“What are you if you’re not a German?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’m English,” I replied quietly.
But he was not satisfied and said: “The English soldiers were here for some time, and I know how they swear. If you’re English you must prove yourself by swearing to me as they swear.”
I let him have a choice selection of English swear words, and the grin spread over his funny tilted little face.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you now. The lady’s in the cellar. She’s been here for a week. She was kind to me, so I stayed to look after her.”
“Well done, Tino,” I murmured, giving his arm a little friendly shake. “I’ll see you don’t lose by that; but is she well—quite well?”
He nodded. “She’s very well, but she’s worried. She wants to get back to her own people, but these devils won’t let her go, and there’s no way that a lovely lady like that could get through the battle zone all on her own.”
“Never mind, Tino.” I was laughing now. “We’ll fix that somehow. Is there anyone else in the house except the tall thin man who’s just arrived?”
“No,” he said. “No one. He’s sent me out to see if I can find a chicken remaining in one of the hen-houses, because he’s hungry and wants a meal.”
“Right-o,” I said. “Try to get your chicken. Then you and I and the lady will eat it. I don’t think the man will be there if you come back in about half an hour.”
He flashed me a smile and was gone—a small crooked shadow—into the darkness. Immediately he had disappeared I got out my gun, made quite certain that it was fully loaded and slipped back the safety-catch. I knew all I wanted to know, and as far as I was concerned there wasn’t going to be any argument. Tiptoeing down the street, I gently lifted the latch of the front door and entered the house.
Chapter XXIII
Death for Two
The house had a small hallway. It was in darkness, but a faint streak of light came from under a door on my right a little way down the passage. No light had shown from the street, so the window of the room must, I knew, be carefully blacked out. I paused for a moment to listen. No sound broke the stillness. I tiptoed forward and felt about very carefully until I found the knob of the door. Very gently I turned it, then holding my gun in front of me I jerked it open. The room was empty.
It was the sort of sitting-room that might have belonged to a small landowner in a provincial town, and had now been converted into an office. There were a few nice bits of old furniture, but most of the stuff was indifferent and well worn. In one corner there was a pile of broken glass and china. The fragments of the ornaments had been swept up there, after having been flung from their places and broken by the concussion of the bombs. On the table stood a typewriter, some baskets with letters in them and several files. The room was lit by an oil-lamp which dangled from the ceiling.
I gently drew the door to and eased my way down the passage. Round a corner another streak of light showed under a second door, and as I listened again I could hear movements.
Again I found the door-handle, turned it gingerly, then flung the door open. It was a roomy kitchen and Mondragora was there, standing near the big old-fashioned range. He had evidently been stoking it up as a preliminary to cooking himself a meal.
I saw the fear spring into his dark eyes as he recognised me and realised that he was trapped; but I did not give him time to speak. Poor Carruthers’ suicide, the fact that he was an Axis spy, and a hundred other crimes, in addition to his being my personal enemy, made this no matter for gloating triumph or a trial, but only for an execution. I squeezed the trigger of my pistol and gave him three bullets in the stomach. As he collapsed with a single wailing cry I put a fourth through his head. He lay twitching for a moment on the kitchen floor, then it was all over.
I left him lying there and found the entrance to the cellar. It was through a heavy wooden door at the far end of the hall. As I opened the door and looked down the curving stone steps I saw that it was already faintly lit by an old beaten copper oil-lamp, which stood upon a rough table. Beside it in a corner on a pile of rugs Daphnis was lying sound asleep.
My heart brimming over with joy, I tiptoed down the worn stone stairs towards her. She was sleeping quite soundly, and it was hardly surprising that she had not been roused by my shots. As she had accompanied Mondragora on the road south through Yugoslavia with German Field Headquarters, for several weeks past she must have been both night and day within the sound of exploding bombs and the crash of guns.
I knelt down beside her, anxious to prolong this perfect moment of achievement in finding her at last before I woke her and relished the full joy of our reunion. It was then, while I was kneeling there, that I heard a sound above me and turned to find von Hentzen standing in the doorway with his automatic pistol trained on her.
