The Black Baroness

CHAPTER 13

The Enemy is Found

Erika had never looked more lovely. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining. For some reason best known to herself she had put on full evening-dress although she was dining alone in the charming apartment that she had taken in Brussels. As she came into the dining-room her new butler drew back her chair with the quiet assurance of a perfectly-trained servant and with a deft movement brought the little handwritten menu-slate a few inches nearer to her, as he said in French:

'I was not aware that Madame had given her cook permission to go out this evening and that she would have to dine off cold dishes in consequence. If Madame would prefer something hot, I have the good fortune to be a passable cook so I could manage some Oeufs poche Bendictine or an Omelette pointes d'asperges with the eggs that are in the kitchen.'

'No, thank you, Pierre; Consomm een gelee saumon froid and fraises des bois will do very well,' Erika replied quietly, but her hand trembled as he placed the iced soup in front of her with a little bow and left the room. Even the cold soup—easiest of all dishes to master for anyone whose intense excitement has robbed them of their appetite—proved difficult for her to swallow, and she was hardly half-way through it when the perfect man-servant appeared again noiselessly beside her.

'Jacqueline is about to leave now, and she wishes to know if Madame has any further orders for her before she goes,' he said deferentially.

'N-no. There's nothing—thank you.' Erika could hardly get the words out; she leaned back and closed her eyes as the man smoothly removed her soup plate and disappeared again.

A moment later as she heard the click of the front door she sprang up from her chair. At the same second the butler returned, and next instant she had flung herself into his arms.

'Gregory—darling!' She was half laughing, half crying. 'It was absolute torture to have you here all the afternoon yet not be able to say a single word to you because of these silly servants.'

'My angel!' Gregory smiled, when he had kissed her until they were both breathless. 'Today I've learnt what poor St. Anthony must have felt when he was tempted in the desert. To be in the same room with you and denied the joy of even touching your hand!'

'Must we keep up this farce?'

He nodded. 'I'm afraid so, for the time being at all events. If I were seen with you in public by any one of a hundred people who are in Brussels now the whole game would be up; but I simply couldn't bear to be in the same city and have to remain content with talking to you on the telephone. That's why I sent you a note round at midday to hire me as your man-servant. Anyhow, we'll be under the same roof—and that's a lot.'

'But, darling, we shall simply never be alone together. It was sheer luck that it happened to be my cook's evening off tonight, and I had a frightful job trying to think up a plausible excuse to get my maid out of the flat for a few hours. They're certain to think there's something fishy going on if I often send them out together in the evening.'

'There are the nights, angel,' Gregory whispered with a mischievous grin.

'Yes, my sweet—yes. I shall positively live for them. What fun it will be to lie in bed waiting for you to tiptoe down the corridor after a long, long day of make-believe that you are only my servant.'

'I am your servant—for all eternity,' he murmured, and caught her to him again in another swift embrace.

'There!' gasped Erika, when at last she drew away from him. 'That really is enough for—for about five minutes. Our salmon will be getting cold.'

'It's cold already, sweetheart,' he laughed.

'Why, so it is; but I've been in such a state all day that I haven't been able to take in a single thing except that you're safe and with me once more. Come on; let's sit down and eat it.'

He did not bother to fetch another plate; they shared the dish with the gaiety of two naughty children who had broken into a larder; which brought back memories of the meals that they had had together when she had hidden him for a day and a night in her bedroom in Munich.

As they ate they talked, volubly, nineteen to the dozen; firing questions at each other, gabbling replies, incredibly eager to know how every moment of each other's time had been spent since they had parted.

Gregory learnt to his great satisfaction that, as far as she knew, through the assumption of the name Yonnie Rostedal, which was on the Norwegian passport that Paula had secured for her, she had so far succeeded in preventing any members of the German Embassy learning that she was in Brussels. Paula and two or three other German girls who had known her in Norway and travelled to the Low Countries at the same time as herself all believed that she had assumed her Norwegian nom de guerre to avoid the unwelcome attentions of a wealthy young Dutchman; about whom she had put out the story that he was so madly in love with her that when she had been in Holland the year before he had threatened to kill her and himself if she would not take pity on him. This also provided an excellent excuse for her to refuse invitations to parties and to go out very little in public, as they naturally assumed that she was afraid that she might run into this most undesirable lover. Such a life of semi-concealment naturally greatly restricted her personal opportunities for gathering information, but that was where Kuporovitch came in, and they formed an excellent partnership.

The ex-General, having been cooped up in Russia for twenty-six years, knew nobody in European society. Even the names of high officers, diplomats, leaders of fashion and all except the leading statesmen were totally unknown to him, so he had no background of knowledge from which to draw inferences when he heard them mentioned; but as Paula's lover he had become persona grata with the most important section of the German Fifth Column which was working in Holland and Belgium, and so constantly heard references made to key personalities in a dozen countries.

Fortunately he possessed an excellent memory, so he was able to repeat parrot-wise to Erika most of the conversations he had heard: and as she had moved for so long in international society she was able, in the great majority of cases, to get the full import of what had been said; upon which she wrote out her reports for Sir Pellinore.

For a few days after their arrival in Holland they had stayed at the Brack's Doelen Hotel in Amsterdam, but then Paula had received instructions to move to Brussels, and the other two had accompanied her.

Paula had taken a furnished apartment on the Boulevard du Regent, the 'Park Lane' of Brussels, and Erika had taken another near by in the Rue Montoyer, which lies between the Parc Leopold and the Royal Palace; while Kuporovitch had gone to the Hotel Astoria.

The Belgian Fascist leader, Degrelle, had called on Paula immediately she was settled in and arranged for her to meet the Comte de Werbomont, a member of King Leopold's household who had very soon fallen for her youthful, opulent charms. The Count, being a married man, was able to visit her only in secret, and as most of his time was occupied in attendance upon the King he knew nothing about Kuporovitch, who, since he had to share Paula with somebody, found the arrangement highly satisfactory. Erika, meanwhile, was supposed to be engaged on some extremely tricky piece of work for the Gestapo which was so secret that she could not tell even Paula about it; all of which worked in admirably with the fact that she very rarely went out.

As Erika had reported personally to Sir Pellinore three nights previously there was no necessity for her to go into great detail with Gregory about the German Fifth Column activities, but she gave him a general layout of the situation and said that she was convinced that Brussels was the centre of the whole network of the German espionage system in the two threatened countries. Gregory waited patiently until she had finished, then he asked her if she had ever heard of the Black Baroness.

'Die Schwartze Baronin,' Erika said thoughtfully. 'Yes. Mention of her has occurred now and again but never in connection with anything of sufficient importance to be worth putting in any of my reports.'

'What sort of things?' Gregory asked.

'Oh, just social gossip. She was staying with Degrelle, I think, about the time we got here and I believe poor Susie von Ertz dined with her one night.'

'Why d'you say "poor Susie"? I thought her rather an attractive, jolly girl when we met her in Oslo. Has anything gone wrong with her?'

'Why, yes. I told Sir Pellinore; but of course you wouldn't know. Susie was given a Dutch aeroplane designer to look after, but they slipped up somewhere, and his wife found out. The poor man was so upset that he poisoned himself. Unfortunately for Susie, he chose her bedroom to take his life in; so, of course, the police were called in, and they've been trying to pin a charge of murder on her.'

Gregory made a grimace. 'Poor little devil. The police are probably right, though.'

'What makes you think that, darling?'

'Well, presumably she's been under arrest since the tragedy occurred, so she must have dined with the Black Baroness beforehand. From what old Pellinore tells me, the Baroness has been hovering vaguely in the background of so many tragic "accidents" that I should think it's quite on the cards that she blackmailed Susie into giving her aeroplane designer the poison with the promise that they would help her to fake things to look like suicide afterwards.'

'Who is this Black Baroness woman, Gregory? Now I come to think of it I asked Susie, after she told me that she'd dined with her, how anyone had come by such a curious nickname. Susie just said that it was because she's such a striking-looking woman with hair and eyes that are as black as pitch; but the word seems to have a much more sinister implication than that.'

'She's a Frenchwoman and her real name is the Baronne de Porte.'

The Baronne de Porte!' Erika exclaimed. 'But, of course, I know quite a lot about her.'

'Then you're better informed than I was up to three nights ago, my sweet.'

'Darling, when I was selling armaments with Hugo Falkenstein it was my business to find out about such people. Her husband, the Baron, was a great industrialist and she married when she was quite young, but left him before she was twenty-four. She then went in for high finance, on her own account, and she has the Midas touch, so that in a few years she had amassed a great fortune; but that's years and years ago.

When making big money began to pall on her she started to take an interest in politics; perhaps because she was already an intimate friend of Paul Reynaud's.'

'Reynaud's!' Gregory repeated. 'But, good God, he's the new Premier of France.'

Erika shrugged. 'Oh, her affair with him started when he was only a promising lawyer, way back in 1916. It must have burnt itself out long ago.'

'Thank God for that.'

'Later she travelled a lot,' Erika went on, 'and she often used to stay in Rome and Berlin. In both she made many friends and there is no doubt that she acquired pro-Fascist leanings. Just after Munich she became very intimate with Baudoin, the President of the Banque d'Indo-Chine, and he is a person who wields enormous influence behind the scenes. Both of them, quite naturally, are rabid anti-Communists, but I've always believed that the Baronne was a patriotic Frenchwoman. It's a grim thought that anyone like that should actually have gone to the length of tying up with the Nazis and be working for them now that her country is at war with Germany.'

'Well, she is; and what you've just told me about Susie, together with the fact that the Baronne was staying with Degrelle, and that it was Degrelle who arranged for Paula to meet the Comte de Werbomont, seems to confirm Pellinore's belief that it's she who picks the most suitable girls for the chaps the Nazis want to get into their toils, and makes the necessary social arrangements so that each selected lovely can be thrown in the chappie's path quite naturally. I've got to get on to this Baroness woman. D'you know if she's still in Brussels?'

Erika shook her golden head. 'No; I haven't the least idea, but we'll talk to Stefan about it tomorrow and see if he can find out anything.'

"That's it,' Gregory agreed. 'You had better arrange for him to meet me somewhere for a quiet chat in the afternoon. One of the parks would probably be the best place. Then go out yourself so as to leave me free to slip away from my duties for an hour.'

'I'll telephone Stefan in the morning and tell him to meet me by the Tritton Fountain in the Pare Leopold at three o'clock; then you can turn up in my place.'

'Good. I heard that he got on splendidly with old Sir Pellinore.'

'Who could fail to do so?' Erika laughed. 'What an amazing person he is! Nowhere else in the world but England could have produced such a character. His education is appalling. He shouts at foreigners in English and takes it for granted that they will understand him. To hear him talk one would think that he knew nothing about anything at all except the idiosyncrasies of women, sport, food and drink; yet he has a flair for going straight to the root of any question and underneath it all such a shrewd brain that if he were pitted against Ribbentrop, Litvinov and Laval together I believe he'd have all three of them tied in knots. I thought him charming and I fell for him completely.'

Gregory grinned and stood up. 'I can see that it was quite time for me to reappear on your horizon. And now, d'you know what I'm going to do to you? I'll give you three guesses.'

With a mocking smile she put her arms round his neck. "How could I possibly guess, my sweet? But something tells me that I was a very rash woman to remain alone in my flat for the evening with such an attractive, forward butler.'

'You've guessed it in one, angel,' he laughed, and swinging her off her feet he carried her from the room.

At three o'clock the following afternoon Gregory was seated on the rim of the fountain in the Pare Leopold, reading an early edition of the evening paper. He noted that the British withdrawals in Norway were having a deplorable effect on the world press and that the little countries were, in consequence, getting into a worse state of jitters than ever through the fear that Germany would next attack one or other of them.

The Swedes had been in a state of unofficial mobilisation ever since the Germans had gone into Norway, nearly a month before, but they were still keeping up as bold a front as possible and shooting down any German planes that flew over their territory. Carol of Rumania was singing a very small song again and promising Hitler further commercial advantages to the detriment of the Allies. Hungary, sandwiched between Italy and Germany, had now given up all attempt at playing one off against the other and was pretty obviously doing exactly as she was told by Berlin; while the Dutch and Belgians were calling up more and more classes of conscripts and now frantically building road barriers as a precaution against a sudden invasion. Yet a strong feeling still seemed to run through the people of both countries that if only they kept their heads and refrained from giving offence to Hitler he might yet spare them, as being more useful to him while going concerns from which he could draw considerable quantities of foodstuffs and other supplies than as conquered areas of devastated territory.

By the time Gregory had scanned the most important news items Kuporovitch put in an appearance. The Russian looked very well and prosperous, having, apparently, equipped himself with a new wardrobe since his arrival in Brussels.

'Hullo!' exclaimed Gregory. 'You are looking a swell!'

Kuporovitch beamed. 'You also. We might be different people from the two men who met in Kandalaksha. I like Brussels; it is much more pleasant for me than Oslo, because everybody here speaks French; it might almost be Paris—but not quite. But it is very expensive.'

'Naturally,' smiled Gregory, 'if you get your clothes at the best tailors and stay at the Astoria.'

The Russian shrugged eloquently. 'What would you? I had meant to live quietly on my savings, but everything here is a temptation to me. How can I resist having of the best and spending the money necessary to mix with elegant people when for a quarter of a century I have lived in the so-called workers" paradise, where there is not even anyone interesting to talk to? I must not go on in this way, though, otherwise in a year or so I shall have spent all my money and have to take some filthy job. Being a General does not fit one for becoming a commercial traveller or a pen-pusher in an office.'

'You needn't worry, Stefan; you have a job already. I told you that when I got back to England I would somehow manage to refund any expenses to which you had been put on Erika's account, but I intend to make good your own expenses as well and give you a fat cheque for the excellent work you've put in; so you can consider your savings as still intact and that you'll have money in hand into the bargain.'

'Sacre Nom! That is good news indeed; because this job is very different from the degrading occupations that I have been visualising for myself—and, let me tell you, the little Paula improves immensely upon acquaintance. She was born with a great aptitude for loving, but she is a far more accomplished amoureuse now that I have had a little time to train her. But tell me about yourself.'

For some twenty minutes Gregory gave a graphic outline of his doings, after which he asked what Kuporovitch knew of Madame de Porte, alias the Black Baroness.

The Russian had never heard of Madame de Porte, but he said that mentions of the Black Baroness had been made by Paula's friends from time to time. He recalled that when Paula had broken the news to him that she was leaving Norway she had said: 'I understand that the Black Baroness has a new job for me in Holland,' and a Belgian politician, who had recently returned from a visit to France, had stated quite casually that after a dinner-party given by a French Cabinet Minister he had had a most interesting conversation on the political situation with the Black Baroness; but Kuporovitch could not recall definitely any other occasion upon which her name had cropped up. Without any grounds to justify the idea he had assumed that the woman referred to had acquired her nickname because she was a half-caste or Creole from one of the French African colonies or Martinique.

Gregory disabused him about that and asked him to tackle Paula on the subject as he wished to find out the Baroness's present whereabouts with the minimum possible delay.

Afterwards they talked for a little about Paula's set and it transpired that Kuporovitch was having the time of his life. In spite of war conditions which had to some extent affected the capital of neutral Belgium it was far gayer than Oslo had been, and the vortex of this strange, unnatural gaiety while the outer world stood grimly to its arms was Hitler's 'Secret Weapon'. There were an even greater number of German, Austrian and Hungarian women, all picked for their looks and with ample funds at their disposal, who had big apartments in which night after night they gave extravagant private parties for their co-workers and the Belgians of their acquaintance. In addition to looking after her own special lover of the moment it was part of each girl's job to get to know as many Belgians of good standing as possible and, since all the girls were of good birth and living outwardly respectable lives, they were permeating all the higher stratas of Brussels society, which enabled them to collect an immense amount of information for the Gestapo.

After an hour with Kuporovitch, Gregory went back to Erika's flat to take up his duties as butler, and when the two maids were sound asleep that night he discussed with her plans for the following day.

They considered it would be unwise for them to risk being seen together about the city, so Gregory suggested that they should take a picnic lunch and eat it in the Park of Laeken, which is outside the capital and is to Brussels what Kew Gardens is to London; so on the following morning she told her maids that she would be out for the day and left the flat about eleven o'clock.

Gregory was in the pantry cleaning silver. Having given her a quarter of an hour's start to buy their lunch at a delicatessen store he removed his baize apron and took down his black coat from its hook on the door.

The maid, Jacqueline, looked at him in surprise and remarked: 'Where are you going at this time of day, Monsieur Pierre?'

'Somewhere where unfortunately I cannot take a pretty girl like you, Mademoiselle Jacqueline,' he replied mysteriously, 'and I shall not be back until about six o'clock this evening.'

She preened herself at the compliment, but persisted: 'Madame would not be pleased if she knew that you were neglecting your work during her absence to go out on your own affairs—and for the whole day too!'

'But she will not know,' he smiled mischievously, 'because you, my pretty one, are not going to tell her and you are going to see to it for me that Cook does not tell her either.'

'You take a great deal for granted, Monsieur Pierre.'

'No. I am a psychologist and I can tell from your features that you are as kind-hearted as you are good-looking.'

She bridled again. 'Monsieur Pierre, you are a flatterer! But what about your work? There'll be a fine row if the dining-room's not put ship-shape and the silver's still uncleaned when Madame gets back.'

'Yes. I might get the sack; and that would be most unfortunate, because I like it here. I am an artist, you see, and it makes a world of difference to me if I work in a place with a girl like yourself who has good taste in hats.'

'What do you know about that, Monsieur Pierre?'

'I saw you come in the night before last, Mademoiselle Jacqueline, and I thought that little black affair you were wearing quite ravishing. It occurred to me this morning that you might like to buy yourself another.'

'And why? Hats cannot be bought every day on a lady's-maid's wage, Monsieur Pierre, and, as a matter of fact, it was Madame who gave me the black one that I was wearing on Monday.'

'How wise of Madame; I am sure that it suits you infinitely better than it suited her,' lied Gregory.

'Now you are being foolish,' replied Jacqueline loyally. 'As well as being a very kind lady, Madame is most beautiful—in fact, I do not think that there is anyone so beautiful in all Brussels.'

'There!' exclaimed Gregory. 'What a tribute for one woman to pay another! I knew from the shape of your little nose, which turns up so attractively, that you were a girl with the most generous instincts. But this hat we were speaking of—a new one of your own choice. I had a little legacy not long ago from my poor old uncle, who was valet to a French marquis, so I am in funds.' He produced a hundred-franc note and toyed with it a moment. 'I was wondering if I could persuade you to do my silver for me and tidy the dining-room and, as a very small return, buy yourself that little hat out of this?'

