up with me to the hospital. Langdon-Forbes, who was attached to the British Legation in Oslo, is there and he will vouch for my identity.'

'I see.' Captain Renetter looked a little undecided. He had been trained for good honest fighting and he detested the uncertainties which were now thrust upon him by the Nazis' new methods of warfare.

'Come on!' snapped Gregory. 'I'm not going to stand here to be bombed—if you are. For God's sake order your men under cover. That's the least you can do if you won't take my word for it that they'd be much better out of the town altogether; and come up and see Langdon-Forbes.'

Puffing at a pipe that he had just lit Renetter refused to be hurried, but after a moment's thought it seemed to him that, anyhow, there could be no harm in getting his men into some of the nearby buildings, so he gave the necessary orders while the interpreter passed on to the Mayor the information about the anticipated air-raid. He then nodded to Gregory.

'Right-oh; you'd better lead the way, and I warn you I'll shoot you if you attempt to play me any monkey tricks.'

In this somewhat undignified manner Gregory proceeded at a swift pace up the hill, the Captain following with a quick but apparently leisurely stride. At the hospital they found everything in a bustle. The nurses and male-attendants were already shepherding the less serious cases down into the air-raid shelters which had been prepared during the past fortnight, while outside the building were three ambulances, to which others of the staff were carrying out the bedridden on stretchers.

They found Gussy dressed and a nurse was just completing the adjustment of a sling to carry his arm.

The lean-faced Gregory was of such a type that he might well have been taken for a dark-haired Briton, a southern German or even a Frenchman, but about Gussy there was no question at all. His beautifully-cut suit of Glenurquhart tweed positively screamed Saville Row and no one but a British diplomat could possibly have sported that long, drooping moustache in the year of grace 1940 and got away with it. Captain Renetter had hardly to exchange two sentences with him before he was confident of his bona fides; which automatically established Gregory's as well.

'Where did you get this information?' he asked.

'Sorry, I can't tell you,' Gregory replied promptly, 'but I'll take my oath it's authentic. There's one German armoured column advancing up the Osterdal Valley and another which will be rattling through here within a few hours. You can't possibly resist tanks, flame-throwers and ground-strafing aircraft with infantry, so the sooner you pack up and get out the better.'

'I'm afraid I can't do that. My orders are to advance south until I contact the enemy and then to go into action.'

'But good God, man! There's no sense in doing that when you've already been told that you'll be up against immensely superior forces! Your men will only be massacred. You'd much better get back up the valley. Blow up a bridge if you can find one, to halt their tanks, then hang on there until reinforcements reach you.'

Renetter shook his head. 'I wouldn't care to retreat until I've at least put up some sort of a show.'

'All right, then,' shrugged Gregory angrily, 'hang on if you insist, and ambush the tanks from houses on either side of the main street; but if you do that, it's a hundred to one that you'll be cut off and surrounded here, which is a senseless way to try to serve your country.'

'Thanks! but I think that I'm the best judge of that,' replied the Captain a little stiffly. 'After all, I'm a soldier.'

'True.' Gregory's eye glinted. 'I'm sure that you'll put up a jolly good show and die very gallantly. But the trouble is, my young friend, that you do not yet understand what you're up against. I, on the other hand have spent several months in Germany since the war, so I know very much more about the German Army than you do. Incidentally, I also happen to have won my Military Cross when you were still in your perambulator. However, probably you're a braver man than I am. I mean to get out before this place gets too hot to hold me.'

'I'm sorry,' Renetter apologised, handsomely if a little awkwardly. 'I didn't mean to be rude or anything but it seemed as if you were suggesting that I should run away from the Germans.'

'That's quite all right,' Gregory assured him with a smile; 'it's your show and you must use your own judgment, but knowing the facts I'd see to it anyhow that you leave yourself a good line of retreat open, because I'm afraid you'll need it. Best of luck to you. Come on, Gussy.'

Together they walked out into the pale, spring sunshine. The Captain flicked his battle bowler with a smile and went off down the hill to his men while Gregory and Gussy joined the small crowd that was gathered about the three ambulances. They were now loaded up with four stretcher-cases and a nurse apiece, but the driver of the rear car was missing, as he had run off a few minutes before to collect some valuables from his house. The doctor was anxious to get the convoy started and said that they would not wait for the man if they could find another driver. Gregory at once volunteered and got into the driving-seat with Gussy on the box beside him. The doctor jumped on the leading car and the little cavalcade set off.

The leading ambulances, moving at an easy pace on account of the injured people who formed their cargo, ran down the hill towards the main square, but Gregory did not follow. Jamming his foot down on the accelerator he tore along the side-road in which the hospital was situated and, clanging his bell to clear the way ahead, turned down a number of other side-streets towards the northern entrance to the town.

'Hi!' exclaimed Gussy. 'Steady on! Think of your poor passengers.'

'I am,' said Gregory grimly, swerving to avoid a farm-cart. 'If we had stayed in a column we'd have made a tempting target for a Nazi bomb once we got out on to the open road, and we need every ounce of speed this bus will give us if we're to get well clear of the others before the trouble starts. It's better for the people behind us to have a bit of a shaking-up than to be blown to bits.'

They left the town a quarter of a mile ahead of the other two ambulances and streaked up the gradient of the valley road along which they had chased von Ziegler a fortnight earlier. When they had covered a bare three miles they heard the crash of bombs behind them but gradually the noise faded in the distance, and for the sake of the invalids inside it Gregory eased down the pace at which he was driving the ambulance.

'Poor devils!' he muttered, suddenly.

'You were thinking of the troops and that Captain feller,' said Gussy slowly.

'Yes. I'd hate to have been in his shoes. I should have felt just the same about things myself. The very idea of retreating from the enemy without even firing a shot seems cowardice—particularly when one's young and it's against orders. I felt an awful cad trying to scare him into getting out, but I was right, you know.'

'Urn; I'm afraid you were. Infantry can't possibly hold up an armoured column unless they are equipped for the job.'

'That's what makes me so livid,' Gregory went on. 'They're going to be slaughtered because the people whose job it was to equip them were still thinking in terms of war as it was twenty-five years ago; they stand no more chance against Nazi shock-troops than the archers of mediaeval times would have stood if they had been sent against the grenadiers and batteries of artillery which took the field at Waterloo. I wish to God the whole damned Army Council was in Lillehammer at this moment instead of that poor Captain and his boys!'

'It's no good getting excited about it,' Gussy replied quietly, 'and it isn't really fair to blame the Generals.'

'Oh, I know what you're going to say,' retorted Gregory, with swift sarcasm; 'it's not really the Generals'

fault; it's the fault of the Treasury, with their eternal cheese-paring and obstruction. Every time the soldiers ask for a new weapon the Treasury argues that it isn't necessary and vetoes it on account of the expense.

There's a lot in that, but all the same .. .'

'No,' Gussy cut in. 'The Treasury only does its job of protecting the taxpayer. Every Government department blames the Treasury for its own shortcomings, but all the Treasury actually does is to prevent waste and try to ensure that whatever money is available is spent to the best advantage. If you really want to know at whose door you ought to place the deaths of those young men who are going to die in Lillehammer tonight when they try to halt the advance of the German armoured column, I'll tell you. It is the fault of the British public'

'The old get-out of collective responsibility, eh? No, that won't do.

'But it's the truth, Gregory. The fact that we're a Democracy gives us the right to elect our own Government. We've done so numerous times since the last war—and who did we elect? For years we kept that vain, visionary wind-bag, Ramsay MacDonald, in power.'

'You mean Stanley Baldwin kept him in power,' Gregory interjected.

'I was coming to Baldwin. MacDonald was only a small-time Pacifist, who sold his Party for the shadow of Power; and Baldwin was clever enough to use him as a stalking horse. He didn't mind the Loon from Lossiemouth posturing as P.M. for a spell now and then providing that he retained the real power himself, and either through Ramsay or as the acknowledged Chief he ruled Britain for fifteen solid years. He knew what was happening on the Continent—he admitted it in the House of Commons again and again—and made specious promises that the nation should be properly rearmed so that any threat of future aggression could be checked; but the only thing that those two cared about was remaining in power.

They feared that if they went to the country with a rearmament programme they might lose their jobs, so they kept on promising but they did nothing whatever about it, and from having had the finest Air Force in the world Britain's air strength was allowed to shrink to sixth place. They reckoned that they could count on peace continuing for as long as they were likely to hold office and that someone else would have the job of tackling Hitler when they'd gone.'