Next second the pistol spurted flame; the whole cellar seemed to rock with the deafening thunder of its repeated explosions. Before I could draw my pistol the bullets thudded into the pile of rugs where Daphnis lay.
As she jerked up, her eyes staring, her mouth open, I sprang to my feet, and wrenching my gun from my pocket dashed up the stairs. But von Hentzen was too quick for me. I heard his pistol, which was now levelled at me, click once, then realising it was empty he stepped back and flung the heavy door to.
I hurled my weight against it, but I heard him ram the thick wooden staple through its socket and knew that I was caught; yet that mattered nothing. My movements had been impelled only by the instinct to endeavour to exact instant vengeance. In any case, I should not have followed him further than the hallway; my whole mind was distraught with fear for Daphnis. Turning, I plunged down the cellar stairs again towards her.
She was lying still now, but groaning slightly. As I knelt beside her she opened her eyes and murmured: “Darling, it can’t be you. I’m dreaming.”
“It is,” I choked. “I came to Greece weeks ago praying that I’d find you, and I’ve come to take you back. But, oh God, you’re wounded!”
As I lifted back the soft wrap of white angora wool which covered her, my feelings were beyond description. My beautiful beloved was already lying in a pool of blood. Steeling my nerves, as gently as I could I made a swift examination. In the upper part of her thighs she had five bullet-wounds, and I felt sure that there must be others in her pelvis. Von Hentzen had emptied the whole contents of his automatic into her, which meant eight or nine shots.
“We must get a doctor,” I gasped; but even as I spoke I remembered that we were bolted in. Covering Daphnis again, I dashed back up the stairs and hammered on the door with my clenched fists, calling upon von Hentzen—yes, and even pleading with him—to let me out so that I could get a doctor and save my love from death.
There was no reply. My own shouts and thumpings echoed back through the empty house. He had gone. With heavy feet I slumped downstairs again. What could I do? No tourniquet could serve to staunch the bleeding of such wounds. What could I do?
In her first convulsion Daphnis had heaved herself up so that she was lying half-twisted on her side. Taking her gently in my arms I sought to lay her down again flat on her back so that she would be more comfortable, and she clung to me, moaning out my name.
When I got her straight I thought the best thing was to raise her legs in order that the blood should not flow down into them so easily. Making a great bolster of some spare rugs, I slid my hand under her knees and lifted them to push it in. As I did so she screamed with pain and suddenly went limp.
For a second I thought that she was dead, but she had only fainted, and I took the opportunity while she was unconscious to arrange the bolster to the best advantage. At the far end of the cellar I noticed a cabin trunk. Rummaging into it, I selected two light dresses. One of them I tore into wide strips and tied tightly round her upper thighs; the other I afterwards bound round the whole middle of her body.
When she came to she asked me who it was that had shot her. She
had seen nothing but the flashes of the pistol.
I told her, and for the first time had a moment to wonder at von Hentzen’s sudden appearance there. But I recalled his declared intention of leaving Athens to enter it again in triumph, dressed in his uniform, with the German General Staff. Directly he had got free he must have set out for Trikkala. On reaching there he had probably seen the Intelligence captain and learnt from him of the Greek fifth columnist who had inquired so urgently that morning for Mondragora, then disappeared. Von Hentzen would have put two and two together in a flash, realised that the fifth columnist had been myself, and Mondragora’s danger; and followed hard on our heels in an attempt to save his friend and prevent my obtaining any information from Daphnis.
“But why—why should he shoot me?” she asked faintly.
“Because his agents in Alex found you out, darling. They knew that you were trying to double-cross them for my sake.”
“So—so you knew—that?”
I nodded. “That swine Cozelli told me. Oh, bless you for your bravery! But the moment I knew what he’d done I realised that you’d never have a chance.”
