She halted in her tracks. ‘No! No! For heaven’s sake don’t do that! Ribb’s car is down there. If his chauffeur sees you climbing out of the window he’ll think you are a burglar and raise an alarm. I’ve told you Ribb would never let them search but, if you’re really afraid they may, go up to the attics. There are half-a-dozen places there where they wouldn’t find you if they hunted for hours. Promise me you won’t leave the house. Promise me!’
Gregory was loath to give her his promise, but she was right about Ribbentrop’s chauffeur, and this was no time to argue; so he said, ‘All right; I’ll first make the bed then hide somewhere. Maybe Ribb’s only come … er, on a courtesy call, after all. Anyhow, good luck!’
As she ran from the room he was already starting on the bed. Immediately he had made it he pulled open the doors of a big old-fashioned wardrobe. In it was a strange assortment of the late Baron’s clothes—presumably all that Pipi had been able to find for him. They were mostly dress or fancy garments for which, if given to them, poor people would have had little use, but he found a crested blazer to go with a pair of black velvet trousers. In a chest of drawers there were several silk shirts with a coronet and monogram embroidered on them, and a variety of ties to choose from.
While getting dressed at top speed he cursed himself for having allowed Sabine to persuade him to come back there. The past quarter of an hour had put it beyond all doubt that when doing so she had been largely influenced by the desire, which had been growing in her all day, to spend the night with him. But, to be fair, he had to admit that the arguments she had used were sound ones. If she was right about being able to get away with her story, he was much better off where he was than in Levianski’s apartment with many days of unforeseen dangers in front of him. That he was out of prison at all he owed to her, and he suddenly decided that he was being extremely mean in setting against the risks she was running for him the fact that she had fallen harder than he had expected for his deliberate arousing of the memories that they shared.
The truth was that though he could find no concrete reason for rejecting her plan he had, all along, instinctively distrusted it. In consequence, Ribbentrop’s surprise visit had at once seemed to justify his fears. All the same, they might be quite groundless. After all, Sabine was the Foreign Minister’s mistress. As she was not supposed to be leaving until Wednesday and was motoring back to Berlin, it would be the best part of a week before she arrived there. If he had got through his business with the Regent earlier than he expected, there was nothing in the least strange about his deciding to sleep with her instead of at the Palace.
By the time Gregory had stowed in his pockets his money, papers and his little automatic—which Pipi had considerately left for him when removing his other things—he was feeling very much more optimistic. Nevertheless, he was not the man to take chances. Having stuffed his soiled clothes into the unlit stove, he swiftly tidied the bathroom and the bedroom so that, short of examining the bed and finding its sheets rumpled, no one would realise that the rooms had recently been occupied.
Stepping softly out into the corridor he closed the door behind him and listened intently. No sound disturbed the silence. Turning up the collar of the blazer, so that its lapels would hide the V of pale shirt, he moved like a ghost towards the staircase. He had already decided not to adopt Sabine’s suggestion that he should hide up in the attics. If any serious searching was done that was the very place they would ransack for him. Instead he meant, if possible, to get down to the ground floor, and he hoped to find there a small room with a window either giving on to the courtyard or the terrace. Then, if the worst came to the worst, although he would have to break his promise to Sabine, he would at least be well-placed to make a bolt for it.
Sitting down on the top step of the stairs, and using his hands as levers, he went from step to step to the bottom swiftly and noiselessly. From beyond the curtain that masked them filtered a faint light. Standing up and peering round it, he saw that the light came from the open door of Sabine’s bedroom. But there was still no sound of movement or voices. He guessed, rightly, that, while he had been hurrying into his clothes, Sabine had spent some minutes there touching up her face before going down to open the gate to Ribbentrop. She would have known that once he had seen the light in her room go on, showing that she was at home, he would not mind waiting for those few minutes while she made herself presentable.
Stepping out into the broad corridor, Gregory now saw that the lights were also on in the hall, throwing into sharp relief the balustrade of the gallery which, with the head of the main staircase, formed the central section of the corridor. On tiptoe he ran towards them, hoping that he might get down the stairs while the hall was still unoccupied.
