Come into my Parlour (57 page)

The major facts which emerged from all this were: that Erika was not simply in hiding, and, once found, could be got out of Germany with comparative ease. If she was to be rescued at all she would have to be snatched by force or trickery from under Grauber's own eyes. And that if Gregory went through with the arrangements already tentatively agreed upon he would go into Germany, not with one or more friends to help him, but in the company of those whose object was his death and, moreover, be a marked man—his every movement watched by a score of unseen eyes—from the first moment that he set foot on Nazi territory.

Gregory and Stefan thrashed the problem out for the best part of three hours and two among the numerous decisions they reached were: that Kuporovitch must leave the Pension Julich at once, so that his presence in the wings should continue unknown to Einholtz, if the Gestapo man called there to see Gregory. That he should move down to the little hotel in Steinach and endeavour to rent a small furnished house or cottage there, if possible, among the straggling properties to the west side of the village, among which the Villa Offenbach lay, in order to be as near the scene of action as could be managed.

After lunch Kuporovitch packed his bag, paid his bill at the Pension Julich, let it drop at the desk that he was going down to Zurich, and departed. Gregory spent most of the afternoon on his bed, trying not to think of Erika.

Next day, to distract his mind, he bought some large sheets of paper, a ruler, indiarubber and pencils, and began to draw a plan of the sort of house he would like to own if he eventually decided to build instead of buying one.

That was on Friday. On the following Sunday, 7th of December, 1941, he was still at it, when the momentous news flashed round the world that, in defiance of all decency, honesty and humanitarian considerations, the Japanese had, without warning, bombed the United States Fleet in Pearl Harbour and, equally without warning, simultaneously attacked Singapore.

Very soon it was known that Britain had joined the United States in her war against Japan and that the great American people had
joined the British Empire and the Soviet Union in their determination to remove the curse of Hitlerism from the earth.

Gregory knew that the Anglo-Saxon peoples in the Far East were now in for a very thin time indeed. Nobody but a fool could have imagined that after two and a quarter years resisting the might of Germany, and for a year of that on its own, the British Empire could have any but the most meagre forces merely keeping watch and ward against a possible contingency down there in Malaya. But America, with her hundred and twenty million citizens, her fine fleet, her rapidly expanding Army and Air Force, her vast wealth, her enormous influence in neutral countries, her huge stores of raw materials, her immense agricultural potential, and her staggeringly vast capacity for producing the most modern weapons of war—was in. That was what mattered, and there was some real hope now of putting all that were left of both the Germans and the Japs behind the bars within a foreseeable period.

With a spontaneous happiness that he had not felt for months he broke into the old American marching song of the last war: “
Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching; John Bull, America's in with you! Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching; just to help you see this through!
”

Kuporovitch rang up, equally delighted with the news. He also had news of his own. He had succeeded, the previous evening, in persuading a French writer to rent him a cottage on the lake shore that was only about half a mile further out of Steinach than the Villa Offenbach, and was moving in that afternoon. Having described its appearance and whereabouts, he suggested that, after dark, Gregory should come down and join him there for a picnic meal to celebrate America's entry into the war.

Gregory agreed and arrived about seven o'clock with two bottles of French champagne under his arm—Krug, Private Cuveé, Vintage 1928, no less. Kuporovitch had already laid in three bottles of his favourite Chambertin and two of old brandy, so a good time was had by all.

Kuporovitch related that he had set his heart on this little cottage, as it was some distance from any other dwelling yet adjacent to the lake and almost within a stone's throw of the scene of operations. The Frenchman, who had rented it for the duration, was a man of mixed ideals, being both a Communist and a Pacifist. He had not wanted to sub-let, but he was poor, and Kuporovitch had at last induced him to do so by offering for one month, with immediate possession, a sum that would pay his rent for a year.

They drank innumerable toasts, forgot their worries for a few hours,
and, Gregory having decided to spend the night there, in the early hours saw one another several times to bed.