“But I succeeded,” she murmured. “I’ve been trying—trying to get back for weeks. I did get the information which would let us both out.” She paused for a moment, then went on: “It was in the middle of March, soon after—after I got to Sofia. They’d planned an insurrection in Iraq. Rashid Ali was to lead it and the Grand Mufti was to play a big part.”
I groaned. In mid-March that information would have been invaluable to us, but the revolt had taken place on the 3rd of April—over three weeks ago. All her courage and her skill had proved useless after all, and Cozelli’s plan to use her had only ended in this soul-shattering nightmare. The irony and utter futility of it were enough to drive one crazy.
There was a noise up at the door. Somebody was pulling back the wooden staple. Springing to my feet, I drew my gun, thinking it was von Hentzen coming back; but as the door opened I saw that it was the little hunchback. I had forgotten all about him.
He came crabwise down the stairs, carrying a dead chicken by the neck. His eyes were wide but not frightened as he saw the great splash of blood that had seeped up through the white wool covering, and I knew that unless von Hentzen had removed it the boy must also have seen Mondragora’s body upstairs.
Suddenly my heart flamed with new hope. Unexpectedly he had freed us. “A doctor!” I cried. “We must get a doctor at once! D’you know where one lives?”
“No, master,” he said in a voice which I now realised was low and musical. He looked sadly towards the corner where Daphnis lay. “The town is empty. Everyone is either killed or gone.”
“I’ve got the car,” I said swiftly. “You must stay here while I drive off and find one.” My thoughts were racing again. I might have to drive some distance, but sooner or later I should meet German troops and they would be certain to have army doctors with them. Even if I had to tell the truth and surrender myself as a prisoner, what did that matter if only I could save Daphnis’ life? All through these past agonising minutes I had known that, unless I could secure professional help, she would certainly be dead from loss of blood before morning.
But as I started towards the stairs she called to me, and her voice was stronger than it had been.
“Julian—don’t go—don’t leave me! You may be away for hours—and by the time you get back …”
I turned and stared at her in miserable hesitation. She nodded slowly. “It’s no good, darling. He got me through the middle—as well as through the legs. A doctor couldn’t save me. I haven’t very long to live.”
Desperately I tried to persuade myself that she was wrong, but I knew that she was right. Still worse, I had the horrible suspicion that she also had bullets in her lower stomach, which meant that she would have a very painful death; but there was one way in which I could make things easier for her. With my uniform, under the seat of the car, I had my first-aid pack, and in it I had always carried triple the ordinary issue of morphia.
The little hunchback had knelt down beside her and was holding her hand.
“This is Tino,” she said slowly. “He—he’s been very good to me and he’s very, very brave. He wouldn’t go when they—when they evacuated the other children; and—and when the people who had survived the blitz ran off into the woods he came back—to help the wounded. That’s how we found him.”
“Stay there a moment, Tino,” I said. “I’m going to get something from the car.” Running upstairs and out of the house, I collected my first-aid kit, then before returning to the cellar I got a bowl of water and some towels from the kitchen.
When I got back, Daphnis was lying silent with her eyes closed and Tino was still kneeling beside her.
There was always a chance that a German unit, arriving by night, might take over the remaining houses in the town for billets, so I told Tino to go upstairs, put all the lights out in the house, and remain on watch in the hall so that he could warn me if anyone was approaching. Without a word he shuffled quickly sideways up the steps and I took his place.
Daphnis opened her eyes again and said, “How did you manage to—find me, Julian?”
I gave her an outline of all that had happened since I had learned from Cozelli that he had sent her to Greece, and afterwards she said with a little smile:
“Poor darling, I—I’m so sorry I’ve got to die. It’s—it’s so hard on you.”
I had to turn my face away because the tears were streaming down my cheeks.
For a little time she was silent, then she began to groan and I gave her some of the morphia. I knew now that the time to say good-bye was very near. To save her from her agony I must dope her into unconsciousness, and once the drug had taken full effect she would never be able to speak to me any more.