In that he was thwarted. As he reached the head of the stairs, he heard a door close and the murmur of voices. Pulling up he looked quickly about him. At the ends of the gallery there hung two six-feet wide velvet curtains on semi-circular rails, their purpose being to form a background for the two suits of Turkish armour. With swift cat-like strides he reached the nearest curtain and slipped in front of it, then stationed himself behind the armour. The steel and leather shape of a man hid him from anyone who looked up in that direction from the hall, and if Sabine brought Ribbentrop up to her bedroom the curtain would conceal him while they passed behind his back.
He had hardly taken up his position when Sabine and her midnight visitor emerged from under the stairs into his field of vision. The Foreign Minister was wearing undress uniform: a naval type jacket of dark blue with aiguillettes of gold braid draped on his right shoulder, a long row of medals and four stars of various orders on his left breast. Gregory decided that he really was quite a good-looking fellow and took in with silent satisfaction the fact that he had not brought anyone with him.
That was a good omen, yet the atmosphere seemed slightly strained, for the couple crossed the hall without speaking. Sabine again had on her crimson housecoat, her glossy dark hair framed her pale face with no trace of disorder and, as she calmly lit a cigarette before sitting down in an arm-chair, no one could possibly have supposed that less than ten minutes earlier she had been in bed with a lover.
Ribbentrop walked straight over to the trolley and mixed himself a drink. As he did so Gregory was alarmed to see that on it there still stood two dirty glasses: his own and Sabine’s. That might prove a give-away. But the tall Foreign Minister did not seem to have noticed. Having swallowed half his drink, he said:
‘I’m sorry to have pulled you out of bed on account of such a stupid, affair; but I must know what you have been up to with this man Tavenier.’
Gregory’s upper teeth closed gently on his lower lip. So he had been right. Grauber had got on to Ribbentrop and asked him to question his mistress. Well, it was now up to Sabine.
Only a trained eye like Gregory’s could have spotted any sign of agitation in her. She had her long legs crossed. From beneath the edge of her crimson housecoat the bare ankle of the upper one showed and from the forepart of her foot there dangled a marabou-trimmed silver mule. It began to swing back and forth, but her voice was perfectly calm as she answered.
‘I told you last night, Joachim. He is an old friend of mine. I saw quite a lot of him before the war, when I was staying with his aunt in Paris. This morning I ran into him again at the Gellért Baths. He offered to give me lunch, and as I had nothing particular to do I accepted. You know how amusing a sophisticated Frenchman can be. But I needn’t stress that point. You must have seen for yourself last night what good company Etienne is. As you were tied up with those eternal conferences, we decided to spend the rest of the day together. Then I had the idea that it would be fun to have him to stay for a night or two. I could hardly do less after all the time he had spent taking me round Paris. He collected his things from the Vadászkürt and came here to change. After a drink we went out to have dinner at the Arizona. You appear to know the rest.’
‘I know about your having got him out
of the lock-up; but what happened after that?’
‘We got in the car to drive home…’
‘He is here, then!’ Ribbentrop’s voice held a staccato sharpness.
‘No. And that is the only strange part about it. Just before we reached the Swing Bridge he said he felt ill and wanted to be sick; so I stopped the car and he got out. To my amazement, without a word to me, he ran off into an alley. I shouted after him, but he took no notice. I can only suppose that the blow on the head he had had temporarily sent the poor fellow out of his mind. I drove home and waited for some time, hoping that he would get back his wits and remember that he was supposed to be staying here. But he hasn’t put in an appearance or telephoned; so I haven’t the faintest idea what has become of him.’
‘There are grounds for believing him to be an English secret agent.’
‘What!’ Sabine exclaimed, her big eyes growing round with well-feigned astonishment. ‘But that is absurd! I know him to be a Frenchman.’
Ribbentrop shrugged. ‘Perhaps he is a de Gaullist who is working for the British. Anyhow, after he had been questioned at the police station he knew that he had been recognised as a man wanted by the Gestapo. That would account for his leaving you like that. He knew that if he came back with you he would soon be followed here and re-arrested; so as soon as he could he seized on the chance to get away.’