Jacqueline was in fact a generous girl, and as he had got on the right side of her she would quite willingly have done his work for him on this occasion, but Gregory knew that there might be others and that unless he was prepared to make love to her—which he was not—she certainly would not be willing to make a habit of doing his jobs while he went out, presumably to amuse himself elsewhere. That was why he had invented the legacy, as ordinarily she would probably not have liked to take money from another servant; but believing that he had just come in for a nice little sum she would feel that if he chose to spend it on getting his work done for him by somebody else, that was his affair.

With a shrug and a smile she took the proffered note. 'All right; run along, then, and I'll put things right with Cook for you. Are you sure, though, that you can spare this money? It seems a lot for so small a service.'

Gregory nodded. 'Yes; I could really have afforded a good holiday, but I prefer to keep in work providing that I can arrange matters so that I have a little time to attend to my own affairs.'

She laughed. 'I do not mind work, and it is always nice to have the opportunity of earning a little extra money.'

'Bien. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Jacqueline.' Bunching the finger-tips of his right hand he kissed them to her while winking his left eye. It was a curiously un-English gesture but absolutely in keeping with the part that he was playing and, fully satisfied that he had got the maid just where he wanted her, he went out to keep his appointment with his mistress.

On Sunday, May 5th, his last day in London, the sun had suddenly appeared in all its glory to revivify a Europe which had suffered from the severest winter within living memory and now, three days later, it was still shining; so it really seemed that summer had come. For the last two days it had been as warm as June and the women of the Belgian capital were already bringing out their light summer frocks, which lent an air of gaiety to the city that was extraordinarily refreshing to Gregory after his many months in Finland and Norway. Erika had dressed very simply for the occasion in order that her clothes should not contrast too strongly with the neat but ready-made black jacket and pin-striped trousers which Gregory had bought for himself on the morning that he had come to her as her manservant.

Out at Laeken they admired the gorgeous Chinese pavilion and the Japanese pagoda made of carved woodwork specially brought from Japan. They were not allowed inside the Royal Palace but entry was permitted to the great conservatories with their fine array of tropical plants and flowers. The azaleas were in blossom and smelt quite heavenly. Afterwards, on a grassy bank in the great park, they ate the things that Erika had provided for their picnic lunch, while the children played happily in the near distance. Then all through the long hours of the sunny afternoon they lay there side by side, quite oblivious of anything except each other, as is the habit of lovers the world over.

It was a new experience for the Frau Grafin von Osterberg, spoilt darling of the German aristocracy, to be kissed and lie with her head pillowed on the chest of a man in a public park; but after her first shocked protests 'that people were looking and that that sort of thing positively was not done' she had to admit that it was done by the great majority of young women even in the most civilised countries and—as Gregory laughingly told her—if she chose to come out with her butler she must accept the canons as to what was and was not done in a butler's normal sphere of life. After that she threw her hat on the grass and settled down to enjoy herself, thinking what a marvellous man Gregory was at finding good reasons for everything he wanted to do, and how clever it had been of him to provide a totally new setting for their love-making instead of allowing them to waste this precious afternoon in sitting decorously looking at each other.

By seven o'clock they were back in Brussels, separating before they reached the flat so that Gregory could go in first and resume his duties before she arrived; and although they were unable to speak together privately during the evening it passed for both of them with the happy feeling of two children who had played truant from school for the day and managed to get away with it.

On the following morning, May the 9th, a note arrived by hand from Kuporovitch to Erika. In it he said that Paula had made various tactful inquiries the previous day and informed him, when he had seen her at night, that the Black Baroness was staying under the name of Madame de Swarle, at the Hotel Weimar in Rotterdam.

When Erika had passed the note to Gregory he whispered to her to go out and ring him up, then to come back to the flat about an hour later as though she had been doing some local shopping. When she rang up he answered the telephone and for Jacqueline's benefit put on an act as though he had just heard the most disconcerting news. He told her that his old aunt was dying and that he must get leave from Madame at once to go to her as there might be another nice little legacy involved in the matter, which, could he have but known it, gave added impetus to an idea that had entered Mademoiselle Jacqueline's pretty little head the day before.

It was obvious that he liked her and not only was he a very attractive man but he had money of his own with which he was very generous; therefore it might not be at all a bad thing if she tactfully inspired him with the idea of proposing marriage. She knew that if she once started an affair she would be treading on dangerous ground, because it was quite certain that such a good-looking fellow had had plenty of affairs with other women, so he would almost certainly try to seduce her. She was well aware that men who seduce girls don't usually marry them afterwards; but she felt that if only she could manage to keep her head everything would be all right; which was unfortunate because in point of fact she had no reason at all to worry herself one way or the other.

Quite unaware of the agitation he had aroused in the breast of his pretty co-worker, Gregory met Erika in the doorway when she returned and, with voluble protestations as to his desolation at inconveniencing Madame, begged to leave to rush off to the bedside of his dying aunt.

The leave was duly granted and a quarter of an hour later, carrying a small suit-case which contained all his possessions in the character of butler, he left the flat. By a curious coincidence Erika went out again a few minutes later and, as she expected, found him waiting for her a few hundred yards down the street.

Together they drove to the Hotel Metropole where Gregory had parked his own baggage on his arrival in Brussels, under his German pseudonym of Colonel-Baron von Lutz. Taking a room under the same name he went upstairs so that he could change into one of his own tailored suits, while she spent five minutes sitting in the lounge, then took the lift up to join him.

'What d'you intend to do, darling?' Erika asked, trying to keep out of her voice the new anxiety she had felt.

He looked unusually thoughtful as he replied: 'To tell you the truth, my sweet, I haven't the faintest idea.

It's up to me to put the Black Baroness out of action, somehow.'

'Do you mean murder?' Erika said softly.

'An ugly word to apply to the execution of a traitor.'

'I shouldn't have used it. Killing is not murder, in any case, when two countries are at war; and that is not altered in the least by the fact that you and I don't wear uniforms and that our war lies behind the battle-front. Of course you must kill her, Gregory, if there is no other way; and you must have no more scruple about it than you would have had about shooting down that Nazi airman who machine-gunned your ambulance in Norway.'

'You're right, angel—absolutely right. All the same, I must confess that the idea of killing anyone in cold blood makes me feel horribly squeamish and my allotted enemy on this occasion being a woman makes it ten times more repulsive to me.'

Erika stood there, her face very white and her blue eyes wide. 'Why? You're not an ordinary man, Gregory; you're far too good a psychologist still to believe the childish myth that women are really God's little angels and on an altogether higher spiritual level than men. You know as well as I do that the two sexes don't really differ except in outward form. Women have the same appetites as men, the same instinct of self-preservation; they can be as courageous and generous or as cowardly and mean; and since the female of the species has been theoretically the under-dog until very recent times, she has had to get what she wants by cunning and trickery, so her instincts for lying and every form of deception are much more highly developed than those of the male. What is more. All she lacks in strength she makes up for in cruelty, so when one comes down to stark reality there are no grounds whatsoever for refraining from killing an evil woman with as little scruple as one would kill an evil man, when either is one's enemy in wartime. Grauber and his friends made up their minds about that long ago; and I don't blame them. I don't think that I'm a really evil woman, but you know quite well that they would kill me without the slightest hesitation if they could catch me.'

Gregory sighed. 'Your reasoning is unanswerable, but we have no proof of any kind that she has actually instigated murder, and I'm hoping that I may not have to go to extreme measures. Perhaps, if my luck is in, I'll be able to trap her somehow and get her locked up in a fortress for the duration of the war.'

It was agreed that Erika should remain in Brussels unless she heard from Gregory that he wished her to leave and that in any case he would rejoin her as soon as possible. After a lingering farewell they tore themselves away from each other and Gregory took a taxi to the station. He was in Rotterdam by four o'clock.

Before leaving the station he went to a telephone kiosk and rang up the desk at the Weimar Hotel.

Speaking in a rather high-pitched voice he said that he was an official of the French Embassy and that a parcel had arrived which should be posted to Madame de Swarle, and would they please give him her room number so that he could address the package fully.

The desk clerk replied that Madame was occupying Number 141, a suite on the first floor; upon which Gregory thanked him and hung up.

He then drove to the hotel and, going up to the desk, said that he wished to book either a suite or a comfortable room; but the desk clerk found him a rather pernickety customer. He didn't want a room facing on to the street, because of the noise from the traffic; he didn't want a room that was too high up because Hitler might let loose his Blitzkrieg at any time and the higher up one was the more danger from bombs. On the other hand, he didn't want a room down on the first floor because that consisted almost entirely of luxury suites, which were too expensive. Having rejected half a dozen suggestions with the plan of the hotel before him he finally settled on Number 242, which was the nearest he could get to being immediately above the Baroness.

When a page had shown him to his room he took a quick look out of the window, then went to bed, on his old theory that there was nothing like getting all the sleep that one could during the daytime if there was any likelihood at all that one might not get any the following night.

At a quarter to eleven he awoke, bathed, shaved and dressed; then, going down to the restaurant, where dancing was in progress, he ordered himself a substantial supper and a bottle of champagne.

By two o'clock in the morning he was back upstairs in his bedroom leaning out of the window, further to investigate the possibilities of the fire-escapes, of which he had already made a cursory examination on his arrival. There was no fire-ladder that could be reached from the window out of which he was looking, but one ran down the wall alongside the window of his private bathroom next door; and as in hotels bathrooms are nearly always built in tiers, to facilitate hot water and drainage systems, it seemed reasonable to suppose that the bathroom of the Baroness's suite lay below his bathroom.

Having examined his gun to make certain that the mechanism was working smoothly he put a small black whalebone truncheon into his breast-pocket, tied a silk handkerchief over the lower part of his face and pulled a soft hat well down over his eyes. He then put out the lights, went into the bathroom, swung himself out on to the fire-ladder and, treading softly but firmly, descended to the level of the window below.

It was in darkness but a chink of light came from between the curtains of the window to his right, which he assumed to be the Baroness's bedroom. She was still up, apparently. He had hoped that by waiting until nearly half-past two in the morning he would catch her in bed and asleep; but he had the facility of moving with almost cat-like stealth when he wished, and it did not matter materially whether he caught her awake or asleep, providing that she was alone and that he was able to take her by surprise; so he decided to go forward.

The bathroom window was about a quarter open so he eased it down to its full extent and, wriggling in over its top, lowered himself gently to the floor. The room was not in total darkness as, although there was no moon, Rotterdam was not yet blacked out and some light was given by uncurtained windows on the other side of the big square well upon which the rooms faced. He could just make out the line of the bath, the wash-basin and the shelves; but as he turned towards the door he moved with great caution, since a bathroom with its bottles and glasses is a tricky place for an uninvited visitor at night-time when with his elbow he might so easily brush something which would crash to the floor and give away his presence.

Reaching the door he turned the handle right back and pressing the door open a fraction stood there with his ear to the crack, listening intently. He could hear faint sounds of movement but no voices, so it seemed that the Baroness was alone. Opening the door further he slipped out into the passage and softly drew it to behind him. There was a light in the corridor and what he presumed to be the bedroom door was open about a foot. He could hear the movements more plainly now. After another pause of a full minute he tiptoed forward. As he came level with the partially-open door he drew his gun; then giving the door a sudden shove he flung it wide open.

The movement was so swift that the woman who was in the room had not a second to grab any weapon she might have had, or even open her mouth to shout, before she found herself covered from the wide-open doorway.

The room was a bedroom with three entrances; the doorway in which he stood and two other doors, one on his right which led to the bathroom and was shut and a second, just ajar, which evidently led to the sitting-room. A big wardrobe and most of the drawers in the room were open, and they were all empty. Two suitcases stood near the bed and the woman was bending over a white rawhide dressing-case; he had caught her just as she was completing her packing. The fact that she had packed for herself indicated that she had no maid with her, so evidently her visit to Rotterdam under the nom-de-plume of Madame de Swarle was highly secret.

One glance was enough to satisfy Gregory that Madame de Swarle was unquestionably the Baroness.

Her dead-black hair was quite straight and cut short, with a fringe making a line across her forehead so that her pale face stood out startlingly from it; and from beneath a pair of level eyebrows her jet-black eyes stared at him with an inscrutable expression. She was small and slim, and to the casual glance she certainly did not appear to be the fifty years that Sir Pellinore had given her. Her figure was perfectly preserved and apart from a faint network of wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes her face looked like that of a woman of thirty. The only splash of colour was her mouth, which was heavily lipsticked a vivid scarlet. Gregory understood at once why she had such power over men. She had a subtle and peculiar sexual attraction which seemed to exude from the poise of her whole figure and her red mouth. He could not have defined it, but there was something about her— warm, soft, pulsating.

She stared at him across her open dressing-case but she was perfectly self-possessed. There was no trace of fear in her dark eyes at the sight of this masked unknown man who threatened her with a gun.

She remained absolutely still and did not even open her red-lipped mouth to ask him what he wanted, but waited quietly for him to speak first.

He wondered for a second where she could be off to at this time of night, but that did not concern him for the moment. Stepping into the room and closing the door behind him he said in a gruff, low voice:

'Madame is said to have some very nice jewels. I want them. Take off your rings and those pearls, put them in that dressing-case and bring it over here to me.' He knew that any papers that she might have would be in the dressing-case, and it was these that he was after; but he wanted her to believe him to be an ordinary hotel thief.

'And if I refuse?' she said in a low, musical voice.

'Then, Madame, you must take the consequences. I want those jewels and I mean to have them. Also, I do not intend to risk a long term of imprisonment by chancing your giving an alarm while I tie you up and gag you. There is a silencer on this automatic. If you refuse to do as I tell you I shall have to shoot you.'

She raised, her voice and cried with sudden defiance: 'I do refuse!'

Gregory gave her full marks for courage although he felt certain she could not realise how very near death she was at that second. She was gambling upon the fact that few jewel thieves will deliberately commit murder. They may shoot if they are surprised during a theft, in order to escape capture, but not once in a thousand times will they kill purely to secure their loot when they are the masters of a situation.

But he was not a jewel thief and it was his duty to put this dangerous woman out of business just as much as it is a sentry's duty to fire upon an enemy whom he may see creeping towards him across no-man's-land. It was a perfect opportunity to settle the matter once and for all. The silencer on his gun would prevent the shot being heard. Within two minutes he could be back in his bedroom. In ten, abandoning his suitcase and its contents which had no marks by which he could be identified, he could be out of the hotel; and he could take her jewels to provide a motive for the murder. Travel presented no difficulties in these countries which were still at peace and long before her body was discovered he would be over the Belgian frontier. Certain interested parties might guess that the Baroness had not been killed purely for the sake of her jewellery, but they had good reasons for keeping their mouths shut. When he reappeared in Brussels as Erika's butler there would be nothing whatever to connect him with the crime.

He was very tempted to squeeze the trigger of his automatic.

Yet somehow he could not do it. If she had attempted to reach the bell or to grab any weapon that she might have had in her open dressing-case she would have been a dead woman; but she did nothing of the kind; she just stood there staring at him, and the only expression which he could fathom in her eyes was a look of interested curiosity as to whether he meant to shoot or not.

'All right,' he said. 'I'm not shooting for the moment; but I will if you move your lips by as much as a millimetre. Stand back from that case and put your hands up!'

She did as he had ordered and, stepping forward, he slammed down the lid of Mae case, pressed home the locks and picked it up.

Her lips twitched into a sudden smile. 'It is not, then, my rings and my pearls that you are after?'

For a second he debated whether he should continue his bluff and forcibly strip the rings from her fingers or if he should content himself with the suitcase, thereby giving away the fact that he had really come for her papers, and get out as quickly as he could. But in either case she would raise the alarm the moment he had left her suite, so he had somehow to render her incapable of doing that until he was at least clear of the hotel. It occurred to him that the easiest way to do so was to get her into the bathroom, where there was a good supply of large towels. By gripping her throat with one hand he could prevent her screaming until he had pouched his gun; then he could wrap one large towel round her head and tie her up with the others. So he said:

'All in good time. I'll have the rings and the pearls in a minute, but I expect you've got some other trinkets in this case so I'm taking that as well.'

He brandished the gun again. 'Now, you've got it coming to you this time unless you obey me. Quick march! Out of here and along the passage to the bathroom!'

Somewhat to his surprise, she did not again refuse to be intimidated, but walked unhurriedly past the foot of the bed and across the room to the door leading into the passage.

As she opened it Gregory followed her with his gun in one hand and her dressing-case in the other. He was just about to cross the threshold when he heard a faint noise behind him. Swinging round he saw that the door of the sitting-room had opened. In it, covering him with a gun, stood his old enemy, Herr Gruppenfuhrer Grauber.

CHAPTER 14

The Hurricane Breaks

For once Gregory cursed the acuteness of his hearing. If he had not heard that faint creak as Grauber had opened the sitting-room door he would not have swung round. In consequence, he would still have had the Baroness covered had Grauber called on him to put up his hands; which would at least have created a stalemate wherein he could have held her life in pawn for his own. But, in turning, he had had to take his eye off the small, dark figure in front of him. At that moment she had produced a little mother-of-pearl gun from somewhere on her person; so on swinging back to her he found that he was now covered from two directions while his own gun was not pointing at either of his opponents.

'Step back into the room and throw that gun on the bed!' commanded Grauber in his high, piping voice.

Gregory hesitated. Had it not been for the Baroness he would have risked a shot from Grauber's pistol while he took one flying leap down the passage; but she was barring his path. Realising that he was cornered he stepped back into the bedroom, but he did not relinquish his pistol.

'Drop that gun!' ordered Grauber again, but Gregory took no notice. He had swiftly decided to play the same game with Grauber as the Baroness had played with him.

If the Gestapo Chief had known whom he was addressing it is highly probable that he would have shot Gregory out of hand. He could have got away from the hotel with as little likelihood of having to answer for the crime as there would have been of Gregory's being arrested for the murder of the Baroness had he shot her five minutes earlier: but the silk handkerchief hid the whole of the lower part of Gregory's face and his hat was pulled well down over his eyes, so Grauber had not yet realised that, by a stroke of sheer luck, the Englishman with whom he had such a long score to settle had fallen into his hands and was entirely at his mercy. He thought, as Gregory had assumed he would, that he was dealing with an hotel thief, and even Gestapo chiefs do not shoot down ordinary burglars without provocation.

