The Legion of the Lost Read online

  Palfrey hurried to the door and Ohlson led Erikson towards it. The door was locked and barred and Palfrey had to exert all his strength to lift the bar. By the time he had finished and had got the door open an inch, Conroy was behind him and Brian was leaving his man.

  A Daimler-Benz, old and badly in need of a coat of paint, was standing outside; there was no one inside it. The road was a narrow one, tree-lined; only a blank wall faced them on the other side. They could hear footsteps and traffic from the main street, but they ignored them. Brian and Conroy pulled the door behind them and Conroy called out in German: ‘It is all right. You may lock the door.’

  There was no sound from the yard, of course. He and Brian stood stiffly to attention after Brian had opened the back door of the car. Three German officers came walking leisurely down the street, all of them oldish men. Behind them were two couples, younger Huns with two Danish women, laughing, apparently gay. The sun shone warmly through the leafy branches of the beech trees.

  The three officers eyed the party curiously.

  Palfrey stood aside for Ohlson and Erikson to enter and Erikson stumbled. Palfrey snapped harshly: ‘Hurry! We have not all day to waste!’

  Brian and Conroy saluted as the trio drew nearer; Palfrey thought that they hesitated, wondering if the hunt were to start right away, for the answers he would have to give to any questions might arouse suspicion. The Germans changed their minds, returning the salutes casually as they passed.

  Palfrey climbed into the back seat with the Danes, Brian took the wheel. Conroy climbing in beside him. The engine awakened to life and Brian swung the wheel, turning in a couple of locks and driving towards the Gothersgade, where he turned left. Nearer the main street there were dozens of grey uniforms, but they received no more than casual glances.

  Ohlson began to smile; there was a strange transformation about him, he seemed to fill out, more like the fat and genial man he must have been before the Germans came.

  ‘Don’t smile, we might be noticed,’ Palfrey said in a warning whisper. ‘Officially, you’re prisoners under guard.’

  Erikson was leaning back in his corner with his eyes closed; his gaunt face made it seem as if he were already a ghost of himself. Palfrey took a small case from his pocket. Extracting a hypodermic syringe, he leaned forward and bared the unconscious man’s forearm. He pinched the flesh and then plunged the needle home; there was no time nor chance for sterilising it.

  Erikson gave no sign of consciousness.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Ohlson quickly.

  ‘The Osterbro station,’ Palfrey told him.

  ‘Turn left at the next wide road,’ said Ohlson quickly. ‘We are some distance off, but it will not take more than ten minutes. Should I have any papers?’ he asked Palfrey. ‘Or do I have to answer any questions?’

  ‘Until we’re on the train, you and Erikson remain yourselves. We’re taking you away under guard,’ said Palfrey. ‘At the station or on the train we’ll get out of these uniforms and then we’ll take chances—we’ve got false papers for you, don’t worry about that.’

  ‘It is worth trying!’ said Ohlson quietly.

  Erikson opened his eyes. For a moment he looked dazedly about him. There was a smile, of a strange transcending beauty, in eyes which had become much clearer and brighter. Palfrey felt then as he had done when Pastor Martin had recognised Raffleck.

  ‘I remember now,’ he said. ‘I remember!’

  A moment later they turned into the station yard.

  There were three or four sentries with fixed bayonets standing near. Palfrey’s heart was in his mouth as he waited for Conroy to jump out and open the door. The guards watched them as they tumbled out on to the side-walk, Ohlson and Erikson together, Brian on one side and Conroy on the other.

  Palfrey went ahead and one of the armed station guards approached him.

  Palfrey snapped: ‘Halt!’ He did not obey the injunction himself but left the party standing in the entrance to the station, where they were as much in the way as was possible as he approached the guard. ‘You, which is the platform for the Fredericia train?’

  ‘Platform 3, Herr Hauptmann.’ The guard presented arms. ‘Is a carriage reserved?’

  ‘If not, it should have been,’ growled Palfrey, ‘but these days the trains—’ he glared at the man as if traffic delays were his personal responsibility. ‘Try to find me an empty carriage. Have the door locked; these prisoners are important. Have you men to spare to guard the carriage?’

