Night Journey (19 page)

I drew back as if burned, cannoned into somebody, turned with a mumbled apology, strode quickly away. I did not think he had seem me.

I knew my face was whites, as if I had sees a ghost I had indeed sees one, the ghost of yesterday's fears. I had completely forgotten my minor changes of appearance. Would they deceive a keen and practiced eye?

But so far I did not think he had sees me. By the closest of margins, the margin, of a lowered newspaper, I had drawn back in time.

How did I catch the train, then? There were other barriers. Would they admit me at another? Why was the man at No 11? The merest chance? Jane must be warned. Where could I stand to warn her?

“How long before the Basle express goes?” I asked an official who was hurrying past.

“I cannot promise anything. If you're going you should take your seat.”

I walked slowly into the great entrance hall. This place was conspicuous, but everyone entering the station must come this way.

Still no Jane.

A whistles, and I could hear a train move off. A secret and not quite respectable self hoped that it was the express. We had failed then but failed honourably. Andrews would have to cope with the extra difficulty of a woman on the scene. That was his job. That was his peculiar genius. Why sacrifice two days together in Garda and everything we had hoped for? Once again my mind dwelt on Garda as on an oasis of happiness and forgetful peace, a green and lovely thing offering me a woman's soft arms, in place of a murderous exploit which was not of my seeking and incalculable dangers I was not equipped to face.

No Jane. Supposing in our absence the Gestapo had told the O.V.R. A. about Lorenzo's and it had been raided. Supposing she had walked straight into a police trap.

People stared at me as they went past, and I knew my face must be betraying too much anxiety. After being pale it was now flushed. My cheeks burned. I forced myself to adopt a dull, noncommittal expression.

I saw her at last, paying off a taxi. She came running across the hall, threading her way between slower-moving people, almost dancing in her steps. I went across to meet her. She looked surprised.

“Has the train gone?”

“I don't know. I have not been able to tell.” I turned with her and we hurried back through the booking hall to the next fight of steps.

“Why were you there?”

“One of the men who followed me yesterday—is watching the barrier—at platform eleven.”

“One of the Gestapo? Have you been seen?”

“No, I think not.”

We branched off at a tangent, reached another barrier at the extreme left of the station.

“Has the Basle express gone?” to the ticket collector.

“I don't know,
signers
. It may have. Platform eleven at the other end.”

We passed through and broke into a run.

The German at the other barrier might or might not see us; I put a handkerchief to my nose. Fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven …

“There she goes,” said a porter. “Just off now.”
There were whistles as we ran down the platform. The train was

moving.
“In here,” I gasped.
We scrambled in breathlessly. Someone slammed the door behind

as.
The last stage of the journey had begun.

We found two seats in a second-class carriage near the front of the train.

In between boarding and finding the seat I had gratefully removed my spectacles, since as Edmondo Catania again I no longer wore them. We had travelled more than three quarters of the length of the long train and had seen nothing of Miss Volkmann or Dr von Riehl. The first-class carriages were in the centre, and there were several compartments marked “reserved”, of which two already had their blinds drawn on the corridor side.

There were four other people in our compartment, so there was no opportunity for private conversation. After a while we went out into the corridor to admire the view.

I received my passport.

“Give me the other one,” she said. “ I'll keep it.”

“No. There is danger for either of us having two.”

“I have an extra one for myself anyway.”

“For yourself?”

“It was provided for me some months ago—in case of trouble. A different name, etc. I guess it seemed a good thing to have on this trip.”

“What did you hear at Lorenzo's?”

“Dwight and Andrews left soon after us. I was lucky to get the passports. Ricci and Doric are burning everything that's unnecessary and burying the rest. Have you a cigarette? I'm clean out.”

I lit it for her and gave her half a packet. She could hardly live without them. “You spoke as if you might know something of Andrews's plan. Are you sworn to secrecy?”

“No …” She inhaled gratefully. The draught in the corridor blew the smoke horizontally from the end of the cigarette. “ It's really quite a simple plan.”

“Andrews's plans usually are.” I suspected he had suggested to her the idea of the communication cord.

She glanced up at me. “Oh, so you've noticed that.”

She paused as we slowly entered a cutting. It was here that two carriages had been derailed. Gangs of men were busy in the twilight clearing the debris. It was some time before we were quite alone again.

“Beyond Lugano,” she said, “ you know the climb up to the San Gotthardo tunnel and the twisty descent at the other side … There are a number of little stations where even the expresses stop. At this time of year there are always climbers or skiers who want to take advantage of the fist snow. They take the trains up to one of the higher station, spend their day up there, and in the evening catch a train down again.”

She tailed off as a man passed us.

“Yes?”

“Well … there are two extra skiers to-day.”

“Oh,” I said.

“They'll join the train at one station and leave it two or three stations later. Nobody will take any notice of them. Nobody will know—until later—what they've done.”

I smiled grimly at the darkening landscape.

“And Fräulein Volkmann?”

“She's our responsibility still.”

There was a long silence between us until Jane had finished her cigarette, “ I'll see if I can locate them,” she said. “ Von Riehl might recognise you.”

We reached Como just as it went dark. The night was a deep cloudy moonless dark, and the absence of lights in the countryside made it blanket-like and oppressive. On the train the corridor lights were dimmed and the blinds pulled in all the carriages.

I wondered if this delay in the train might upset Andrews's plans as well as ours. Instead of the express reaching the Alps shortly before nightfalls the time would be about eight-thirty. Most of the skiers would have caught the earlier trains.

Jane returned to the compartment before we reached Chiasso. She nodded her success.