Grauber shrugged and came mincing forward into the room. Gregory noted that he had lost none of his bulk since their last encounter and his pale, solitary eye had the same dead look which hid his extraordinarily shrewd intelligence.

'Since you will not relinquish your gun,' he purred, 'I advise you to keep it down; because if you raise it by a hair's breadth I will put three bullets into your stomach.'

Gregory nodded and, stepping back another pace, lowered his head a little so that his hat brim hid his eyes and would make any chance of recognition less likely.

The Baroness re-entered the room, quietly closing the passage door behind her, as she said: 'Thank you, Herr Gruppenfuhrer, for disembarrassing me of this creature. It was fortunate that you so kindly agreed to wait until I had done my packing so that you could see me to the air-port.'

Up to that point they had all been speaking in French but the Baroness had addressed Grauber in German and he replied in the same language, assuming either that Gregory did not understand German or that, if he did, a common thief would not be in a position to gather the import of anything that was said.

Still covering Gregory with his gun Grauber clicked his heels and bowed.

'It is a pleasure to have been of service, Gnadigefrau Baronin, but I fear that this annoying incident will interfere slightly with our arrangements. As you are due to leave the air-port at 2.45 you have no time to lose; you had better carry your bags into the sitting-room while I keep this man covered, then ring for the porter to take them down and leave at once.'

This little speech cheered Gregory considerably, as it implied that neither of his captors wished to be involved in a scene. Evidently Grauber's intention was to remain with him in the bedroom while the Baroness sent for the night-porter and made her departure. It seemed, therefore, that if he were prepared to surrender the dressing-case, which he was still holding, Grauber might let him go once she was clear of the hotel and could not be delayed as a police witness on account of the attempted burglary. That suited him all right, as his principal anxiety at the moment was to get away before Grauber recognised him and put half a dozen bullets into his body; so when the Baroness stepped up to him and gripped the dressing-case he relinquished it without attempting to grab her and swing her in front of him as cover for his body, as he otherwise might have done.

As she carried the case through the open doorway she said over her shoulder to Grauber: 'There is no immediate hurry. I am travelling by my own plane so my pilot will await my convenience. I think, therefore, it would be better if I telephone down at once to tell the management about this hotel rat so that I can be here to make the necessary statement when he is handed over to the police.'

'Damn the woman!' thought Gregory. 'Why in Hades couldn't she let well alone?' He had no pull with the Dutch Government and no possible explanation for being in the Baroness's suite. Moreover, he was standing there masked with a pistol in his hand. There was a perfectly clear case of attempted burglary and menacing with arms against him, which was a very serious matter. If he were once handed over to the police the law would take its course and he would find himself sentenced to a long term in a Dutch prison. But, to his relief, Grauber said:

'No. That would not be wise, Gnadigefrau Baronin; you might be held as a material witness in the case, and that would derange all our plans. Also, it is vital that you should leave at the time arranged. As it is, we allowed only a quarter of an hour for you to get clear of Schiepol and well out over the coast, where you will be in no danger of running into an air battle. You are much too valuable to us for us to risk anything of that kind, and our bombers will be over Rotterdam at three o'clock. You are late already; you must not lose another moment.'

'Hell's bells!' thought Gregory. 'Air battles—bombers over Rotterdam in the next twenty minutes—we've been caught napping again, blast it! Hitler is launching his Blitzkrieg tonight.' But in spite of his suppressed excitement there was nothing whatever he could do about it.

The Baroness had carried her other two cases out of the room, and she turned in the doorway to reply swiftly: 'I had no idea that zero hour was so near, but don't worry; I shall be off the airport well before three o'clock.'

'Gate reiser, Gnadigefrau Baronin.' Grauber clicked his heels and bowed once more as she closed the door with a muttered, 'Danke Schon, Herr Gruppenfuhrer.'

'Now,' Grauber addressed Gregory, speaking once again in French as he walked over and perched himself on the end of the bed, 'one word from you or one movement of that gun during the next ten minutes and I shall shoot you where you stand. I can easily press the trigger of your gun afterwards and say that I suddenly came upon you in the room here and it was you who fired on me first. As you are a masked man who obviously came here with felonious intentions everybody will believe me. So, rat, keep a still tongue if you wish ever to be able to wag it again with your thieves fraternity.'

Gregory nodded, indicating that he understood, but he did not trust himself to speak in case Grauber recognised his voice, and for several minutes they remained eyeing each other but practically unmoving, while various sounds coming through the sitting-room door told of the porter's arrival and then, by a loud slam of the outer door of the suite, that both the porter and the Baroness had departed.

For another five minutes Grauber remained sitting there and during them Gregory, who still had his own gun in his hand, was sorely tempted suddenly to bring it up and shoot him; but the Gestapo Chief had the drop on him, as his automatic was already levelled and he had only to press its trigger. Gregory might have killed his enemy or perhaps, as his aim would necessarily be wild, have only wounded him, but at that point-blank range it was quite certain that he would have paid for his fun with his life and it did not seem to him that the game was worth the candle.

A gilded sun-pattern electric clock set in the wall above the sitting-room door stood at seven minutes to three when Grauber, evidently considering that the Baroness had had ample time to get clear of the hotel, stood up again and piped in his effeminate falsetto: 'Now that there is no longer any danger of my friend being involved in this business I propose to hand you over to the police.'

Gregory bit his lip with annoyance. During those moments of waiting he had become confident that Grauber intended to let him go so as to save himself trouble. With a German invasion due to break at any moment it had seemed that a Gestapo Chief would have a score of urgent matters to occupy him, and the last thing he would want at such an hour of crisis was to spend his time dictating statements to Dutch policemen about a common burglar who, after all, had not even succeeded in getting away with anything.

But Gregory remembered with dismay that Grauber and his colleagues had a habit of perfecting all their arrangements down to the last detail beforehand, so the real probability was that now that the balloon was actually due to go up he had nothing whatever to do but sit back and watch the well-oiled wheels of the Nazi machine begin to turn as it roared forward on the lines that had been so carefully laid down for it.

For a second he thought of trying to argue Grauber out of his decision. He knew well enough that no plea for mercy would have any effect, but if he said that he spoke German, had understood Grauber's remarks that the Blitzkrieg was being launched at that moment and that he was a German Fifth Columnist who had work to do for Germany, there was just a possibility that Grauber might have let him go; particularly as Fifth Columnists in countries outside Germany were largely recruited from the criminal classes, which would lend a certain plausibility to such a story. But the trouble was that if he once opened his mouth Grauber still might recognise him and, as they were alone, kill him without further argument; so he decided that he dare not risk it.

Having spoken on the bedside telephone to the man on duty downstairs, while never taking his solitary eye off Gregory for a single second, Grauber replaced the receiver. With his free hand he took out his handkerchief and dabbed at a small boil on his chin, and Gregory caught a whiff of the rather sickly perfume that he always affected. Then the German perched himself on the end of the bed once more as they waited for the night-porter and the police to arrive.

Gregory, meanwhile, was wondering frantically how he could get out of this wretched mess in which he had landed himself; but the evidence against him as he stood there was so obvious that any plea of innocence would only be laughable. The Dutch police were efficient and it was most unlikely that they would allow a burglar who had been caught with a weapon in his hand the least loophole for escape on the way to the police-station; in fact, he would almost certainly be handcuffed to one of them. In the course of the next few days he would come up for trial, as even an invasion was unlikely to interfere with the normal criminal procedure in a coast city like Rotterdam that was many miles from the German frontier. Then he would be sent down for two or three years' hard labour, and he did not see how even Sir Pellinore would be able to help him.

He had got thus far in his gloomy speculations when there was the sound of a pass-key turning the lock of the outer door and a moment later the night-porter entered the room with a plain-clothes man, who had 'hotel detective' written all over him, and two uniformed policemen.

Grauber immediately addressed the plain-clothes man in French. 'As you probably know, my friend, Madame de Swarle, has just left the hotel. I had to see her on urgent business but I could not get here before two o'clock. I have had no opportunity to secure accommodation for myself, so she said before leaving that I had better take over her suite and sleep in this room for what is left of the night. She had hardly been gone five minutes when I went into the bathroom and caught this fellow in the act of wriggling through the window. Fortunately, I had a gun on me so I was able to hold him up, but you will notice that he is armed; and if I had not drawn my own weapon very quickly he would have shot me. Kindly remove him. I will visit the police-station in the morning to charge him with felonious entry.'

The detective looked at Gregory. 'Have you anything to say?'

Gregory silently shook his head, but from under the brim of his hat he snatched a glance at the clock; its long hand now had only half a minute to go before it reached the hour.

'Right, then,' the detective nodded to the policemen. 'You'd better take him along, boys.'

Grauber had lowered his gun at the entry of the police. Gregory suddenly stepped back and raised his, pointing it not at the police but at Grauber. 'One moment!' he cried, using the husky voice in which he had spoken to the Baroness. 'Remain quite still all of you, or I will kill this man,'

The night-porter had started forward, but he checked himself. For half a moment all six men remained rigid, like a set tableau. Gregory was listening with all his ears for the hum of aeroplane engines, praying that the Germans would be on time. The others were staring at him, wondering what he meant to do. A full minute passed, but no sound broke the stillness.

'Well?' exclaimed Grauber at last, turning with a sneer towards the two policemen. 'Are you going to remain standing there all night while this man threatens me?'

In vain Gregory strained his ears. For once the Germans were late in launching their programme.

Knowing that he could hold the situation no longer he played another card. Lifting his free hand, he jerked down the handkerchief that covered the lower part of his face.

'Gott in Himmel! Sallust!' With a shout Grauber sprang up from the bed. But Gregory had him covered, so he could only stand there snarling with anger at the thought of the opportunity to revenge himself that he had now lost.

'So you recognise me at last,' Gregory said smoothly. 'I am glad of that, because I wanted these gentlemen to be given clear proof that I'm somebody who is known to you.' He swung round to the others. 'Now let me make it clear what has been happening here. I am not a burglar; I've stolen nothing; and the only thing with which this man can charge me is with breaking into Madame de Swarle's suite. If he does that I shall counter-charge him, because I challenge him to prove that he has any right here either.

Again, if he charges me with threatening his life I shall charge him with threatening mine; and on that count I have the advantage because when you entered this room he was actually holding me up with his pistol.'

The four Dutchmen looked extremely puzzled. The whole matter had now taken such a totally different turn from anything they had anticipated, and while they followed Gregory's reasoning they did not see what they ought to do. At last the detective said:

'That's all very well; but it was the other gentleman who called us in and he wouldn't have done that unless you had been threatening him.'

'Oh yes, he would,' said Gregory: 'because he had the draw on me and it's in his interests to get me locked up for the night —or longer if he can manage it—so that I'm out of his way; but I'll bet you a hundred gulden to twenty-five cents that if you take me to the police-station he'll never turn up to charge me with anything in the morning.'

'Can you explain what you were doing here?' asked the detective.

'Yes. You Dutchmen have got yourselves mixed up in an international quarrel; I am an Englishman, at present employed upon a special mission for my country; while that fat, repulsive thug at the end of the bed there . . .' Suddenly he broke off, and exclaimed: 'Listen!'

It was now three minutes past three; no aeroplanes were droning overhead but in the silence that followed his exclamation they could all hear the sound that he had been the first to catch: it was a low, irregular thudding in the distance.

'D'you know what that is?' he said quickly.

The detective shook his head.

Gregory smiled grimly. 'At three o'clock Hitler loosed his Blitzkrieg and those are German bombs falling on your airport out at Schipol. What is more, as I was just about to tell you, the repulsive individual who so rashly brought you up here is Hen Gruppenfuhrer Grauber, Chief of the Gestapo Foreign Department, U.A.—I, and for the last few minutes he has been just as much your enemy as mine. I shall hold you responsible to your Government if you fail to arrest him instantly.'

The four Dutchmen gasped. So the thing that they had been dreading for months had happened after all, in spite of their efforts to placate both Hitler and the Allies. Their peaceful, prosperous country was to be made a battle-ground and devastated in the Titanic struggle of the two mighty antagonists. The distant thudding of the bombs continued; almost as one man they swung angrily upon Grauber.

With pardonable satisfaction Gregory watched them close in upon his enemy. He had got himself out of a very awkward mess and, triumph of triumphs, succeeded in snaring the German in his own net. He now had little doubt that the Dutch would take very good care of Grauber until an extradition warrant could be obtained for his transfer to England and trial for the murder of Tom Archer in Hampstead during the previous October; but Gregory had underrated his opponent.

Grauber stood up and smiled blandly at the angry Dutchmen. 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'you have only this crook's word for it that those are German bombs you can hear falling, even if they are bombs at all. The English have been planning to invade your country for a long time and it would not surprise me in the least if it is they who have attacked you without warning. In any case, I'm quite willing to accompany you to the police-station provided that you take this unscrupulous desperado, who is wanted for several murders in Germany, with you as well.'

His calmness and the thought that, after all, they as yet had no proof that Gregory was speaking the truth swiftly modified the anger of the Dutchmen towards Grauber; they looked from the German to the Englishman with doubtful expressions, until Gregory said:

'That suits me. Let's all go to the station.'

The detective nodded, one policeman took Grauber's arm and the other Gregory's arm. They filed out, went down in the lift and, leaving the night-porter, into the street. As they reached it the roar of aeroplanes sounded in the dark sky overhead and a fresh series of explosions came from a new direction. These had quite a different note from the first and Gregory felt certain that they were gunfire down at the docks. He could only pray that if the Germans were playing the same game there as they had played in Oslo the Dutch were resisting.

The Police Headquarters lay in the centre of the city, only a short distance from the hotel, and when they reached it they found that the normal quiet of its early morning hours had been rudely disturbed. Instead of only the small night-staff being in evidence policemen were still pulling on their uniform jackets as they hurried out from the dormitories to the street, while a little knot of senior officers had already gathered in the charge-room, where one of them was shouting down a telephone. Before the detective or either of the policemen had a chance to say anything Grauber boldly addressed an Inspector: 'I wish,' he said loudly in German, 'to see Chief Inspector Van der Woerden; I have been taken into custody on a false charge, but the Chief Inspector knows me and will see to it that justice is done.'

The Inspector frowned and shook his head. 'We can't disturb the Chief at a time like this, and if you're a German citizen it's just as well that you've been taken into custody. You'll be safe enough here, but when the news that Hitler is attacking Holland gets round—as it will in the course of the next few minutes—

you'd stand a good chance of being lynched if you remained out in the street.'

'It was the Germans bombing the air-port out at Schipol, then?' Gregory cut in triumphantly.

'Yes; it must have been, because we've just had it over the telephone that German troops have made a surprise landing on the wharfs down in the harbour, though how they managed to get there without our Navy intercepting them is a complete mystery.'

'I can tell you,' Gregory said grimly; 'and it's your own fault for not learning the lesson of Norway.

They've probably been coming into the port for several days in cargo ships and barges, but they've remained concealed under the hatches until their zero hour.'

Grauber shrugged his massive shoulders and taking out a visiting-card thrust it at the Inspector. 'If the Fuehrer has decided to take the Netherlands under his protection you should be grateful. He will save you from the English. In the meantime I insist that you send for Chief Inspector Van der Woerden.'

The Inspector stared at him angrily. 'That's quite enough from you. Hitler is not the master of Holland yet, and I tell you that the Chief Inspector is too busy for us to disturb him at a time like this.' Swinging round to one of the policemen he asked: 'What was your reason for bringing these two men in?'

The man piped up in a sing-song voice: 'At two hours fifty-five we were called into the Weimar Hotel by the house detective. We ascended with him and the night-porter to Suite 141 on the first floor; there we found these two men, both with automatic pistols in their hands. The one states that he is a German, the other that he is an Englishman. It was the German who rang the night-porter for police assistance and when we arrived on the scene he was covering the Englishman with his weapon. Both charge the other with breaking into the suite and with threatening violence.'

Grauber made a swift gesture, brushing the statement aside, as he said to the Inspector: 'That is an accurate account of what occurred, but it has no bearing upon the present situation. It is now clear that the Fuehrer has decided to give his protection to your country. If you are wise you will accept that protection peaceably; if you are foolish you will resist. But nothing you can do will prevent the German Army being in full control of your country within a week. Then, my friend, there will be a reckoning. For those who have conducted themselves creditably there will be no trouble, but for anyone who has arrested a German citizen and not given him a reasonable opportunity to state his case there will be very big trouble indeed.'

'So you're up to your blackmailing tricks even before you've conquered the country,' Gregory cut in furiously. 'Don't you listen to him, Inspector.'

The Inspector had gone red in the face and looked as if he was about to strike Grauber, but the German went on imperturbably: 'I am a high official of the Nazi Party and when Holland is conquered my word will be law here. For your own sake you should think well before incurring my displeasure— particularly if you have a wife and children. Either you fetch Chief Inspector Van der Woerden immediately so that I can make proper representations to him, or you will have to answer to the German authorities within the next few days for having refused my request—and by that time we shall have concentration-camps in Holland as well as in Germany.'

'Don't allow him to intimidate you, Inspector,' Gregory cried. 'This man is a Gestapo agent and it is people such as he who are at this moment signalling with lights to the aircraft that are killing honest Dutch citizens with their bombs. If you deal with him according to his deserts he won't be alive to tell any lies about you by the time the Nazis get here.'

But the Inspector was badly shaken. It was not even certain yet that his Government would decide to fight, and even if they did, how could thirteen million Dutch stand up to eighty million Germans; particularly when those Germans had the mastery of the air? Privately he doubted if the Dutch Army could hold out for very long even with Allied aid, and after that Government, officials and people would have to submit to the Nazi bosses whom the Germans sent them. He had got a wife and children to think of and, after all, the German was not asking to be released, only that a higher official should be sent for to hear what he had to say. What the Chief Inspector might decide was not the Inspector's business, and by sending for him he could relieve himself of the whole unpleasant business.

'All right,' he muttered sullenly. 'Chief Inspector Van der Woerden is in the building somewhere, I think.'

'How nice,' sneered Grauber, in his thin falsetto, 'and how fortunate for all concerned.'

While the Inspector left them they stood there in the charge-room, to and from which policemen and civilians were now constantly hurrying. In the next few moments the news came through that German troops had crossed the Dutch frontier and that Amsterdam was now being bombed. The sound of the cannonade down by the harbour increased in violence, and the irregular rat-tat-tat of machine-guns was added to it. Just as they heard that the aerodromes at Brussels and Antwerp were also being bombed the Inspector returned with his superior, a short, stocky man with a grey moustache.

