Gregory agreed to try out this intriguing experiment and, sure enough, having waited until midday next day, when he had been concentrating hard for some ten minutes on willing the doctor to come to him, Malacou, smiling with satisfaction, appeared.
Sitting down, he said, ‘I will tell you now why I am anxious that we should develop telepathy between us. The stars, as I told you some while ago, foretell that at some future time we shall again work together against the accursed Nazis. When that time comes, being able to communicate our thoughts to one another while at a distance could prove of inestimable value.’
It was impossible to dispute the immense benefit that two secret agents would derive from such an unusual advantage; so, after a moment’s thought, Gregory said that he was willing to practise tuning his mind in to Malacou’s. They then agreed that Gregory should memorise and transfer to the doctor certain passages from the books he was reading, and that in future the doctor should endeavour to convey the radio bulletins to him by telepathy.
During the week that followed they had numerous failures, some partial successes and sufficient complete transferences to encourage them. Towards the end of the week it was clear that the rapport between them had become much stronger. Through it Gregory learned that the Germans were no longer boasting that they would annihilate the Allied force that had been clinging to the beachhead at Salerno; but, as against that, they had captured Rhodes, and as long as they held that bastion adjacent to the Turkish coast it was clear that Churchill’s hope of bringing Turkey into the war on the side of the Allies must remain frustrated.
Gregory regarded that development as a major set-back, but towards the end of the month Malacou predicted that events would soon take a turn in favour of the Allies; and he proved correct. The Russians again surged forward and captured Smolensk; then on October 2nd the Germans admitted that their forces in Italy had made a ‘strategic’ withdrawal and allowed the American Fifth Army to enter Naples.
It was on the following day that Gregory said to Malacou, ‘I’ve no wish that this game we are playing should lead to my prying into your private affairs, but yesterday when I first established rapport with you I got the impression that you were worrying about Khurrem. It’s some days since she has paid me a visit. Is she, by any chance, ill?’
‘No; but you were right,’ Malacou replied gravely. ‘I am greatly worried about her. As you may recall, Herman Hauff’s wife was found dead the night after the raid on Peenemünde. That is now six weeks ago, and he has asked Khurrem to marry him.’
‘I see,’ said Gregory thoughtfully. ‘It’s a pity that he is a Nazi; and, perhaps, a wife-murderer into the bargain. In the circumstances her dislike of the idea of taking him for a husband is very understandable. But to marry again is just what she needs to pull her together.’
Malacou rounded on him with blazing eyes and cried, ‘My daughter is everything to me. I’d rather see her dead first.’
A little startled by the doctor’s outburst, Gregory said no more; but as the days went by he sensed that Malacou was becoming increasingly uneasy. However, towards the middle of October it transpired that it was not only about Khurrem’s situation that he was worrying. After he had treated Gregory on the 15th he said:
‘For some days I have been greatly concerned by new portents that have arisen. I feel convinced that some revolutionary change is shortly to occur in your situation. It will not be harmful to you; but a new influence that is extremely potent is about to make itself felt here and it will be adverse to the rapport we have succeeded in establishing between us.’
More he could not say and Gregory’s speculations got him nowhere; but very early on the morning of the 17th the prediction was fulfilled in a manner that he could not possibly have anticipated. While it was still dark he awoke to find Malacou bending over him. In a hoarse voice the occultist said:
‘The stars never lie. Kuporovitch has returned. He has dyed his hair black, thinned out his eyebrows and grown a moustache; so for a moment I did not recognise him. He comes from Sweden and with him he has brought a surgeon and a nurse.’
Gregory’s mind flamed with sudden hope. ‘You mean … you mean to operate on me and put my leg right?’
‘That is what they hope to do, but it is not possible to assess the chances until the doctor has examined you.’
‘Then bring him up, man! Bring him up so that he can have a look at my leg.’
‘No, you must be patient for a while. He is an elderly man and they have all walked here from Grimmen, carrying their luggage. He has declared that he must sleep for a few hours before making his examination.’
