She thought her husband looked more ill than when she had seen him the previous week, but as soon as he told her that he had got the evidence she required she put his poor state down to the probability that the whole business had been most repugnant to him and he was now showing the strain he had been under in going through with it.
He produced the hotel bill and also a letter that he had written for her that afternoon. It simply said that since they had not lived together for the past two years he had lost all affection for her and entered into another relationship; that he had now definitely made up his mind that in no circumstances would he return to her or contribute in any way to her support in the future, and that he enclosed a hotel bill upon which she could act, if she wished.
Having perused the two documents carefully she thanked him and said, “Can you give me particulars of the girl you stayed with, in case the solicitors say that the court will require her to be identified?”
“She stayed there as my wife,” he replied, “but her real name is Mitzi Winkelweiss, and she is a German. She was about your height, but dark, and with a small mole on her right cheek. She has a job as a typist in the Deutscher Reisebüro, but they don’t pay her very much so she makes a bit extra now and again by going to the dance room at the Café Hiller, when she feels like it, and picking up any man who takes her fancy. That is where I found her.”
He reeled it off quite tonelessly, and Erika felt sorry for Mitzi Winkelweiss, who obviously could not have had a very enjoyable weekend. She hoped that Kurt had at least paid the poor girl well for the uninspiring hours she must have spent with him; but that, after all, was not her business, so she simply said:
“I think you arranged matters very well, as it should be easy enough to find her, if that proves necessary.”
“I don’t think it will,” Fritz Einholtz put in. “As the case will be undefended, it should be quite sufficient if Kurt is identified as the man who stayed at that hotel, with a girl, on the night in question. After that, all your solicitors will have to do is to get you to point Kurt out to them so that they can serve the papers on him.”
“There is still the best part of three months to go before I can start proceedings.”
“That cannot be avoided. But Kurt will not run away.” Einholtz laughed suddenly. “He cannot, anyhow, until you give him the thousand pounds to do it with. But I think I see at what you were driving. You were about to say that there is not much point in your going to see your solicitors yet; and you are right. Kurt has shown that he means to deal fairly with you by giving you the evidence you will require with a minimum of delay, but no more can be done for the moment.”
“Wasn’t it a bit risky to choose a German girl, when you meant to stay with her at an hotel under your own name?” Erika asked, glancing at her husband.
“I was a bit scared about that, too,” Einholtz said, before von Osterberg had a chance to reply, “but Kurt thought it would seem more natural and look less like collusion. Of course, he didn’t learn till later that she was in a German Travel Agency, which increases the risk of her talking to someone who might be interested in us. Still, the odds are that she never mentions her lapses into prostitution to anyone in the office, and, anyway, she has no idea where Kurt lives—so I don’t think we need worry overmuch.”
Einholtz was rather proud of this little subtlety and would have been disappointed if Erika had not given him a chance to work it in, because it was just the sort of touch likely to strengthen her belief in their good faith. After a moment, he went on:
“I’ve been talking to Kurt about that other matter too, and we both feel, now, that there’s a great deal in what you said when you were here last.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” she said, smiling at Kurt, but she left it at that for the moment, as she did not know if he knew of Einholtz’s visit to her, so thought it best to say no more until one of them had given her a lead.
Einholtz stood up to get a cigarette and from behind her back made a swift, imperative gesture at the Count, on which he began to speak, although with obvious reluctance.
“It is all very difficult,” he said. “Fritz and I have agreed that we ought to enable the British to protect their civilian population from this—er—gas, if we can; but I left my notes in the safe at Niederfels. I’ve been through a lot and my health is not very good, so, to be honest, I’m not really up to undertaking such a dangerous journey—at all events on my own. Fritz is braver than I am, and he is prepared to put his head into the lion’s jaws again, but the trouble about that is that I don’t like to let him. You see, our people at Niederfels would never give me away, but if he turned up there on his own the risk that one of them might split on him to curry favour with the local Nazis is quite considerable.”
As he paused, Erika felt certain she knew what was coming next, but she was mistaken. He added, rather heavily, “So it seems, the only thing for us to do is to go together.”
Erika gave an imperceptible sigh of relief. She had been dreading this dangerous venture more than she realised, and now, it seemed, quite unexpectedly, a merciful dispensation of Providence had let her out of it. If Kurt went with Einholtz there was no reason at all for her to leave the comparative safety of Swiss soil. But, once again, she was jumping to conclusions.
Her husband puffed nervously at his cigarette, and resumed: “However, this job really needs a third person. I—well—I’ve got cold feet about entering the Castle alone, in case the Nazis have taken it over in my absence. With someone to stand by me, I’d risk it, but not alone. We should be able to do the whole job in a few hours if things go well. But that depends on our not running into trouble, and being able to make our getaway immediately I’ve collected my notes. When we get to the other side of the lake we can use one of Willi von Lottingen’s cars, but we dare not drive up to the Schloss; so before we reach it, we’ll have to park the car on the roadside somewhere. It’s for that we need a third member of our party. If it were found unoccupied by anyone and reported to the police, or stolen, our lifeline would be cut, and we simply daren’t risk that. We need someone who will remain with the car while we are away to ensure that it is still there when we get back.”