Grauber clicked his heels and bowed. 'I regret to have taken you from your duties at such a time, Chief Inspector,' he said formally, 'but your police are holding me upon a very minor charge which cannot easily be substantiated. If I give you my word to hold myself at your disposal, will you permit that I am released at once?'

'He's a German agent!' cut in Gregory; 'I insist that you should hold him here, otherwise he'll engineer further death and destruction among your people.'

The Chief Inspector glanced coldly at Gregory and said in a toneless voice: 'I know this gentleman. I am perfectly aware that he must now be considered as one of Holland's enemies, but it so happens that he is a member of the staff of the German Embassy; therefore he has a right to expect certain diplomatic courtesies.'

'He's no more a member of the Embassy staff than I am,' Gregory cried, 'and even if he were you'd be insane to let him loose in Rotterdam tonight. If you do he'll go straight down to the docks and give all the help he can to the enemy troops there who're trying to capture your city.'

With barely veiled hostility the Chief Inspector replied smoothly: 'Kindly mind your own business and refrain from attempting to interfere in mine. The affair at the docks will soon be settled and Holland is not yet at war with Germany.' Then he turned to Grauber. 'I accept your word, Herr Gruppenfuhrer, that you will report to the Dutch authorities within twenty-four hours if you are called upon to do so. You may go.'

'I thank you, Chief Inspector.' Grauber clicked his heels again, bowed from the waist and without a glance at Gregory walked quickly out of the station.

It was about the clearest instance of a Gestapo tie-up with a foreign police official who was on their books as a reliable Fifth Columnist that it could have been possible to witness. Gregory was absolutely wild with rage and the old scar on his forehead stood out a livid white. He turned furiously upon the Chief Inspector. 'How dare you let that man go! He's a murdering Gestapo thug, and you know it, you damned Fifth Column traitor!'

Suddenly, in his white-hot anger, before anyone could stop him he snatched up a heavy round ebony ruler from a nearby desk and struck the Chief Inspector with it a terrific blow across the head.

For a second Van der Woerden's eyes started from their sockets, round, goggling, horrible. His mouth fell open, blood began to ooze from a jagged line across his temple and he slumped to the floor without a sound.

With shouts of surprise and dismay the group of policemen flung themselves upon Gregory. There was a short, violent struggle, and as they wrenched him erect, with his arms pinioned behind him, the Inspector who had fetched Van der Woerden knelt down to examine him.

After a moment he looked up and said: "That blow will cost you your life. He's dead.'

CHAPTER 15

Prison for the Killer

Within a second of having struck the man Gregory had sobered up and the struggle with the police was not due to resistance on his part but owing to the fact that so many of them had all attempted to seize him at the same time.

Normally he despised people who lost their temper, as he maintained that those who were stupid enough to give way to anger placed themselves at a disadvantage, and if ever he had to fight he always fought with a cold, calculating ferocity, which was infinitely more dangerous than any whirlwind attack delivered without plan through loss of control. But, in this instance, his feeling of indignation and disgust had been so overpowering that he had virtually been affected by a brain-storm.

Such a thing had never happened to him before and it frightened him a little. He felt that perhaps the strain he had been through in the last eight and a half months was beginning to tell and that he was losing his grip. But as he stared down at the dead police chief he did not feel the least remorse at what he had done.

To have struck the official in such circumstances would have been bad enough, but to have killed him was infinitely worse. He knew that his act might cost him his life; and not as the price of something for which he might have been willing to give it, such as settling accounts once and for all with Grauber or dealing some major blow at the Nazis, but without anything to show for it, as a convicted murderer in a prison yard. Nevertheless, apart from the personal peril into which the act had brought him, he would not have undone the deed even had he had the chance.

Van der Woerden had known that his country was being invaded by the Germans. Even as he had stood there he was aware that the Nazi forces which had entered the port in secret were killing the very men who looked to him as their own officer for leadership and the citizens whom it was his duty to protect; yet he had deliberately allowed a German secret agent to go free so that he could continue his nefarious activities and inevitably bring about the loss of more Dutch lives. The man had been that lowest of all human beings—a proved traitor to his own country—and he deserved to die.

The Inspector stood up and gave an order in Dutch. Gregory was hurried down a corridor and thrown into a cell. The steel door clanged-to behind him.

He was quite calm again now and already thinking about what measures he should take. Producing pencil and paper from his pocket he wrote out two telegrams; the first was to Sir Pellinore:

'have executed dutch police inspector acting as gestapo agent stop under arrest rotterdam stop please inform foreign office and get legation to do their best to postpone trial till situation clarifies.'

The second, which he addressed to the British Minister at The Hague, ran:

'HAVE KILLED DUTCH POLICE INSPECTOR BELIEVING HIM TO BE GERMAN AGENT

STOP UNDER ARREST ROTTERDAM STOP KILLING JUSTIFIED ON GROUNDS THAT IT

TOOK PLACE AFTER INVASION AND VICTIM WAS ACTIVELY RENDERING

ASSISTANCE TO ENEMY STOP SEND LEGATION OFFICIAL TO RECEIVE DETAILED

PARTICULARS STOP PELLINORE GWAINE-CUST LONDON WILL GUARANTEE MY

BONA FIDES.'

On reading these through he thought that they were pretty good. There was nothing like carrying the war into the enemy's camp and surely the first line of defence against murder was to state categorically that it was not murder at all but justified killing in the execution of one's duties. Officially, of course, the British Legation could not give any assistance to a secret agent but, for once, he felt that his entirely unofficial position should stand him in good stead. His situation was that of an ordinary British citizen travelling in Holland who had got himself into trouble, and it was incumbent on his Legation to investigate the matter and see that he received fair play.

Sir Pellinore would probably storm and rage when he got his telegram. Anxious as Gregory was, he smiled as he imagined the sort of thing that the elderly baronet would say: 'There's that damned feller—can't move ten yards without killing somebody or getting them killed on his account, and now he's had the impudence to drag me into it.' But Gregory felt quite certain that however annoyed Sir Pellinore might be he would get on to the Foreign Office immediately and pull every available wire which might ring a bell in that most intelligent and powerful of British institutions.

So far, so good, but there were two thoughts which made Gregory extremely uneasy. He had seen quite enough of the new German methods of warfare in Norway to be under no illusions as to how a Blitzkrieg worked. The Germans were already attacking Rotterdam from the sea and bombing the Dutch airports; within a matter of hours landings by parachute-troops could be expected and these together with the innumerable Fifth Columnists that the enemy had established in Holland, would be destroying all communications; so it was highly probable that neither of his telegrams would reach its destination.

Further, while he was sitting in his cell, Queen Wilhelmina was probably signing a proclamation placing the country under martial law. In that case any civilian who killed a member of the armed forces or of the police would be liable to be tried by court-martial and summarily shot. By morning, therefore, he might find himself in the last and stickiest corner of a career which had already had far more than its fair quota of sticky corners;

Having given the police time to cool down he banged upon his cell door and, on the warder's appearing, asked him to fetch the Inspector, whose name, he learnt, was Fockink. Some quarter of an hour later the Inspector arrived and inquired what he wanted. He produced the two telegrams that he had written out, together with a 50-gulden note, and asked for them to be sent off at once.

The Inspector, like most educated Dutchmen, could understand English. He read the messages through and was visibly impressed on seeing that one asked the assistance of the British Foreign Office, and that the other was addressed to the British Minister at The Hague. He had not forgotten the manner in which Grauber had threatened him if he refused to send for his superior and the fact that bombs were still falling did not make him feel any love at all for the Germans, so he said quite civilly:

'I'll send these off if I can, but there's so much trouble in the city now that I'm afraid it's very doubtful if they'll get through.'

'Have the Germans succeeded in penetrating from the harbour to the centre of the town, then?' Gregory asked.

'No; but they must have had scores of agents living here, as fighting seems to have broken out in half a dozen places. One party has seized the broadcasting station and another attempted to storm the telephone exchange. Troops and police are trying to round them up now but they must have had secret stores of arms as they're all carrying tommy-guns and hand-grenades. Each group, too, appears to be trained in street-fighting and properly led so it's a very different matter to putting down an ordinary riot, and we're not organised to contend with this sort of thing.'

Gregory shrugged. 'Even if you were, you wouldn't stand much chance if many of your senior officers are like that fellow Van der Woerden—just waiting for the opportunity to sell you to the enemy.'

'Are you quite sure that German was not on the Staff of their Embassy?'

'Certain of it; I know him well; he's the Gestapo Chief, Gruppenfuhrer Grauber. And even if he had been an accredited diplomat, that's no possible excuse for letting him go at a time like this when his country has just invaded yours without the slightest provocation.'

The Inspector nodded. 'You're right there. I wish now that I'd refused to send for the Chief Inspector.

Still, as I did, the fact that he died from your blow means you'll have to stand your trial for murder.'

'I know,' Gregory smiled suddenly, 'but in the meantime I'd like to know how you propose to treat me.

Am I to be regarded as a sailor who has killed a man in a drunken brawl or as a political prisoner who may have acted rashly but was working in the interests of your country as well as his own?'

Inspector Fockink hesitated a second, then he said: 'Quite unofficially, of course, I don't mind confessing that I understand your motive and that you have my sympathy. In any case, I'm prepared to give instructions that you shall receive such amenities as the station affords. If you've got money, so that you can pay for them, you can send out for any food you want, cigarettes, drink, etc. You may smoke as much as you like and have paper and pencils to write letters or prepare your defence —in fact any reasonable request you care to make will be granted.'

'That's decent of you,' Gregory replied. 'How about news? I'm naturally pretty anxious to know what's going on.'

'You can have any papers that you like to send for.'

'I'm afraid that's not much good; I can't read Dutch, and at a time like this I imagine it's extremely doubtful as to whether the English and French papers will come in as usual.'

'All right, then. Most of the warders can speak quite good German. I'll lift the regulation which forbids warders to carry on conversations with prisoners and each time they come into your cell they can give you the latest news.'

"Thanks,' said Gregory. 'I'm very grateful.'

When the Inspector had left him, Gregory glanced at his watch and saw that it was five to four. Guns were still firing, machine-guns were still beating their horrid tattoo; occasionally there drifted through the barred window of the cell a distant shout or the sound of hurrying feet; but there was nothing more that he could do to aid himself and, locked up as he was, there was nothing that he could do to help the Dutch defend their city, either, so he decided to go to bed and try to get some sleep.

In spite of the distant thudding and the rattling of the windows he managed to drop off about four-thirty but the warder woke him two hours later. He gave the man money to send out and buy him meals, drink, cigarettes, a war map to pin up on the wall of his cell and some English novels; and asked that his bag should be collected from the hotel; then he dozed again until the things arrived and, shortly afterwards, lunch was brought to him.

The warder gloomily gave him the news. It seemed that most of the German commercial travellers who had descended on Rotterdam in recent weeks were really soldiers in disguise. Each of them had known exactly what to do and where to go when the moment came, so they had rapidly consolidated into definite units several hundred strong, and as they had seized certain buildings which readily lent themselves to defence it was proving a very difficult matter to turn them out.

Since dawn the sky had been black with planes, and parachutists having captured the Schipol airport troop-carriers were now landing much greater numbers of Germans on it. An hour after the Germans had invaded Holland and Belgium they had gone into Luxemburg and launched a great offensive in the Moselle sector, where the Franco-German frontier and the Maginot Line proper ended. Both Holland and Belgium had appealed to the Allies for aid and at eleven o'clock it had been announced that the British and French would give them every possible assistance. It was reported that a Franco-British Army had already crossed the frontier and was wheeling through southern Belgium to meet the Germans.

Gregory received these tidings with very mixed feelings. It was good that the two countries had decided to fight. Their Air Forces were, unfortunately, negligible but Holland could put 600,000 men in the field and Belgium the best part of 1,000,000. True, the Dutch equipment was not very up to date but they were a stout-hearted race who had proved their courage many times and took a place second to none in the annals of those nations which had fought and endured to secure their independence. As a nation the Belgians were a much younger people and they were a mixed race of Flemings and Walloons, so Gregory doubted if they had the solidarity of the Dutch; on the other hand, their Army was not only larger but was said to have been greatly improved in recent years. Taking even the most cynical view, he felt that this 1,600,000 new enemies which Hitler had acquired overnight would at least inflict considerable damage on him before they could be put out of action—which was something definitely to the good.

As against that, he well remembered the manner in which Sir Pellinore had laid down the law to him less than a week ago on the subject of strategy in the Low Countries. He had made it very clear that as long as the British stood upon the Franco-Belgian frontier it would be extremely difficult for the Germans to inflict a major defeat upon them; but that once they moved out of their fortified zone they would have to meet the Germans tank for tank, gun for gun and man for man.

In the evening he learnt that in addition to innumerable Dutch and Belgian cities the Germans had also bombed Nancy, Lille, Colmar, Lyons, Pontoise, Bethune, Lens, Hazebrouck, Abbeville and Calais, but that the Dutch had blown up the bridges on the Yssel and Maas so that the first onslaught of the northernmost German Army had definitely been checked.

The Germans were reinforcing their troops in Rotterdam harbour by landing men from seaplanes and they had captured the great bridge over the river, but the situation in the centre of the city remained obscure. Gregory did not think the fighting was very near, but salvoes of bombs were being launched from time to time near enough for him to hear them whistling through the air. At ten-past ten a big fellow falling about a hundred yards away shattered the window of his cell. It was not pleasant to remain locked up during almost continuous air-raids, but the Police Headquarters was a massive building and Gregory felt that he was infinitely safer there than he had been at Andalsnes and managed to get some sleep between raids.

On the Saturday morning news came which put him into a more cheerful frame of mind. At nine o'clock the previous evening Chamberlain had announced his resignation and Churchill was the new Premier. It was good to think that Chamberlain had proved equal to the emergency and that Britain at last had a war leader worthy of her.

The local news was also good. The Germans had not succeeded in making any deep penetration into Holland and were being held at Delfzyl, the key position at the extreme northern end of the new greatly extended Allied line. In the previous day's fighting the small Dutch Air Force had behaved with great gallantry and more than a hundred German planes had been brought down over Holland, while a further forty-four had crashed on French territory. Hitler was certainly not getting it all his own way.

After Gregory had lunched, Inspector Fockink, now begrimed and unshaven but still resolute, entered the cell. He told Gregory that in the normal course of events he would have been taken before a magistrate the previous morning, but that with enemy troops holding various key positions in the city all normal judicial procedure had had to be temporarily suspended.

Gregory asked, jokingly, if there was such a thing as a writ for habeas corpus in Holland, and, on the Inspector's inquiring what he meant, he explained that it was an ancient law, considered by Englishmen to be the keystone of their liberties, by which a man could not be held in prison for more than twenty-four hours unless he was brought into court on a definite charge laid against him.

The Inspector said that in Holland the liberty of the subject was protected by somewhat similar measures, but in the present instance he was quite certain that they would not be operative.

No replies had yet been received to either of the telegrams and the telephone lines to The Hague had been cut by saboteurs so it was impossible to ring up the British Legation; but Fockink seemed quite friendly and having accepted a drink from Gregory's small private bar gave him the latest details of the fighting. The Fortress of Maastricht, in the extreme south of Holland, had fallen with the loss of 3,000

men and the Germans had overrun Belgian Limburg; they had also captured Malmedy and Vitry and reached the Albert Canal. This seemed amazingly good going after a bare day-and-a-half and Gregory could only pray that the Belgians would be able to hold the line of the Canal, which was their main defence, until the British came up.

The Dutch had been forced back towards Arnhem and it had now become apparent that the maximum German pressure was being exerted in this area with the objective of driving a wedge right through to the coast, and thereby cutting the whole of north Holland off from south Holland and Belgium. In the meantime, desperate fighting was taking place out at the Schipol air-port as the Dutch had now brought up strong reinforcements of their Regular troops in an attempt to recapture it.

In the evening Gregory heard that the Dutch had succeeded in retaking the aerodrome after a most bloody action in which they had lost a thousand killed and three times that number wounded. His warder was very cock-a-hoop about this victory and also about the fine exploit of the Dutch warship, Jan van Galen, which had made its way through a minefield laid by the Germans and shelled several of their troop-carriers which were landing reinforcements on the shore, causing them great loss. At nine o'clock Gregory went to bed to spend another uneasy night constantly broken by violent explosions.

On the Sunday his routine did not differ from the preceding days. The police were much too occupied even to give him an hour's exercise in the courtyard so he spent the day trying to shut out the now monotonous din while he attempted to read or follow on his war map the progress of the great battle that was raging.

The Germans had pierced the Albert Canal in two places and were making a rapid advance through the Ardennes. They had also launched another attack on the French front, between the Forest of Warndt and the Saar, while in Holland they had driven their central wedge past Arnhem and south of that town were reported to be within fifty miles of the coast.

During the day all sorts of stories came through about the Germans' Fifth Column activities. Apparently the Gestapo had established secret arms-depots in practically every town in Holland and organised the Dutch Fascists and other political groups to sabotage their country's own war effort when the day came.

Many of these groups had also had secret stores of Dutch military and police uniforms, the use of which enabled them to issue false orders and spread defeatist rumours from what appeared to be authoritative sources.

The Fifth Columnists were being strongly supported by German parachutists dressed in civilian clothes and even as clergymen or women. These enemies within had cut communications, seized bridges to prevent their being blown up and held off the local police while German troop-carriers had landed regular troops on golf courses, arterial roads, long stretches of sandy beach and other makeshift air-grounds.

In consequence an incredible state of confusion had resulted throughout the length and breadth of the country. Nobody now knew if a policeman or an officer was a genuine executive of the State or if he was a German sympathiser employed in diverting traffic or turning back troops in order to facilitate the advance of the enemy. There were several hundred small wars going on all over the place and large bodies of troops which should have been holding the main defence system had had to be recalled into the interior of the country to try to mop up these innumerable groups of Fifth Columnists and German airborne troops.

In the evening the new British Inner Cabinet was announced. Churchill—Premier; Chamberlain—Lord President of the Council; Attlee—Lord Privy Seal; Halifax—Foreign Affairs; Alexander—Admiralty; Eden—War Office; Sinclair—Air Minister; and Greenwood—Minister without Portfolio. Later another batch of appointments came through. Simon—Lord Chancellor; Kingsley Wood—Exchequer; Lord Lloyd—Colonies; Herbert Morrison—Supply; Anderson—Home Office; and Duff Cooper—Information.