After the morphia had eased her pain, she rallied a little and said quite suddenly:
“I hate the half of me that is Italian now. I’ve seen—seen the things that the Axis have done to Greece. It—it’s been simply terrible, Julian. They’ve no mercy—none at all. You were right. Some—somehow you must finish the Dictators—otherwise there’ll never be free people, or—or laughter, in the world any more.”
Soon her poor mouth was twisting again, and great beads of sweat were standing out on her broad forehead. The black curls were damp with it and clung to her temples. As I wiped away the sweat and laid a towel soaked in cold water across her head I swore that I’d devote my life not only to seeking vengeance against von Hentzen for the frightful thing he had done, but to killing or breaking the brutal spirit of his countrymen wherever I might find them.
Daphnis’ groans grew louder, and at last she moaned, “Can—can I have some more of the morphia?”
Without replying I gave her some. Her breathing gradually grew less laboured, and with an effort she spoke again. “You never told me what happened to the Count—after you traced him.”
I gave a mirthless laugh and said: “He’s upstairs in the kitchen. I’ve filled the swine full of lead.”
The grip of her damp hand suddenly tightened on mine. She opened her eyes and stared at me as she whispered, “You—you killed him?”
I nodded. “Yes. For the past hour he’s been stone-dead.”
“The fortune-teller was right,” she murmured. “A sword—the Sword of Fate—lay between us. We—were never meant to marry. Even if—if von Hentzen hadn’t shot me we couldn’t have, after that.”
“Why?” I asked in a puzzled voice.
“Perhaps—perhaps I should have told you. Count Emilo was—my father.”
“But, darling!” I exclaimed, aghast. “He wasn’t an Italian—but a Portuguese.”
She shook her head very slowly. “He took—took Portuguese nationality ten—years—ago; at—at Mussolini’s orders. So that in the event of—of a war he could serve Italy better as—as a neutral.”
Fate had indeed dealt harshly with us. I knew that Daphnis could only be one of the
thousands of men and women who must be dying in Greece that night; yet that did not make the death of this young and lovely girl who was on the threshold of life one whit less tragic; and for me it was the irony of ironies that this, the one woman I had ever really loved, should be the daughter of my mortal enemy. The Sword of Fate had lain between us.
The second dose of morphia had still proved insufficient to more than temporarily dull her pain. After another ten minutes had passed I had to steel myself to give her a third and larger dose, which I knew must prove fatal.
Her pitiful whimpering gradually died away and I could see that she was getting drowsy. The heavy lids were drooping over her eyes, though she strove to keep them open. A few more precious minutes went by in silence; then she rallied for the last time.
“Darling,” she muttered with a great effort. “I was ready to betray my father—to save you from prison. And—and—you risked disgrace to come and find me. We must have loved each other—very dearly.”
There was a little pause before she whispered, “Kiss me, darling.”
I kissed her very gently on the mouth. Then she fell asleep.
How long I remained crouched there on the ground beside her I’ve no idea, but eventually the hunchback boy roused me by coming to the door at the top of the stairs to ask if there was anything that he could get for us. I found then that the clasp of Daphnis’ fingers was already stiffening round my own. I felt her heart for a long moment, and there was not a flutter beneath my hand. She was quite dead.
I crossed her hands upon her breast and drew the coverlet up over them; but I did not cover her lovely face, which now had a calm serene beauty. Kissing her for the last time, I picked up the lamp from the table and followed the hunchback upstairs.
After routing round in the kitchen for a bit, where Mondragora’s dead body still lay, I found a hammer and some nails. With them I nailed up the cellar door. I had no means of securing Daphnis’ proper burial and nothing would have induced me to consign her to the bare earth; but I knew that now the Germans had completed the conquest of Greece some form of order would soon be restored. Nailing up the door would prevent any casual looters from disturbing Daphnis’ body to see if she had any jewels concealed on her. In due course the townsfolk would return and I felt certain that they would find a priest to bury her in the churchyard.
The Sword of Fate Page 36