'And they were right,' said Gregory bitterly. "The conscientious objector died full of years and honours on a luxury liner, and the other patriot made a graceful exit after the Coronation, to the cheers of the assembled multitude, with an Earldom and a K.G. Just think of it—all that the Most Noble and Puissant Order of the Garter used to stand for. Doesn't it make you utterly sick?'

'No. If you employ ambitious and unscrupulous men as the managers of your business you must not grumble when you find out one day that they have robbed the till. But you put your finger on it just now when you said "the cheers of the assembled multitude". I remember those cheers for Baldwin at the time of the Coronation very well. Honest Stanley had just sacked his King and the public felt that he had handled a tricky situation remarkably well. Handling tricky situations was his long suit. Read your Hansard and see how for year after year he effectively spiked the guns of men like Churchill and Beaverbrook, causing them to appear to be ambitious trouble-makers when they were really only trying to bring home to the nation the frightful peril into which it was drifting. But honest Stan got away with it every time—and the public cheered him for it.

'And that, Gregory, is the point I want to make. It was the Nation that by the exercise of a free vote put him in power and kept him there. People like you and I who knew a thing or two may have been alarmed at the manner in which he completely ignored the growing power of Hitler, but we didn't want another shilling on the income tax, and we hadn't the guts to vote Socialist; while the people who don't pay income tax were just as much to blame; they took what he said for Gospel because they preferred to watch a football match or go dog-racing rather than take an intelligent interest in the international situation for themselves. You and I and all the other millions of men and women who voted for the Baldwin-MacDonald combine, from 1923 to 1937, are the criminals responsible for the situation of those boys of ours in Lillehammer today. That, Gregory, is the terrible, inescapable truth.'

Gregory sighed. 'God! What a comment on Democracy!'

There was little traffic on the long, winding, mountain road except when every few miles it curved down to a place where the valley broadened out and they passed through a village. Occasionally a German aircraft hummed high overhead. They were used to that, since during the whole of their stay in Lillehammer German planes had passed up the valley several times a day on reconnaissance flights; but now Gregory kept a wary eye upon them as he knew that von Ziegler would have reported the presence of British troops in Lillehammer and so at any time the Nazis might start aerial attacks on the British lines of communications.

By four o'clock in the afternoon they had covered about twenty miles and entered the village of Holmen, to which the doctor had said he meant to evacuate the patients as there was a cottage hospital there, so in the market-place Gregory pulled up. They had passed several detachments of British infantry outside the village and a temporary halt had been made by a battery of artillery in its square, from which Gregory concluded that this was the head of the main column for which the company at Lillehammer was acting as advance guard. While they waited for the other two ambulances to come up Gregory and Gussy got off the driver's seat and, waylaying a lieutenant who was crossing the square, told him what was happening further south.

The lieutenant said that he was already aware of the situation as a field wireless had just come in to say that the British in Lillehammer were now in actual contact with the enemy, but that they had no need to worry as the main force that had been dispatched down the valley, of which his unit formed part, would soon be moving up in support; then he left them as the order 'prepare to march' was given.

They watched the column pass and found that it consisted only of a battalion of infantry, a battery of artillery and half a company of R.E.s with a mixed collection of vehicles bringing up the rear; which greatly perturbed Gregory as he had expected that it would be a much larger force—at least a Brigade, or possibly a Division. Its tail end had hardly disappeared when the doctor arrived with the other two ambulances, so Gregory and Gussy went over to him. He was just about to give them directions how to reach the cottage hospital when Gregory said:

'I don't want to butt in, but there must be another cottage hospital further up the valley, and if I were you I should take your patients on there.'

'But why?' protested the doctor. 'Your troops were already at Lillehammer when we left and many more of them have just gone by, so the valley will now be held. We may have to put up with air-raids, but apart from that we shall be safe enough with twenty miles between ourselves and the Germans.'

'Twenty miles is nothing to fast tanks,' said Gregory bluntly; 'they could cover that in an hour; and without wishing to appear disloyal to my own people I doubt very much if these lightly-equipped troops will be able to hold up a German armoured column for long. We must get behind something much heavier before we can consider ourselves really safe.'

'I see,' replied the doctor thoughtfully. 'In that case, then, perhaps we'd better drive on to Ringebu.'

Accordingly they proceeded north once more. They had covered about five miles when they heard a faint but distinct thudding behind them and Gregory looked at Gussy.

'It sounds as though the Boche have spotted that British column and are giving it the works.'

Gussy nodded. 'That's about it. I wonder, though, that we haven't seen some of our own aircraft by this time.'

'There's not much hope of that, I'm afraid. Von Ziegler told me that they've secured all the landing-grounds in Norway, so the only support that our troops will get is from the Fleet Air Arm in the neighbourhood of the coast.'

For half an hour they drove on in silence, another German plane droned overhead, then a sudden rat-tat-tat struck their ears. Gregory needed no telling what that meant. It was the sound of machine-guns, and next second a sharp ping-ping-ping of bullets striking on metal came from their immediate rear.

Gregory was still leading the small convoy and they were running along a low stretch of the road which here was only a few feet above the level of the broad river. The mountains rose steeply to his right but to his left there was a shallow ditch and then a belt of pine-trees between the road and the water. Without an instant's hesitation he swung the ambulance round, charged the ditch and bumped violently over the bank into the fringe of the wooded strip, pulling up with a jerk just before his bonnet came into collision with a tree.

'Oh, my arm!' gasped Gussy as the ambulance jolted to a halt.

'You're lucky still to be able to feel it,' muttered Gregory somewhat unsympathetically. 'If I'd stayed on the road another minute we would probably both have been shot through the head.' Scrambling down, he dashed round to the back of the ambulance to see if any of his passengers had been hit.

There was a line of ten neat, round bullet-holes in the roof and seven or eight of the bullets had gone through the body of an old lady who had been admitted to hospital with a broken thigh during the previous week. Blood was still pouring from her on to the occupant of the lower berth but she had died almost instantaneously and neither the nurse, who was riding inside, nor any of the other three passengers were hurt.

Leaving the nurse to cope with one of her charges who had given way to a fit of hysteria, Gregory ran out on to the road. The second ambulance had charged a telegraph-pole. The driver was lying over his wheel with blood pouring from his head, and the doctor, who had staggered out on to the road, fell dead at Gregory's feet; but the third ambulance seemed to have escaped, as it was streaking along the road half a mile away.

The solitary murder-plane had turned and just as Gregory put his hand on the quivering driver's arm it came streaking down again for a second attack on the now dispersed convoy. Dropping to his knees he wriggled underneath the ambulance. With a hellish clatter the machine-gun opened fire and bullets streaked into the roof above his head. There was a loud wailing cry, an awful gurgling shout, then silence as the plane ceased fire and zoomed up again. Gregory felt a warm splash on the back of his neck and knew that it was human blood dripping through the floor-boards.

Crawling out, he got open the door and in one glance took in the shambles that Hitler's disciple had made during his evening's sport. Two of the patients were dead, riddled with bullets, and the young nurse was writhing in agony with half her face shot away.

There was little that he could do for her except to find the doctor's bag and give her an overdose of morphia. She was losing so much blood that he knew she would be dead long before he could get her to any place where her life might have been saved by proper attention, so he had no hesitation in sparing her what pain he could. Having thrust the morphia pellets into her mouth he sat there in a pool of blood on the floor of the ambulance, holding the poor girl's hands until her moans ceased and her remaining eye glazed over.

Gussy and the other nurse had joined him. The driver was now dead. The other ambulance had not come back as the man who drove it was doubtless scared out of his wits and now intent only on getting his own passengers and himself to a place of safety; but Gregory and the nurse, with Gussy's one-handed aid, managed to get the two unwounded patients out on to the roadside. Gregory then went back to his own car. To his fury, he found that it was stuck. Owing to the trees on either side he could not turn it, and the bank over which he had charged was too steep for him to back it up. Having told Gussy how he had ditched himself, he set off at his long loping stride along the road for help.

Three-quarters of a mile further on he found a farmhouse among the trees. The farmer was quietly working in his yard and had probably heard the machine-gunning but known nothing of its object or results. When he saw that Gregory's clothes were soaked with blood he dropped his pitchfork and came out at once on being beckoned from his gate.

The next hour was spent by Gregory and the farmer carrying the remaining five patients along to the farm, where the farmer's wife and daughter busily employed themselves making ready for the reception of the invalids. Fortunately, each stretcher in itself constituted a bed, and the surviving nurse, who had been in Gregory's ambulance, was able to take charge of the patients.