The gaunt frontier statics was cold and draughty. We had already climbed from the Lombardy plain, and this was a first breath from the snows of Switzerland. The halt was a long one. Restrictions had recently been tightened up, and currency difficulties added to the delay. We all had to get out and stand in queues by the light of shaded blue lamps to have our money checked and our passports and visas scrutinised and stamped. I did not notice von Riehl or his red-haired girl friend, so perhaps they were exempt from the formalities.

I took a chance and declared less money than I carried, since I still had a fair amount left and did not want to have it confiscated. The Swiss wanted to know my business in Switzerland, and I said I was visiting my daughter who was at school there and that my stay would be only three days.

At last it was over and we climbed back into the train, grateful for the warmth of the carriages. Jane had only her thin summer coat and skirt. We were first back in our compartment and she said:

“They're going to have dinner shortly, I hope Versos reckoned on that.”

“It may be over by the time he gets on.”

“I'm not sure. These train meals take a long time, and they haven't started yet.”

I stared speculatively at the empty seats opposite. “ Do you imagine that perhaps this might be our chance, this dinner they're having?”

“To deal with her?”

“Yes.” One's mind baulked at its own suggestion.

“Not unless we see Vernon and Dwight first. We can't move without their agreement. But what did you think of doing?”

I was preheated from replying by the return of the rest of the passengers. I was not sorry, for the idea was still too vague—and in any case it was too renegade an idea for me. Possibly Andrews's example was bearing fruit.

I decided to reconnoitre for myself. This was a train of twelve coaches, and I went from one end to the other.

Few people were standing in the semi-darkness of the corridor, except in the third class. This darkness would work to our advantage.

Although electric, the train was making no apparent effort to catch up on its lost time. Two coaches behind ours was the dining-car. Here, as one passed down the centre of the coach, with the blinds drawn on either side, lights were mach brighter. I avoided a waiter who wished to show me to a sea and another with a steaming bowl. Many were already dining, but not the two I sought.

Another carriage. Then the “ first”. The blinds of all were of course compulsorily draws, but outside one marked “ reserved” two men were standing. One was a reedy little man with eye-glasses and close-cropped hair, the other a tall powerful young man in the black and silver uniform of the
Schützstaffel
.

As I passed I rested my hand on the door handle of the engaged compartment for a measurable few seconds. At once the S. S. guard clicked his heels and said in a metallic voice:

“
Ein reserviertes Coupe. Kann ich Ihnen kelfen
?”

If I had not moved my hand he would have struck it away.

“
Nein, danke schön
,” I said, and went on.

The prey was located. But in so strong a defensive position as to be almost invulnerable. My bowels twisted in fear.

So as not to arouse suspicion I stayed at the end of the train for some time before beginning the long return. The situation had not changed. I wondered what was going on behind the drawn blinds. Two people were there instead of the one that Dwight and Andrews expected. In view of the fact that— presumably—von Riehl's secretary had been sent to stand in the corridor with the S.S. man, were the doctor and his girl making love in the privacy of the compartment?
Kraft durck freude
. I would not have put it past them.

Lugano at last. Sitting quietly in the train, I began to slip the bandages from my hands in spite of Jane's reproving looks. Scabs were forming over the cuts; better with hands free. I also explored the bump on the back of my head. This was very sore still, but did not hurt at all unless touched.

Jane was chain-smoking and I think the woman next to her found it troublesome. It is odd, the blockages in the memory: I can remember every face on the Verona-Milan train, scarcely anyone who was in our compartment of the Milan-Basle express.

Jane finally got up and went out again. When she came back she made no sign but presently scribbled on the margin of a magazine that “ they” were now at dinner but had only just begun.

At last we stopped at Bellinzona; and here the tension really began, for at any station now two skiers might join the train, and in the blackout it was almost impossible to see.

We took up a permanent stand in the corridor; here, at least, since we were in the front of the train, it was possible to scan each platform as we slowed to a stop.

Two stations whose names I could not see, sad I began to lose a sense of distance. Somewhere, possibly at Chiasso, our engine had been changed for a more powerful one, and you could feel it pulling up the increasing gradients. Tunnels were becoming more frequent. We took wide curves on banked rails, the carriages tilting, doubling our tracks as we climbed in loops.

A third stop. Jane gripped my arm. Two mess in heavy ski-clothes, carrying sticks and skis. Then a damp of three men, then five.

“Careful,” I said. “Are you certain?”

“It was the first two. The fat one. They'll get is at the end of the train.”

“There's time,” I said. “ They can't move at once.”

“We shall have to pass through the dining-car to reach them,” she said.

“Wait here,” I said. “If I'm not back in fifteen minutes come through to meet me.”

I opened the near-by door and climbed down the three steps to the platform. A whispered protest followed after me.

Colder than ever out of the train; the ice wind might have come straight from Golgotha. I began to walk as fast as possible down the platform: the guard whistled: I was opposite the dining-car when the train began to move. I sprinted down to the next carriage, climbed the steps, pulled at the door handle. It was locked.

I dropped off. Instead of running one way I bad to run the other. The guard shouted a warning. I jumped at the next steps and clutched the rail: the unexpected acceleration of the train wrenched at my sore hands. “
Lieber Gott!
” I said, and tamed the handle of the door. It opened sad a friendly hand helped me inside.

“Dangerous to cut it so fine,
monsieur
,” said a voice in French. It was one of the skies. I was glad it was not Andrews.

I thanked him, wiped stinging hands surreptitiously on a handkerchief. Only a smear of blood came away.

I began to walk towards the rear of the train; but it was hardly possible to open every carriage door; one just hoped for the best.

Through two third-class carriages. Outside one were some skis and ski-boots. I pulled back the door, peered in, then apologised and shut it again. Total strangers, all staring.

On again. In the next coach two men were standing in the corridor talking. So this was it: Jane had been right.