The Sword of Fate (46 page)

Very soon we had left all the houses of Trikkala behind and were covering the same ground that I had crossed early that morning. A sudden conviction seized me that I was on the right track at last. Mondragora had made his report, but the captain was right and Daphnis was not in Trikkala. She had been left in some town further back, and Mondragora was now going either to rejoin or collect her. I felt absolutely certain of it.

Although twilight had fallen there were nothing like as many troops on the road this Saturday night as there had been on the preceding night, but I imagine the Germans must have realised by now that their victory was complete, so there was no point in their bringing additional formations further south into the peninsula. Darkness fell, the stars came out and by half past ten we were just approaching Ventsa.

It had been an anxious business keeping on Mondragora’s tail, in case he turned off up some side-road, but I had never lost him for more than a few minutes, and now I put on speed to close up with him in case he left the main road somewhere in the town. As he entered it I was not fifty yards behind him and could make out his car quite clearly in spite of the uncertain light. He slowed up, then halted in front of an unblitzed building in the main street. I passed him and pulled up a hundred yards further on. When I turned to look back he was on the pavement and just going into the house. I got out of my car and walked back along the street.

The place was strangely and sinisterly silent. It is true that nine-tenths of the buildings in the little town had been either blown down or burnt out; but one would have thought that the owners of those still standing would have remained and the homeless among the townsfolk have sought shelter with them; but not a soul was to be seen and not a light showed anywhere. Perhaps the Greek civilians here had put up a resistance and fired upon the Germans. If so the Nazis had probably machine-gunned the whole population—men, women and children—as a reprisal, and
that would account for the ‘city of the dead’ effect which the place had upon me.

I was within about forty yards of the doorway into which Mondragora had disappeared when I saw a small figure come out of it and turn in my direction. Swiftly I stepped back into the shadows of a great semi-circular arch, which led to the courtyard of a burnt-out house. My one glimpse had been enough to tell me that the child was a boy, and from his height I judged him to be only about eleven years old. Waiting there in the darkness I held my breath until he passed, then with one swift movement I grabbed him and muffled his startled cry by clapping my thick driving-glove over his mouth.

“Listen, sonny,” I said in Greek in a low voice. “There’s nothing to be frightened about. I promise I won’t hurt you but there are one or two things that I want you to tell me about that house that you’ve just come out of. Is there a lady there—a young lady with dark hair who’s very lovely?”

I eased my hand off the child’s mouth so that he could reply, and he said in a deeper voice than I had expected: “Who are you? Why should I tell you anything?”

“Now look here, I don’t want to hurt you,” I said in a stern voice. “But I’m in a hurry and I may have to unless you tell me what I want to know.”

“I won’t tell you beastly Germans anything,” cried the child, wriggling like a worm in his efforts to get away.

This defiance from such a mite struck me as so strange that grasping him firmly by the scruff of the neck with one hand I got out my lighter with the other and flicked it on to have a look at him. I saw then that he was older than I had thought—possibly about fourteen or fifteen—but he was a hunchback. The poor little fellow’s head was twisted on one side and his face was not that of a child. Although young it was wizened like an old woman’s, but it was relieved by a pair of remarkably beautiful and intelligent brown eyes. Those eyes had something fine and strong and compelling about them, so that quite instinctively I altered my manner towards their owner.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently.

“Tino.”

“Then listen, Tino, I’m a great friend of the lovely lady whom I believe to be in that house. She’s a Greek. I’m not a Greek, as you guessed, but on the other hand I’m not a German nor an Italian, and I’ve come all the way from Athens to try to rescue her from your country’s enemies.”

“What are you if you’re not a German?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m English,” I replied quietly.

But he was not satisfied and said: “The English soldiers were here for some time, and I know how they swear. If you’re English you must prove yourself by swearing to me as they swear.”

I let him have a choice selection of English swear words, and the grin spread over his funny tilted little face.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you now. The lady’s in the cellar. She’s been here for a week. She was kind to me, so I stayed to look after her.”