During the whole business they hardly spoke as all of them were filled with a bitter, furious rage, which was utterly beyond expression, at the scene of murder they had witnessed. The farmer's wife provided them with a meal and although Gregory would have liked to push on he felt that now that dusk was falling he and Gussy had better stay where they were for the night; so after they had eaten he went out and fetched two more stretchers as beds for them, leaving the dead bodies of their occupants on the floor of the second ambulance.

During the night there were sounds of distant firing, but how distant was impossible to judge, as the noise of the explosions echoed for miles up the deep valley. There was also the almost constant drone of aeroplanes overhead, but no bombs were dropped in their vicinity.

In the morning Gregory held a consultation with Gussy and they both decided that they could do no good by remaining where they were. The patients had warmth, shelter and food in the farmhouse and the nurse was quite competent to look after them until they could be moved; but the problem which faced the two Englishmen was that of transport.

After breakfast Gregory went out to have a look round the place and he found that in addition to several horses the farmer had a pony and trap, so he suggested that Gussy, who had ample funds, should buy it.

The farmer was loath to sell, and on being pressed, demanded a price that was nearly three times the proper value, but Gussy had no intention of being caught by the Germans if he could possibly help it and during the early hours of the morning the firing had sounded considerably nearer. In consequence, although he was sulky at being rooked, he paid up without further argument, and with Gregory driving they set off towards Ringebu.

On their way they passed further detachments of British troops, but the sight did not cheer them particularly, as there were no heavy tanks in evidence and their numbers were not sufficient to justify any hope that they would be able to hold up the German column. At Ringebu they tried to get a train, but during the hour they waited on the station platform the only two-coach local which passed through, going north, was crammed with British wounded; so after buying enough food to keep them going for twenty-four hours they continued their journey in the pony-cart.

Soon they had more trouble with the Germans' planes, as now that the battle was joined these were in constant evidence attacking British troop-concentrations wherever they could see them. For the German airmen it was a Roman holiday; except for occasional bursts from Bren guns they met with no opposition at all, so they were able to sail up and down in a leisurely fashion machine-gunning anything that took their fancy. Half a dozen times during the morning Gregory halted the trap in the best cover that he could find and lay doggo while fresh flights of Germans went over, and whenever he caught sight of a few khaki figures he was extra cautious. The Germans seemed determined not to give their enemies a moment's rest and, in consequence, the British had been compelled to split up into little groups, which made their way in single file through the trees at the roadside or along the gullies where they could throw themselves flat immediately they were menaced by the Nazis.

By midday they reached the village of Graaho, where they halted to give the pony an hour's rest and eat their lunch; and here they ran into a Staff-Colonel who was known to Gussy. Without saying very much it was clear the Colonel knew enough of the truth not to take too optimistic a view of the situation.

He said that the landings had been absolute hell as the weather had been lousy and nine out of ten of the men had been violently seasick; which had not helped matters, as the Germans had seized all the best ports and the British had been left only a few rickety piers at which to land. He added that they had met with a much stronger resistance outside Trondheim than they had anticipated and that the men were getting a bit fed up by being perpetually harassed from the air; but that, all things considered, they were in pretty good spirits and eager enough to have a cut at the enemy. On this optimistic note he drove off to get first-hand news of the progress of the battle that was raging further south.

By mid-afternoon Gregory felt that more could not be asked of the pony, so they halted at the village of Otta, having accomplished over thirty miles in the course of the day. Every inn in the valley was crowded out with refugees who had streamed north during the past fortnight, but the innkeeper found a cottager who was willing to let them a room with a double bed for the night and a stable for their pony.

Next morning they went to the railway station in a second attempt to get a train, but all the previous day the Germans had been bombing up and down the valley and they had obtained direct hits on the track on both sides of Otta, so until the line was repaired trains could not now get through from either direction.

Returning to the cottage at which they had spent the night, they harnessed the pony and set off once more up the seemingly interminable valley.

They had to follow the same watchful procedure as on the day before, since the German aircraft were again active, strafing and bombing almost without intermission. Fortunately, the road was almost empty, as the farming community of the rich Gudbrandsdal Valley were staying 'put'. The Germans were to the north and to the south of them, so there was nowhere for them to go, except up into the snow-topped, inhospitable mountains to the east or west. The refugees who had flooded the valley earlier in the month apparently felt the same, since they seemed to have abandoned any attempt at further flight and stood about in groups at the roadside and in the villages, waiting anxiously for the latest rumours and speculating as to whether the Germans would be arriving in a few hours or if the British would succeed in holding them back.

At Broendhaugen Gussy bought some more food while Gregory talked to some British Tommies who were connecting field-telephone lines with the installation in the tiny village post-office. The men knew little of what was going on but Gregory was not surprised at that; as a subaltern in France in the old war he had often had to wait until the newspapers arrived from home to learn if an attack of two or three days before in a neighbouring sector had proved a success or failure.

The men grumbled because the German planes constantly interfered with their work, because their own Air Force was apparently at home, in bed asleep, because their sheepskin jerkins hampered their movements, because of the cold and because their rations were late in arriving; but Gregory was not at all perturbed by their attitude. He knew that the British Tommy is a born grouser and that the only time when his officers need worry about him is when he sits still and says nothing. Naturally, they did not like being bombed and machine-gunned, but in all other respects they were rather enjoying themselves. With their extraordinary facility for overcoming suspicion among foreigners by a cheerful grin and graphic gestures they had already made friends with the local inhabitants, and one of them was nursing a baby while the woman who owned the little general shop in which the post-office was situated was cooking them a meal in her kitchen.

When Gregory told them that he was going to Dombaas they said that he had much better stay where he was, as they had come up from there on a truck that morning and the place was in ruins. As it was the railway junction at the head of the Valley the Germans had been bombing it almost without cessation for the last forty-eight hours. However, Gregory knew that if he meant to get to Andalsnes he had no option, as it was only by going through the junction that he could get on to the road to the port; so, having eaten a scratch meal, he and Gussy wished the soldiers luck and set off once more.

They could see where Dombaas lay long before they got there as the situation of the little town was indicated by a mile-high column of smoke. When they drew nearer they saw that fires were burning there which it was far beyond the capacity of any small-town fire-brigade to put out, even with the assistance of the military; and while they were still half a mile from the nearest houses a flight of German planes came over to unload yet another cargo of bombs, which added to the havoc and confusion.

British military police were directing traffic along a side-road that skirted the town, since it was quite impossible to go through it, but the side-road was already a quagmire, as it had been churned into a sea of mud by British tanks, and cars were now having to bump their way over the fields that lay at the sides of the worst stretches.

They had accomplished another thirty miles, and it was now well on in the afternoon, so they pulled up at a farmhouse about a mile to the west of Dombaas. Every room and barn was crowded with refugees from the nearby town, but they managed to find a corner in one of the outbuildings in which to shelter for the night. It was very much colder up there than it had been down in Lillehammer and they would have suffered severely had it not been for the human warmth of the unfortunate Norwegians who were packed like sardines into the wooden building. There was nowhere at all in which they could stable the pony, so while Gussy kept their places Gregory secured a feed of hay for the animal and rugged it up on the lee side of the barn.

There was little sleep for them that night; it seemed as if Goering had turned the whole of the German Air Force on to Dombaas. Explosion after explosion shook the earth as the bombs rained down with rarely more than ten minutes' interval between salvoes.

Haggard, weary, unshaven, they went out the following morning to find that their pony and trap had been stolen. Gussy was furious. As a rich man he had an extremely well-developed sense of the rights of a property-owner and the fact that he had paid through the nose for the outfit made him feel even more bitter about it; but Gregory accepted the incident philosophically. He pointed out that Gussy could hardly have expected to get the pony and trap back to England with him and he would probably have had to give it away in any case when they reached Andalsnes. He suggested that the best thing they could do was to go out on to the road and try to get a lift on one of the British Army lorries.

For the best part of three hours they stood shivering at the roadside trying to induce the drivers of the occasional vehicles that passed going westwards to stop and give them a lift; but the men all shrugged their shoulders with a helpless gesture and drove on. At last one of them pulled up half a mile down the road to examine his engine so Gregory raced after it and tackled him. He then learnt why the others had refused to stop. The orders were that the troops were to treat the civil inhabitants with every consideration and render them every possible assistance which did not interfere with their own duties; but they were forbidden to give any refugee a lift on an army vehicle.

Gregory pleaded that as he and Gussy were Englishmen they were in an entirely different category, but the driver refused to risk it. He said that if Gregory could get an order from an officer he would take them willingly, but not otherwise, and on the lonely stretch of road no officer was available.