Many of the newcomers were excellent men, but it was clear that even Churchill had been unable to break down the old business of Party claims which has to be considered in any Coalition Government; whereby professional politicians who have achieved leadership by years of uninspired hack work must be given key positions, however much they may lack the necessary qualifications to fill them, instead of the Premier having a free hand to choose younger men of outstanding ability. By and large the new Government was a great improvement on the old one, but the thing which utterly dumbfounded Gregory was that Sir John Anderson had been allowed to remain at the Home Office, when for eight solid months he had flatly refused to curb the activities of the Fascists or to take even the most rudimentary precautions to prevent the same sort of thing happening in Britain as was going on at that moment in Holland.

Whit Monday, the fourth day of the battle for the Low Countries, showed no sign of a break in the weather. Ever since May the 5th the skies had been almost cloudless and it was nearly as hot as midsummer. The German thrust into mid-Holland had deepened while further south the enemy had broken right through the eastern end of the Albert Line, hurled 2,000 tanks at Tongres and now threatened the main Belgian bastion of Liege on three sides.

Over the week-end Gregory's fears for the outcome of his killing had considerably lessened, as with every hour that passed there was less likelihood of his being taken before a military court and summarily condemned to death. The Dutch authorities were learning to their cost of the incredible havoc which was being wrought upon their war effort by Nazi sympathisers among their own countrymen and there was abundant evidence from the police who had been present as to why Gregory had struck down Chief Inspector Van der Woerden. He therefore no longer thought that there was any danger of his being charged with murder. It was even possible that the British authorities might be able to secure his release on a Royal pardon from the Queen of Holland; but other anxieties were now beginning to agitate him.

Three full days had elapsed since his telegrams had been sent off but he had had no reply to either, and no one had come to interview him from the British Legation at The Hague, so he thought it very doubtful if the telegrams had ever reached their destination. In consequence it looked as though he would be unable to obtain any assistance from his own people until the Dutch had succeeded in restoring some sort of order in the territory behind their actual line of battle; but the devil of it was that they might fail to do so before the advancing German armies had smashed their way forward and completely overrun the whole country. If he were detained in his cell until the Germans reached Rotterdam, Grauber might appear with a squad of Black Guards to collect him; and that was a very worrying thought indeed.

On the Monday morning he had been consoling himself with the belief that he probably had at least three or four more days to go before such a calamity was liable to overtake him, but in the evening he received an extremely rude shock. With a glum face the warder told him that a German armoured column had penetrated to within five miles of the city. True, a company of tanks might be far ahead of their supporting troops but Gregory had good reason to know that wherever a German spear-head appeared its main forces very soon succeeded in following it.

He sent an urgent request for Inspector Fockink to come and see him, then turned to the map on the wall of his cell; but he did not even need to glance at it to realise that the Dutch northern armies were now in the gravest peril. For the past three days they had been putting up a stout defence along their water-line, in spite of the fact that after the first day the Germans had achieved complete air superiority and of the sabotage which was occurring right, left and centre in their rear. But now that the point of the German wedge had practically reached the coast they were cut off from their Allies, and Gregory knew sufficient of German strategy to forecast with conviction that the enemy's spear-head would now curve north towards Utrecht, thereby encircling the Dutch and rendering their position absolutely untenable.

The warder returned to say that Inspector Fockink was out superintending the defence of one of the street barricades and that no one had any idea if or when he would return. The bombing had temporarily stopped but the banging of hand-grenades and crackle of rifle-fire sounded considerably nearer, so in a decidedly cheerless frame of mind Gregory sat down to his supper.

For the last forty-eight hours he had had to make do on cold tinned-foods, as most of the restaurants near by had closed down either on account of war damage to their properties or owing to scarcity of food, which was already becoming very short in Rotterdam, all supply services having been interrupted.

While he ate his Dutch ham and sausage the warder gave him the gist of a British news bulletin which had just come in.

The Queen of Holland had arrived safely in London; Churchill had put a motion to the House of Commons that Britain should fight on to a victorious finish, which had been carried by 381 votes to 0; and several new appointments had been announced. Amery—Secretary for India; Macdonald— Health; Lord Woolton—Food; and Bevan—Labour; while from Italy anti-British demonstrations by crowds of war-mongering young Fascists were reported in Rome.

The news about the Queen of Holland was extremely perturbing, as it indicated pretty clearly that the Dutch goose was as good as cooked. Gregory knew that Queen Wilhelmina was a woman of great character and absolutely devoted to her people. He felt that she would never have abandoned them at such a time unless the situation was quite hopeless and she considered that she could serve them better by escaping to England and retaining her freedom than by remaining to be taken prisoner by the Germans.

He waited up till past one in the morning hoping that Fockink would return; but the Inspector failed to do so and Gregory paced the narrow limits of his cell unable to settle to anything from the grim forebodings that now crowded in upon him.

When he went to bed the cannonade which had been raging for four days and four nights without cessation was more furious than ever. It seemed as though Hell had been let loose in a dozen quarters of the city, and when he put out his light the room remained almost as bright as day, with a red glow from the many fires that were raging. During the previous nights it had been by no means easy to get any sleep, and now it was almost impossible, as he was haunted by the persistent thought that within another twenty-four hours he might be delivered, bound hand and foot, into the clutches of the Nazis.

CHAPTER 16

The 'Fury' of Rotterdam

When Gregory roused from his fitful dozing on the Tuesday morning, in between the crashing of explosions he could hear the dull, continuous roaring of the great fires which were now consuming several portions of the city. The sky was dark and flakes of blackened ash were drifting through the bars of his broken window.

There was no coffee for breakfast, only biscuits, red cheese and bottled beer. When the warder brought this unusual meal he said that the Germans had sabotaged the reservoirs so there was no longer any water pressure, which rendered it impossible for the fire-brigades to check the advance of the flames, but that the Police Headquarters was in no immediate danger.

Gregory also learned that just as von Ziegler had attempted to capture or kill King Haakon the Nazis had also done their best to eliminate Queen Wilhelmina. Every place to which she had moved since the invasion had been indicated to the enemy by Fifth Columnists and it was only by the greatest good fortune that she had escaped unscarred from the innumerable air-raids directed at her personally. They had not even given up their attempts on her life when she had decided to leave for England and special squadrons had been sent to bomb the British destroyer upon which she had sailed, the previous afternoon.

The news from Belgium was no better. The enemy had reached the Meuse from Liege to Namur and from Namur to Sedan, and were hurling in division after division in an attempt to cross the river at Dinant.

Even more sinister, in Gregory's opinion, was the news that after hammering for four days and nights at the Franco-Luxemburg frontier the Germans had broken through from Longwy to the Moselle, thereby forming a dangerous salient right in the middle of the old Allied line.

Further appointments to the British Cabinet had been announced, by far the most important being that of Lord Beaverbrook to a new Ministry of Aircraft Production. The War Office was calling for volunteers for a new Home Defence Force to deal with enemy parachute-landings and was preparing to resist a full-scale invasion—a certain sign that matters on the Continent must be in a positively desperate state, but, whatever the cause, it was a consolation to think that people in Britain had at last awakened to the fact that there was a war on.

Shortly after eleven o'clock the warder made a special visit to tell Gregory that General Winkelman, the Dutch Commander-in-Chief, had surrendered, so on the face of it it seemed that Holland was out of the war; yet the perpetual din of bombs, guns and machine-gun fire, which constantly made it necessary to shout to be heard, continued unabated.

Gregory asked again for the Inspector and learned that he had been in during the night, but only to snatch two hours' sleep in his clothes, and had then gone out again. He asked to be taken before any available authority but the warder said that everything was at sixes and sevens and that none of the police chiefs could possibly spare time to interview prisoners.

As the hours drifted by each fresh bulletin added to Gregory's sense of frustration and depression. Just as he had anticipated, the armoured column which had reached the suburbs of Rotterdam the previous evening had long since turned north, after demolishing the makeshift road-barriers, but the main German thrust had now penetrated the eastern outskirts of the city and its fall appeared imminent.

To Gregory's surprise and relief, just after eight in the evening, Inspector Fockink appeared. His uniform was smeared with blood and dirt, his face begrimed with smoke, and he looked a positive shadow of his former self. Without any ceremony he sat down in a semi-exhausted state on the bed, and Gregory mixed him a stiff brandy-and-soda from the little stock that had been brought in while such things were still obtainable.

After gulping down half his drink the Inspector said: 'I've been trying to get here for hours but the whole city is in such a state that it's a miracle I got back at all. Half the streets are blocked by fires; the others are choked with debris from the bomb explosions or in the hands of the Germans, and wherever one turns there seem to be poor people who need help or protection from these murderers.'

Gregory nodded sympathetically. 'Yes; you must have been through one hell of a time in these past five days. Still, I suppose the actual killing will soon be over, since General Winkelman threw in his hand this morning?'

'It's that I wanted to see you about,' the Inspector muttered. 'Apparently you've been following the course of the battle, as you have a map on the wall there. You'll have seen for yourself that our northern Armies were cut off and almost surrounded. I think Winkelman was right to save his men from further slaughter and to save the towns of the north from further devastation; but that doesn't mean that we're going to make peace with those blasted Nazis. News has just come through that our Prime Minister, Jonkheer de Geer, and his Cabinet have arrived safely in England and they have already issued a statement that Holland will fight on.'

'Good for them!' exclaimed Gregory. 'Your country's taken such terrific punishment since last Friday that we couldn't have blamed you if you'd gone out of the war altogether.'

The Dutchman shook his head almost angrily. 'Certainly not. To surrender while there is a single German left on the soil of the Netherlands is unthinkable. We have our empire overseas, our Navy, which although not that of a first-class Power is capable of inflicting considerable damage on the enemy, and our southern Army which will continue to support the Belgians. That is why the fight is still raging here, in Rotterdam, in spite of General Winkelman's "Cease fire" order. Two-thirds of the city is now in flames or ruins but it has become the western pivot of the new Allied line, so we mean to continue our resistance until it is rendered absolutely untenable.'

'Well done, well done!' Gregory murmured. 'But how long d'you think you'll be able to hang on to the bits of it that are still in Dutch hands?'

'Another twelve hours, perhaps, but that's about the best we can hope for. Our supplies of ammunition are running low and more and more German troops are pouring into the suburbs. The odds are that they'll have gained complete control of this vast heap of wreckage, which was only a few days ago our splendid city of Rotterdam, by the small hours of the morning.'

Gregory made a grimace. 'Well, I don't suppose we shall ever know now what a Dutch court would have done to me for killing Chief Inspector Van der Woerden, but one thing is quite certain—if I'm still here when the Nazis walk in they'll shoot me.'

'That's just what I thought, and I've made up my mind that I'm not justified in holding you any longer.'

'Thank God for that!'

'Well, after the way these Fifth Column people have stabbed Holland in the back it certainly wouldn't be the act of an Ally to hand you over as a prisoner to the Germans. God knows if you'll be able to get out of the city alive but I'm not standing on any formalities at a time like this, so if you like you're free to try it.'

'Right!' smiled Gregory. 'Even a dog's chance is better than nothing,' and grabbing up his suitcase, he swiftly ran through its contents. He had no intention of burdening himself with it but just selected the most useful items and stuffed them in his pockets. When he had done he poured a drink for himself and another for the Inspector. They solemnly drank damnation to the Nazis, then went outside together. On the doorstep they shook hands and Gregory stepped into the street a free man once more.

Erika had never been far from his thoughts during these trying days and he knew that she would have been worrying herself sick about him, so his natural impulse was to get back to her at the earliest possible moment. As the Allies were now holding a line from Antwerp to St. Trond he reckoned that apart from the danger of air-raids she was still quite safe in Brussels and would almost certainly remain there as long as there was any hope of his rejoining her; but the difficulty was how to get there.

The city lay on the north bank of the Rhine, or Lek as it is called in western Holland, and the normal route to Brussels ran south-east, across the one bridge that spans the broad river, over the Noorder Eiland and through the great dock area of the Feijenoord peninsula. The bridge, island and docks were now in the hands of the Germans, who had also occupied the whole of the Karlingen area of the eastern side of the city; so the only free exits remaining were by way of the northern or western suburbs. But to head north or west would take him further from his goal and mean that in a few hours he would find himself pinned by the Germans up against the coast. On the other hand, if he could reach the river and get across by boat to a place either east or west of the docks the rest of his journey should not prove difficult as he would be in friendly country still held by the Dutch. In consequence he decided to turn south and see if he could get through to the waterfront.

All hell was now loose in Rotterdam. The cannonade had increased to a steady drum-fire and the evening sky was one great pall of reddish smoke from the fires that were eating out the heart of the city.

At Hamar he had seen how a small place can be practically blasted off the map by concentrated bombing, but this was a huge industrial area many square miles in extent and it did not take him long to realise that it had suffered in a degree that he would have thought unbelievable. The first air-raids on Helsinki were large-scale affairs but the damage they had done was simply nothing compared with the havoc which had been wrought by five days and nights of shelling, bombing and incendiarism in the great Dutch port.

Not a pane of glass remained in any of the windows; great gaps appeared every hundred yards or so in the rows of buildings; streets and pavements were torn up as though from an earthquake; water mains had burst and flooded the lower levels; thousands of slates had been blown off the roofs and littered the gutters; lamp-standards had been uprooted and thrown across the roadways; tangles of fallen telephone wire snaked across great heaps of debris; the ways were partially blocked with overturned cars, wrecked omnibuses, twisted bicycles and dead horses; here and there barricades of vehicles, torn-up paving-stones and furniture dragged from houses had been erected, among which the killed were still lying; the air was stifling from the fires that were raging and in places ashes were falling like black snow; aeroplanes droned ceaselessly overhead, bombs crashed, guns thundered, fires roared, rifles cracked and machine-guns chattered. Sheltered in his cell even the babel of sound had given Gregory no conception that the city had been reduced to such an incredible scene of chaos and disruption.

Stumbling over bricks and skirting piles of wreckage he headed south, but he had not got far before he was checked by flames and smoke issuing from a block of burning office buildings. Turning back he tried another street but found it blocked by a barricade upon which police and troops were fighting.

Twenty-four hours earlier the Germans had gained a foothold on the northern bank of the river and they were now in possession of all that was left of the railway station and the Central Post Office. By street after street he tried to work his way down to the waterfront but in every case he was held up by fires or turned back by squads of armed police, while shells screamed over, bullets whined and brickbats hurtled through the smoke-laden air.

After two hours spent crouching and dodging in this inferno he gave it up as impossible and turned west.

Night had come once more and the red glow from the sky lit the scene of devastation. For what seemed an interminable time he picked his way through streets half-blocked by falls of rubble and twisted girders.

Here and there a leg, an arm or a human head stuck out grotesquely marking the place where a human body lay crushed and buried. Rescue parties were at work among the ruins but they could not keep pace with the casualties and while there were so many maimed and bleeding humans to be helped and cared for there was no time to collect the dead. Owing to the heat some of the corpses were already beginning to stink and their odour mingled with the stench of cordite and the all-pervading smell of burning. 'This,'

thought Gregory, as he stumbled on, 'is total war—Hitler's war. Pray God that we can keep it out of England.'

Even towards the west his progress was constantly checked by other fires or police patrols and for a time he lost all sense of direction, to find himself eventually right up in the north by the Law Courts. Here he came upon a new series of barricades which were being attacked by another force of Germans who had worked their way round the city, and on both sides of the barriers snipers were firing from the roof-tops at anyone rash enough to show himself in the streets. Having tried to go west again by half a dozen different turnings, without success, he entered a house, the door of which was standing open. No one was about so he made his way through into the back garden, then he began the laborious process of climbing over wall after wall down the block until at last he emerged in a side-street that was on the German side of the line of barricades.

He had not gone far when a squad of German infantry came running down the road. Without even challenging him two of them raised their tommy-guns and let fly. With that swiftness of thought which had saved his life many times before he flung up his arms at their first gesture and, letting his body relax, slumped backwards on to the pavement. The little bursts of bullets hissed over his head and spattered on the brickwork of a wall behind him. For a moment he lay there holding his breath, waiting for another burst to be poured slap into his body; but the Germans thought that they had already eliminated this solitary Dutchman who might be up to no good in the area where they were operating; without another glance at him they hurried on.

Stumbling to his feet he went forward more cautiously until at the end of the street he saw a German sentry. He had barely started to consider whether he dared risk a bullet by going on or had better turn back when the matter was settled for him. Above the dull rumble of the bombardment there came a solitary whip-like crack and for a second a stab of fire lit a second-floor window just ahead of him. The German sentry, shot from above through the back, reeled suddenly and pitched face-forward into the gutter.

A few streets further on he had to crouch in a dark archway for some moments while a German tank column rattled and bumped its way over the debris in the direction of the barricades, and ten minutes later he had to hide again from a company of infantry; but at last he reached the Zoological Gardens, right on the outskirts of the city, and it seemed that he had got clear of the Germans. Turning south-west he started to make his way through the residential district of Beukelsdijk. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when he got on to a main road down which scattered groups of people were moving, and he realised that as they were all making in one direction they must be refugees who were heading for the coast.

The last five hours had been both nerve-racking and tiring work but as he had just spent the best part of five days either in bed or lying down he had plenty of reserves of energy, so he put his best foot forward and, taking a short rest every half-hour, passed group after group of wearily-plodding people. At about half-past three he came to a main crossroads right out in the open country and the signpost showed him that the road he had been on led to The Hook while that which cut into it from the north went to Delft.

Down this was trickling another stream of refugees and as the two streams mingled at the crossroads some groups took the road south while others went west towards The Hook. Under the signpost Gregory sat down to rest again and smoke a cigarette while he considered the situation.

He had long since given up any hope of getting through or round Rotterdam with a view to trying to cross the Dutch frontier into Belgium, and it was now quite clear that his only means of getting out of Holland was by sea. The question was which road offered him the best prospect? That to the south led to the broad mouth of the river, which was less than three miles away, and he might succeed in getting a small boat there at a village on the coast; but it was said that the Germans had mined the estuary, and there was no proper port along the shore where ships would be embarking refugees. On the other hand he was pretty tired now, The Hook was still seven miles distant and he had only his legs to carry him; but, unless the Germans had got there already, in the big harbour he was much more likely to find a ship that would take him to England. Grimly he decided to face the longer journey and stubbing out his cigarette stood up to tramp on again.