‘But Stefan! Kuporovitch! He would think nothing of such a midnight tramp. Bring him to me so that I can thank him. My dear, loyal friend. How could I ever have imagined for one moment that he would have left me for selfish ends?’
‘He and the nurse are both eager to see you. I left them refreshing themselves with a glass of wine while I came up to tell you of this strange turn in your fortunes. I will go down and fetch them.’
Five minutes later a woman in nurse’s uniform entered the room. Her hair was hidden under her cap and in the dim light for a moment Gregory could not make out her features. Then his heart gave a bound. For a few seconds he thought his imagination was deceiving him. But as she smiled he knew it was no illusion. She was his beloved Erika.
Next moment she was kneeling by his bed, her arms round him, her cheek pressed to his, sobbing with happiness. Taking her lovely face between his hands, he kissed her again and again until they were both breathless. When at last she knelt back he saw Kuporovitch standing on the other side of the bed. Seizing the smiling Russian’s hand he pressed it and cried:
‘Stefan, you old devil! How can I ever thank you for this? I’ve no words to express what I feel. But how did you ever manage it? That you should have succeeded in getting back to me bringing Erika and a surgeon is little short of a miracle.’
The Russian shrugged. ‘Dear friend, where there’s a will there’s a way; and Sir Pellinore smoothed out most of our difficulties. I could not allow you to become a cripple for life if there were any possible means of saving you from such a fate. When I succeeded in reaching England Sir Pellinore agreed that no effort must be spared to bring you aid. Erika insisted on coming too. To improve her capabilities as a nurse, until we could leave England she spent eighteen hours a day watching surgeons at work in operating theatres. Sir Pellinore arranged for us to be flown out to Sweden in a Mosquito and, no matter how, enabled us to enter Germany with Swedish passports. The rest was easy.’
‘But this surgeon? If it should come out that he came here to operate on a man who is in hiding from the Gestapo the Germans will have no mercy on him. He must know that. How did you persuade him to take such a risk?’
Erika wiped the tears of happiness from her blue eyes and laughed. ‘Money, darling; money. Sir Pellinore gave me a cheque for ten thousand pounds and through contacts in Sweden we induced one of the best surgeons in Stockholm, a Dr. Zetterberg, to run the risk for this colossal fee.’ Turning, she looked up at Malacou and added, ‘We felt sure that if we could get here safely, and in the middle of the night, you would agree to conceal us all in your castle.’
Malacou had stood silently by taking in most of what had been said, as, although he did not speak English, he knew enough to understand it. Now he bowed to Erika and said:
‘Gnädige Fran, naturally I wish to do all I can to help you. But what you ask presents certain difficulties. This old ruin has few habitable rooms. Mr. Kuporovitch could again sleep on a bed in the corner here, but there is nowhere where I could accommodate yourself and Dr. Zetterberg for any length of time. And it would be much too great a risk for you both to live in the manor house. There is, too, the question of food. While Mr. Kuporovitch was here, Mr. Sallust was on a very light diet, so for all practical purposes I had only one extra to feed. But now he is eating well again, and to have enough food sent for four of you in would be cer
tain to arouse unwelcome comment.’
After some discussion Malacou agreed that for a few nights they would manage somehow, then he and Kuporovitch left Erika and Gregory to delight in their reunion.
Soon after midday Dr. Zetterberg came up to make his examination. He was a tall, thin, grey-haired man with bright blue eyes and a pleasant smile. After a brief survey of Gregory’s wound he turned to Malacou and said:
‘As I was led to suppose, this is going to be an extremely difficult operation. I would not have consented to come here without my own anaesthetist, but Mr. Kuporovitch told me he felt confident that you, Doctor, would be capable of administering an anaesthetic without endangering our patient. Is that so?’
Malacou nodded, ‘I have given anaesthetics on a number of occasions, but as I am an expert hypnotist I would greatly prefer to put him under deep hypnosis.’
Dr. Zetterberg frowned. ‘To rely on hypnotism to perform an operation of this kind would be most unusual. I hardly think——’
Gregory quickly cut in, ‘Dr. Malacou has been using hypnosis while dressing my wound and I haven’t felt a thing. May I suggest that he should put me under while you make your examination. Then you could judge his powers for yourself.’