“Well done, Tino,” I murmured, giving his arm a little friendly shake. “I’ll see you don’t lose by that; but is she well—quite well?”

He nodded. “She’s very well, but she’s worried. She wants to get back to her own people, but these devils won’t let her go, and there’s no way that a lovely lady like that could get through the battle zone all on her own.”

“Never mind, Tino.” I was laughing now. “We’ll fix that somehow. Is there anyone else in the house except the tall thin man who’s just arrived?”

“No,” he said. “No one. He’s sent me out to see if I can find a chicken remaining in one of the hen-houses, because he’s hungry and wants a meal.”

“Right-o,” I said. “Try to get your chicken. Then you and I and the lady will eat it. I don’t think the man will be there if you come back in about half an hour.”

He flashed me a smile and was gone—a small crooked shadow—into the darkness. Immediately he had disappeared I got out my gun, made quite certain that it was fully loaded and slipped back the safety-catch. I knew all I wanted to know, and as far as I was concerned there wasn’t going to be any argument. Tiptoeing down the street, I gently lifted the latch of the front door and entered the house.

The house had a small hallway. It was in darkness, but a faint streak of light came from under a door on my right a little way down the passage. No light had shown from the street, so the window of the room must, I knew, be carefully blacked out. I
paused for a moment to listen. No sound broke the stillness. I tiptoed forward and felt about very carefully until I found the knob of the door. Very gently I turned it, then holding my gun in front of me I jerked it open. The room was empty.

It was the sort of sitting-room that might have belonged to a small landowner in a provincial town, and had now been converted into an office. There were a few nice bits of old furniture, but most of the stuff was indifferent and well worn. In one corner there was a pile of broken glass and china. The fragments of the ornaments had been swept up there, after having been flung from their places and broken by the concussion of the bombs. On the table stood a typewriter, some baskets with letters in them and several files. The room was lit by an oil-lamp which dangled from the ceiling.

I gently drew the door to and eased my way down the passage. Round a corner another streak of light showed under a second door, and as I listened again I could hear movements.

Again I found the door-handle, turned it gingerly, then flung the door open. It was a roomy kitchen and Mondragora was there, standing near the big old-fashioned range. He had evidently been stoking it up as a preliminary to cooking himself a meal.

I saw the fear spring into his dark eyes as he recognised me and realised that he was trapped; but I did not give him time to speak. Poor Carruthers’ suicide, the fact that he was an Axis spy, and a hundred other crimes, in addition to his being my personal enemy, made this no matter for gloating triumph or a trial, but only for an execution. I squeezed the trigger of my pistol and gave him three bullets in the stomach. As he collapsed with a single wailing cry I put a fourth through his head. He lay twitching for a moment on the kitchen floor, then it was all over.

I left him lying there and found the entrance to the cellar. It was through a heavy wooden door at the far end of the hall. As I opened the door and looked down the curving stone steps I saw that it was already faintly lit by an old beaten copper oil-lamp, which stood upon a rough table. Beside it in a corner on a pile of rugs Daphnis was lying sound asleep.

My heart brimming over with joy, I tiptoed down the worn stone stairs towards her. She was sleeping quite soundly, and it was hardly surprising that she had not been roused by my shots. As she had accompanied Mondragora on the road south through Yugoslavia with German Field Headquarters, for several weeks
past she must have been both night and day within the sound of exploding bombs and the crash of guns.

I knelt down beside her, anxious to prolong this perfect moment of achievement in finding her at last before I woke her and relished the full joy of our reunion. It was then, while I was kneeling there, that I heard a sound above me and turned to find von Hentzen standing in the doorway with his automatic pistol trained on her.

Next second the pistol spurted flame; the whole cellar seemed to rock with the deafening thunder of its repeated explosions. Before I could draw my pistol the bullets thudded into the pile of rugs where Daphnis lay.

As she jerked up, her eyes staring, her mouth open, I sprang to my feet, and wrenching my gun from my pocket dashed up the stairs. But von Hentzen was too quick for me. I heard his pistol, which was now levelled at me, click once, then realising it was empty he stepped back and flung the heavy door to.

