The Legion of the Lost Read online

  Had they cried out then they might have warned von Otten, but the surprise of the attack and the swift turning of the tables kept them quiet long enough for Conroy – the gun inside his coat pocket but his fingers about it – to open the door and look inside. He was there only for a moment before turning and saying, sotto voce: ‘Empty, Sap. Bring ’em in.’

  Still keeping silent, the two guards were forced into the small ante-room. Palfrey knew that they would eventually throw off the fright which possessed them, and did not rely on the threat of gun or bayonet to keep them quiet indefinitely. Softly, Conroy ordered them to turn round; they obeyed, but Palfrey was afraid that they would shout even as they did so. But he under-estimated the depth of their fear; the only sound was a whispered appeal for mercy.

  As it was being uttered, Conroy jabbed against the back of one man’s neck with the butt of the rifle, a jolt powerful enough to break his neck. It rendered him unconscious, and Conroy, showing a speed of movement which fascinated Palfrey, repeated the manoeuvre with the other. Yet still the American had time to prevent one of them from falling heavily to the ground. Palfrey supported the other; they rested them on the floor and Conroy began to bind and gag them while Palfrey kept a watch on the inner door.

  He could hear nothing, and wondered if it were possible that the guards had lied, that von Otten was not there. There was no point in speculating, and Palfrey, reassured to some degree by the silence, helped with the second man; it passed through his mind that it would have been quicker and more effective to have killed them both, even found time to marvel that he did not.

  They straightened up, and Conroy said: ‘Now for it, Sap!’

  They approached the inner door after locking the one leading to the passage; when they tried the handle it turned but the door would not open. They paused, before Palfrey saw a small bell-push near his right hand. He pressed it twice in quick succession, knowing even then that there might be a special way of pressing it, or a certain number of rings. He heard nothing; they stood waiting on either side of the door, with the guns in their hands—

  Then it opened.

  They had heard no sound at all, and Palfrey realised that no sound would come from the room when the door was closed, that they need not have worried about making noise before. Then he raised his gun, and Stolte, who stood there gaping, drew back and gasped in a strangled voice: ‘Excellency, I—’

  Conroy went forward like a rocket, thudding his fist into the man’s big paunch. Stolte uttered an agonised squeal and sagged away. Palfrey and Conroy went into the room together as von Otten rose from a small table, staring towards them, his right hand moving towards his pocket.

  The Baron von Lichner and his sister stared up from other chairs at a large desk; there was no one else in the room.

  Palfrey fired at von Otten.

  The Count was the only one of the trio to try to get to his gun, and Palfrey’s bullet struck him in the forearm, making him stop. Palfrey pushed the door to with his foot and Conroy advanced swiftly as von Lichner rose to his feet. Von Lichner, in civilian clothes, was obviously unarmed, for he gripped the back of a chair, his face livid. Conroy fired into his chest, with no compunction at all. The man stopped, relaxing his grip on the chair. He stood in a queer, rigid position, his sensitive lips working.

  The woman, her face drained of colour, stared at the American without speaking.

  Palfrey said: ‘Sit down, both of you.’ He ignored von Lichner, whose knees began to sag and who dropped on to a chair, putting a hand at his breast just over the heart. Palfrey looked at von Otten, seeing the fear in that man’s face, knowing that they had succeeded in what had once seemed impossible – they had taken them completely by surprise.

  They sat down; the woman was beginning to shake.

  Palfrey said: ‘I’ve just finished talking to Hilde Silversen. She made just one mistake. She won’t make any more. Nor will you, von Otten!’ He paused, glanced at the woman, and then went on softly: ‘So you were in conference with your good friends, who were so frightened of Stolte? Nicely done, gnädige Fräulein, you convinced us at the time! We thought you were afraid of him. In fact—’ Palfrey paused, remembering what Brian had said, knowing now that all the time von Lichner and von Otten had worked together. Von Lichner had tried, as Hilde had done, to get some knowledge of their plans, to disarm them by pretending that he wanted co-operation. All the time he had worked with von Otten, the ease of the ‘miracle’ at Trenborg was fully explained. He had wanted only to impress Palfrey with his sincerity while all the time they had planned in devious ways to find out just why Palfrey and the others were in the country.

