Pursuit of Passy

by David Moore Crook

CHAPTER XIII

  WE WRITE A LETTER

  THE following day we were back in Laon, having avoided any more controls by travelling most of the way hidden in a slow goods train and jumping off on the outskirts of the town.

  Our defeat was bitter indeed. We trudged along the streets in silence each wrapped in his own gloomy thoughts. I was thinking of the mess that had to be straightened up now, and particularly of Giselle who was dangerously compromised by the chance meeting with Konrath. The Field Security Police and the Gestapo would be warned by this time that Herr Eddy Broussard of New York was a person whose activities should be investigated without delay. As far as I was concerned Eddy was no more; he had proved very useful and I was quite attached to him, but he had now outlived his usefulness and would have to fade from the scene. Accordingly I had thrown away my dark glasses and d'Angelay's coat, and clad in shirt sleeves and a pair of torn and dirty trousers I looked very different from the immaculate Eddy.

  But Konrath would also recollect that the mysterious Broussard had been a friend of Mlle. Saint Brie who worked at the emergency hospital in Laon. At the best, this was bound to involve Giselle in a lot of questions; at the worst—I didn't care to think.

  We had primed her with a story in case she was asked about me. She was to reply without hesitation that she knew Eddy Broussard; she had met him first in a café when he asked her to have a drink, and after she said that she drove for an American Ambulance Unit he replied that he did the same. She had met him only twice and didn't know anything more about him. This might satisfy the enemy; at any rate they would find it rather difficult to disprove. Nevertheless, as we approached the hospital I found my anxiety almost unbearable.

  We slipped in cautiously round the back and went up to d'Angelay's room. He was writing at the table and jumped to his feet with an exclamation as he saw us and wrung our hands.

  “My God, I'm glad to see you,” he said quietly. “What has happened? Two Boches came along this afternoon to see Giselle and wanted to know all about Eddy Broussard. We thought they must have got you.”

  “What did they do with her?” I said quickly.

  “They went away eventually and said they would want to see her again. But tell me what happened to you?”

  Carnac told him.

  “Mon Dieu,” said the doctor at length: “That was bad luck. Another three minutes without being recognised and you'd have got him. You couldn't miss at that range.”

  “No?” I said reflectively. “You've never seen me perform with a revolver, you know. Still, I think you're right—it would have been an absolute sitter.”

  A new wave of bitterness came over me and I burst out angrily. “What fools we are! He was absolutely in our hand and he wriggled out. If only—oh hell, what's the use of saying ‘if’? We failed and that's the end of it, but we came so near to success it will haunt me all my life.”

  Carnac nodded his dark head. “I know,” he said sombrely, “but luck was all against us. Sometimes during this summer I have felt that perhaps le bon Dieu intends the Boches to win because everything seems to go right for them. It's too bad”—and he broke off with an angry gesture and glared out of the window like a hungry tiger whose prey has just eluded him.

  There was a light tap on the door and Giselle walked in and stopped in amazement on the threshold as she saw us.

  “Why,” she said breathlessly, “they haven't caught you then? You're still safe! Oh, how marvellous! I was so worried.”

  She stepped eagerly into the room, her eyes bright with excitement and stood beside me. I slipped out my hand, found hers and felt her answering squeeze, and then suddenly I understood the meaning of the feelings that had been stirring my mind ever since I met this girl.

  Just for a moment everything in my life seemed to stand very silent and still. I was conscious only of her presence, and the little hospital room faded into the background with all our troubles and worries, and left us standing there like two children holding hands in the dark. I was deeply moved and yet conscious of a great exaltation as though my whole existence had led darkly up to this supreme moment and now suddenly everything fell into place like a complicated jig-saw puzzle and I saw before me the whole design sharp and crystal clear. When I spoke again my voice sounded as though from a great distance.

  “We were worried too,” I said. “About you particularly because we knew Konrath would remember the connection between us. What did the Gestapo say?”

  “Quite a lot, but I thought they were rather stupid men. They wanted to know all about my life and family and political activities, and what I'd been doing since the war. They asked the same questions over and over again, but each time in a slightly different form to see if I gave the same answer. Finally they told me to be very careful in future and said that if ever I met Eddy Broussard again I was to tell the authorities. So I said yes, certainly, and they went away.”