To that Zetterberg agreed and, on finding that Gregory did not even flinch however roughly the wound was handled, he somewhat reluctantly consented to Malacou’s proposal. He said that twenty-four hours would be needed to prepare Gregory, and that as the shock to the patient’s system would be serious he intended to remain on there for at least four days or perhaps a week.
Malacou then told them of the arrangements on which he had decided after talking with Khurrem. Kuporovitch was to share Gregory’s room, a bed was to be made up for Dr. Zetterberg in the library and, as Erika would be staying on after the doctor left, she was to live in the manor house.
At that Gregory took alarm for Erika’s safety, but Malacou reassured him. Her passport described her as Frau Selma Bjornsen. Khurrem was giving out to the servants that an old friend of hers from Sweden was coming to stay with her for some weeks and the train by which she was arriving would not reach Grimmen till late that evening. As it was now dark early Khurrem could leave the house in her truck about six o’clock, but instead of driving in to Grimmen she would pick Erika up outside the ruin soon after seven and take her to the Manor in time for the evening meal.
Usually Gregory slept for a good part of the afternoon, but that day he was far too excited to think of sleep and Erika sat with him until it was time for her to leave. Kuporovitch then took her place and told Gregory about his escape.
He had made his way without difficulty to Kiel, stowed away in a small coastal steamer that plied up and down the Little Belt and, in seaman’s clothes that he had stolen from a locker, slipped ashore after dark at the little port of Aabenraa, in Denmark.
Being one of the smallest countries in Europe, Denmark had been able to offer only a token resistance to the Germans when they had invaded it in 1939. Its population was by habit law-abiding and, strategically, the peninsula could be ruled out as a base for an Allied invasion; so the Nazis anticipated no trouble there. Having taken over its military establishments and put in representatives empowered to squeeze the country as far as possible of its natural products, they had, thereafter, left it more or less to run itself. Perforce, in major matters, the Danes did what they were told; but, having centuries of tradition as a free people, they bitterly resented the overlord-ship that had been thrust upon them. In consequence, whenever possible both police and people wilfully obstructed the Germans in their searches for Jews who had fled from Germany, escaped prisoners of war and deserters.
In crossing to the west coast Kuporovitch had avoided all towns and inns, and it was as a deserter that he had posed at the lonely farms at which he had taken shelter. His story had been that he was a Latvian seaman whom the Nazis had forced to serve in one of the auxiliary vessels of their Baltic Fleet, but when his ship had put into Kiel for a refit he had managed to get away, and he was now hoping to get employment in a North Sea fishing trawler till the war was over.
On reaching Esbjerg he had gone north from the city for a few miles to the village of Hierting, and there taken lodgings with a pretty young widow. Quite soon they had been on such intimate terms that he had felt it safe to confide the truth to her. In all the occupied countries, as long as the Germans were gaining victories resistance had been almost negligible and confined to acts of defiance by brave individuals here and there; but when the tide began to turn, bringing hopes of freedom, resistance groups had sprung up in them all and soon coalesced into powerful secret organisations. After cautious probing among her friends, Kuporovitch’s pretty widow had succeeded in putting him in touch with a local group leader. A fortnight later he had been got away in a fishing trawler that had escaped from the German guard-boat in a fog, and had landed at Hull.
Having congratulated him on his exploits, Gregory asked casually, ‘And what did you do with the village postman?’
Kuporovitch sadly shook his head. ‘Ah, dear friend, that was a most distressing business. I realised, of course, that he was certain to be missed. But he was quite old, you know. Life could not have held much more for him. And, after all, had we met on a battlefield in the first great war when he, too, was no doubt a soldier, I should almost certainly have killed him then. Let us look upon it that the good God saw fit to grant him an extra twenty-five years of life. You see, I had to have his uniform, his bicycle and his letter sack. No policeman ever asks to see a postman’s papers. But let us say no more about it; the subject is a painful one to me.’