As Andalsnes was over seventy miles away it was not a jolly prospect to set out on foot, but Gregory decided that it was the only thing to do, so they started to trudge down the long, bleak road which followed the line of the railway upon which no trains were now running.

While they plodded on round curve after curve that disclosed seemingly endless vistas of misty mountains they discussed the military situation, although they knew little about it. As far as they could judge there was probably only about a Brigade operating in the Gudbrandsdal Valley, and from what they had heard it seemed that the British had not as yet penetrated to the Osterdal Valley at all; so if the Germans were coming up that as well, and had no opposition to face, it seemed quite on the cards that they might come round behind the British somewhere south of Trondheim; in which case the British would be caught between two fires.

Gussy remarked how lucky it was that a great mountain-range separated the two valleys, as otherwise the German Eastern column might have crossed the watershed and made a descent direct on Dombaas, thereby cutting the British off days earlier and much more effectively. But owing to the snow on the heights, and the almost impassable roads, that, fortunately, seemed out of the question.

Gregory devoutly hoped that Gussy was right, but it seemed to him that the whole German drive was being conducted with such brilliant initiative that he would not have put anything past the German General Staff, and about three o'clock in the afternoon his pessimistic forebodings were confirmed through a totally unexpected happening which proved an extraordinary stroke of personal good luck for them both.

At the wail of a Klaxon behind them they moved to the side of the road to get out of the way of an oncoming car, automatically turning their heads as they did so. As the car raced by Gussy caught a glimpse of its solitary passenger; it was his friend, the Staff Colonel, and the Colonel was looking straight at him. A hundred yards further down the road the car slowed up and, as the Colonel had no hesitation in breaking a regulation for two Englishmen, one of whom was a member of His Britannic Majesty's Diplomatic Service, they were taken aboard.

As soon as they were settled they gave the Colonel an outline of their adventures during the forty-eight hours since they had last seen him, and asked how things were going.

He looked tired and despondent and said quite frankly that he did not at all like the look of things. The fact that the Germans were able to come and go in the air without the least opposition was proving little short of disastrous. Our men were game enough, but no sooner had they established themselves in a position than the Germans bombed them out of it and machine-gunned them from the air. The company of Leicesters in Lillehammer had been almost annihilated and their supporting troops had fared little better. For the past two days the Germans had been driving ahead, up the Gudbrandsdal Valley, smashing all resistance with their tanks and aircraft, while they had raced up the Osterdal Valley to Tolgen without meeting any opposition at all, so that they were now only about seventy miles south of Trondheim. Worse; with almost unbelievable daring they had launched a four-pronged attack over the mountain-range and were already reported to be nearing Dombaas and Stoeren. Orders had been issued for an immediate withdrawal from the Gudbrandsdal, but with the railway cut in a dozen places and the Dombaas road-junction rendered impassable by constant bombing it was going to be touch-and-go as to whether the British would succeed in getting out of the trap.

The Colonel had not been out of his clothes for a week and they could see from his drawn, lined face how the strain of his responsibilities was telling on him. Soon after he had told them the bare facts he dropped off to sleep, in spite of the bumping they sustained from the ruts of the road which had been badly cut up by the heavy military traffic.

Twice during the afternoon German planes came over and machine-gunned them from the air, but even that did not wake the Colonel, and the chauffeur seemed already to have had sufficient experience of this form of attack to evade it by clever alterations of his pace from a crawl to sudden spurts, which put out the Germans' aim until they flew off to find easier targets. Gregory and Gussy, too, dozed between these strafings as they were both feeling the effects of the restless night they had spent, and neither the general situation nor the grey, wintry-looking afternoon was an encouragement to cheerful conversation.

At seven o'clock they drove into a small town and the car pulled up in front of a good-sized brick building which had the appearance of a school; but there were no children about. One of its wings had been shattered by bombs, and a British sentry was posted on the gate, beyond which were parked a number of camouflaged cars, so Gregory rightly assumed that the place had been taken over as a British military headquarters. As the car stopped the Colonel roused himself and, glancing round, told them that they had arrived at Andalsnes.

'Thank God for that nap,' he muttered as he got out. 'I'm feeling lousy now, but after a cup of tea I'll be myself again, and I don't suppose I'll have a chance to shut my eyes for another forty-eight hours if I'm to get through the work that our new movements will entail. Come inside and I'll arrange for somebody to fix you up with permits to get out of this damned country; I'm sure you'll understand if I have to leave you in someone else's hands from now on.'

As they thanked him Gregory thought what a lot of utter nonsense was talked about the cushy jobs of the gilded staff. However desperate a battle the troops could generally doze for a few hours during the nights and had to be taken out of the line to rest after ten days' fighting as the absolute maximum, but in an operation of this kind the staff had to work on indefinitely, day and night, with the responsibility for every move on their over-burdened shoulders.

The Colonel passed them on to a hollow-eyed captain, who attached a special chit to each of their passports, then took them into a Mess where he told an orderly to look after them and said that they had better wait there until they were sent for.

No regular meals were being served in the Mess but there were plates of sandwiches and biscuits laid out on the table and the orderlies fetched them a fresh pot of tea. Staff-Officers came in from time to time, munched a few sandwiches, gulped down cups of steaming tea, exchanged laconic remarks and hurried back to their work again. The evening had closed in grey, wet and cold, a misty rain streaked the windows and it seemed to Gregory and Gussy that they sat there for an interminable time.

At last, about one o'clock in the morning, the Captain returned and put them in charge of a Corporal, who, he said, would take them down to the harbour. Gregory asked if he thought that they would have to wait long on the ship before it sailed, to which he replied with a grim smile:

'I don't think so; quite a number of ships will be leaving Andalsnes for England tonight.'

In the darkness they could see little of the town or the fifth-rate harbour with its one rickety jetty, where the Army had performed the remarkable feat of landing an Expeditionary Force when at last the powers that be had completed their long-drawn-out arrangements and decided that the force should sail. German planes were overhead again and others were dropping bombs somewhere further to the south while searchlights swept the sky and anti-aircraft guns manned by the British in the town replied to the raiders.

By the flash of the bombs they could make out the silhouette of destroyers and cargo-boats standing out in the deeper waters of the fjord, while by the light of the parachute-flares that were being dropped they could discern many smaller craft and rafts nearer inshore.

Down on the wharf there were several hundred soldiers and they soon discovered that many of the troops were French, so at first they assumed that the British were being reinforced by a new landing of Allied troops; but they soon discovered that, on the contrary, the French were loading their gear on to the small boats preparatory to going back to the ships that had brought them, and that the English troops were also man-handling guns and carriers on to the rafts that lay at the water's edge.

Gregory and Gussy looked at each other as another parachute-flare dropped from a German aircraft and lit the scene. 'Got it?' said Gregory.

'Yes,' said Gussy. 'We're chucking our hand in.'

'That's it. Hitler's made Norway too hot to hold us. I expect the decision was taken only a few hours ago as a result of the German outflanking movement from the Osterdal towards Dombaas. I only hope to God that the Boche don't hear that we're evacuating before we get clear of the harbour.'

'They will if La Baronne Noire learns of it through French sources,' Gussy remarked pessimistically.

Next second there was a blinding flash as a bomb fell on some sheds fifty yards from the wharf's edge.

There were shouts and yells as the men ran for cover and flung themselves flat. Another bomb—another—and another came down, all within a radius of a hundred yards, and when the din of the explosions ceased they could hear the screams and moaning of the wounded.

When Gregory cautiously got to his knees he found Gussy beside him but they had lost the Corporal in the confusion.

'Come on,' said Gregory; 'any damned boat'll do; it's no good staying here to be murdered.' As he spoke he swung himself down into a motor-launch that was bobbing at the wharf's edge, already half-full of soldiers, and stretched up a hand to help the still partially-disabled Gussy in after him.

More men scrambled down until the boat was packed, then the naval petty-officer who was at the tiller gave the order to cast off and the launch cautiously nosed its way out among the other craft.

Even during those few minutes three more sticks of bombs had dropped, this time on the town, and lurid flames leapt up from the shattered buildings. Overhead there was a horrid, irregular droning as the Boche planes circled above their targets, and before the launch was thirty feet from the jetty it suddenly seemed almost to leap out of the water. Another salvo had been dropped plumb on the embarking troops.