  ‘They can be found, Herr Hauptmann.’ The man called out hastily and a little party of middle-aged soldiers gathered about Palfrey and the ‘prisoner.’ The crowds on the platform swayed to one side as the party bored its way through, Erikson and Ohlson keeping pace with the soldiers without apparent effort. Near the front of the train, the carriages of which were thick with dust and dirt, they stopped. Four people, three men and a woman, were bundled out of an otherwise empty carriage.

  ‘That is good,’ said Palfrey graciously, making the man he had first approached beam. ‘You will wait here,’ he said to Conroy and Brian, ‘and—but food! Is there a chance of obtaining anything?’ He looked at the guard, scowling again.

  ‘A very small chance, Herr Hauptmann,’ the man said, and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘There is one small place which I could reach before the train leaves. I can obtain something there, but it will cost—’ he licked his lips. ‘Perhaps two hundred kroner—or one hundred reichsmarks.’

  ‘Do your best,’ said Palfrey, taking three hundred kroner pieces from his pocket; at sight of the gold the guard gaped. ‘Two for the food, one for you if you succeed. Hurry!’

  The man saluted, turned and raced away.

  The minutes ticked by. Palfrey, looking across the corridor, saw a fat Colonel looking towards them from the edge of the far platform. His red face was set in an expression which might have been either thoughtful or suspicious. Two other officers approached. Brian spoke shortly and they walked hastily away. Looking even more thoughtful, the fat Colonel walked to and fro, never once approaching Brian.

  Then a whistle blew.

  Brian opened the door, guards shouted, a few people ran along the platform. There was a scurry of footsteps, the little guard drew up, gasping for breath. He had a box in his arms, about the size of a small attaché case. He pushed it along the floor of the compartment.

  ‘That is the best I could obtain, Herr Hauptmann!’ He could hardly get the words out. ‘I hope it pleases, I hope it pleases! I am Otto Strenel, please, Corporal Otto Strenel. I hope it pleases!’

  ‘I shall not forget you,’ Palfrey said.

  Brian and Conroy stepped into the compartment, another whistle blew. The fat Colonel drew nearer and the train began to move.

  Then the Colonel leapt forward, scattering the guards with a buffet right and left and leaping on to the step. Neither Brian nor Conroy was near enough to stop him.

  He squeezed himself into the corridor as the train gathered speed. Brian pushed the sliding door of the compartment to, but the man put his foot in it, opening it without trouble and forcing himself into the compartment.

  Ohlson gasped; Erikson kept staring out of the far window.

  ‘The Hauptmann Smulke!’ roared the florid Colonel, grasping Palfrey’s shoulders tightly. ‘Herr Hauptmann, until the very last moment I did not know whether it was you, but now I am quite sure! What good chance! And you will find room for a little one like me, I am sure of that, quite sure!’ His breath smelt of Schnapps.

  Palfrey freed himself and said coldly: ‘I do not remember meeting you and I am not the Hauptmann Smulke.’

  ‘But—but—you are his living image!’ gasped the Colonel. ‘Come, there is no need to pretend with me! You recall me—Brunning—we last met at Stuttgart, when—no? I am wrong? But it is incredible, quite incredible! I could swear—but perhaps you will forgive me and allow me, even now, to share your carriage?’

  He sank down on a seat an
d mopped his forehead.

  There would be little chance of getting rid of him amicably, thought Palfrey, too relieved to be angry.

  ‘I should not do it,’ he said, wishing desperately that he knew how Brian had frightened the others off. ‘I am taking these two important political prisoners to Berlin.’

  ‘Berlin!’ roared the Colonel. ‘What a remarkable chance! I too am going to Berlin!’

  Palfrey swallowed hard.

  ‘I suggest,’ said the Colonel comfortably as he put a foot on the box that the little guard had brought, ‘that you station your men in the corridor and make sure that we are not disturbed. Also we shall have more room to stretch.’

  Brunning moved his foot from the box and peered down, his fat hands at his stomach.

  ‘Yes, it is very comfortable,’ he said. ‘But what a country, what a country! I thought they made plenty of food in Denmark, but they live like pigs,’ he added indignantly. For the first time he glanced at the ‘prisoners’ and Palfrey saw the cruelty in his little porcine eyes.