  Von Otten said in a thin voice: Herr Professor, I do not understand, I—’

  ‘Well, well!’ said Palfrey, absurdly. ‘So you’re as frightened as that? You wanted to know what we were after, didn’t you? The charming lady also tried to find out. It was quite a novel method, but—’

  The woman said: ‘Palfrey, you won’t be able to leave this room alive! You’re just a fool, a poor fool who thinks he’s clever. And you’ll pay for killing Franz, you’ll pay for—’

  ‘Hush!’ said Palfrey. ‘I can hear quite well, there’s no need to shout!’ She had said enough to convince him that he had the truth, knew just what von Lichner had been trying to do. He went on: ‘We came to find the captives and release them, nothing more nor less than that.’

  Von Lichner’s sister screamed: ‘They’re damned, you’re damned! You—’

  She jumped from her chair and pulled at her skirt; Palfrey saw the gun tucked at the top of her stocking. Then he heard Conroy’s gun and saw the woman straighten; he did not spend time worrying because Conroy had shot to kill, only just saw the small hole in the woman’s forehead. It was no time for half measures; he had only one thing to do – get hold of the passports and start the final move.

  Von Otten’s face was livid and he was trembling violently.

  ‘Palfrey, I will help you all I can,’ he gasped. ‘It is true. We followed you, we wanted you to—to betray your friends in this country. But now—now I will help you. There is no need to shoot, no need to shoot!’

  Conroy said contemptuously: ‘You yellow-bellied snake! We’ll shoot if—’

  ‘Hold it, Alex,’ said Palfrey briefly. ‘Where are the passports, von Otten?’

  The Count stared at him, lips quivering.

  ‘The—the passports? Which ones do you mean?’ His voice was so unsteady that they could hardly understand the words.

  ‘Belonging to the delegates,’ said Palfrey. ‘Don’t waste time!’

  The German looked towards a bureau against the wall. It was closed, but there was a key in it. Conroy stepped towards it and turned the key – just inside lay a stack of passports, neatly piled. Conroy opened one, glanced through it, and said: ‘All stamped today and signed by His Excellency, Sap. We’re all set.’

  ‘It looks like it,’ said Palfrey. ‘The advantage of surprise.’ He looked at the shivering German, his lips curled in disgust. He remembered Karl and the club-footed youth, both of them had probably been shot. He thought of the others whom this man had sent to their death. He knew that Conroy would not hesitate to kill von Otten there and then, but he did not shoot.

  Instead, he said softly: ‘Von Otten, pick up that telephone. If you give a word of warning I’ll shoot you now. Just say this: “The lecture tonight will take place in the air-raid shelter, at once”.’ He paused, and von Otten lifted the receiver unsteadily. Palfrey added: ‘Everyone, including the guards, are to be there.’

  ‘I—I will—’ gasped the German.

  Conroy jumped across the room, snatched the receiver from the man’s hand and pushed it back into position. He shot von Otten at point blank range, and there was a cold gleam in his eyes as he said, without emphasis: ‘Sap, you’re too soft. It wasn’t safe, and I didn’t propose to leave him alive.’ He picked up the telephone, and when the operator answered spoke in German with a voice which was remarkably
like the Count’s. ‘The meeting tonight will take place in the air-raid shelter. Everyone in the building will go there at once. There is a warning coming shortly, understand?’ He paused, the telephone crackled, and then he added: ‘Yes, everyone, including the guards. At once!’

  He replaced the receiver slowly, then looked into Palfrey’s eyes; there was the faintest of smiles in his own.

  ‘Mutiny again, Sap. It’s in my blood!’

  Palfrey said slowly: ‘You were right! What did they say?’

  ‘They seemed damned glad to be tipped off,’ said Conroy, and smiled more freely. ‘That will leave just us and Stolte. I’ve got a soft spot for the paunchy Stolte, but—’

  Stolte stretched out his hands towards them in supplication, terror in his eyes, his yellow teeth showing, saliva frothing at his lips. He did not speak. Conroy narrowed his eyes and looked at him, and then said slowly: ‘We’ll tie him up and bring him and the guards in here—all right with you, Sap? It’s a room without windows, and the door’s pretty safe. All right?’