On the Monday morning Gregory returned to the Pension Julich and, somewhat lackadaisically, resumed his efforts as an amateur architect. In the afternoon Einholtz called to see him.

The German said at once that he had now made up his mind to join Gregory in the venture, and some little time was occupied in discussing means by which he could be certain of securing the promised payment in the event of the trip proving a success. As Gregory had anticipated Einholtz's decision he had already thought out certain proposals to this end, and after a few minor points had been settled he agreed to make the necessary arrangements. Both of them knew that there was not the remotest possibility of the sum being collected, but they both had to appear seriously concerned about the matter for fear of giving away their secret intentions to one another.

Einholtz then went on to the real purpose of his visit. He said that von Osterberg, although more normal, was still far from well, but that if he were given a few days more should be in far better shape to make the trip. He therefore proposed that they should cross the lake on the night of the thirteenth. “Unless,” he added with a smile, “you are superstitious and would prefer to make it the fourteenth, as an extra day will make little difference to the conditions we may expect.”

“No,” replied Gregory, “I'm not superstitious. Let's make it the thirteenth. But I'd like to hear the programme that you have in mind.”

“Even if it is a clear night with no cloud,” Einholtz told him, “the moon is not due to rise until just before dawn. I suggest that we should start about ten o'clock. I have watched the Swiss patrol boats go by so often that we should have no trouble with them. By midnight we should be off the German coast. It will be too late then for many people to be about. Owing to the headland that juts out into the lake some miles to the east of Friedrichshafen we should have no difficulty in finding
Freiherr
von Lottingen's summer villa, since it is only just round the corner. There were three cars in his garage last time we visited it, and as that was only about six weeks ago there is every reason to suppose that at least one of them will still be there. We borrow it, as before, and drive to Niederfels; but not to the Schloss itself. We make for the home of the tenant-farmer who hid Kurt and myself. Having spent so long with him I have no doubt at all that he will prove willing to shelter us again for a few nights. Using his farm as our base, we begin to make our enquiries for the Countess. When we have found her we wait for another dark night and return by the same route.”

“That sounds all right,” said Gregory. “In fact I don't see how it can be improved upon.”

As they drank two steins of laager they talked about the war. At their first meeting Gregory had taken a malicious delight in watching the German squirm, as he forecast disaster to the German armies in Russia.

That had, at first, been his only reason for letting himself go on the subject, since, at that time, he was ninety-eight per cent convinced that Einholtz really was an anti-Nazi refugee and that anything said to him was most unlikely to reach the enemy. However, with caution, his final statement that the Soviet Reserve Army Group was situated south of Moscow and would strike north-west to shatter the German central front had been pure invention.

It had been inspired simply by the fact that the most serious inroads into the defences of Moscow were being made from the northwest, and if during the final phase of the attack the
Wehrmacht
could be induced to withdraw large formations from that area to reinforce the southern end of their central front Moscow might yet be saved. At the time he had felt that the odds against what he had said ever reaching the German High Command and causing it to alter its dispositions were terrific; and, even now that he knew Einholtz to be a Gestapo man, he considered that the chances of his casually thrown out remarks having a disastrous effect on German strategy were still extraordinarily small.

Today, however, with no even vaguely ulterior motive in mind, and with even more gusto, he was able to enjoy a good half-hour's sport dwelling lightly but pointedly upon just how disastrous America's entry into the war must ultimately prove for Germany. He was able to do so quite pleasantly on the assumption that Einholtz was an anti-Nazi who desired the speedy defeat of Hitler in order that a free German Republic might be more speedily reborn. Realising this, Einholtz was forced to suppress his gall and painfully screw up a series of false, twisted smiles of agreement.

In spite of the seething rage that inwardly consumed him he managed to prevent himself from giving way to an outburst that might have betrayed his real feelings, and they parted ostensibly good friends, pledged to risk their lives together on a most dangerous expedition.