  Brian was between Brunning and Palfrey and Palfrey saw his expression; certainly he was not well-disposed towards the German! He raised a clenched fist: Palfrey looked at the people standing helplessly in the corridor, warning in his glance, although all of them had their back to the compartment.

  He said: ‘Pull down the blinds, please. Those fools can see everything we do.’

  ‘Ah-ha!’ exclaimed Brunning, thickly. ‘You want to prevent their seeing something, Herr Hauptmann? I have an idea of what you mean!’ He winked broadly and stirred the box again with his foot, then belched: the odour of Schnapps filled the whole carriage, raw and unpleasant.

  The blinds were pulled down, Brunning straightened his tunic and regarded Palfrey expectantly. Palfrey bent down and picked up the box, surprised at its weight. It was not tied and something fell out – a pastry roll. Brunning bent down quickly to retrieve it.

  Brian hit him behind the ear with the butt of his revolver in a single swift movement which made a dull ‘crack’ and sent Brunning lurching forward, where he banged his head against the opposite seat. There was no sound except a single grunt.

  Ohlson jumped in alarm.

  Erikson licked his lips and stared at the man’s bullet head and close-cropped hair; his high-peaked cap had fallen off.

  ‘What—what will we do with him?’ demanded Ohslon in a low-pitched voice.

  ‘Do we go over any lakes?’ asked Palfrey. ‘I’ve a hazy recollection that we do.’

  ‘We cross the water between Korson and Nyborg,’ said Ohlson. ‘Why?’

  ‘If we can push him out and he goes under water, there’ll be less chance of his being seen,’ said Palfrey.

  Ohlson said: ‘Yes, of course.’ He looked out of the window, then pointed to a small bridge some way to their right. ‘We go over that, the water comes in thus far. But will he not be seen from the next carriage?’

  ‘If he is we’ll say he fell,’ said Palfrey.

  He stood up to get a better view of the bridge which they were approaching at a speed of no more than twenty miles an hour. Beyond the stretch of marshland were the rising green fields of Denmark – cultivated fields where they could see men working. He opened the door and Brian pulled Brunning to the floor again; the others raised their legs and Brian pushed the man towards the open door, giving the gross body a final shove.

  Palfrey closed the door.

  Looking out of the window he could see the disturbance on the water where Brunning had fallen, but the man did not rise to the surface.

  They kept quiet for fully five minutes. They heard no exclamations from the adjoining compartments, only the rumble of low-pitched voices.

  They relaxed at last and Conroy said sardonically: ‘We aren’t doing too badly. What about the box, Sap?’

  ‘Ah, the box!’ said Ohlson.

  The fact that Brunning had been pushed to his death made no impression on them; Palfrey remembered the time when, even had it been a German, he would have been seriously affected by conniving at a man’s death.

  Erikson drew a deep breath.

  ‘White bread!’ he gasped. ‘White bread!’ Actually it was quite brown.

  ‘Sausage rolls,’ said Brian, appreciatively.

  ‘Pork pies?’ exclaimed Conroy in a low-pitched voice. ‘I just don’t believe it. Raised pork pies! They are pork?’ he added quickly. ‘They wouldn’t dress anything else up like that? The guard knew a thing or two!’

  There were ‘white’ rolls, butter, three pies of moderate size, a dozen sausage rolls and, packed well with newspaper, a bottle of wine without a label. They stared at it for some seconds before Erikson said: ‘I have not seen food like that for at least three years.’

  ‘You’ll have to go easy for a start,’ Palfrey said. ‘That applies to us all,’ he added; but when he saw the way the Danes ate their food, trying not to appear ravenous and yet gulping it down, he was tempted to increase the allowance. But it would do Erikson no good and it would not be fair to him to increase Ohlson’s or the others’. They made deep inroads into the second of the large pies, but saved the rest, six rolls, and a small loaf of bread. They put them back in the box carefully. Erikson belched, then said apologetically: ‘It would be worth dying for, that meal!’

  ‘Ease off that talk,’ said Conroy. ‘We’ve come a long way to get you out of the country alive.’ He proffered cigarettes from a packet—Sobranies which it was safe for them to smoke in Germany or the occupied countries since they were made from Balkan tobacco. Then as they drew in the smoke, he mused: ‘We’ll have to start thinking soon, Sap; word will probably have reached the next station.’