The fires that had been started now lit an incredible scene of horror and confusion. Some of the boats, with their human cargoes, had been blown to fragments; others had capsized, having been thrown right over on their keels by the huge waterspouts that the exploding bombs had sent up, and others, again, partially damaged, were now sinking. Scores of men were struggling in the water, yelling for help, and as they were hauled aboard the undamaged craft their clothes dripped red from the blood of their dismembered comrades.

The overloaded launch shot forward again; the naval petty-officer steering it with what seemed miraculous skill, between other boats and wreckage, to get away from the wharf which was now a roaring furnace. Out in the fjord the ships had switched on their searchlights and were replying with their antiaircraft guns. The whole sky was like a firework display of bursting shells and sweeping arcs of light; but wave after wave of German planes still came over, launching their bombs upon the town, the ships and the wharf with equal persistence.

Just before they reached the destroyer for which they were heading there was a slight lull and Gregory said to Gussy: 'This is no ordinary raid; it's Fifth Column stuff; the Germans have been tipped off about the evacuation and they've sent up every plane they've got that's capable of getting off the Norwegian airports.'

'That's it,' Gussy agreed, pulling his long moustache. 'I only hope it'll be a lesson to our people to take a stronger line with the Fifth Columnists we've got at home.'

The destroyer on to which they were taken was soon crowded with troops, but it did not put to sea, as its boats were needed to carry more British and French troops off from the wharf to the transports which were further down the fjord. The sailors who were not manning the anti-aircraft guns or the boats had turned themselves into nurses and were tending the wounded to whom all the available below-deck accommodation upon the destroyer was turned over; so the unwounded had to remain on deck in spite of the bitter cold.

By the light of the burning houses, the bursting shells, the parachute-flares and the searchlights the scene was now lit nearly as brightly as if it were day, so even distant groups of figures could often be made out quite clearly. From their position on the deck near the stern of the ship Gregory and Gussy could see that all attempt to embark guns, vehicles and material had now ceased. The men were just jumping off the burning wharf into the first boats that could take them, but there was no pushing and no panic, in spite of the frightful gruelling that they were receiving, so evidently they were abandoning their equipment under orders.

For an hour or more Gregory assisted by passing ammunition for an anti-aircraft gun. The work kept him warm and gave him the satisfaction of feeling that he was helping in the uneven fight against the enemy.

But they were firing at such a rate that the ammunition gave out, after which he could only crouch, shivering, behind a ventilator.

At last the short, terrible night was over and the grey light of dawn began to dim the searchlights and the flash of the explosions. Some of the transports were already moving down the fjord and at about half-past four the destroyer hoisted in her boats and followed; but the evacuation was by no means over.

Gregory knew that the troops which had been coming off in the past few hours were only recently-arrived reinforcements; few of them had even been outside Andalsnes, let alone seen any of the fighting. It would be days before all the troops that could be saved from the Gudbrandsdal Valley debacle could be got back and embarked; and now that the Germans knew what was happening they could be trusted to see to it that not a shipload escaped without its quota of casualties.

The seamen cooks had been working without cessation, boiling great cauldrons of tea lashed with rum for the cold and exhausted soldiers, and as the destroyer steamed out of Andalsnes Gregory managed to procure two mugs of the piping-hot brew for Gussy and himself. When he got back from the queue he saw that they had rounded the bend of the fjord but the position of the town was still marked by a dense pall of black smoke that hung over it. With chattering teeth they gulped down the welcome tea but they had not yet seen the last of the enemy. As the convoy formed up in the broader waters a flight of bombers roared over and one small steamer nearby received a direct hit on its stern, which caused it suddenly to list to port, then turn right over.

The convoy hove-to and boats were lowered to rescue the survivors who were floundering about in the ice-cold water. Before the boats were well away the German bombers turned and came hurtling down again. The ships had long since run out of anti-aircraft ammunition, so they were virtually defenceless except for the Bren and Lewis guns with which some of the soldiers opened fire. As Gregory watched, one plane burst into flames and, turning over, pitched headlong into the fjord. A sudden cheer went up, but it wavered out into a groan as the other planes drowned it in a hellish tattoo, deliberately machine-gunning the survivors from the capsized troopship and the boats that were setting off to their rescue.

With muttered curses and half-choked by the intensity of their bitter fury the spectators stood there impotent to help their comrades but vowing vengeance in their hearts. More dripping, wounded and exhausted men were dragged on to the already crowded decks of the destroyer and she proceeded on her way.

By the time they reached the open sea the men had sorted themselves out a little. A number of those who had fallen in the water were now in borrowed clothes lent to them by the sailors; others had stripped and stood shivering in their greatcoats while their uniforms were being dried in the boiler-rooms. Every one of the sailors had given up his bedding, under which, and a number of tarpaulins, the troops sheltered as best they could from the bitter wind and the salt spray that was now flying over the bow of the ship.

Many of them were seasick and the long day and night that followed seemed like a timeless span of unending misery.

At midday on the Tuesday they put in to a Northern port and the heterogeneous collection of French and British troops, some with uniforms, some without, hollow-eyed, stubble-chinned and incredibly weary, crawled ashore to the reception stations on the docks that had been made ready for them.

As civilians with special passes Gregory and Gussy were allowed out of the dock at once, and an hour later they were on a train for London. Gregory had secured a paper, and before settling down in his corner to sleep he glanced at the front page; a short news item caught his eye and he began to laugh uproariously.

Three neatly-dressed business men and a spick-and-span officer, who shared the carriage with them, and had eyed the two bedraggled strangers with considerable misgiving, glanced up disapprovingly.

'What is it?' Gussy asked, as his friend continued to laugh almost hysterically.

Gregory controlled his shouts of mirth and spoke with sudden intense bitterness. 'Two days ago a German was caught with a camera in a forbidden area on the South Coast. The magistrate fined him twenty shillings and let him go. Is Sir John Anderson a traitor or a lunatic; or is it just that nobody has yet told him that for eight months Britain has been at war with the most formidable, unscrupulous and merciless horde of fanatic-ridden brutes that have ever blackened the pages of history?'

CHAPTER 12

'Seek Out and Destroy the Enemy'

For the next three days Gregory kicked his heels in London. Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust was away on some special business and not returning until the Saturday.

After his long absence he found London surprisingly unchanged. The sandbags were still there but there was no other evidence of war and it was considerably fuller than it had been when he had left it at the end of the previous October. The people were as well clad as ever; nine out of ten of the West End shops were still open and doing good business, so that the gaps among them were hardly noticeable. In the clubs where he lunched everybody was quite cheerful, although some of the officers to whom he talked were a little perturbed about the situation in Norway. An American journalist had apparently blown the gaff during the previous week in a sensational article which had been given a prominent place in the United States Press. He stated that the British had been cut off at Lillehammer and that while the Germans were complete masters of the air and showed splendid initiative, the British, as usual, were quite inadequately equipped for the most modern type of warfare.

As yet nobody knew that the Allies had actually been thrown out on their ear and were now evacuating as fast as they could go, but Gregory kept that to himself, since he was every bit as good at keeping his mouth shut when it might do harm to open it as he was at stating his opinion with fearless disregard to consequences when he thought that a good purpose could be served by so doing.

Apart from the feeling that Britain had had a bit of a setback in her Norwegian campaign, everybody was still full of complacent optimism. They took it for granted that Hitler would either have to attack the Maginot Line and lose a million men to no purpose, or quietly submit to being strangled by the Blockade.

Gregory was not prepared to make any predictions upon Hitler's next move, but of one thing he was quite convinced— Hitler had no intention of fading from the scene through sheer inanition, although it seemed highly probable that the British Government might do so.

On the afternoon of Saturday, May the 4th, his faithful henchman, Rudd, whom his safe return had made as happy as a sand-boy, took a telephone message that Sir Pellinore was back and would be happy if Gregory could dine with him that night. When he got in Gregory rang up to say that he would be there; and 8.15 found him, lean, bronzed and very fit-looking after his few days' rest, at 99, Carlton House Terrace.

When he was not actively at war himself he believed in ignoring to the best of his ability any war that might be in progress, so, according to his peace-time custom, he had donned an admirably-cut, double-breasted dinner-jacket, and no one who saw him could possibly have associated him with the filthy, bloodstained vagabond who had crossed the North Sea in a destroyer five days before.

As Gregory was ushered into the great library on the first floor, which in daytime had such a lovely view over St. James's Park, the elderly baronet came striding forward from the fireplace and placed both his huge hands on his visitor's shoulders. Sir Pellinore measured six feet three in his socks and from his great height he stood for a moment looking down on Gregory; then he boomed:

'Well, you young rascal, so you've got sick of gallivanting about the Continent at last, eh? Dining and wining and womanising in Berlin and Helsinki and Oslo, and five months overdue from that mission I sent you on. But, damme, I'm pleased to see you.'