Erika caught Einholtz’s eye, and guessed that he had said nothing to her husband about their meeting, but had mentally designated her for the part which would overcome Kurt’s last objection.
“All right,” she said, slowly, “if that is the way you feel, I will come with you.”
“Erika,” he began, “I really don’t think—”
But Einholtz had jumped to his feet and, seizing her hand, kissed it, as he cried enthusiastically: “Then all is well. It is most brave of you, Frau Gräfin, to take this risk with us. But to know that the car is there safe and ready for our getaway means so much. Together we will do this thing. Let us put behind us all thought of failure.”
Erika forced a smile. “Yes, and now we’ve decided to do it, the sooner we can get it over the better.”
“We can’t go while the moon’s like this.” von Osterberg said hurriedly. “There are patrol boats on both sides of the lake. They would—”
Unseen by Erika, Einholtz shot him an angry glance, and he lapsed into unhappy silence. But one look out of the long window which ran half the length of the room on its northern side showed how right he was. Bright moonlight silvered the lake and any boat upon it could have been seen the best part of a mile away.
“That is true,” Einholtz had to admit, “but the moon is past the full and if we plan the timing of our trip carefully it should not prove a serious disadvantage to us. Say we made an early start in three or four days’ time, we could be clear of the coast here before the Swiss boat comes on duty, and sneak in to the German side just as darkness is falling.”
“But we’d have the moonlight coming back, then,” Erika objected.
“Not necessarily. If the Castle has been taken over we shall have had our journey for nothing, anyhow; but if it has not there is no r
eason why we shouldn’t remain there a few hours, then start back about half past three when the moon is setting. Even if we find the place full of Nazis, we could sit quietly in the woods till the moon is going down, then it would be dark by the time we reached the lake on our return journey.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait for a fortnight, when there won’t be any moon at all?” von Osterberg hazarded.
“If we wait so long, the thought of the risk we are going to run will get on our nerves to such a degree that when the time comes we may funk it altogether,” Einholtz argued. “Don’t you agree, Frau Gräfin?”
Erika knew that her husband was right, and that during the dark period of the moon there would be the minimum of risk; but she also knew that the delay of a fortnight might make all the difference between success and failure to the British scientists and manufacturers who would have to design and make the new gas-masks, perhaps at breakneck speed, if they were to be issued in time to be effective. She also felt that there was a lot to be said for Einholtz’s view, so she replied, “Personally, I’m all for doing the job as soon as conditions are reasonably favourable.”
“Right then.” Einholtz consulted a little pocket diary. “Today’s Monday the 18th, isn’t it. Well, on Friday next, the 22nd, the moon sets at four-fifteen. That should still give us ample time to get back across the lake while it is still dark. How about making it Friday night?”
The others agreed and it was arranged that Erika should come to the Villa that evening at six o’clock, so that they could get well out on to the lake by sundown. She then returned to the hotel and drove back up the winding valley to St. Gall.
Next morning she breakfasted early and caught the express via Zurich to Berne. In the Swiss capital she called on the firm of solicitors who acted for the British Legation. Having presented a letter of introduction which Sir Pellinore had obtained for her she had an interview with a pleasant middle-aged Swiss who undertook to handle the proceedings of her divorce. He confirmed the fact that no steps could be taken until November, but filed the hotel bill and the particulars of Fraulein Mitzi Winkelweiss that Erika gave him. He did not think there should be any difficulty about the case as husband and wife would both have established residence in Switzerland and the Swiss courts usually granted decrees automatically in undefended cases.
Considerably cheered by this she returned to St. Gall, but the double journey of some hundred and twenty miles each way through tunnels and mountains had made a tiring day and she did not get back until quite late, so on entering the lounge of the Pension Julich she was none too pleased to find Einholtz waiting for her.
He said that he had rung up that morning and learned that she had gone off for the day, but was expected back in the evening, so he had taken the liberty of coming over as there was a certain matter he wished to discuss with her.
While she ate a light supper he sat with her talking trivialities, and when she had finished they went out into the garden. As soon as they were seated in two wicker chairs he said:
“You will, of course, have guessed that I have come to talk to you about money.”
“I don’t see why I should have,” she replied a little shortly.
“Oh, come, Frau Gräfin,” he shrugged. “You must have realised that had it not been for my persuasive powers your husband would never have agreed to make our contemplated trip. By persuading him to come himself, too, I very nearly succeeded in sparing you the danger and anxiety of it. His fear that someone might steal or move the car while we were busy in the Castle was the one thing I could not overcome, but that was not my fault.”
“Yes, I realise that.”
“Then you appreciate that if we succeed in securing those notes you will owe that to me?”
“Yes, I see what you mean. You have come to get an undertaking from me that if we are successful, in spite of the fact that Kurt is going with us, I still pay the ten thousand pounds to you?”
“Exactly!”
“All right.” Erika nodded. “After all, it is you who have made the whole thing possible, and will have to lead the expedition, so I think that’s fair enough.”