  Brian drew an oilskin bag from a large pocket inside his coat. He opened it to show a collection of paints, brushes and crayons as well as some small packets about the size of those holding ten cigarettes, but not so thick. He opened one and unrolled what looked like a bundle of hair. ‘You see?’ he asked hopefully.

  Ohlson smiled and Erikson asked dubiously: ‘Will disguise—it is material for disguise?—help us? In such light and circumstances,’ he added.

  ‘It wouldn’t be any good under close scrutiny,’ said Brian, ‘But it should be effective in the case of a casual glance, and it won’t be broad daylight all the time. You’ll be surprised when I’ve finished. We can’t get away from two main facts, though. You’ll be described as long and thin, Ohlson as short and fat. Still, it will help.’

  ‘I am amazed at your confidence,’ marvelled Ohlson. ‘I do not think that one of you has at any time been really perturbed in spite of the narrow escapes. Is that not so?’

  Palfrey pulled a wry face.

  ‘It isn’t, but you can get used to anything.’ He eyed the disguise-container thoughtfully. ‘It’s been a help before, but it’s not foolproof. Is anything?’ He drew on his cigarette and added thoughtfully: ‘With luck we’ll be at Fredericia tomorrow morning. We’ve got to get over to the coast after that. You’d better know the plans.’

  He talked for ten minutes.

  Ohlson said quietly: ‘We shall see England before long, Erik. And now we are about fifteen minutes, at this speed, from Riskilde. Are you going to begin now?’

  ‘Right now,’ said Conroy promptly. ‘Wait for it!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Barrier at Fredericia Station

  As the train drew fussily into Riskilde Station, past the crowds on the platform, five men in civilian clothes were in Palfrey’s carriage. Despite the movements of the train, Brian had altered the expressions of the faces of the two Danes so that no casual observer would know them as the men who had been in company of the three Germans. He had worked more successfully on Ohlson than Erikson, whose egg-shaped head presented a considerable problem.

  Footsteps scurried along the corridor and voices boomed out the name of the station. Brian, holding the door open an inch or two, waited until the corridor near them was empty and then stepped out. The others followed, hurrying along
the corridor, while the crowds lining the platforms waited patiently for the signal to board the train.

  Brian passed a dozen compartments, with three or four people in each, before he stopped. From the next carriage someone came towards him, completely blocking his view.

  Brian smiled widely and raised a hand.

  ‘Looking for someone?’ he asked in German.

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’ said Stefan Andromovitch, but he chuckled. ‘I have managed to secure an empty compartment not far along but it will not remain empty for long.’

  They reached the compartment as the crowds began to surge into the corridor. Once inside, they closed the door and pulled down the blinds. The handle shook under a dozen impatient hands, but Palfrey held it to prevent the door from opening.

  ‘I was watching when you arrived at Osterbro,’ said Stefan, ‘a man came up and took the car away. I do not know where he stranded it.’ Stefan glanced out of the far window – that nearest the platform had the blinds drawn – and added: ‘Which reminds me, Sap, have you passed on Olga’s message?’

  Palfrey stared, then smiled and confessed: ‘I’d forgotten it! I’m glad you reminded me.’ He smiled still more amiably at Erikson and went on: ‘Olga Loffler asked me to make sure that I told you she helped you to get away. It seemed to amuse her.’

  ‘Olga Loffler!’ exploded Erikson. ‘The shameless creature, the infamous—infamous—’ he hesitated and Palfrey likened his amazement to Raffleck’s at mention of the villainous-looking Orleck. ‘Are you serious, Doctor? That Jezebel, she—but she helped me to get away? She assists in such things?’

  ‘May we hear more?’ asked Palfrey mildly.

  ‘Of course, I am sorry to be so slow,’ said Erikson. ‘I worked for a long time to try to abolish houses of ill-fame in Copenhagen, but no matter how I tried to catch that woman she evaded me and laughed in my face.’ He raised a hand helplessly. ‘How one’s values change,’ he added, ‘how they change! But I shall continue to do all I can to abolish such brothels,’ he added sharply. ‘I shall not allow my deep sense of gratitude to interfere with my principles, although—’