The Black Baroness (10 page)

The King was in perpetual conference with his advisers and during the last two hours even Major Heering had found it impossible to get him on his own for a moment, so what chance did an ordinary footman stand of managing that? Having acquired the habit of deference from being in the service of the Crown, would the man screw up the courage to force his way into the King’s presence or would he waste invaluable time hanging about the corridor until the King came out?

If he did force his way in, the King would certainly not be alone, and it was almost certain that he would show the warning to whoever was with him. Even if he kept it to himself, and decided to act upon it, how was he going to get out of the Palace without Major Heering and his fellow-conspirators realising what was on foot? Gregory realised that although he had attempted to throw a spanner into the works he had actually thrown only a straw which had very little chance of wrecking the Nazi machine.

As he sat there he was considering what he should do when his little plot was discovered and the balloon went up. The automatic that he was carrying already had a bullet in the barrel so he had only to slip back the safety-catch. If he were first on the draw there was a chance that he could hold up von Ziegler and Heering while he got out of the room. But directly he was out of sight they would begin to shout; the sentry on the outer door would come charging in with his rifle, and the other two, having drawn their pistols, would come dashing after him, so he would be caught between two fires and shot down in the passage. The waiting-room was on the ground floor but its window had stout, old-fashioned, iron bars strongly embedded in the wall, so there
was no escape that way, and the room had only one door. By and large, it was about as tricky a situation as even Gregory had been in for some considerable time.

On reconsidering the matter he decided that his only chance lay in shooting von Ziegler and Major Heering before they could draw their weapons. His shots would raise the alarm so tie would still have to face the sentry on the outer door, but it was time enough to worry about that when he had succeeded in lulling the other two.

At a quarter to eleven Gregory stood up and walked to the window in order to get behind von Ziegler, took out his gun, pressed up the safety-catch and slipped it into his right-hand overcoat pocket where he could hold it by the butt all ready to be whipped out at a second’s notice.

At six minutes past eleven he caught the faint sounds of hurrying footsteps. Someone was running down the stairs outside three at a time. A moment later the footsteps were pounding along the passage; the door was flung violently open. Major Heering stood in the entrance, red-faced, pop-eyed, panting.

Von Ziegler had sprung to his feet. Gregory remained absolutely motionless, his eyes fixed on the Major, as von Ziegler still had his back turned to him and was therefore completely at his mercy.

‘The King’s gone—gone—disappeared!’ gasped Heering.

‘
Teufel nochmal!
’ shouted von Ziegler, ‘When? How did this happen?’

‘I don’t know,’ panted the Major. ‘Nobody knows. Apparently he just told the members of the Council that he was going to the safe in his bedroom to get some papers and that he would be back in a moment. The Crown Prince was with him and he asked him to come and help him fetch them. The Council waited for ten minutes and there were so many urgent things to settle that his Equerry was sent in to look for him. When they got there they found that the safe was empty and both the King and the Crown Prince had disappeared.’

Von Ziegler’s face had gone pale with anger; his long nose seemed to stand out more sharply than ever and his bright-blue eyes were blazing. Stepping forward he seized the Norwegian by the shoulder and began to shake him.

‘You fool!’ he almost screamed. ‘You miserable fool! You will pay for this mess-up before you’re much older.’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’ The Major cringed away. ‘I wasn’t in the
Council Chamber—and, even if I had been, I couldn’t have stopped him going into his bedroom.’

‘No, imbecile! But someone must have warned him.’

‘I know—I know.’

‘And it was your job to prevent such a thing happening. Who was it? Who
was
it, eh?’

Gregory tensed his muscles and his hand tightened on his gun. Now for it! The footman could not possibly have got into the Council Chamber without Major Heering seeing him, and once the footman was exposed von Ziegler’s swift mind would link the man with Gregory’s absence from the room three-quarters of an hour before. He watched the Major’s thick lips begin to move again so that he might act the very instant that a single syllable fell from them which would give away the part that he had played.

‘No one said anything to the King,’ muttered the Major. ‘I’m certain of that, because our friends who were with him say so. He must have been warned by a written message.’

‘Who entered the Council Chamber last?’