  “They were quick in coming to see you, all the same,” said Carnac. “Your friend Konrath didn't waste much time.” He paused for a moment and then went on. “Well, mes amis, let us consider our position now. The main point is that Passy has got to Germany in spite of our efforts. We came very near to killing him and it was only terrible luck that stopped us, but it's no good saying that. What are we to do now? Admit defeat and try to get back to England? It's a terrible thing to admit, but we must face facts and I can see no hope of success now—none at all.”

  “It is a terrible thing,” I said. “It’s very difficult for you to realise how important this R.D.F. is to England. So much is going to depend on it during the next few months and if the Huns get to know a lot of the details they may alter their tactics accordingly. I feel the matter is so desperate that we ought to try and follow him into Germany and kill him there.”

  “But surely it's too late,” said the doctor. “I gather your task was to stop him getting to Germany. Well, he's there now. It seems to me it's all over.”

  “Not. necessarily,” I said. “Carnac, you remember they said in London that what they were really afraid of was this man's long term value to the enemy. He will have told them some things already and some damage may have been done, but what really matters is that he should be stopped from being present month after month to help them in their experiments and research. If we kill him now we'll still have succeeded in the main part of our job, though I don't see how on earth we're going to set about it.”

  “I don't either,” said d'Angelay. “We couldn't possibly move across Germany without papers or permits—and even if we could, where are we to start looking for him?” He shook his head vigorously. “Impossible, quite impossible.”

  Giselle broke in quickly. “There’s one thing I haven't told you. He gave me his address. It is c/o Telefunken A.G., Berlin, and I promised to write to him.”

  “Did you, by God,” said Carnac thoughtfully. There was a long silence and we stared at each other as though a vague hope were stirring in our minds. It wasn't much to go on, but still…

  d'Angelay said slowly. “I wonder.”

  Carnac turned to Giselle. “That may be a big help,” he said. “I think our only chance now lies with you because I'm quite certain that we cannot get into Germany with our present resources. Is it possible for you to bring Passy back here by some means or other?”

  “I’m afraid I can't help much,” said Giselle. “M. Passy entertains certain hopes about me, and I was very careful to let him think so—you know the sort of man he is. But he told me before he left that there was no chance of his coming back for some time.”

  “I’m sure that's right,” I said. “Once the Germans have got him working in Berlin and giving them all the stuff they want, then they're not going to let him go off for a holiday. They'll keep a pretty sharp eye on him.”

  “Agreed,” said the doctor. “Persuasion from Giselle won't work. But there might be one other way.”

  “What?”

  “Blackmail. That man probably has a very doubtful history. Suppose�
�just suppose—there is some incident in his past that could be used as a lever to force him back.”

  “Yes,” said Carnac quickly, “but how are we to find out anything about him? The police or the IIme. Bureau might have a dossier on him, but we have no means of finding out.”

  “True,” replied the doctor. “I put it forward only as a suggestion. I don't see myself how it could be worked—and yet I feel that Providence has given us this man's address. There must surely be some way of using it if only we could think of it.”

  I sat suddenly bolt upright. Something that Carnac said had started a train of thought in my mind and I went back along the incidents of the last few weeks, searching excitedly here and there like a spaniel muzzling in the autumn leaves for some elusive scent.

  Somewhere, somebody, some remark….

  The penny dropped with a triumphant click. Deuxième Bureau! I'd got it now—Whitehall, and a clock ticking on the mantelpiece, and a man whose name I never knew talking in quiet sentences of tremendous affairs. Yes, that was it “We have heard that Passy had some connection at one time with the Deuxième Bureau though I don't think it likely.”

  Well, it might not be likely but it was the only clue left to us.

  I turned to Carnac quickly. “I’ve just remembered something we were told in London—that Passy at one time might have been involved with the Deuxième Bureau. Now, if that's true and we could find out it might be the lever we want.”

  Carnac pondered. “I remember it too,” he said slowly. “But they only thought, they weren't certain.”

  “They might be certain now. I'm quite sure they will have been scraping up every bit of information about the man since we left.”