I hurled my weight against it, but I heard him ram the thick wooden staple through its socket and knew that I was caught; yet that mattered nothing. My movements had been impelled only by the instinct to endeavour to exact instant vengeance. In any case, I should not have followed him further than the hallway; my whole mind was distraught with fear for Daphnis. Turning, I plunged down the cellar stairs again towards her.

She was lying still now, but groaning slightly. As I knelt beside her she opened her eyes and murmured: “Darling, it can’t be you. I’m dreaming.”

“It is,” I choked. “I came to Greece weeks ago praying that I’d find you, and I’ve come to take you back. But, oh God, you’re wounded!”

As I lifted back the soft wrap of white angora wool which covered her, my feelings were beyond description. My beautiful beloved was already lying in a pool of blood. Steeling my nerves, as gently as I could I made a swift examination. In the upper part of her thighs she had five bullet-wounds, and I felt sure that there must be others in her pelvis. Von Hentzen had emptied the whole contents of his automatic into her, which meant eight or nine shots.

“We must get a doctor,” I gasped; but even as I spoke I remembered that we were bolted in. Covering Daphnis again, I dashed back up the stairs and hammered on the door with my clenched fists, calling upon von Hentzen—yes, and even pleading
with him—to let me out so that I could get a doctor and save my love from death.

There was no reply. My own shouts and thumpings echoed back through the empty house. He had gone. With heavy feet I slumped downstairs again. What could I do? No tourniquet could serve to staunch the bleeding of such wounds. What
could
I do?

In her first convulsion Daphnis had heaved herself up so that she was lying half-twisted on her side. Taking her gently in my arms I sought to lay her down again flat on her back so that she would be more comfortable, and she clung to me, moaning out my name.

When I got her straight I thought the best thing was to raise her legs in order that the blood should not flow down into them so easily. Making a great bolster of some spare rugs, I slid my hand under her knees and lifted them to push it in. As I did so she screamed with pain and suddenly went limp.

For a second I thought that she was dead, but she had only fainted, and I took the opportunity while she was unconscious to arrange the bolster to the best advantage. At the far end of the cellar I noticed a cabin trunk. Rummaging into it, I selected two light dresses. One of them I tore into wide strips and tied tightly round her upper thighs; the other I afterwards bound round the whole middle of her body.

When she came to she asked me who it was that had shot her. She had seen nothing but the flashes of the pistol.

I told her, and for the first time had a moment to wonder at von Hentzen’s sudden appearance there. But I recalled his declared intention of leaving Athens to enter it again in triumph, dressed in his uniform, with the German General Staff. Directly he had got free he must have set out for Trikkala. On reaching there he had probably seen the Intelligence captain and learnt from him of the Greek fifth columnist who had inquired so urgently that morning for Mondragora, then disappeared. Von Hentzen would have put two and two together in a flash, realised that the fifth columnist had been myself, and Mondragora’s danger; and followed hard on our heels in an attempt to save his friend and prevent my obtaining any information from Daphnis.

“But why—why should he shoot me?” she asked faintly.

“Because his agents in Alex found you out, darling. They knew that you were trying to double-cross them for my sake.”

“So—so you knew—that?”

I nodded. “That swine Cozelli told me. Oh, bless you for your
bravery! But the moment I knew what he’d done I realised that you’d never have a chance.”

“But I succeeded,” she murmured. “I’ve been trying—trying to get back for weeks. I did get the information which would let us both out.” She paused for a moment, then went on: “It was in the middle of March, soon after—after I got to Sofia. They’d planned an insurrection in Iraq. Rashid Ali was to lead it and the Grand Mufti was to play a big part.”

I groaned. In mid-March that information would have been invaluable to us, but the revolt had taken place on the 3rd of April—over three weeks ago. All her courage and her skill had proved useless after all, and Cozelli’s plan to use her had only ended in this soul-shattering nightmare. The irony and utter futility of it were enough to drive one crazy.