  ‘Get busy,’ said Palfrey. ‘I’ll bring the others in.’

  He went into the ante-room and dragged in first one guard and then the other. From there he could hear footsteps in the passage and agitated voices; the warning had obviously spread quickly and the crowd was hurrying to the shelter. When he had the second man in the room he saw that Stolte, unconscious, was bound hand and foot; Conroy was fastening a gag.

  Conroy grunted as he finished and straightened up.

  ‘Now all we want are the passports, there ought to be a bag big enough. Oh, yes—and gas-masks, Sap, we’ll be needing some.’ He took the masks off the two guards, while Palfrey found service masks, presumably those of the von Lichners and von Often. He found, also, a small case, large enough for the passports.

  They went along to their own apartment, at the tail-end of a crowd of people hurrying to the shelter, strained looks on all their faces. Inside, Brian and Drusilla were waiting, obviously on tenterhooks, and Brian burst out: ‘We’ve been told there’s a raid coming, Sap.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey briefly. ‘We timed it.’ He gave neither of them a chance to exclaim, but went on swiftly: ‘We’ll wait ten minutes; by then everyone is likely to be in the shelter. Then we’ll tackle the wardens, or whatever they call themselves, and the fire-watchers on the roof. We’ve got our hands full,’ he added, ‘but we can make it!’ He slapped the case with the passports, went a little more fully into what had happened – and then they stopped abruptly in the middle of a conversation, for there was a tap at the door.

  As they stared at one another, another sound came. It was from outside, piercing and penetrating; the unmistakable warning of the sirens.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  New Life for the Legion

  Conroy and Brian stood behind the door, their guns in their hands. Palfrey, his right hand in his pocket about his gun, opened the door. He did not know whom to expect, and wondered whether von Otten had taken some precautions which they knew nothing about. Then he stepped back in surprise and relief, for he recognised the caller as the man from the beer-garden on the Adolf Hitler Platz.

  The man stepped past him quickly, closing the door.

  ‘Herr Doktor,’ he said in the whisper Palfrey remembered well, ‘I have been sent with information from your friend. Everything is ready tonight, but will you need assistance here? I have twenty men who can come at once if you wish for it. I am asked to hurry and to tell you that the streets will be empty and that coaches, arranged by von Otten, will be waiting at the prison.’

  Palfrey said stupidly: ‘Coaches at the prison?’

  ‘I should, perhaps, say near,’ said the drab old man. ‘They were to have been for the delegates, you understand, a slight change of orders was given as to where they should go. They will be on the way to the stations, and will be driven by our very good friends. I am also to say that much will depend upon the passports.’

  Palfrey said slowly: ‘We’ve got them.’

  ‘You have, Herr Doktor?’ The old man’s eyes lighted up. ‘That is wonderful, it is all that is needed! But help—will you require it? I am to tell you that there is a warning on and that here there will be men on duty on the roof.’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Palfrey quickly. ‘Yes, we know, and we’ll need help. Most of the people are in the air-raid shelter by now, but if you can look through the rooms with your men and make sure that no one else is free.’ He told the old man of von Otten’s apartment and what he would find there, and the German was quick to take it in.

  Then Palfrey said: ‘When you’re sure the place is empty, can you block the entrances to the air-raid shelter? We were going to try, but—’

  ‘We will block them,’ the old man said calmly. ‘You have no need to fear, Herr Doktor. At the prison you will ask for Hauptmann Schultze and give the name of Pienne. I am to tell you that the attack on the prison will start in half an hour’s time.’

  ‘Half an hour,’ said Palfrey, softly. ‘Just half an hourl’

  It was very dark over Berlin.