On the Tuesday morning Gregory went down to see Kuporovitch. At midday they took a motor-bus going west along the lake-shore to the little town of Arbon. There they bought a picnic meal and took it down to the harbour, where they hired a motor launch. As the weather was chilly and there was a slight drizzle the boat-owner
thought them insane, but Gregory did not seek to disguise the fact that he was English, knowing that on the Continent the legend still persists that all Englishmen are mad, and that it had often served to excuse his apparent vagaries in tricky situations.

Visibility on the lake was poor, but the weather cleared somewhat in the late afternoon, so they got a fairly good view of the smoke-belching chimneys of the great munition plants at Friedrichshafen and of the coast up to the headland to south-east of it. Through a pair of binoculars that Gregory had bought in St. Gall, they could make out a rambling building just west of the headland that they felt certain must be
Freiherr
von Lottingen's summer villa; but on their attempting to go nearer in, a German patrol boat came out and turned them back. As soon as she had left them Gregory took several compass bearings, which he carefully noted down. They then returned to Arbon, and so to their respective domiciles.

On the Wednesday Gregory worked at his house-planning for the best part of the day, then, when darkness had fallen, again went down to Kuporovitch's cottage. By half past seven they were in Arbon talking to the boat-owner, whom, without difficulty, they had traced to a wharfside café. At first, he was most loth to hire them his launch on a winter's night, suspecting that it could be required only for some illegal purpose. But, luckily, the night was fine and starlit, and Gregory finally succeeded in jollying him into it by playing the rich, eccentric English “Milor”, and offering him an outrageous price with a definite promise to bring the launch back by midnight.

At their first attempt to get out into the centre of the lake they were turned back by a Swiss patrol boat, but on their second they succeeded in getting to within two miles of the German coast without interference. They could have gone further in but did not wish to risk the possibility of landing themselves in serious trouble. So Gregory took some more compass bearings of the blast furnaces and such other lights as were visible, and they then turned back to Arbon.

On the morning of Thursday the 11th, Gregory sent a telegram which read: FALLSTRÖM. VILLA OFFENBACH, STEINACH, BEI RORSCHACH. IS THIRTEENTH DEFINITELY AGREED ON. SALLUST.

By midday the reply reached him. YES, ALL SET FOR THIRTEENTH, FRITZ. He had spent the morning completing the plans of the house he might one day build, although he doubted if he would ever do so, as he felt that he would greatly prefer an old house with well-grown trees in its garden, if he could find one that he really liked; but drawing the plans and making things fit had proved an excellent and amusing distraction. In the afternoon he slept.

At five o'clock he set off for Kuporovitch's cottage. The Russian
was expecting him and, being a very passable amateur cook, had prepared an excellent meal. They washed it down with some bottles of Chambertin, and afterwards sat talking cheerfully together until a quarter to eight.

Then they went out and walked along the grass verge of the road towards the Villa Offenbach. As they neared it Kuporovitch dropped a few paces behind and halted in the deep shadow made by the angle of the porch, while Gregory stepped forward and rang the frontdoor bell.

After he had rung a second time it was opened by Einholtz. Seeing his visitor, the German's face expressed surprise, but Gregory did not give him a chance to ask any questions. He had been holding his automatic ready in his overcoat pocket. Pulling it out, he jabbed it into Einholtz's stomach and said:

“Stand still! Come on, Stefan!”

Kuporovitch pushed past them holding a length of cord, one end of which was already prepared in a slip-noose. Grabbing one of Einholtz's wrists, he slid the noose over it and jerked the cord tight. Seizing the German's other arm, he wrenched it round behind his back and swiftly secured the two wrists together. The whole action had been so rapid that Einholtz had his hands tied behind him almost before he had time to begin letting out a spate of curses.

As Kuporovitch pulled out his own gun, Gregory turned away and walked down the hall. The Russian dug the barrel of his pistol into Einholtz's ribs and said the one word, “Follow!”