'It seems to have escaped your memory that I've done a few other little jobs on my own account since then,' said Gregory mildly.

'I know, I know.' Sir Pellinore brushed up his great white cavalry moustache as he strode over to a side-table, where he proceeded to pour out two handsome rations of old, bone-dry Manzanilla sherry.

'The way you bluffed Hermann Goering into sending you to Finland was an epic, and that German programme for world conquest that you got us was worth its weight in hundred-pound bank-notes. But after that I suppose you felt that you had earned a holiday and went to Norway for some fishing.'

'That's it,' Gregory grinned. 'I had good sport, too; only, instead of salmon, I was after water-rats.'

'So I gathered. And if only the Government had acted on your information we wouldn't be in our present ghastly mess. But what have you been up to since the invasion?'

'Oh, I saved King Haakon's life several times and pottered round a bit, generally.'

'Ha, that sounds interesting. Tell me about it.'

'I will later on, but first of all what about Erika? I've been worrying myself silly as to whether she succeeded in reaching Holland and managed to get in touch with you.'

Sir Pellinore's bright-blue eyes twinkled. 'She's safe enough. I think I ought to break it to you gently, though. You've got a rival, Gregory, my boy.'

'Eh? Say that again,' said Gregory.

'Yes. After all, you can't expect to leave a lovely woman like that trailing about Europe all on her own without anyone to hold her hand or tuck her up at nights. I will say you're a good picker, though, and she's worth six of that Hungarian witch that you produced some years ago; although Sabine was admittedly an eyeful.'

A slow smile broke over Gregory's face. 'You old rogue! You've seen her, then?'

'Yes. Where d'you think I've been these last three days while you've been sleeping your head off in London? That young woman of yours has a pretty taste in food, too. We dined last night at the Fillet de Sole in Brussels.'

'How was she?'

'As pink as a peach and as plump as a partridge. And we were getting on famously. Great pity I had to fly home this morning—great pity. Another few days and we'd have got to the tucking-up stage.'

Gregory helped himself to another glass of the bone-dry sherry as he laughed: 'At your age? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!'

'What's age got to do with it?' Sir Pellinore ran a large hand over his fine head of white hair. 'A woman's as old as she looks and a man's as old as he feels. Don't be deceived by that rot in Debrett that says I'll never see seventy again. I'm somewhere in the early thirties.'

'My arithmetic must be at fault, then. I had an idea that way back in the 'eighties you had already acquired a reputation for having an eye for a horse or a pretty woman and an infinite capacity for vintage port.'

'Ha, you're jealous, eh? That's what makes you dig up that old story. Not a word of truth in it, either.

Everyone knows that I've lived a life of simple rectitude within my modest means.'

'I might be able to manage a life of simple rectitude myself if I had your income,' murmured Gregory.

'What is it now— eighty-thousand a year?—or have you touched the hundred-thousand mark?'

"There you are! Jealous again of my little successes in the city. But jealousy won't get you anywhere.

You know you won't be able to keep that young woman of yours for a week if only we can manage to get her over here.'

'I wish to God you could,' said Gregory seriously.

'So do I.' Sir Pellinore stopped his chaffing. 'She's being very useful to us, but I've always held that it's wrong to flog a willing mare. After the many services she has rendered she ought to be brought out of danger for a few months at least, but she's got a bee in her bonnet about its not being right to accept the hospitality of Britain while we're at war with her country. I did my damnedest to persuade her to take a rest but I couldn't budge her an inch.'

At that moment the elderly butler announced dinner, so they went downstairs, where Gregory found that the war did not, so far, appear to have in the least affected the magnificent kitchen maintained by his plutocratic host. Over the rich, well-chosen meal he told Sir Pellinore of his adventures in Norway and gave him a much more detailed account of the time that he had spent in Germany, Finland and Russia than he had been able to send from Leningrad in the long letter that he had despatched via the Consul there and the Moscow Embassy Bag. The magnum of Louis Roederer 1920 that they drank had lost the exuberance of its youth, but mellowed to the flavour that only age can give, and was perfection from never having been moved out of Sir Pellinore's cellar since the day it had been laid down. They had finished it and were already on the old brandy by the time Gregory came to the end of his recital and, after a short pause, remarked: 'Well, how goes the war?'

'It doesn't go,' replied Sir Pellinore glumly. 'The Government is dying on its feet and for months past it's been dead from the neck up.'

Gregory swivelled the old brandy thoughtfully round the very thin, medium-sized, balloon-shaped glass and smelt its rich ethers appreciatively. 'So I rather gathered from the people I've met in the last few days. It seems that the Socialists and the more energetic Conservative back-benchers are getting a bit fed up with Chamberlain.'

'Chamberlain,' boomed the baronet, 'was right about Munich—right every time. We wouldn't have stood a dog's chance against Hitler if we'd gone to war with him then. Chamberlain was clever enough to trick him into giving us a year to rearm, and in spite of the innumerable things that should have been done and yet were not done, at least the groundwork was laid which saved Britain from immediate and probably irremediable defeat. Whatever may happen to Chamberlain now, when history comes to be written he will assume his rightful place as a great and far-seeing Prime Minister who had the courage to accept the odium for having made Britain eat humble pie over the surrender of Czechoslovakia so that she might have a chance to save herself.'

'What's the trouble now, then? Is he a tired man, or is it that his heart isn't really in the war?'

'He's getting on in life and he hasn't been too well, so probably he's feeling the strain; but it's not that, entirely, and I'm convinced that, although he did his absolute utmost to avert this terrible calamity which has overtaken the world, once the war was on he became as determined as any man in this country to do his damnedest to defeat Hitler. He is very shrewd and extraordinarily far-sighted. He only came into politics comparatively late in life and his long experience of business is an enormous asset to him in many ways, but he was raised in the tradition of Birmingham, where for a century past it has been the habit of the great manufacturers to deal honestly with their customers all over the world, but slowly and methodically, on the theory that there's always plenty of time and that it is better to reject an order from a doubtful source than to risk a bad debt by snatching it from under the nose of a competitor.

'Such methods are of little use when you're up against a gangster. In dealing with Hitler honesty is not the best policy and there is not plenty of time thoroughly to investigate possibilities before every fresh liability is entered into. Risks must be taken, and not a moment of a single day should be lost in reaching definite decisions which may help to bring the war to a speedy conclusion. That is why, although Chamberlain served us well in peace, he is not a good war leader.'

'But surely,' Gregory interjected, 'there must be many energetic men who are pressing him all the time and stressing the necessity of his developing a more vigorous policy?'

'There are; but Chamberlain does not trust them. He has a deep-rooted suspicion as to the motives of anyone who even faintly smacks of the "go-getter" mentality and he refuses to recognise that it is the

"go-getters" who win wars. The trouble is that he's a very unapproachable man; he doesn't make friends easily, but when he does he's very loyal to them and relies upon their opinions which are definitely not the opinions of the nation. He listens only to this little group of life-long friends, and the tragedy of it is that nearly all these people who hold high office under him are the proved incompetents who served under Baldwin; the men who lowered the prestige of the British Empire to such a parlous state that we dared not even face up to the Italians over the Abyssinian business—let alone tackle the reborn German nation at the time of Munich.'

'What d'you think'll happen?' Gregory asked.

'Chamberlain's days as Prime Minister are numbered. Not a doubt of that. This Norwegian affair will be the finish of him. I hope that for his own sake he will retire and leave it to history to vindicate him as a great English gentleman and a fine statesman; but I doubt if he'll do that.'

'D'you think Churchill will succeed him?'

'One can only pray that he will.' Sir Pellinore suddenly became enthusiastic. 'Churchill is the most inveterate enemy the Germans have ever had, and it's the Germans that we're fighting. For years he has stood, a defiant and almost solitary figure in the House, warning the nation of the peril into which Baldwin was allowing it to drift. I'm very proud today to be able to say that I have always believed in Churchill—even in his darkest hours, when nearly everyone had turned against him. He has the attributes of real genius in that he would have made a great name for himself in any profession that he had chosen.

His writings alone would have made him famous, because they have a quality that is unique and outstanding. The Admirals who worked under him when he was First Lord will all tell you that he would have made a great sailor, and had he continued in the Army there is little doubt that he would have gone down to history as a great military commander. He possesses qualities of imagination far beyond those of any of our other leaders and apparently perennial youth, which makes him ready and willing to consider new ideas; a lion's courage and a wonderful human touch which goes straight to the hearts of all who come in contact with him. He has served in practically every high office of the State and his policy with regard to Germany has been consistent, so it is only fair, now that he has been proved right after all these years, that the Premiership should go to him; and what's more, it is the wish of the people.'