“Herzlichen Dank Frau Gräfin. There is, however, one other point that has occurred to me, although I hesitate to mention it.”
“Well, what is it?” Erika asked a shade wearily. She had never liked Herr Einholtz very much, for all his helpfulness with her difficult husband; and now he was coming out in his true colours, as a man who was determined to make quite certain that he received a good round sum as the price of preventing an indiscriminate massacre on a giant scale, she liked him even less; but it was imperative that she kept in with him, so she added with a little laugh, “I promise not to run away from you.”
“Please, please!” he protested. “Such a thought never entered my head. But I’m afraid I had a much more horrible one. It did occur to me, after you had gone last night, that we might become separated while we are on the other side. On such a venture one never knows what may happen. Saying, for example, that we were shot up during our return and had to scatter.”
“And I were captured or killed,” Erika supplemented.
“Yes, God forbid that such a thing should happen, but if it did, and I had the notes on me and succeeded in getting back, what do you wish me to do with them?”
“Take them to the British Legation in Berne. Mention my name and ask for an interview with the Minister. Hand him the notes and give him a week to have them looked at by a competent scientist in London; and, if the reply is satisfactory, he will pay you the ten thousand pounds. I will go into Berne again, myself, before we leave and arrange the matter.”
“Many thanks, Frau Gräfin,” Einholtz murmured smoothly. The arrangement did not suit him at all. He had hoped to persuade her to give him a draft cashable on his return, or at least make some arrangement by which the money would be handed over to him in exchange for a packet of papers containing any plausible-looking scientific gibberish; but she had proved much shrewder than he had anticipated. The stipulation that the notes should be examined in London before payment was made completely spiked his guns, and he saw no way round it.
This attempt to get hold of her money was a purely private venture and he was much too scared of Gruppenführer Grauber to prejudice the success of his official mission by pursuing it at the risk of arousing her suspicions.
Realising that she was tired, he had the good sense to say, “That’s settled then,” stand up, kiss her hand and wish her good-night.
Next morning Erika wrote a long letter to Sir Pellinore. She told him everything that had taken place and what she hoped to do. He would, she felt sure, be worried about the risk she was running, but at the same time, knowing that no one else was in a position to undertake this vital task, fully approve her decision to accompany her husband and Einholtz to Schloss Niederfels.
On the Thursday she went in to Berne again and called at the Legation. His Majesty’s Minister had received a note about her from the Foreign Office and saw her in person. From him she obtained a special label bearing in bold red letters the words “MOST SECRET” and underneath, in smaller script, “To be opened personally by—”, below which she wrote Sir Pellinore’s name. Having put her letter in a larger envelope she sealed the latter with the label and gave it to the Minister for despatch by the next bag. She then wrote out for him full particulars of the procedure to be followed should Einholtz later present himself at the Legation with a packet for the Minister.
Immediately after supper, on her return to St. Gall, she went to bed and took a mild sleeping draught, to ensure herself a good night’s rest, against the prospect of being up all the following night; and she stayed in bed till lunch time next day.
During her lazy morning she thought much of Gregory, wishing almost desperately at times that he were with her, but she was heartily glad that he knew nothing of the dangerous business upon which she was soon to set out. In the afternoon she packed her bag, as a precaution against the gri
m thought that she might not return, but left it upstairs and told the girl down in the office that she was retaining her room but going off to spend the night with friends.
At five o’clock, clad in her travelling tweeds and with a small automatic in her handbag, she walked down the hill to the station and caught the local train down to Rorschach. The old lakeside town with its red roofs and slated steeples was looking lovely in the early evening light, and she lingered on the quay for a little before she took a bus along the lakeside road the few remaining miles to Steinach.
She found both Kurt and Einholtz ready to set off and all three of them went straight out to the boathouse. Freiherr von Lottingen’s summer villa lay some four miles south-east of Friedrichshafen, so the crossing was only ten or twelve kilometres and twilight had not yet begun to fall, but Einholtz’s plan was that they should appear to be going out simply for an evening’s fishing. The rods and any fish that they might catch would also, they hoped, be considered evidence of their innocence if they were halted and questioned on the way to Niederfels. None of them had papers they could show, but Einholtz proposed to say that Erika was staying as their guest in Stuttgart, and they had taken her for a day’s excursion on the Bodensee.
The launch was a powerful one and soon took them well out into the lake. Einholtz then shut off the engine and the two men got out their rods, while Erika sat silent in the stern of the gently rocking boat. There was little shipping on the lake and nothing approached them to within hailing distance. Most of the other boats in view were scattered in an arc off Friedrichshafen, which they could now see in the distance as a blur of houses, and tall chimneys belching out smoke in the race to produce German war equipment. In an hour and a half they caught three trout and two bream to go in the creel they were taking with them.
Gradually dusk came down and, switching on the engine to half speed, Einholtz edged the launch a few miles nearer to the German shore. Then he stopped it and they drifted silently again while he produced two thermoses of coffee and some sandwiches, from which they picnicked.
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