He spoke to nobody, for he felt that the Dutch must now have very good reason to suspect all foreigners of being Fifth Columnists, and he had no intention of risking being lynched, or arrested again and confined in another police-station while inquiries were being made about him. If he had not considered that discretion was so very necessary he might possibly have bought a lift for part of the way, as a number of cars and carts were constantly passing, but he preferred to make quite certain of retaining his liberty, so he did the whole distance on foot, arriving at The Hook at seven in the morning. Since leaving the Rotterdam Police Headquarters, some eleven hours earlier, he reckoned that he must have covered well over twenty miles and he was seriously feeling the effects of his exertions; but on entering the town he was immensely cheered by the sight of British sailors and marines.

They appeared to have taken charge of the traffic and the whole harbour area. Some were directing the stream of refugees towards the docks while others were carting ashore large cases, which Gregory guessed contained explosives. As he had been approaching the port he had heard several heavy detonations, but such sounds had become a normal background to his life during these past few days so, tired as he was, he had not taken any special notice of them, assuming that as German planes were once again circling overhead they were bombing the harbour; but he had hardly reached the docks when there was a terrific crash and a whole wharf about half a mile distant seemed to disintegrate in a sheet of blinding flame. The Navy knew their business and were seeing to it that there would not be much left in the way of harbour works by the time the Germans got there.

Good-humouredly, but firmly, the British sailors and marines herded the never-ceasing flow of refugees into the long customs sheds while Dutch interpreters who were working with them told the crowds of grimy, despondent people that they must abandon their cars, vans, wagons and all their contents as, in order that the ships which were leaving could take the maximum number of passengers, they could not be allowed to retain anything but hand luggage.

For over an hour Gregory waited in the customs shed, resting his weary limbs by lying at full length along one of the benches with his head pillowed on his arms. While he lay there further shocks more like earthquake tremors rocked the building and a number of lesser bumps together with anti-aircraft fire showed that the Nazi planes were strafing the refugees and their rescuers. From time to time batches of the patient, sad-eyed crowd were shepherded out on to the quayside, and at last came Gregory's turn to be taken on board a cargo vessel.

Now that he had a proper chance to look round he saw that one side of the fairway had already been blocked by the sinking of a dredger and two trawlers and that other vessels lying near by were evidently in readiness to be used for closing the gap, when the last evacuee ship had cleared the harbour mouth.

The great steel gates of an inner lock were half-submerged and twisted almost beyond recognition, and in many places fires were burning where the British had dynamited port-authority buildings and warehouses.

Every now and again waves of German bombers came over to add their quota to the racket but most of their bombs fell harmlessly in the sea. Once on board Gregory found himself a corner among the crowd where he could sit on the deck with his back to the engine-room hatch, and, like many others of the exhausted refugees who were past caring about the bombs, dropped off to sleep.

When he awoke he had the curious sensation that something strange was going on, but after a moment he realised that it was only the silence which seemed unnatural. The ship was out of sight of land and for the first time in six days the crash of bombs and the rumble of guns were no longer audible. He found that it was half-past two in the afternoon but it was not until eleven o'clock that night that they put into Harwich, and even then, in spite of his British passport and reiterated statements that he was not a refugee, he had to submit to a rigorous examination by the Security Police who were exercising every possible precaution to prevent German Fifth Columnists entering Britain with the genuine victims of Nazi persecution. It was past one before he was able to get away from his unfortunate fellow-travellers, who were being specially catered for, and nearly two when he flopped into bed at the Station Hotel.

He did not wake till ten o'clock on the Thursday morning but he had hardly opened his eyes before he recalled the urgent necessity of getting back to Brussels, and to Erika, now that the Blitzkrieg was on, without losing a moment. He knew, without inquiring, that all passenger sailings would have been cancelled, so he at once got on to London and was fortunate enough to catch Sir Pellinore at home.

Having told his elderly friend the gist of his news he asked if permission could be obtained for him to be taken on board any naval vessel which might be leaving Harwich for Belgian waters. Sir Pellinore said that he thought matters could be arranged and that he would get in touch with the Admiralty at once.

On reaching the hotel Gregory had been too utterly weary for more than a rough clean-up, so, having telephoned down for breakfast to be brought in half an hour, he lay for a bit in a hot bath, soaking off the rest of the smoke and grime of Rotterdam. His breakfast, which consisted of China tea, smoked haddock with a poached egg, and mushrooms on toast, was a special order given on his old principle that the best meal obtainable was never too good if there was no knowing when one was going to get another. When he had finished it he felt distinctly better and turned his attention to the morning papers.

On the previous day the whole of Holland had been submerged beneath the Nazi flood and the Dutch were now holding out only in the island of Zeeland. The Allies were maintaining their line from Antwerp to Namur but further south enormous pressure was being exerted on the French. German armoured columns had broken through at three points between Namur and Sedan and were still attacking in spite of the fact that 150 Allied planes had spent the entire day going backwards and forwards to their bases for relays of bombs which they had hurled on the advancing Germans and the road junctions.

At midday he dressed and went out into the town where, although the weather showed no signs of breaking, he bought himself a rubber raincoat as a precaution against a choppy crossing, then he returned to await events in the hotel lounge. At two o'clock a message arrived for him from the port authorities to say that instructions had been received from the Admiralty that he was to be given passage in one of His Majesty's ships which would be proceeding to Belgium, and that he was to report to the Admiralty Building, Harwich, at eight-fifteen that night. He cursed the delay but knew that he was lucky to have enough pull through Sir Pellinore to get taken across at all.

In the evening the news was no better. From Namur to Sedan there were a million men fast locked in battle and at the southern end of this vital sector the Germans were obviously getting the best of it. They were exploiting the breaches made in the French line on the previous day. It seemed that somebody had failed to blow up the bridges across the Meuse in the face of the advancing enemy so that they were now well over the river and had captured Rocroi, Mezieres, Sedan and Montmedy; while their advance units were now several miles south and west of these places, thereby creating a most dangerous bulge in the Allied line. However, the fact that the Germans had reached Louvain, in Belgium, gave Gregory considerably more concern. Louvain was less than twenty miles from Brussels, and Erika was in Brussels.

He arrived at the Admiralty Building punctually but his temper was not improved by the fact that he was left to kick his heels in a bare waiting-room for two and a quarter hours. At last a naval Petty Officer took him down to the dock and on board a destroyer where a genial Lieutenant-Commander received him and installed him in the wardroom with the casual invitation to order anything that he wanted from the steward. At 11.10 the destroyer put to sea.

After a little he dozed to the hiss of the water rushing past her portholes and to the monotonous whirr of the turbines. At one o'clock two officers came in so he roused up, drank pink gins with them and discussed the Blitzkrieg. They did not stay long and when they had gone he took another cat-nap. At a quarter to four the steward brought him bacon and eggs, toast, marmalade, and coffee. Soon after he had completed his meal the ship swung round in a wide curve and on looking out of one of the portholes he saw harbour lights paling in the dawn. Ten minutes later, having thanked his hosts, he was on the quayside at Ostend.

A passport officer gave him the latest news. The Belgian Army was fighting splendidly in the north and the British were holding the German attacks in the centre. The situation further south, however, gave cause for anxiety as the French Armies in the neighbourhood of Sedan were giving up more and more ground and seemed quite incapable of holding the terrific German attacks which were being launched against them.

Even at that hour the quayside was a bustle of activity. Hundreds of Belgian refugees were waiting to get away in the ships that were sailing for England or France. Among them moved many khaki figures, French and British officers and details who during these past few days had been making all the innumerable arrangements necessary for converting Ostend into a new forward base for the Allied Armies. Just as Gregory was passing out he heard his name called and turned to find that he was being hailed by a Guards Captain of his acquaintance, one 'Peachie' Fostoun.

'What the hell are you doing here?' grinned Peachie.

'Same as you, presumably,' Gregory grunted amiably; 'only I have somewhat more subtle methods of waging war. Have you just come down from the line, or have they made you a permanent base wallah?'

'They wouldn't dare.' Peachie flicked open his cigarette-case. 'I graciously consented to come down to arrange the Brigades' supply of caviare, but I'm going up again in about an hour's time.'

As it was still technically before dawn Gregory managed to raise a laugh. 'Don't tell me that the Army has at last gone in for code words, otherwise for "caviare" I shall write in reinforcements.'

'Have it which way you like,' Peachie shrugged.

'How are things going?' asked Gregory.

'They're lousy. This Fifth Column stuff would take the grin off the face of a clown in a pantomime. When we went into Belgium on Friday morning everything was grand; in every village the populace was waiting to give us the big hand. They chucked cigarettes and chocolate at us by the bucketful and at every halt the women kissed the troops until you couldn't see their mouths for lipstick, but by nightfall things weren't quite so rosy. There was still a hundred miles between us and the Germans but all sorts of nasty low-down tikes began to snipe us from the house-tops. Some of them even chucked hand-grenades in the path of our Bren gun-carriers, from the woods through which we were passing, and we began to think that it wasn't quite the sort of war that we had bargained for.

'The following day things became really unpleasant. German parachute-troops started to float down out of the sky by the hundred; the nearest ones provided good sport for some of our better marksmen with their Brens but the devils came over in such numbers that we couldn't account for one-tenth of them.

Then, apparently, the Boche started landing troop-carriers with horrid little howitzers and while the troops were proceeding along the road soulfully singing "Little Sir Echo, Hullo! Hullo!" you could never tell from one moment to the next when one of these things would start blazing off from a farmyard or behind a haystack.'

Gregory nodded sympathetically and the garrulous Peachie went on:

'I don't mind telling you, it got on our nerves a bit as, after all, it wasn't like real war at all, but just a sort of dirty assassination party. The further we went, the worse it got, until every time a young woman threw us a bunch of flowers we ducked as though there was a Mills bomb concealed in it; but at least it had one good effect—it made the men so angry that they were screaming mad to get at the Jerries.

'By Monday we'd contacted the enemy, and you can take my word for it that once the party started it was war with the lid off. We hardly saw a German but they came over in their tanks by the train-load.

We held the tanks all right, but the thing that is a bit shattering is their Air Force. Heaven knows what's happened to ours—we've hardly seen a British plane— but Goering's chaps are as numerous as grouse in August. The moment one has held a tank attack they come hurtling down out of the sky to play merry hell with their bombs; and they're not content with that, either; if they see a trace of movement they let fly with their machine-guns. It seems to me as though they are using dive-bombers for artillery. Anyhow, it makes it devilish difficult to hold on to any one position for any length of time; and if one gets a lot of casualties which necessitate a retirement their tanks immediately come on again; added to which, with all this trouble going on behind the lines one never knows when one's going to be shot in the back. It's not at all like any war that we've been taught to anticipate.'

'Naturally,' said Gregory; 'since you're a quarter of a century behind the times. Never mind, my young fellow-me-lad, we can be quite certain that the good old British spirit will stand up to the strain. After all, surely you don't expect modern equipment and modern training. That would be letting the old school down and asking much too much of your tutors.'

'We shall manage somehow,' said Peachie, a trifle huffily.

'Of course you will,' Gregory beamed. 'Anyhow, the best of luck! I've got to get along to the station.'

'Where are you off to?' Peachie inquired.

'Brussels.'

'Have you a special permit?'

'No. I didn't know that one was required.'

'It is; and it would take you days to get one. We're doing our best to make the battlefronts a closed area. You can come out, and welcome, but you can't get in unless you prove that you're Winston Churchill or Anthony Eden.'

That's awkward; I've got very urgent reasons for wanting to get back to Brussels.'

'Well, you won't—I'll bet you a pony. Unless . . .' Peachie hesitated. 'I suppose you really are doing a job of work?'

'Sure thing,' Gregory nodded. 'I'm not wearing my beard or my rubber-soled shoes at the moment but I've got the hell of a sting in my tail for all that.'

'In that case I could get you through by giving you a lift in my car. I shall have done all I can here in another couple of hours, then I'm going straight back. Meet me in the lounge of the Splendide at seven o'clock.'

'Thanks, Peachie, that's darned good of you; and, joking apart, I am helping a bit to push the old boat along.'

As Peachie Fostoun hurried off Gregory made his way to the great luxury hotel on the sea-front. For him it called up pleasant memories of a week he had spent there long ago with a lady who had loved him very dearly and whom at that time he had considered to be the most desirable among all women; a happy state of affairs for two young people who with one war then only a memory, and another not even visualised as a remote possibility, had been able to devote themselves without let or hindrance to the entirely engrossing subject of each other.

In spite of the early hour the hotel was as busy as if it were mid-morning on a day in race week. There had been three air raids on Ostend that night so many people had come down from their rooms to sit in the lounge and their number was constantly being added to by refugees arriving from Brussels, which somewhat perturbed Gregory.

When Peachie turned up they went into the bar to have one for the road and Gregory asked: 'What is the latest authentic information? Is there any likelihood of Brussels falling within the next twelve hours?'

Peachie shrugged. 'We're not actually trampling our way over the German dead to victory, but it's quite fair to say that we're holding our own. The Boche gave Louvain hell yesterday, but it didn't get them anywhere. Now the fight is on out men are behaving magnificently and you can sneer at the equipment as much as you like, but such as it is, we've got no complaints about it. Maybe we haven't gangster weapons like the Jerries but our stuff's better quality and we've already found that when our lads get face to face with the enemy they're worth three to one of them every time. I don't think there's the least likelihood of a withdrawal to Brussels unless it's suddenly made necessary by either of our flanks caving in, and the Belgians are putting up a splendid show in the north.'

No papers were available but a British Naval Officer who was in the bar told them that things were reported to have taken a turn for the better. Apparently a telegram from the Generals Giraud and Huntziger to Monsieur Reynaud had been published and in it the two commanders who were responsible for the Sedan area, where the Germans had broken through, stated categorically that they were getting the situation in their sectors under control. With this distinctly cheering item of information Gregory and Peachie went out to the car, which Peachie was driving himself, and set off.

Bruges was no great distance, and normally they should have reached it in less than three-quarters of an hour, but an unending stream of traffic moving towards the coast made a normal speed impossible, so it took them double that time. From Bruges they went on along the straight, poplar-fringed road towards Ghent, but their pace came down to a crawl as in addition to the refugee column, which occupied more than half the road, they now encountered a great number of breakdowns which, with the west-bound traffic moving round them, blocked the road entirely. They had expected to be in Brussels by lunch-time but it was one o'clock when they entered Ghent. As they had already been on the road for over five hours' most exasperating driving they pulled up at a restaurant on the Place d'Armes to snatch a quick meal. Just after they had given their order a Major, who was a friend of Peachie's, came in and they asked him to join them.

The Major took a by no means cheerful view of things and, as he was a G.S.O.2, attached to the Second Corps, his information could be considered as authentic as any that could be secured in the sea of rumours that were flying round. He said that the Germans had surprised both the French and the British by the direction of their thrust, the weight of their tanks and the numbers of their aircraft.

Apparently the Meuse sector had now become a deep bulge and a number of German armoured columns were right through, having penetrated the whole depth of the fortified zone at the western end of the Maginot Line. Most alarming of all, this threat to the southern flank of the Allied Armies operating in Belgium had become so serious that an order for their withdrawal had been issued early that morning and the British were now retiring to fresh positions west of Brussels.

Greatly perturbed by this new and disconcerting possibility that the Germans might be in Brussels before him Gregory urged haste on Peachie and having bolted their meal they hurried back to the car; but the time saved proved of little value as outside Ghent their pace came down to a positive crawl. Evidently the news that the capital was to be abandoned had sent half a million Belgians scurrying out of it along the roads to the west and south, so that the procession of refugees had now swollen to a triple line of crawling vehicles and patiently-plodding people. In vain Peachie pounded at his Klaxon while Gregory cursed and swore. The sullen-looking, sad-eyed crowds either would not or could not get out of the way and the long, hot afternoon developed into a kind of treadmill which sometimes afflicts one in a dream, where one is striving very hard to get somewhere but finds that one's legs will not obey one's will.

Nevertheless, mile by mile they made gradual headway, reaching Alost at six o'clock. They snatched a drink at the crowded hostelry there then pressed on again by the evening light.

Now they were well within the sound of the guns and occasionally a German plane came over to unload its bombs on railway sidings or the villages through which they passed. By eight o'clock they were within six miles of Brussels and met the first of the retiring troops. All day, here and there in the endless procession, they had seen cars, ambulances and supply-wagons which belonged to the French and British Armies, but this group of weary, dust-covered men had a totally different appearance; they had obviously been in the thick of it, and Peachie pulled up to ask an officer if he could give him any particulars of his own unit.

The officer said that he had not run across the Guards Brigade for several days. He knew nothing of the general situation as he and his men had been ordered out of the line only that morning, after three days'

very hard fighting, as they thought to rest; but they had no sooner reached the billets allotted to them at Nosseghem than they had been ordered out again with new instructions to retire through Brussels to Assche. 'Hence,' he added with a smile, 'our rather part-worn appearance; it's four days since we've had a chance to clean up.' From that point on they passed many units of the B.E.F. Some, which had borne the brunt of the early fighting, looked pretty war-worn, while others were spick and span, being units of reserve divisions that had not yet been thrown into the battle. As the twilight deepened the numbers of refugees gradually lessened, until the road became almost entirely occupied by the military. Peachie was now pulling up at every hundred yards or so to ask passing officers if they knew the whereabouts of his unit and at last on a crossroad, among a group of officers who were standing there studying their maps, he saw his own Colonel.

The Colonel told him that the Guards were at Uccle, just south-west of the capital, and that if he took the road to the right he would find the village about three miles along it. Peachie then introduced his passenger and said that Gregory was anxious to get through to Brussels as he had work of importance to do there.

'I'm afraid it's too late to do that,' said the Colonel promptly; 'the Germans have already occupied the city.'

'That won't stop me,' Gregory replied. 'I speak German fluently and I have a German passport, so I could easily pass myself off as a German agent.'

The Colonel brushed up his moustache and eyed Gregory with considerably more interest. 'In that case it's up to you, but I'd strongly advise you to wait until morning.'

'Why, sir?'

'Because, although the whole front is in a state of flux, we have established some sort of line just behind Brussels, so there's a mile or two of territory outside the suburbs which is more or less no-man's-land at the moment. It will be dark by the time you get there and during the night the sentries on both sides will be potting at any moving object they may see, so the fact that you're in civilian clothes won't be the least protection to you. But if you wait until daylight you should be able to walk straight through the battle-zone and you only have to risk being killed by a stray shot or shell, as neither side is likely deliberately to shoot down a civilian.'