‘I can’t believe it!’
‘I was dubious myself—anyhow about his being an Englishman. But Grauber claims that he knows him well; and that he is an ace-high British spy named Sallust.’
‘Who is Grauber?’ Sabine asked with a puzzled frown.
‘Have you never heard of him? He is one of Himmler’s top men and is responsible for all Gestapo activities outside the Reich. He is in Budapest to investigate rumours that a little clique of anti-Nazi Hungarian notables is toying with the idea of entering into negotiations with the enemy. Purely by chance he ran into this man Tavenier, or Sallust, or whoever he is. As you know, they had a fight and were both taken off to the police station. Grauber showed his credentials and wanted to remove his catch to the Villa Petoefer—that is the Gestapo Headquarters here—but the Hungarians wouldn’t let him. So he came up to the Palace, to ask me to get a special permit signed by Admiral Horthy. He was given it, but by the time he got back to the police station you had let the bird out of the cage. Back to the Palace came Grauber, in a fine rage, to demand that special measures should be taken to catch the bird again; and when I heard that you were responsible for the fellow’s release I decided that I must see you at once to find out what was behind all this.’
‘There is nothing behind it. I have not the least doubt that it is a case of mistaken identity. You had better go back to the Palace and tell this man Grauber so.’
‘You will have a chance to tell him so yourself in a few minutes.’
Sabine suddenly sat forward and asked in a voice just a shade higher than usual, ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘He left me to collect some of his colleagues who have been mixed up in this thing; but he must be on his way here by now.’
Gregory, peering down from behind the suit of armour, stiffened where he stood. Those last words confirmed his worst fears of the way matters might develop. For a moment he contemplated slipping behind the curtain, hunting round till he found some back stairs, then trying to find a way out of the house; but instead of appearing perturbed Sabine displayed only calculated indifference.
‘Am I to understand,’ she enquired, raising her eyebrows, ‘that you intend to stand quietly by while I am grilled by some Gestapo thug?’
‘No! No! Of course not!’ he protested quickly. ‘But they are entitled to any reasonable help that I can give them. I take it that Pipi has gone to bed?’
‘Yes. Why do you ask?’
‘I was thinking about letting these people in. It would be better to keep the servants out of this.’ As he spoke the Minister walked towards the vestibule, adding over his shoulder, ‘It is so warm, it won’t matter leaving the front door open; then they will not have to ring.’
Gregory was greatly tempted to step out from behind the armour, lean over the gallery and call softly down to Sabine, ‘Quick! Get the glass I used out of the way.’ But he decided that the risk of Ribbentrop’s returning before he could regain his cover was too great. It was just as well, for the Minister was out of sight for barely a minute and, as he re-entered the room, there came the faint sounds of a car driving into the courtyard. Turning, he walked back to the door of the vestibule, returned a loud greeting of ‘Heil Hitler,’ and led in the visitors. To Gregory’s dismay, he saw that Grauber had with him Cochefert, Major Szalasi and Lieutenant Puttony.
Szalasi bowed over Sabine’s hand. Grauber and Cochefert were presented to her. The whole middle section of the Frenchman’s face was swathed in a great bandage. Only his hooded eyes showed above, and his chin below it. Evidently his nose had been plugged as, when he spoke, it was in a voice so distorted that it sounded as though he had a split palate or acute adenoids. He was so shaky from loss of blood that he was given a chair, but Grauber was not invited to sit, and the pink-cheeked Puttony remained modestly in the background. After these greetings, Ribbentrop said in a cold haughty tone:
‘Herr Gruppenführer, the Gnädige Fran Baronin has consented to answer any questions you care to put to her. Please be as brief as possible.’
Having bowed his respectful thanks, Grauber asked Sabine to tell them where she had first met the man calling himself Commandant Tavenier, and all that she knew about him.