  The drone of night-fighters above their heads followed Palfrey and his party as they made their way towards the Potsdamer Platz. Only three times in the long walk did they encounter anyone in the streets, and they were parties of soldiers. They did see, vaguely, the A.A. guns on the roofs of some of the houses, for they could pick out the ugly shapes of the muzzles, and the men standing by them. There was hardly a soul on the streets of Berlin except those who were on duty. It was the same everywhere. Once or twice searchlights stabbed through the night and the drone of the night-fighters continued, but there was no sound of the crump of bombs. The searchlights seemed shy of their encounter with the skies, and were switched off one after the other.

  At last they reached the prison.

  There were men stationed about it, all of them with fixed bayonets and in uniform – it was the first building they had come across with such a guard on duty that night. As they drew nearer, Palfrey began to wonder whether anything had gone wrong; but it was ten minutes past the time that the raid on the prison was to start, and he could not believe that Stefan had failed.

  Two guards stepped in front of them as they approached the doors. Conroy and Brian kept back, their guns ready, and Palfrey spoke in the rather nervous voice of Herr Professor Pienne.

  ‘I have an appointment, please, with Hauptmann Schultze.’

  The guard nearest him said quickly: ‘Who is speaking?’

  ‘Professor Pienne, with his friends,’ said Palfrey.

  There was a brief spell of silence which grated on Palfrey’s nerves, making him realise the state of his emotions; then the man spoke in an easier voice, although one which carried urgency.

  ‘You are awaited, inside. All is well!’

  ‘“All is well,”’ echoed Palfrey, stupidly.

  ‘“All is well!”’

  He went past the guards, and the others streamed past with him, putting on the masks. Beyond the poorly-lit entrance hall men in uniform were standing with fixed bayonets, but they were not questioned again. Instead, a man opened the door which led to the brilliantly-lit room where there had been such bustle when Palfrey had last been inside.

  There was little bustle now.

  The men were sitting at their desks, some at typewriters, and leaning back in their chairs – asleep. Palfrey, although he had thought of it and set it in motion, looked about him incredulously. They were fast asleep, lying in all manner of postures. Two had fallen from their chairs to the floor and were huddled there like dead men. Only four men, all wearing masks, were conscious. They were standing at attention, two of them by the open door at the far end of the long room.

  The door there opened and Stefan came through.

  They could not see his features behind the mask which made him look grotesque, but he gripped Palfrey’s forearm. The pressure was enough to make Palfrey realise the depths of the Russian’s delight. With his voice distorted by th
e mask, Stefan’s voice came: ‘It has worked well, Sap. Our men are removing the prisoners from the cells, many of them are already recovering. These, and the guards, have been gassed more thoroughly. You have the passports?’

  ‘All set,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘They will need them only at the station, and the examination there will be formal, the light poor,’ said Stefan. ‘Afterwards, it will be each man for himself, there is no more we can do except tell them where to find help from our agents. There is much—what is the word?—wind-up, yes, wind-up in Berlin tonight! A good night for it all to happen, Sap, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s providential,’ said Palfrey, ‘but when our fellows start dropping their stuff it might make things difficult.’ The understatement did not occur to him as such then. ‘Are the trains likely to run?’

  ‘Until the “stuff” starts dropping, yes,’ said Stefan, and a weird, muffled laugh came from behind his mask. ‘I should not worry too much about that, Sap. Nothing is likely to drop tonight.’

  ‘The warning—’ Conroy said quickly.

  ‘Providential, indeed!’ said Stefan, and it was easy to imagine the expression on his face. ‘It was arranged, my friends; the alarm instructions were given by our agents! Such a ruse was kept for a moment of great importance, and this is considered one.’

  Palfrey said dazedly: ‘What’s that? No raid?’

  ‘No raid?’ echoed Drusilla.

  ‘No raid but ours,’ said Stefan. ‘But we are wasting time in talking, we have an hour of acute danger yet and may find ourselves in difficulty. Come!’

  He led the way into the passage, down the steps which were covered by six feet of concrete, and then into the intersecting passages and the cells. Most of the doors were open. The passages were littered with recumbent men, all of them asleep. The first release of the gas had created the necessary surprise, then Stefan and his men – dozens of them whom Palfrey saw then – had put the finishing touches.