'It seems a foregone conclusion that he'll get it, then.'

'Unfortunately, that's very far from being the case. The people have no say at all in who is to be Prime Minister. The House of Commons have no say. Even the Cabinet has no say. It rests almost entirely with the outgoing holder of the office. Chamberlain will go to the Monarch and when he hands in his resignation he will suggest his successor. The unwritten constitution is that the Monarch should either accept that nomination or send for the leader of the Opposition; and although we want the Socialists in, because they have some really first-class men like Bevin and Greenwood, they are not strong enough to carry the whole war on their shoulders with the other half of the country distrusting and criticising their every action.'

'Couldn't the King turn down the outgoing Prime Minister's nomination and send for somebody else who was in the same Party?'

'He could, but it would be contrary to all precedent and liable to prejudice the detached position of the Throne, the very strength of which lies in its aloofness from the dirt and chicanery of Party politics.

Therefore it is most unlikely that the Monarch would take such a step even in a major crisis.'

'In that case Chamberlain may nominate Sir John Simon or Sam Hoare, and from what you say the King's only alternative would be to send for Attlee.'

Sir Pellinore nodded his white head. 'That's the situation, and it's a very worrying one indeed; because, short of a public upheaval that would split all three parties from top to bottom and force a General Election—which is the very last thing we want just now—there would be nothing at all that anybody could do about it. This will be the last and most momentous decision that Neville Chamberlain is called upon to take; but even hedged in as he is, I don't think he can be in much doubt as to the nation's wish. It now remains to be seen if he really has the greatness with which I credit him and nominates Churchill, who criticised the Government so long and so bitterly before he was taken into the Cabinet, rather than one of his old friends with whom he has seen eye to eye for so many years. Let's go upstairs now, shall we?'

'Hurrah! The fatted calf!' cried Gregory, as on entering the library his eye was caught by a long-necked, cobwebby bottle which had been set ready on a salver with a corkscrew, duster and glasses beside it.

'What's that?' Sir Pellinore cocked a bushy white eyebrow.

'Oh, you mean the pre-1914 Mentzendorff's Kummel. Well, we said we'd knock a bottle off when you got home again—and by Jove you've earned it!' Picking up the duster he carefully cleaned the top of the bottle, inserted the wide, spiral cork-screw and with a skilful twist extracted the cork. He had a theory that even the best of modern servants did not understand the handling of fine liquor so he always insisted on uncorking the greatest rarities from his cellar himself. Having carefully wiped the lip of the bottle he poured out two portions and handed one to Gregory.

For a full minute they savoured its wonderful bouquet, then lifting his glass Sir Pellinore said: 'To Hell with Hitler!'

Following his example Gregory added: 'And here's Long Life to Churchill as Britain's Victory Premier and later first Duke of Chartwell.'

They drank and were silent for another minute; then Sir Pellinore exclaimed: 'Gad! What glorious tipple!

They don't make stuff like this in Russia these days; but there it is—the whole darned world's gone to pot in this last half-century.'

'By the by,' said Gregory, 'talking of Russians, did you meet my tame Bolshevik General when you were in Brussels?'

'What, Kuporopoff? Yes. He's a grand feller—man after my own heart.'

'Kuporovitch,' Gregory corrected him.

'That's it. Of course, he's a child compared with me but he's old enough to remember Paris as it was in its heyday. After we'd seen Erika home last night he and I had a rattling good yarn over some '96 Yquem that he had discovered in some pub or other, comparing notes about the high spots. Yes; I liked your friend, Kupothebitch—he's definitely one of us, although he is a foreigner.'

As he was speaking Sir Pellinore strode across to his desk. Pulling open one of the drawers he produced an envelope which he handed to Gregory. 'Little something for you, my boy; it'll buy you a bottle or two of good liquor while there's still something fit to drink left in this decadent world.'

Gregory glanced at the contents of the envelope and gave a gasp. It was a cheque for £10,000.

The elderly baronet was grinning with delight, obviously as pleased as a peacock with himself. 'Surprised you, eh? That extra nought was one more than you bargained for—but you've earned it.'

'It's—it's positively princely,' Gregory stammered. 'Even if I'd been working for money I shouldn't have expected a tenth of this.'

'Why not? You've killed more Germans so far in this war than the entire Brigade of Guards, and I'll bet that their keep has cost the nation more than 10,000 Jimmy-o'-goblins.'

'I can't see the Government setting such a high value on my services, though,' Gregory smiled.

'Oh—the Government; no, they never have understood that if you want real brains and ability you must be prepared to pay for them. That's why there are so many duds among the Civil Servants. But this is my affair. You carried all that was left of my poor boy back out of the Hell of the Somme, Gregory, and I had only the one—that is, as far as I know—so I've always meant to see to it that you were decently provided for. You've been down in my Will for years for quite a tidy sum, but by the time we've finished with this damned house-painter feller none of us may have any money left to leave anyone. That's why I added the extra nought—thought you might just as well have a bit on account for pocket-money, while the going's good.'

'I just don't know how to thank you, sir; but I'm sure you know how I feel.'

'That's all right, my boy; that's all right.' Sir Pellinore gave Gregory's shoulder a little jerky shake and turned away to refill the Kummel glasses. 'Now, what are your plans? It's no good my asking you to take a holiday while there's a war on; I know you too well for that, and naturally you're anxious to get back to that pretty wench of yours on the other side.'

Gregory nodded. 'You must give me her address and I shall want you to get me a new passport visaed for France, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland and Italy; one that Goering had faked for me is good only for the British Empire and Finland.'

'Right. That shall be done through special channels so that you have it in time to leave on Monday morning's plane. Have you any particular line that you mean to follow up?'

'No. I was hoping that Erika would have started a hare in Holland or Belgium by the time I was able to join her. But I take it that if she'd got on to anything she would have let you know about it.'

'She's been doing good work—damn' good work. That, of course, was really why I went on to Brussels after I'd finished in Paris. Her written reports made such interesting reading that I thought it worth the extra time to get further particulars from her by word of mouth. She and your friend—what's-his-name?

—Kuporopoff—have been putting the tabs on Hitler's secret weapon right, left and centre during these past three weeks, He's got scores of attractive young women in Holland and Belgium, and these little pink rats are playing exactly the same game as they played in Norway.

'I've been able to put such a dossier in front of the more energetic members of the Cabinet that I believe they'd force an issue on it if it weren't for the fact that a Cabinet crisis on other grounds is blowing up already. Unfortunately Chamberlain can't be persuaded that these neutrals are, all against their own will, neutrals no longer and that for their sakes as well as ours we should go into the Low Countries at once instead of leaving it to Hitler to choose his own date and forestall us.'

Gregory frowned. 'Isn't there a risk that if we went into them uninvited they might appeal to the Nazis for assistance? If they did, we'd be in a fine mess, you know; because not only would the quite useful Belgian and Dutch armies be added to our enemies but by such an act of unprovoked aggression we might do ourselves almost irreparable damage with the United States, and that would be playing Hitler's game with a vengeance.'

'Nonsense, boy, nonsense! These little countries are not frightened of us; they know perfectly well that even if we had to occupy them temporarily we should give them back their full independence the moment the war ended. What's more, even during our occupation we should treat their populations with every consideration, see to it that they received adequate supplies of food and pay them handsomely for anything like rolling stock and so on that we had to commandeer for our military operations. But if Hitler once goes into these places he'll never march out again of his own free will. They'd be given Gauleiters and made permanent vassal states of Germany. He would commandeer everything he wanted, and if he paid for it at all he'd only do so in useless marks. To feed his own people he'll strip their larders as bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard and, naturally, in the event of a German occupation of the Low Countries we should extend our blockade to them; which means that if the war is not over by next winter five million Dutch and Belgians are going to starve to death. They know that, Gregory, as well as I know that you've got that old scar above your eyebrow.'

'Then why the hell don't they make a secret pact with us to go in on a certain date?' Gregory asked in a puzzled voice. 'They could afford to risk a spot of bother if French and British troops were already landing in their ports.'

'They daren't,' Sir Pellinore boomed. 'They're scared stiff that while the negotiations were going on their intentions would leak out. With our present Government in power six weeks at least would elapse before all our little cooks and bottle-washers had been consulted and completed their preparations. Long before that Hitler would have got wind of it that the Dutch and Belgians were plotting to come in against him.