In a quiet, detached voice, Sabine repeated with a few minor embellishments what she had already told Ribbentrop: such as the address of the apartment at which she had stayed as his aunt’s guest in Paris and approximately the date of her stay there. She gave as her reason for the visit that his aunt was a partner in a big French fashion house, and that she had been commissioned by a Hungarian shop to buy models from the firm—all of which was quite plausible as, in her poorer days, she had been for a while a professional model.
As Ribbentrop and Szalasi had both been present when she had again met Gregory the previous evening, they had no reason whatever to doubt her veracity, and both nodded confirmation as she went on to give Grauber an outline of what had happened. In the same rather bored manner, she continued with the rest of her story, ending with a positive assertion that, however much Tavenier might resemble the Englishman the Gestapo wanted to catch, he could not possibly be their man.
Having heard her out, Grauber gave her a queer little smile, and said in his high falsetto, ‘It is the Gnädige Frau Baronin who is mistaken.’ Then he turned to Ribbentrop, and added: ‘Herr Reichsaussenminister, we have proof—incontrovertible proof. Listen, please, to what M. le Capitaine Cochefert of the Deuxième Bureau has to say.’
From the moment the Frenchman had entered the hall, Gregory had realised that Grauber must have gone to the hospital where Cochefert was being treated and, on hearing his revelations, have insisted that he should leave his bed to repeat them to Ribbentrop. While arguing with Sabine in her car he had failed to take into account that his two enemies might get together again so quickly, and it was only in the past few minutes that it had struck him how disastrous their collaborations must prove. His instinctive feeling that Sabine’s story was not entirely watertight was now to prove only too well-founded and, for both their sakes, he cursed his folly in having allowed her to persuade him into coming back with her.
Snuffling his words, and obviously speaking only with considerable pain, Cochefert gave particulars of Vichy’s reply to his routine enquiry and recounted how, when cornered, Gregory had admitted that he was not Tavenier.
Sabine rose splendidly to the occasion. She shrugged and said with a slightly malicious smile, ‘In view of the damage that Commandant Tavenier has done to M. le Capitaine’s face, I can understand his desire to be revenged; but I do not believe one word of his story. It is typical of what one hears of the l
ow morality of the Vichy police, and their servile anxiety to curry favour at any price with the Germans.’
Ribbentrop grinned openly, and Gregory mentally took off his hat to her. But he knew that her broadside had been fired in vain. There was the stocky, wooden-faced Puttony standing at attention in the background, and at any moment Grauber could bring him into play.
Cochefert began to splutter with rage, but choked on his own blood, and had to turn away, coughing agonisingly into a big silk handkerchief. Ignoring him, Grauber kept his single eye on Sabine, pursed up his small cruel mouth, and said:
‘The Gnädige Frau Baronin’s attack upon this officer is entirely unwarranted. Fortunately, we have a witness to his integrity. The Lieutenant of Police whom we have brought with us was present at the interview. He will confirm that your … er, friend confessed to being an impostor.’
‘How much are you paying him to do that?’ Sabine rapped back. ‘Everyone knows that you Gestapo people will stick at nothing to get into your hands any person you suspect.’
‘Whatever we do is done in the best interests of the Reich’ Grauber retorted sharply. ‘But let me tell you something else. When this “suspect”, as you call him, was arrested he secured a new lease of freedom by producing a Gestapo pass, and declaring himself to be Obersturmbannführer Einholtz. To my personal knowledge he murdered the Obersturmbannführer last December. And it is our word—and the word of all three of us—against yours, Gnädige Frau Baronin.’
It was useless for Gregory to reproach himself for not having foreseen that, should Grauber and Cochefert compare notes, Sabine’s story would be blown wide open. He could only strain his ears and eyes to learn how she would face the fatal breach in her defences.
Ribbentrop’s swift brain had already summed up the implications. Swinging round on her, he said, ‘One can no longer doubt that the Herr Gruppenführer is right. The man who has been passing here as Tavenier is the Englishman Sallust; and that makes nonsense of your assertions that he is a French man with whose aunt you stayed in Paris. There must be some explanation. I can only assume that you knew him to be Sallust all the time, and have been playing some deep game. If this was so, please tell us?’
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