As Gregory saw the Major’s mouth form the words ‘a footman’ he drew his gun.

But von Ziegler’s back was still towards him and the Major’s eyes were riveted upon the stern face of the German airman, as he hurried on:

‘He only brought in the King’s morning coffee. I saw him, through the doorway, set it down at the King’s elbow and walk straight out again, so it couldn’t have been the footman. One of the members of the Council must have found out something earlier, but had to wait for an opportunity, when he was unobserved, to pass a scribbled note.’

Gregory turned his gun over sideways and began to examine it as though he were just making certain that the mechanism was all in order. The footman had turned out a trump. Evidently, on realising that to give the King the paper openly might arouse the suspicions of any members of the Council who were traitors, he had conceived the brilliant idea of waylaying his colleague who was on duty upstairs and by some means or other arranging to take the King’s coffee-tray in himself; after which it had been a simple matter to slip the folded message under the King’s cup, where he would be bound to see it and could remove it without much chance that anyone else would notice what he was doing.

But Gregory knew that he was by no means out of the wood yet. The infuriated conspirators would immediately institute an inquiry among the guards at the various entrances of the Palace and the damning bottom strip of the paper which von Ziegler had signed would come to light. He might almost have put the thought into von Ziegler’s mind by mental telepathy as the German snapped at Heering:

‘Anyhow, what in thunder were your people on the gates doing to let the King through? Who was responsible for that?’

‘Have patience,’ the Major snapped back in a sudden spurt of rebellion against the airman’s bullying. ‘Colonel Ketch is now visiting the posts to find out. He will be here at any moment; then we shall know.’

Von Ziegler turned angrily away and began to pace impatiently up and down the room while Gregory, in his role of sympathetic co-conspirator, proceeded to ignore Heering’s presence and began a slashing attack upon the inefficiency of the Norwegians who had bungled the job so badly.

Some moments later a broad-shouldered officer with a fine flowing moustache arrived. Von Ziegler evidently knew him already and Gregory rightly assumed that this was the Colonel Ketch whom Heering had just mentioned. Having stamped into the room the Colonel said with a worried frown:

‘The King must have known that the gates were being watched, as he didn’t go out by any of them. He and the Prince climbed over the wall of the tennis-court and dropped down into the street. One of the sentries saw them, but by the time the fool had gone inside and reported to his officer the King and the Prince had made off and were out of sight.’

‘
Donnerwetter!
’ roared von Ziegler. ‘The lot of you shall answer to the Gestapo for this!’

Gregory snapped down the safety-catch of his automatic, drew out the magazine and began to toss it playfully up and down.

‘Well, that’s that,’ he murmured with a sigh. ‘We’re out of luck this morning, and I suppose it’s not much good our waiting here any longer.’

Von Ziegler looked round at him. ‘There’s no such thing as luck, Baron; only brains and organisation—as I propose to show this afternoon. Come on.’ Without another word to the two Norwegians he shouldered his way past them and strode out of the room.

Gregory followed more slowly and, pausing in the doorway, said to the other two conspirators: ‘I’m afraid you’ve made rather a mess of things, gentlemen, and in Germany such mistakes are not readily overlooked. Your only chance is to get out of the country while the going is good. There are still some neutral ships in the harbour and if I were you I should get on to one of them without an hour’s delay.’ Having clicked his heels and bowed sharply from the waist he turned and left them.

His advice sounded like that of a sympathetic German who was not whole-heartedly with the Nazis and was sorry for two officers who had bungled a very important operation. Actually, it was a Machiavellian piece of cunning by which he hoped to ensure that those two traitors would get their just deserts.

If they fled up-country—as they probably would have done had he not spoken to them—it was highly probable that they would have evaded capture, for the Germans had only just landed in the capital; but if they followed his advice and went down to the harbour their capture was quite certain. No neutral ship would now be allowed to leave Oslo without German permission and if they were caught trying to get out of Norway the assumption would be that they had made up their minds to go over to the Allies; so what had only been a blunder in the first place would, in German eyes, be aggravated to deliberate treachery, and they would be dealt with accordingly.