Gregory immediately saw the sense of this argument. Ever since he had been released from the Police Headquarters in Rotterdam he had been cursing the succession of delays which had prevented his getting back to Erika, but now that the Germans had got to Brussels before him there was no longer quite as much point in his pressing forward without the loss of a moment. He felt confident that she would have had the sense to evacuate before the Germans arrived, and was probably now somewhere among one of the columns of refugees that had left Brussels that morning; so his only reason now for wishing to get into the city was because he felt sure that she would have left some message for him in her flat to say where she intended to go.

Once he knew that, even with the country in its present state of confusion, he would probably be able to reach her in another twenty-four hours; but as long as he had no idea at all where she had gone, with every form of communication broken down, it might take him days—or even weeks—to find her. It seemed, therefore, that for the sake of securing any message she might have left him it was not worth risking being shot in a night-crossing of no-man's-land, when by waiting for a further eight or ten hours he would be able to cross it with comparatively little danger.

Peachie suggested that Gregory had better come with him to Uccle and take pot-luck for the night about any accommodation that might be going there; so on Gregory's agreeing they took leave of the Colonel and turned down the side-road.

At the village they found Peachie's battalion temporarily resting, as there was now a lull in the fighting, the Germans being fully occupied with the take-over of the Belgian capital. A Mess had been established in a large farmhouse and while Gregory and Peachie ate a meal there they listened to the accounts given by several officers of the last two days' fighting. All of them were extremely bitter about the Fifth Column activities in Belgium. One of their brother-officers had been shot through the back of the neck and killed when walking down a road miles behind the line, and another had halted his car in a quiet area to offer two Belgian peasant women a lift, upon which one of the women had pulled out a pistol and shot him through the head.

They said that we had no weapon at all to compete with the Germans' small, quick-firing howitzer and that at short range our old-fashioned rifles were almost useless against the tommy-guns which were carried by every German infantry-man. On the other hand, everyone present agreed that the Germans were a poor lot when it came to hand-to-hand fighting; thy would not face the bayonet at any price and, in spite of constant bombardment and machine-gunning from the air, every time our men got a chance to get at the enemy they were putting up a magnificent performance.

In the Mess Gregory saw a copy of the order that General Gamelin had issued that day. It said: 'Any soldier who cannot advance should allow himself to be killed rather than abandon that part of our national soil which has been entrusted to him.' So, clearly, for the Supreme Commander of the Allied Armies to have played his last card by such a backs-to-the-wall command, the situation was really critical.

The farmhouse was filled to capacity but Peachie managed to secure a double bed for Gregory and himself in a cottage near by, and they slept on it in their clothes, ready to be up and doing at a moment's notice in any emergency.

At five o'clock they were wakened by shells screaming into the village and knew that the battle was on again. The Germans had taken Brussels in their stride and now that daylight was approaching they were launching new attacks upon the hard-pressed British. In the farmhouse the Mess orderlies were going about their business quite unperturbed and to Gregory's surprise and pleasure he was given bacon and eggs for breakfast as well as lashings of hot tea. Reports had come in from the advance company that German tanks were approaching so the remainder of the battalion was already mustering in the village street. Gregory saw no cause to delay any further and knew that he would only be in the way of the others if he did, so he thanked his hosts and, wishing them luck, set out along the road to Brussels.

There were a number of other civilians about, mostly villagers or refugees from the city. With what appeared to Gregory the height of foolhardiness, they ignored the German planes which were once more buzzing overhead and the shells which were bursting only a few hundred yards away, to stand about on the higher ground so that they could get a good view of the battle that was opening, but their presence suited him very well as it meant that he was in no way conspicuous.

He had scarcely covered half a mile when the planes dive-bombed the village; but fortunately, by that time, the troops had moved out of it, scattering to north and south to take up their positions. A few hundred yards further on a crossroad was being crumped every few moments by the shells of a German heavy battery, so he took to the fields and gave it a wide berth. Five minutes later a British Tommy popped up from behind a hedge and called on him to halt, threatening him with a rifle; but Gregory spoke to him in English, giving him the names of half a dozen officers of his battalion, and told him that it was his job to go forward to get information.

'Crikey!' exclaimed the Tommy. 'You don't mean to say we've got a Fifth Column too?'

'Yes; I'm it,' Gregory laughed.

'Right-oh; pass, chum; but you've got your work cut put against half the German Army dressed as Belgians.' The man put up the rifle and waved him on.

Twice more he was challenged by solitary Guardsmen but each time they let him through and although a few bullets were now whistling about he continued to walk forward, considering that to display himself openly in his civilian clothes was his best protection. Yet on crossing a field towards a group of houses he had a narrow squeak; a machine-gun opened fire, tearing up the grass about ten yards to his left. He could not tell if the gun was badly aimed or if it was fired by a Jerry who thought it would be fun to scare the wits out of a solitary Belgian, but he leapt for the ditch and lay there until the gunner ceased fire; then he cautiously crawled forward on his hands and knees until he came to the nearest house. Standing up, he walked round it, and on turning the corner to get on to the road again he ran straight into a patrol of German infantry.

A Feldwebel immediately pointed an automatic at him so he shot up his hands and spoke in German. 'It's all right, Sergeant; I am a German officer on special service. Hold your fire for a minute while I show you my passport,' and slipping his hand into his breast-pocket he produced the now much-worn document which had so often established his identity as Oberst-Baron von Lutz.

The Corporal glanced at it, called his men sharply to attention and saluted. Gregory pocketed the passport again and with a little nod to the group walked on. British shells were now screaming overhead and the staccato rattle of machine-guns interspersed by the occasional crack of rifles showed that the battle had been joined in earnest behind him; but now that he had crossed no-man's-land the most perilous part of his dangerous morning walk was over.

As he advanced the houses became more frequent and many of their occupants were standing at their windows or in the street, so the further group of Germans that he met took no notice of him. A long column of tanks clattered by and from the dents and scars upon them he saw that they had already done considerable service. By eight o'clock he had left the suburbs and penetrated to the centre of Brussels. It had taken him just seventy-two hours to do the journey from Rotterdam which he should normally have accomplished in an hour and a half.

It was a very different city to that which he had left fourteen days earlier. The streets were almost deserted except for the columns of German troops. Shops and houses were closed and shuttered, but he noticed with relief that the city did not seem to have suffered much from aerial attack. Here and there a bomb had wrecked a building or blown a hole in the road but the damage was not one-thousandth part of that which had been done in Rotterdam.

In the neighbourhood of the Royal Palace the damage was more severe, so it seemed that the Germans had been up to their old game of endeavouring to eliminate the Head of the State, but as he turned into the Rue Montoyer he saw that it was practically untouched. There was only one great gap among the houses, where a bomb had cut like a knife clean through the block.

Suddenly he looked again and halted, utterly aghast. The empty air above that great pile of debris was where Erika's flat had been; the whole building had been blown to fragments.

CHAPTER 17

Dark Days in Brussels

For a long time Gregory was too stunned to do anything but stand there, staring at the empty gap between the houses where Erika's apartment had been. He was very far from a pessimist by nature yet, perhaps because they had escaped so many dangers, it had never occurred to him that Erika might be the casual victim of an air-raid. As he stared he began to suffer untold agonies, one symptom of which was a real physical pain right down in the pit of his stomach, at the thought that she was irretrievably lost to him.

Unnoticed by him an elderly man had shuffled up behind him, and he started as a thin, quavering voice at his elbow said in French: 'That was a big one—that was. I live three streets away, but we heard it above all the rest, and I said to my wife, I said: "That's a big one—that is" —and sure enough I was right.

Twenty bodies they took out of that pile of ruins, and I wouldn't be surprised if there's more of them buried there yet.'

'Go away!' snapped Gregory, turning on the old ghoul furiously.

'All right, all right.' The elderly man looked slightly offended. 'I'm only telling you what I saw. Six men, nine women and five children they brought out, though most of them were in bits, and I don't doubt there's more bodies under that heap yet.'

'Go away!' repeated Gregory. 'Go away.' Then, as his unsolicited informant turned to dodder off, it suddenly occurred to him to ask: 'What time did the bomb fall?'

The old man piped up with an angry squeak. 'Find out for yourself; I'm not giving any more details to a rude fellow like you.'

In one stride Gregory had caught him up and, seizing him by his skinny neck, shook him like a rat. He dropped his stick, his hat fell off and his pale-blue eyes showed wild panic.

'Now,' said Gregory; 'answer me! When did that bomb fall?'

'Two nights ago—near on one o'clock,' choked the little man, and taking to his heels the second that Gregory released him he began to run down the street.

Gregory groaned. At one in the morning Erika would almost certainly have been at home; but his faculties were beginning to return to him and without another glance at the retreating figure he had assaulted he started to run down the street in the opposite direction. There were no taxis to be had or he would have secured one an hour earlier, directly he had reached the centre of the town; so he ran and walked alternately all the way to the Hotel Astoria.

When he arrived there twenty minutes later he found that the hotel was still open but had been taken over as a German Staff Headquarters. There were a number of cars outside, a sentry was posted on the doorway and officers were constantly going in and out.

Having thrust his German passport under the sentry's nose, which resulted in the soldier's springing to attention and presenting arms, he hurried inside. To his relief he found that the Belgian head porter had been retained to continue his duties. He inquired at once if the man knew what had become of Kuporovitch.

The porter told him that the Russian had left Brussels early the previous Tuesday morning in a car, with a lady.

Gregory's heart bounded with hope, only to sink again a moment later as the porter went on to add that the car belonged to the lady, who was a great friend of the Russian gentleman, as during the past five weeks she had often called at the hotel and taken meals with him in the restaurant. That could only refer to Paula, as was confirmed when Gregory asked the porter to describe the lady and he said that she was very good-looking with dark hair and with a rather high colour. He was quite certain that no other lady had been with them and that Kuporovitch had departed without giving any hint as to his destination, or leaving any message for anyone.

He thanked the man and staggered out into the strong sunshine of the street. It seemed a little odd that Paula should have fled from Brussels, as there was no earthly reason for her to be afraid of the advancing Germans; but on second thoughts Gregory realised that if she remained in captured territory she would become useless to them. Evidently her instructions had been to get out before they arrived so that she could continue her work in western Belgium or France in the role of a refugee from Nazi persecution. But he could not understand at all why Kuporovitch had failed to leave some message for him. The Russian must have known that Erika's death now left him as the sole link between the Allies and the activities of Hitler's secret weapon in the Low Countries, and although it seemed that, for Gregory, the end of the world had come, he realised in a dull fashion underneath his pain that the war must go on.

It was that thought which stirred him into fresh activity. While the old man had been talking to him his imagination had conjured up a ghastly picture of his beautiful Erika, her golden hair in wild disorder, her blue eyes open but dull and blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, as she lay crushed and broken among those ruins. In the last half-hour that nightmare vision had kept returning to him and he knew that he must exorcise it from his brain if he was to retain his sanity. The only way to do that was to work and to kill Germans—that was it— work and kill—work and kill—so that his mind should be occupied for every moment of his waking hours. Then when he dared to think of her again he must think of her only as he had seen her in Munich, or on that first evening that he had played butler to her in Brussels—as gay, laughing and unbelievably beautiful.

He had walked some distance without even thinking where he was going; but now he checked himself and turned down the hill towards the centre of the town. When he reached the broad Boulevard Anspach he halted opposite the Metropole Hotel. There were three cars outside and at that moment a porter came out carrying some luggage; so the hotel was evidently still open and had not yet been taken over by the Germans.

As he stepped forward to enter it a fresh wave of pain engulfed his whole mentality. It was here, barely a fortnight ago, that he had said good-bye to Erika. For a second his footsteps faltered; he thought of turning round and making for the Grand, but he knew that now, if ever, he must be firm with himself.

Bracing his muscles he went in, reclaimed the suitcase which he had left there under the name of Colonel-Baron von Lutz and asked for a room. There were plenty of rooms available, as four-fifths of the guests had fled bag and baggage the previous day, but the desk clerk told him that most of the staff had also left, so he would have to put up with certain inconveniences. He said that he did not mind that and the clerk gave him the key of a room with directions how to find it, as there was no page available to take him up.

Once upstairs he turned on a hot bath, stripped and got into it. For over an hour he lay soaking there, keeping up the temperature by adding more hot water from time to time. He had not done too badly for sleep since his escape from Holland— a good night at Harwich and about six hours in the cottage outside Brussels where he had wakened that morning—and his exertions since leaving England had not been great; so he was not particularly tired after the seven or eight miles that he had walked since dawn; but the hot water helped to relax his mind as well as his limbs and while he lay there he tried to plan what his next move should be.

During his days of imprisonment and of subsequent travel the Black Baroness had never been far from his thoughts. The fact that when he had run her to earth Grauber, of all people, had been in her suite, and that the Gestapo Chief had treated her with great deference, fully confirmed his belief that she was not only hand-in-glove with the Nazis but regarded by them as an ally of considerable importance. That she had got the best of him in their first encounter only made him the more determined to find some way of putting a stop to her activities; but the question was how to set about it.

Her meeting with Grauber in Rotterdam, only an hour before the Blitzkrieg was due to open, indicated that her work in Holland had been completed and that she had met him to receive fresh instructions for future operations in some other field; so the probability was that when she had flown out of Holland she had gone to France or Britain. For Gregory to reach either, now that he was behind the German line, presented certain difficulties, but these, he felt, were by no means insurmountable. He had crossed the battle-line in safety only that morning and as long as the contending forces remained in a state of fluidity he saw no reason why he should not cross it again without any greater risk than that which is run by a soldier who is engaged in open warfare; but it would mean another long and tiring journey on foot and when he got through to friendly territory he did not quite see what he was going to do there.

Now that he had lost touch with Paula and Kuporovitch he had no means of getting fresh information about the Baroness's movements, and by this time she might be anywhere from Edinburgh to Monte Carlo; so it seemed that he might spend weeks snooping about in city after city without coming upon any trace of her and, meanwhile, close at hand the greatest battle in history was raging. The more he thought it over the more certain he became that he could serve his country to much more useful purpose at this hour of crisis by remaining where he was and learning anything he could of the Germans' intentions, before endeavouring to re-cross the firing-line, than by setting off now, empty-handed.

Having shaved and dressed he went down to the restaurant, and found that it presented a very different scene from when he had last entered it. There were now few civilians at the tables but many groups of German officers and, not for the first time, he thought with some bitterness of the enormous advantages reaped by the enemy from being the aggressor. Just as in the last war the Germans could, and did, render any town or village within range of their guns either untenable or dangerous, while in a retreat they deliberately razed every house to the ground so that our men should not even have the benefit of roofs under which to shelter; whereas, since we always fought in friendly territory we had to respect property, even to some extent in the actual battle area, and when the enemy made a victorious advance he could use captured towns as safety zones for troop-concentrations or to give his men rest and enjoyment with complete immunity, as there could never be any question of our shelling such cities as Brussels, Oslo or Amsterdam.

In spite of the shortage of staff an excellent meal was still obtainable, as no food stocks had yet been commandeered and the supply in Brussels was abundant; but for once in his life he took no interest in ordering his meal and accepted the waiter's suggestion without comment, asking the man at the same time to bring him any papers that were available.

The waiter returned with the single sheet of an emergency edition which had been run off the press about ten o'clock and was the only paper that had been published in Brussels that morning. From a small sketch map he saw that the bulge south of Sedan had considerably enlarged and was spreading towards the west, while in the south the Germans had nearly reached Rethel. Liege and Namur were now both surrounded but were fighting on. The most alarming news, however, was a report that the Belgians had abandoned Antwerp. That seemed to Gregory an extremely serious matter as the great fortifications of the city formed the bulwark of the northern end of the Allied line, and if the Germans once broke through there they would have outflanked the Northern Armies.

When his food came he realised that he was still feeling too sick to eat more than a few mouthfuls, so he abandoned the uneven contest, paid the bill and went out to see if any of the shops were now open. He found that quite a number of the smaller places had taken down their shutters in preparation to doing business with such of their old customers as remained in the city or with the troops of the all-conquering Army, since shopkeepers must do their best to earn a living even when their city has been occupied by an enemy.

Having bought himself a few necessities he took them back to the hotel, then went out again, taking the road which led east towards Louvain. Nearly all civilian traffic had ceased, so he had made up his mind to a long, dreary tramp; but in the suburbs he was fortunate enough to see an empty farm-cart proceeding in the direction that he wanted to go, so he hailed the driver and secured a lift.

The man told him that the Germans had commandeered the hay in his barn that morning and had made him take it in for them to a depot which they had established on the outskirts of the city, and that he was now returning home. Gregory said that he was a commercial traveller who had been caught in Brussels and wished to get back to his family in Hasselt, as he was acutely anxious to learn if his wife and children had escaped harm. The two of them then exchanged gloomy forebodings about the fate that had overtaken their country, as the farm wagon trundled on through the afternoon sunshine with the sound of the guns behind it growing gradually more distant.

As they proceeded down the long, straight road they soon came upon many signs of the previous day's battle; shattered tanks, guns and Bren-gun carriers lay wrecked or overturned on the road and in the fields to either side of them. They had lost all their martial glory and looked now rather pathetic; as though they were just old toys that some gargantuan child had thrown down and kicked about in a fit of temper. The German mortuary units were evidently still occupied in burying the fallen from the holocausts that had taken place earlier, further east, as they had not yet come up. Here and there sprawled khaki or field-grey figures; some twisted or lacking limbs, others lying quite peacefully as though they had taken the afternoon off to sleep in the fields under the warm rays of the May sunshine. German and English dead and vehicles were inextricably mixed so that there was no pattern discernible in this aftermath of battle, except occasionally round an abandoned gun where a whole crew had been knocked out by a shell or machine-gunned from the air.

Gregory was not interested in the tanks, but he was interested in the bodies and, without allowing his companion to notice what he was doing, he carefully took mental notes about the position of several of the dead Germans who lay near enough to the road for him to see them clearly.

About six miles outside Brussels the farmer pulled up and said that his farm lay down a side-track to the left of the road. Gregory got down and, thanking him, continued on foot in the direction of Louvain; but when the wagon was out of sight he turned round and started to walk back again.

He kept a sharp look-out, as German staff cars and bodies of troops were passing every few moments in the direction of Brussels, and he knew that if he were caught at his ghoulish purpose he would be shot without argument. Leaving the road he walked along behind the hedge until he was within ten yards of the nearest body that he had marked down. He was now able to get a much closer view of it and having taken in all the details he gradually worked his way back through field after field to look carefully at the others; then, having made his choice, as it was only six o'clock he lay down under a hedge to take a nap until darkness should cover his further operations.