Then he'd have a perfect excuse for invading them first; and you can just imagine the manner in which he would take it out of the poor devils. That's why they positively dare not ask us to lift a finger.

'On the other hand there's nothing to prevent us making our preparations in secret, then arriving at their ports one morning and simultaneously wheeling the left end of the main Allied Army over the Franco-Belgian frontier. There would be a formal protest and within six hours they would accept the situation. We should be able to establish ourselves on a line from Amsterdam to Antwerp and along the Albert Canal before Hitler could get there. That would secure to us the ports and the coast-line, which is all that really matters, and within another six hours it's three to one that the Dutch and Belgian armies would be fighting with us.'

Sir Pellinore began to pace up and down as he went on angrily: 'As it is, if we sit tight and wait until Hitler decides to march in on a date of his own choosing, we shall find ourselves in an even worse mess than we are over the Norwegian business. Holland and Belgium will almost certainly resist the aggression and call for our assistance. If we don't go to their help the effect on world opinion will be deplorable and the whole of the coast-line from the Zuider Zee to Dunkirk will fall into Germany's hands within a fortnight. Alternatively, if we do go to their assistance you may bet your bottom dollar that there will be no troopships ready to be flung into the Dutch ports to support the Netherlanders and our Army will have to leave the protection of the fortified line that it has been digging all through the winter, to wheel into Belgium at a moment's notice; and I suppose you realise what that means?'

'That they'll have to fight in the open,' said Gregory.

'Exactly. Having lost the value of surprise they will no longer be able to pick the most advantageous position for giving battle; they'll have to take the Germans on wherever they find them, which means tank for tank, gun for gun, man for man; and as the Germans have at least four tanks, four guns and four men for every one of ours we shall stand a first-class chance of being scuppered. As long as we remain behind the extension of the Maginot Line the advantage lies with us, but once we move out of it we shall be risking a major defeat and the destruction of our first-line Army, which might set any prospect of victory back for years. In fact, I'll go further. If the Germans annihilated the British in the open fields of Belgium through sheer weight of numbers, the way would be open for them to invade northern France and outflank the Maginot Line proper. Then the organ-grinder might get his courage up sufficiently to launch an invasion of France's south-western provinces. If he did, the French would be caught between two fires and it might put them out of the war altogether.'

'My hat!' exclaimed Gregory. 'That's a pretty picture! But d'you think that Mussolini really means business? He's been banging his little drum a lot again lately.'

Sir Pellinore shook his head. 'No; he's a cautious feller, and clever as a cartload of monkeys. He's exploiting our reverses in Norway now to try to blackmail us into lifting our blockade so that he can get some more old iron through for Hitler; but the one good thing which has come out of this Norwegian show is that it has enabled the Navy to inflict enormous damage on the German fleet. It's been so crippled that while maintaining the same ratio of safety-margin in the North Sea we've been able to despatch many units to strengthen our Mediterranean squadrons. As you'll see in tomorrow morning's papers, we have now massed a positive armada at Alexandria. That's our reply to the ice-cream hawker.

'Another thing; all the odds are in favour of the French down on their Italian frontier; not only are they better fighters than the Italians but the ground is to their advantage. The French have only one ridge of mountains to cross to get down into Italy, and in that ridge are situated the great hydro-electrical power stations which supply the whole industrial area of Turin and Milan. If the French captured or destroyed those generating plants Italy would be out of the war in a week. The Italians have a much harder row to hoe. They have three ridges of mountains to cross before they can get down into France proper, and even when they got there there's nothing vital that they could destroy which might seriously cripple the French war effort. No. I'm still convinced that Mussolini is only bluffing and hasn't the least intention of risking his own neck to help his gangster friend. The only possible case in which he might be tempted to send his waiters over the top would be if the Allies had suffered a major defeat and France was practically down and out. Then he might screw his courage up to play the part of the jackal, but not before.'

'I see. Well, let's hope that if Hitler does go into the Low Countries the politicians will not overrule the Generals and insist on our going into Belgium. In any case, it's obvious that we're not strong enough to defeat the German Army yet. Our game is to wait and let the Blockade do its work this winter, while we triple the size of our Army and Air Force so that we can launch a decisive offensive in the spring.'

'That's it. But Hitler is not the man to wait for our convenience and he may decide to go into Belgium and Holland any day, so the more information you can get the better. Erika and Kuporovsky will have a dozen interesting lines for you to follow, but to what sort of devilry they'll lead you, God in heaven only knows.'

'There's nothing special that you want me to keep my eyes open for while I'm out there, then?'

'No. Unless ... By Jove! That's an idea! Have you ever heard of the Black Baroness?'

'Yes,' said Gregory slowly. 'Kuporovitch mentioned her once in Oslo. Paula von Steinmetz received her instructions to move to Holland from someone who was referred to as "the Black Baroness", but he couldn't learn anything about her; and Gussy Langdon-Forbes mentioned the Black Baroness to me on one occasion when he was talking about German Fifth Column activities; but a bomb burst just at that moment and I forgot afterwards to ask him who she was.'

Sir Pellinore filled up the Kiimmel glasses. 'Her real name is La Baronne de Porte, and don't imagine that she's a coloured woman. She's French, as white as we are, and she used to be very beautiful; but as she is over fifty now she's a bit part-worn. She is a great friend of that traitor Bonnet, and she wields enormous influence with quite a number of people whose decisions may affect the lives of untold millions.'

'Queer,' muttered Gregory. 'I've never even heard of her.'

'That's hardly surprising, as she is one of those really clever women who prefer wielding great power in secret to receiving the public acclaim of the mob, and later, perhaps, hearing the same mob howling for their blood. I met her once and she has a dead-white face with jet-black eyes and hair. It may be from her eyes and hair that she gets her nickname; but I've an idea that it was given to her because she always works under cover in the same way as the old "Black Hand" which invariably struck in secret.

'Her husband, the Baron, was a millionaire financier, and you know how greatly the ruling caste in France has felt itself to be threatened by Communism in recent years. When Madame la Baronne became interested in politics her very able brain naturally sought some antidote and, not unnaturally, it turned to Fascism. She made many friends in high places in Italy, and later she was received at Berchtesgaden by the Fuehrer. Exactly what those two plotted together nobody knows, but it's a very curious thing that during the last few years whenever a woman has brought about the downfall of a European statesman with pro-Ally leanings the name of the Black Baroness has cropped up vaguely somewhere in the background of the story.'

'You think, then, that she may be the brains behind Hitler's secret weapon?'

'I don't know. I'm only certain of one thing—that they entered into some devil's pact. We have ample evidence that the Baronne would prefer to see a Hitler-dominated France in which she and her friends survived than a Communist France in which they would automatically go under. I suggest, therefore, that she may be Hitler's great whore mistress. She knows so many important figures on the European scene, and it would be easy for a woman of her brain to find out what their weaknesses are and the type of girl that they would be likely to fall for. If I'm right, she would then send very detailed instructions to Berlin, and the Gestapo would go through their whole list of beautiful harpies. When they had selected the one they considered most suitable the Baronne would take the girl under her wing for a time and so arrange matters that ample opportunity was given to her to ensnare the intended victim.'

'It sounds feasible,' Gregory agreed. 'Anyhow, I'll certainly keep a look-out for her.'

Far into the early morning hours these two cronies, so far apart in age yet so near in outlook and in spirit, discussed many matters of interest with unflagging enthusiasm. The bottle of old Kummel was empty and two beakers of champagne had followed it, when at last Gregory stood up to go. As he thanked his host he said: 'If I can manage to get on the track of the Black Baroness, what d'you wish me to do about it?'

Sir Pellinore shrugged. 'Need I go into details? Even if she does not control Hitler's secret weapon that woman is poison, Gregory. I know for a positive fact that she has been responsible for at least two suicides, and that while she is high in the councils of our Allies she is in reality hand in glove with the enemy. If she could be put out of action permanently it would be as great a victory as the destruction of a German Army Corps.'

Gregory did not speak for a minute; then he said: 'Are you suggesting that I should murder her?'

The elderly baronet's merry blue eyes suddenly went very cold and hard, as he replied quietly: 'We are at war. The age of chivalry, alas, is past. Since our leaders still fail to realise what Britain is up against it lies with people like you and me to save our country, however repulsive to our personal feelings the methods may be which we are forced to employ. The only instructions that I can give you are those which have made England great—whatever the age, whatever the weapons— "seek out and destroy the enemy".'