Von Ziegler was already half-way across the courtyard when Gregory reached the door. As he followed the German he blessed King Haakon and the Crown Prince. Evidently they had had the wit to see that to present any kind of pass to a sentry on their own doorstep was certain to excite comment, so they had decided not to use the pass but to go out over the wall; and that, Gregory felt, had probably saved his life.

When he caught von Ziegler up the German was climbing in to his car. ‘What d’you propose to do now?’ Gregory asked.

‘Go after them, of course. They can’t have got far. Would you like to come with me, or would you prefer to go and let Quisling know how the Norwegians have ruined our admirable plan?’

Nothing was further from Gregory’s wishes than to go and see Quisling at that moment, but he hesitated artistically before he said: ‘I think perhaps I’d better go with you. It will now be a matter of a hold-up in the open, and as there are two of them you may need my help if they happen to be armed.’

‘Right. Are you taking your own car or will you come in mine?’

‘If I leave mine here somebody may pinch it, so I think I’ll go under my own steam. I’ll be close behind you.’

With a nod von Ziegler let in the clutch and his car streaked away. Gregory jumped into his and ran smoothly along behind him, knowing that with the roads now so choked with refugees the adventurous airman would not get very far at the pace at which he had set off. For ten minutes they wound in and out of the slow-moving traffic until they reached the Oslo Police Headquarters, outside which von Ziegler pulled up.

‘What now?’ thought Gregory. ‘Surely the Nazi organisation can’t have managed to get the Norwegian police force under its thumb.’ But he was mistaken. After he had waited outside in his car for nearly forty minutes von Ziegler came out again and hurried up to him. His blue eyes were shining and a satisfied smile curved his strong mouth.

‘We’re on to them,’ he said. ‘Oslo is such a little place that everyone here knows the King and the Crown Prince by sight. I felt certain they’d be recognised by scores of people before they had gone ten miles. We had to wait until we could get reports of them from well outside the town so as to make certain in which direction they were heading. They’ve taken the road to Eidsvold, a small town about forty-five miles north from here.’

Two minutes later they had joined the stream of traffic heading north and Gregory settled down to what he knew would be a dreary chase. Had he been von Ziegler he would almost have wept with frustration at the impossibility of getting every ounce out of his car, but, as it was, he was quite content to loiter. In fact, he knew that the longer they were held up by the refugees the more chance the King would have of getting away, for even crowds who had been panicked from their homes would make way at the sight of their King, whereas they would certainly not give way to anyone who had the appearance of an ordinary civilian; but in this he had counted without von Ziegler.

Directly they were outside the town and the traffic was a little less congested the German pulled up at the roadside and took two large squares of paper out of his pocket, one of which he proceeded to paste on his own windscreen and the other on Gregory’s. Both bore large printed inscriptions in Norwegian,
which Gregory could not understand, but the airman said Swiftly: ‘No good putting them on before we were out of that crush, but they’ll help us a lot now. These notices say: “POLICE—URGENT!” and the small lettering underneath means ‘Offence to obstruct”.’

‘Grand!’ said Gregory. ‘You think of everything; I couldn’t have tackled the job better myself.’ And as they went on again he noticed with dismay how the law-abiding Norwegians paid due deference to the placards. Each time that von Ziegler sounded his Klaxon they turned to stare and immediately gave him room to pass.

Even with these aids-to-travel their going was miserably slow, as the way curved and twisted through the mountains, where it was much too dangerous to shoot ahead for any distance with one solid line of traffic blocking half the road, and Gregory reckoned that they could not be making much more than fifteen miles an hour. But the King could not be doing any better, so he had no more than his original lead, which, allowing for their long wait at the police-station, was just about an hour.

Now that spring had come, southern Norway was gradually divesting herself of her winter robe of snow. All the mountains were still white-capped but the thaw was climbing out of the deep valleys day after day and every stream and river was in spate. The road lay well below the snowline, but it was very chilly and Gregory thanked his stars that he was warmly clad. He pitied the poor wretches they were passing as he felt certain that many of them would not be able to find accommodation for the night, but conditions were nothing like so appalling for them as they had been for the Finns whom he had seen driven out of Helsinki, in the depths of winter, by Russian bombers.