Gregory refrained from comment. Every hour of every day the Nazis were doing far worse things than rob old men of the last few years of their lives, and he felt that it was not for him to call in question any act that might help to strangle the hydra-headed monster that Hitler had created. The great thing was that Kuporovitch had both got away and had brought him the aid which might enable both of them to fight another day.
After a moment the Russian went on, ‘There is one thing I must tell you. When I left you before it was to bring you help. Now, when Dr. Zetterberg goes, I intend to leave again with him.’
‘But Stefan!’ Gregory exclaimed, ‘what about Erika? I’m not thinking of myself but if there is trouble I’m in no state to protect her.’
‘C’est vrai; c’est vrai,’ Kuporovitch nodded. ‘I thought long about that. But she is a German, so knows the ropes in this country, and she is as agile-minded as either of us. She should be safe here at Sassen and with the Swedish passport she is carrying she could return to Sweden without difficulty at any time she wishes. I have discussed the matter with her and she insists that I should go. You see, after this operation it will be many weeks before you are fit to travel; and, although I play pleasant games with other women, I adore my little Madeleine. Early in January she is going to have a baby, and I must not risk not being with her at such a time.’
‘Of course you mustn’t,’ Gregory agreed immediately. Then he laughed. ‘Somehow, Stefan, I’ve never thought of you as a father. But I’m sure you’ll make a good one. Congratulations and the very best of luck. Don’t worry about Erika and myself; we have little to fear as long as we remain at Sassen. And give my fondest love to Madeleine. Tell her I’ll be thinking of her.’
Kuporovitch stroked the little moustache he had grown, then produced a cardboard folder from his pocket. ‘Merci, mon vieux. As you say, you should be safe while here. The Jew’s life hangs on his protecting you from discovery. And although I dislike and fear the man, and was most unhappy to find that you had allowed him to hypnotise you, I respect his knowledge and shrewdness. But when your leg is sound enough for you to walk you’ve got to get home; and I’ve thought of that. Here is a Swedish passport. Assuming you will return with Erika we had it made out in the name of Gunnar Bjornsen; so that you could pass as her husband.’
‘Stefan, you think of everything,’ Gregory smiled,
taking the passport and putting it with his wallet in the drawer of a little bedside table that had been found for him. ‘For what you have done for me I’ll never be able to repay you.’
The Russian shrugged. ‘Parbleu! Think nothing of it. I know that you would have done as much for me.’
On the following afternoon a stout trestle table was brought in. Gregory was lifted on to it, Malacou put him into a deep trance and the operation was performed. His thigh bone had been so badly crushed that it proved even more complicated than the Swedish surgeon had expected and the patient had to be kept under for four hours before the operation was completed. Dr. Zetterberg was grey-faced and sweating when he handed his blood-stained rubber gloves to Erika and said:
‘If his system survives the shock, in time he should regain the full use of his leg. He will limp, of course; but the degree of his limp will depend on how soon he puts weight upon his leg. He will be well advised if he refrains from attempting to walk without crutches for at least two months.’
For three days Malacou allowed Gregory to emerge from hypnosis only for brief intervals. Each time after doing so he soon ran a high temperature, and it was evident that he was hovering between life and death. On the evening of the fourth day Malacou brought up a copy of the Sephirotic Tree on ancient parchment and, while Kuporovitch watched him with extreme antipathy and Dr. Zetterberg with ill-concealed cynicism, he hung it up over the head of Gregory’s bed. Erika remained in the background, her fine features drawn with anxiety, but her expression noncommittal.
This diagrammatic representation of the mysteries of the Cabbala consisted of a diamond-shaped framework carrying ten circles in each of which were inscribed Hebrew characters. Pointing at it, Malacou said:
‘Behold the Key to all Power, from the Beginning unto the End, as it is Now and shall Be for Evermore. The symbols in the lowest circles represent the Kingdom and the Foundation. Those above, Honour and Virtue. Proceeding upwards, Glory, Dominion, Grace, Intelligence, Wisdom and, finally, the Crown. By these I shall conjure the entities untrammelled by flesh to spare our brother to us.’
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