  “But how can we find out in time?”

  “There’s always Charlie,” I said. (I should explain here that our means of escape from France had been arranged before we left London and we always referred to this operation by the code word Charlie. Even now I can't say much about Charlie except that a fishing boat, a short-wave transmitter and a Walrus aircraft all played a part.)

  “Yes,” said Carnac, “but suppose one of us went back to England with Charlie and got this information, how could we get back to Laon and tell the others? Parachute can be very uncertain, as we discovered, and every day counts now.”

  Giselle had been listening to this discussion, probably not grasping parts of it, but she broke in now.

  “If you want some information quickly from your friends in London surely they could send it on the wireless.”

  “Difficult,” I said. “We don't know the frequency they'd use, or the time to listen.”

  “They could include it in the B.B.C. French news.”

  “Very interesting for the Boche.”

  “I think with care they might be able to put it in such a way that only we could grasp the true meaning. The Boche would puzzle over it naturally but it would be almost impossible for them to get it.”

  We thought this one over for a moment and then suddenly Carnac raised his head. He'd made up his mind.

  “How would you like to go back to England, Peter?”

  “Nothing doing,” I said. “I came out with you to deal with this bastard and I'm not leaving you to carry on alone.”

  “But there's nobody”—He stopped suddenly. “Ah, but perhaps there is. Where is your English soldier, Dalkeith?”

  I had quite forgotten about him.

  “He’s still here,” said d'Angelay. “His arm is not healed yet.”

  “It’s just the chance he's looking for,” I said. “Let’s get him along.”

  The doctor got up and left the room and came back a few minutes later with Dalkeith. He looked rather puzzled, I thought; he bowed to Giselle, glanced at me and then sat down in the chair that Carnac pulled up for him. I noticed that his arm was still in a sling.

  “Well,” he said, “what’s all this conference about?” Carnac glanced at me. “You tell him.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, sir, to start with, the story I told you about being shot down in France isn't true. Captain Carnac and I came out from England a fortnight ago to do some work for the British Government, and we asked you to come along here because we need your help.”

  Dalkeith stared at me. It was obvious that he did not altogether believe the story.

  I thought of another approach. “Perhaps I can convince you that I'm speaking the truth Why did you leave your hiding in Laon and come to this hospital?”

  “Because I damn well had to,” he said shortly. “The Hun was turning the place inside out to find a couple of men who killed some of their people.”

  “Precisely. And we were the men they wanted. That's why they searched the hospital—they thought I was wounded. Now does that help you to believe?”

  I saw that we'd won. His brow cleared and his rather hard face relaxed into a grin.

  “I believe you,” he said. “Now tell me what you want.”

  “We want you to take a message back to England. We'll provide you with the means of escape and with luck you'll be home in two days. Are you game?”

  He held out his hand. “I’m your man,” he said. “Sorry I was so rude at first. I can't stand this confounded game of hide and seek.”

  “There is one other thing I must tell you,” I said. “If you try to escape at the moment and get caught you're merely a prisoner of war and will be treated as such. If you escape by our route and take our message your status becomes that of a spy and you know the difference.”

  “Rot,” he said. “I’ll take any chance to get back and fight again. It will drive me mad if I'm still stuck here when they .start the invasion. Give me this message and I'll leave immediately.”

  Carnac took a piece of paper and started scribbling. After a little while he looked up at us.

  “Will this do?” He read it out. “Group Captain Leighton, Air Ministry. Our friend went to Germany yesterday despite our efforts. We still possess means of communicating with him. Remembering your mention of Deuxième Bureau, can you give us any blackmail information to force him back here? We consider this our last chance. Reply on evening B.B.C. French news.”

  “That seems quite clear,” I said. “By the way, add that Mendel was arrested or somebody else may walk into the same trap.”

  “Good,” said Carnac. He scribbled again. “And we must give them a call sign to use so that we can recognise the message.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “What do you suggest, Peter?”

  “Peter Pan,” I said promptly, and for no particular reason that I could think of.

  “Eh Bien. Our name is Peter Pan.” He passed the paper across to Dalkeith. “Please learn that by heart, monsieur, and then burnt it. You can start whenever you please and these are the details for your journey.”