When he awoke the moon had risen, but it was low in the sky so its light was just enough to be excellent for his purpose without being sufficient to make it likely that he would be seen by the troops that he could still hear every now and again rattling along the road. Going to the body he had selected he unbuttoned the dead German's uniform and exerting all his strength forced back the arms, which were already set in rigor mortis, until he could wriggle the tunic off the body. He next dealt in similar fashioned with the man's breeches, gaiters, boots and under-garments until the body was stark naked. He then stripped off his own clothes, stuffed them in the dead man's haversack and put on his outfit so that if he were searched at any time he would not be wearing a single article of clothing which would have given away the fact that he was not a German.

The boots were a trifle large but otherwise the uniform fitted passably well, as Gregory had taken great care to select a man as near his own height and build as possible. Before he had set out he had realised that it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack to try to find a dead Staff-Colonel, as such minor war lords are not killed in every battle and, even if he had been able to do so, it was a hundred to one that the Colonel's uniform would have proved hopelessly ill-fitting on himself; so fit being more important than rank he had despoiled an Uber-Lieutenant with the reservation that he would adjust the matter of his rank later.

As the officer had been shot through the eye his uniform was undamaged and passably clean, but his steel helmet proved too small so Gregory had to find another which fitted him better. He then collected the dead German's automatic, spare magazines, gas-mask, Ziess glasses, and other gear. By the time he had finished hanging things on himself his appearance in every detail was that of an Uber-Lieutenant of the 153rd Bavarian Infantry Regiment, fully equipped in battle kit. He then set out on the trek back to Brussels.

Ahead of him now, on the far side of the city, the night sky was constantly lit with the flicker of guns and shell-bursts, while along the road down which he was walking the never-ending columns of German troops went forward to reinforce their comrades. It was half-past four in the morning when he at last reached the Metropole, and the night-porter, not having seen him go out dressed as a civilian, had no reason to express surprise because he came in dressed as a German officer. With a gruff 'Gute nacht' he crossed the hall and went up to his room, where he doffed his borrowed plumage and got into bed.

Not having left any orders to be called he awoke late on the following morning, and his first sensation was one of uneasiness. It seemed as though some dire calamity threatened him; yet for a few seconds he could not think what it was that he feared. Then, like a light being clicked on in a darkened room, the awful truth seared with a blinding glare through his brain. Erika was dead.

For some moments he lay almost stunned again, but after a little he recalled his resolution of the previous day and, getting up, dressed in his stolen uniform. It was nearly twelve o'clock by the time he came downstairs and he saw that a number of German officers were already congregated in the lounge, chatting and laughing over their aperitifs. He made a quick survey of them but to his disappointment there was no one of Colonel's rank present so, seating himself at a small table where he could keep an eye upon the door, he ordered a drink and sent for the morning paper.

It was now two double-sheets again, but a glance at the headlines showed that it was already under German 'protection'. Dr. Goebbels' men had lost no time in getting their claws on the Brussels Press. As Gregory's eye roved over the heavy black print he saw with a little shock that it was Sunday, the 19th, as his periods of sleep in recent days and nights had been so erratic that he had been under the impression up to that moment that it was only Saturday.

The German drive continued with unabated vigour. Their spear-head had now veered almost due west, towards St. Quentin and the Channel ports, so evidently their intention was to endeavour to sever the Belgians, the B.E.F. and certain French divisions just south of it from the main French Army; but Gregory did not view this new development altogether pessimistically.

In 1915 the Germans had followed much the same procedure. Although the way had been almost clear for a direct march on Paris, instead of wheeling down on to the French capital General von Kluck, who had commanded the right wing of the German Army, had suddenly turned west in an endeavour to seize the Channel ports before they could be reinforced from England.

In doing so he made the cardinal error of defying the first rule of strategy, which is that a commander should never march his troops across the front of an unbroken enemy. Von Kluck's mistake had been due to the fact that he believed that he had broken the British at Mons and Le Cateau, and shattered them so severely that it would be quite impossible for them to take the offensive for many weeks to come; but, as it turned out, the British were by no means beaten. Together with the French Army which General Gallieni had rushed by omnibus and taxi-cab from Paris, they had faced about and, flinging their whole weight against Von Kluck's exposed flank, achieved the victory of the Marne. That battle had robbed the Kaiser of both Paris and the Channel ports and, in the estimation of the most far-sighted strategists, deprived Germany once and for all of any hope of ever achieving complete victory, by giving time for the British Empire to mobilise its vast resources before France could be put out of the war.

It seemed to Gregory that a very similar situation was now developing, and that if Gamelin threw his reserves in at the right moment he ought to be able to take this new German thrust in the flank and perhaps roll the German Armies up in confusion right back out of Belgium, as swiftly as they had poured into it.

A small news item stated that Marshal Petain, the eighty-four-year-old hero of Verdun, had joined the French Government as its Vice-President the previous night, and that, too, seemed a good omen, as the leadership of this great veteran of the last World War was well calculated to strengthen the resistance of the French troops.

Gregory sat there drinking for the best part of an hour and a half before he saw a Colonel come in; immediately the Colonel sat down with some other officers he got up and strolled out of the lounge.

Crossing the hall to the cloakroom he produced a fifty-franc note from his pocket, handed it to the elderly woman who was checking-in the coats and said casually: 'All the pages seem to have run away, so I must trouble you to slip out and buy me a rubber sponge and a shaving-stick.'

The woman looked at him in surprise and murmured: 'It is not my business to run errands, Monsieur.'

'Do as you're told!' snapped Gregory, suddenly changing his mild manner for that of the brutal invader.

'But, Monsieur,' she protested, 'I am in charge of the coats and the things that people have left here.'

'Do as you're told!' he repeated harshly. 'You Belgians must learn to take orders from your betters without argument.'

'Oui, Monsieur, oui,' the poor woman exclaimed nervously, and as she hurried away Gregory called after her: 'When you get back you'll find me in the lounge.'

Immediately she had disappeared he left the counter over which the coats were thrust and, walking a few paces down a side-passage, entered the door of the cloakroom. Most of the coats there were the field-grey great-coats of German officers; each had been neatly folded and placed in a large pigeon-hole.

Gregory ran his eye swiftly over what appeared to be the most recent additions to the collection, as they were low down in the rack, and after pulling out two he discovered the Colonel's. Producing his pocket-knife he swiftly cut the rank badges from the shoulders.

Next he pulled out several other officers' coats one after the other, jabbed his penknife into them, making ugly slits, tore off buttons or badges and thrust them back into their pigeon-holes. The whole job was accomplished in less than five minutes, then he strolled back to his table in the lounge, where the old woman found him when she returned with the sponge and shaving-soap.

Thanking her with a haughty nod he tossed her five francs and sat on there for another few minutes; then he went upstairs and proceeded to affix the Colonel's rank-badges to the shoulders of his own tunic in place of those of the Uber-Lieutenant. There was no reason whatever why anyone should suspect him of the theft as he had camouflaged it so skilfully by mutilating a number of other coats as well as the Colonel's. The cloakroom woman would excuse herself to their infuriated owners by saying that she had been compelled to leave her post to run an errand for another officer and the damage would undoubtedly be attributed to some unknown Belgian who had chosen to express his hatred of the Germans by this petty malice. The great thing was that now that he had secured both a passably fitting uniform and the right rank-badges he was all set to resume his activities as Oberst-Baron von Lutz once more.

After eating his lunch in a nearby restaurant, to avoid any chance of being involved in the scene which was certain to ensue when his victims reclaimed their coats, he spent the afternoon in the main streets of Brussels and at the railway station, carefully noting the regimental, divisional and corps badges of the officers and men whom he saw so that he could get a good idea as to which units were apparently being quartered in Brussels and which were passing through to the front. The battle, he noted, seemed to have drifted further west since the previous night, although the British heavies were still spasmodically shelling the station and certain road junctions outside the town. By evening he felt that he was sufficiently well-informed to enter into conversation with some of the German officers, and for that purpose he made a round of such bars as had reopened.

During the six days that followed, Gregory slipped into an uninspired routine. The husk of the man was still there, as he stuck grimly to his determination to absorb himself in work, and every moment of his waking hours was conscientiously spent in restaurants, cafes and bars, wherever large numbers of German officers were gathered together; but it seemed that the shock of Erika's death had numbed his brain and temporarily robbed him of all initiative.

After a comparatively brief stupor Brussels had gradually come to life again. Owing to the petrol restrictions imposed by the Germans and the dislocation of Belgian industry the traffic in the capital was still far below normal, in spite of the many German Army vehicles that were constantly passing through the streets, and the bulk of the civil population had the subdued, anxious air of people who had suffered a great bereavement— as indeed many of them had; but nearly all the shops were open again and the whole centre of the town was thronged with the thousands of Germans who were passing through or now quartered in Brussels.

Gregory found no difficulty whatever in entering into casual conversation with scores of officers each day and despite standing orders that they should not mention troop movements or casualties, even among themselves, the great majority of them ignored these regulations to discuss all phases of the war with the pseudo Staff-Colonel without the least restraint.

In those six days he learnt enough about individual units, and how they had fared in Hitler's victory drive, to fill half a dozen dossiers; but the trouble was that none of the people he contacted were high enough up to be in a position to give away anything of major importance. He wanted to unearth something really useful before leaving Brussels in an attempt to get it through to British G.H.Q. or Sir Pellinore, and such items about contemplated operations as he did succeed in picking up were on each occasion ante-dated and rendered useless by the extraordinary swiftness of the German advance.

On the Monday they were at Cambrai and Peronne, and the French front in the whole of the threatened area had given way in a general mix-up.

On Tuesday, Amiens and Arras fell, while through a corridor between these two towns motorised detachments were rushed to seize Abbeville. By evening it was reported that they were threatening Le Touquet and had reached the coast, cutting the Allied Armies in two so that there was now a gap between them thirty miles wide.

On the Wednesday the French were said to have recaptured Arras, while the British were counter-attacking in force at Douai, so that the gap had been reduced to twelve miles; but the Germans had already poured great quantities of tanks through it and were disrupting the Allies' communications right, left and centre, while enemy advance units had turned north and were dashing up the coast towards Boulogne and Calais.

On Thursday the Germans entered Boulogne and captured the town in spite of heavy shelling from the British Navy. On the north of the gap the British were now thrusting south towards Cambrai, between the Rivers Scarpe and Scheldt, while in the south the French were endeavouring to retake Amiens; the obvious intention of both armies being an attempt to reunite somewhere in the neighbourhood of Albert, thereby cutting off all the German motorised units which had broken through towards the coast.

On the Friday the Germans launched another hammer blow further east, in the Sedan sector, but it seemed that the French bad got their second wind and were holding on there; and, although the German-controlled Press made no mention of any reverse, it was whispered among the officers in Brussels that the French had recaptured Amiens. The B.E.F. was reported to be fighting hard on the Cambrai-Valenciennes road, but the gap was nearly thirty miles wide again and German divisions were still pouring through it. The situation in Boulogne and Calais was obscure but the papers proclaimed confidently that they were in German hands and it seemed that for every sector in which they were temporarily checked they scored fresh successes in two others. So great, too, was the strength of the German Army that, in spite of all these offensive operations which they were conducting simultaneously, that day they launched yet another furious onslaught against the Belgians in the extreme north.

On the Saturday the situation became even more obscure. The Germans claimed the capture of Courtrai and Vimy while it was officially stated that the Belgian Army with the 1st, 7th and 9th French Armies and the B.E.F. were completely cut off; but it was difficult to see from which direction Courtrai and Vimy had been attacked, as these French Armies and the B.E.F. now seemed to be fighting on several fronts at the same time, and, in fact, it became generally recognised that in the north all trace of any coherent line had now disappeared. Over an area exceeding 20,000 square miles of territory, some 3,000,000 armed men were in one colossal mix-up, with unit fighting unit, wherever it came upon the enemy, and out of this incredible confusion only one coherent plan now emerged—that the Germans were straining every nerve completely to surround and destroy the whole of the Allied Northern Army.

With every day that passed Gregory had believed that the German effort must slacken, and when he had learnt on the Monday that General Weygand had superseded Gamelin as the Allied Commander-in-Chief he had felt confident that the great strategist would find some way in which to avert the peril in which the Northern Armies stood. He had realised that Weygand would need several days at least to alter the disposition of his main forces, but that made Gregory all the more hopeful that when the blow fell the Germans would be too exhausted to counter it effectively, so that it might be carried through to a sweeping victory; but the end of the week came without any news of a great French counter-offensive.

Even their efforts to break through from the south appeared to have lessened, while instead of the German effort petering out it seemed ever to increase in violence.

It was the huge hundred-ton tanks, which Hitler had had made at the Skoda Works during the winter while the Allies were sitting still so complacently, that had been responsible for the initial break-through across the Meuse at Sedan, and there was no doubt about it that the German weapons were in every way superior to those of the British and French, but it was not these factors alone which were giving Keitel and von Brauchitsch their victories.

Battles had to be planned, great feats of organisation undertaken to supply the fighting troops at the end of the ever-lengthening lines of communications and, above all, the men who drove the flame-throwing tanks, cast the pontoon bridges over the rivers and ran forwards over mile after mile of enemy territory spraying bullets from their tommy-guns, had to possess enormous powers of endurance. There was no getting away from it that the German Generals were supreme above all others at their business, that the regimental officers were staggeringly efficient and that the German rank and file were proving in every way worthy of their brilliant leadership. They might be inhuman brutes who allowed no considerations of mercy or humanity to stand in their way, and even add to the horror of this most horrifying of all wars by machine-gunning helpless civilians to create further panic and confusion, but Gregory, whom no one could ever have accused of defeatism yet who never shirked facing facts, frankly admitted to himself that out of a broken people Hitler had welded a nation of iron men who were achieving a stupendous victory.

It was a little after six o'clock in the evening on Saturday, May the 25th, when walking along the Avenue du Midi that Gregory's eye was caught by a trim figure just in front of him. There was something vaguely familiar about the jaunty step of the dark-haired young woman in her neat black coat and skirt; then, a second later, he recognised the absurd little black hat. It was Mademoiselle Jacqueline. In two strides he was beside her and had grabbed her arm. For a second she stared up at him in angry surprise, then he saw recognition, amazement and hate follow each other swiftly in her dark eyes.

'Mon dieu!' she cried as she strove to jerk herself away. 'You —Pierre—a German officer!'

In his excitement he had completely forgotten how he was dressed and her exclamation gave him the reason for the antipathy with which she was staring at him; but he was too anxious to hear anything she could tell him to care about that for the moment, and could only gasp out: 'Madame—what happened?

—Tell me—tell me!'

'So!' she almost hissed. 'I thought you were a queer sort of servant paying me to do your job and always going out instead of doing it yourself; then suddenly clearing off four days after you arrived. But you weren't a servant at all; you were a spy— a beastly German spy. It was you, I suppose, who had us bombed. I'll tell you nothing—nothing—nothing!'

With a scream of rage she suddenly jerked free her arm and dashed off down the street as swiftly as her strong little legs would carry her.

CHAPTER 18

The Cryptogram

For a second Gregory was about to start forward in pursuit but he checked himself in time. No German officer would so far forget his dignity as to chase a young woman through the streets of Brussels and there was a better way of dealing with the situation. Raising his hand he waved to a Belgian policeman who was standing on the crossroads and shouted at the top of his voice:

'Officer! Stop that woman and bring her to me!'

The man hesitated, but two German privates who were walking past turned their heads and seeing that the order came from one of their officers instantly leapt into action, so the Belgian followed suit; the three of them cornered the unfortunate Jacqueline and while Gregory stood placidly smoking on the pavement the policeman brought her back to him.

'Thank you, officer,' said Gregory. 'I don't think she will try to run away again.'

'Do you wish to prefer any charge against this young woman?' asked the policeman.

'Not for the moment,' Gregory replied. 'You may leave us now while I talk to her, but if she gives any trouble I shall have to ask you to take her to the police-station.'

When the Belgian had retired Gregory looked at the white-faced, frightened girl who was now standing meekly in front of him. 'Enfin, ma petite Jacqueline,' he said quietly, 'I hope you appreciate that by trying to run away you nearly got yourself into very serious trouble. I take it that you do not wish to see the inside of a prison, but it would be easy for me to have you put into one. I could charge you with soliciting, or say that you had stolen my money, and as we Germans are now masters of Brussels my word would be taken in preference to yours. I could also, if I wished, have you sent to a concentration-camp in Germany—which you would find even more unpleasant. But I do not wish to do any of these horrid things. Instead, I am prepared to give you a handsome present which will buy you at least half a dozen little hats, if only you will be a sensible girl and tell me what happened after I left Brussels.'

Jacqueline was a sensible girl. Although she loathed the Germans, this one seemed quite prepared to treat her very generously and it did not appear that any question of betraying her country was involved in giving him particulars of past events; so, after a moment, she said:

'Let me see, now, you left Brussels on the Thursday, didn't you, to go to the bedside of your dying aunt?

But that was just a story to enable you to get back into Germany and join your regiment; because it was in the early hours of the following morning that the Blitzkrieg broke.'

'Yes, yes,' said Gregory. 'Never mind about me.'

'Be patient,' she admonished him with a sudden show of spirit. 'If I am to tell you things properly I must get the dates right. Naturally, we were all terribly worried and the first air raid was very frightening, although none of the bombs fell anywhere near us. Now, would it have been on the Monday or the Tuesday that the wicked-looking Russian gentleman came to the flat very late at night? It must have been between one and two o'clock in the morning, and he got us all out of bed.'

'Never mind about him, said Gregory impatiently; 'it is about Madame that I wish to hear.'

Jacqueline stamped her neat little foot. 'But I'm telling you— as quickly as I can, and I'm trying to remember if it was on the Tuesday or the Wednesday that Madame packed and went away.'

'Went away?' cried Gregory, and the street seemed to reel around him. 'Do you mean—do you mean that she wasn't killed by the bomb that destroyed the whole building?'

'Mais non!' She stared at him with wildly open eyes. 'Madame had left Brussels days before. Yes, I'm certain now, it was on the Monday night that the Russian gentleman knocked us up, then first thing on Tuesday morning Madame gave us a month's wages and went off, bag and baggage, saying that Cook and I could remain on in the apartment if we liked.'

'Thank God!' murmured Gregory. 'Oh, thank God!'