As he walked along the passage he noticed an iron turnscrew with a square hole in its brightly polished rounded brass top, hanging on a hook. It looked a pretty useful weapon, so he took it down as a precaution against Eiderman cutting up rough, then advanced boldly towards his enemy’s cabin. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest but he knew that his only hope lay in showing a bold face and trying to bluff his enemy.
Streaks of light coming through the ventilator above the door indicated that the German was still awake. Philip did not knock but with one turn of the brass knob threw open the door. Eiderman, clad in a silk dressing-gown, was lying on his bunk reading.
‘Hello! What the hell…?’ he exclaimed, sitting up with a jerk but he broke off suddenly as he saw the grim look on his visitor’s face.
Philip wasted no time in beating about the bush. ‘If you want a row, we’ll have it; but I don’t think losing our tempers would do either of us any good at the moment. I’m on to your little game and I’m not playing; so I must trouble you to come up on the bridge and tell Captain Sorensen that he’s to about ship and tow the convoy back to New York.’
‘So!’ the German sneered contemptuously, and putting down his book thrust his hands deep into his dressing-gown pockets.
‘Come on!’ said Philip, a trifle nervously. ‘Sorensen is expecting you. I’ve already told him that my appendix has flared up and that I’ve decided not to risk the voyage. That’s a good enough excuse for you to tell him to turn back.’
‘And what do you propose to do if I refuse?’ Eiderman asked calmly. ‘Beat me over the head with that big spanner?’
The disdain in his tone made Philip flush. He was seeing Eiderman now with new eyes. How he could ever have trusted this man Philip could not think, but in spite of his loathing for him he managed to keep control over his temper, as he replied:
‘Herr Kapitan, you will either do as I say or face the music. I’ll tell Sorensen that you’ve been planning to have me murdered and insist that he radios the nearest patrol boat to come out and investigate. Then, in front of the U.S. officers I’ll accuse you of being an American citizen in the pay of a foreign country—Nazi Germany. I know I’ve got no proof of that, but the police might persuade one of your thugs to talk, and in any case as far as the authorities are concerned you’ll be a marked man from now on.’
‘Say, you’re smarter than I thought,’ Eiderman acknowledged, swinging his feet off the bunk and standing up. ‘That would certainly be most inconvenient. My old friend Heinrich Himmler would not be at all pleased to learn that his best officer in the United States had become the target for every little Federal agent’s suspicions.’ Suddenly his voice hardened, as he added: ‘Such revelation I will not permit.’
‘All right then! Come up to the bridge and tell Sorensen that he’s to turn round.’
The cabin was quite a roomy one. Philip was standing with his back to the door, which he had closed behind him. Eiderman was about six feet away beside the bunk from which he had just risen. Without a word to Philip he turned his back, walked a few more paces to the porthole end of the cabin and pulled open a drawer in the dressing-table which stood beneath it. Glancing over his shoulder he remarked jeeringly:
‘You British are a wonderful people, are you not? So sporting! You never hit an enemy from behind.’ Suddenly he whipped round with a big automatic clutched firmly in his hand.
Pointing it at Philip he went on: ‘You young fool! What impertinence even to think of crossing swords with me! You are scheduled to die in a few days’ time, at the first sign of even moderately rough weather. All you have succeeded in doing is to advance the hour of your extermination. I propose to kill you here and now!’
Philip paled under the threat. He had half feared that when Eiderman had moved over to the dressing-table it had been to get a weapon, yet somehow he had not been able to bring himself to strike the German down while his back was turned. Now it looked as if he were about to pay for his quixotry with his life.
‘You—you’d better be careful,’ he stammered. ‘If you let that thing off one of the sailors will hear it and—and come rushing along to find out what’s happened.’
At that moment a roll of thunder sounded and the rain came sheeting down on the deck above. Eiderman bared his white teeth in a mirthless grin. ‘Listen to that,’ he snarled, jerking his head slightly towards the cabin ceiling. ‘Even God is now fed up with protecting so stupid a people as the British and when we need it sends us Germans the weather that suits us best. The crew will keep to their quarters while it rains like this, and no one upon the bridge could hear a shot fired down here.’
‘Even if they don’t Sorensen will want to know what’s happened to me,’ Philip burst out. ‘If you kill me you’ll swing for it—I mean, go to the electric chair.’
‘You are wrong! I am no novice at removing unwanted meddlers from my path. Many times I have had to do so in the interests of my beloved Fuehrer, and you, I think, have already provided me with a good explanation for your own death.’
‘What the hell d’you mean?’
‘You have told Captain Sorensen about your appendix, have you not? You have pretended suddenly to be very ill tonight as an excuse to get back to New York. Very well. How can we be certain that the appendix is the cause of the trouble? It might be peritonitis or a haemorrhage—something which would flare up suddenly, causing you to collapse here in my cabin in about one minute’s time. Actually the cause will be a bullet through the stomach. But no one except Auffen and myself will know that. I shall partially undress you, plug the wound to stop it bleeding, cover up the bullet hole in your clothes, lay your body on my bunk and respectfully cover it with a sheet.’
Philip stared at the tall thin man. The palms of his hands were damp, but he felt an entirely detached fascination in listening to this callous account of what was to be done with his dead body. Almost automatically he began to argue.
‘You seem to have forgotten that in cases of sudden death like that there’s always a post-mortem.’
Eiderman laughed. ‘You young fool! There is no doctor in this ship and we are now outside United States territorial waters. After Sorensen has had a look at your face, and felt your pulse and heart if he wishes, I shall bring Hans Auffen here to sew you up in a piece of canvas. Then tomorrow morning, instead of your going off with your rafts, you will be buried at sea.’
‘Sorensen may not agree to that,’ cried Philip, desperate now that he saw the trap he had helped to fashion closing so surely about him.
‘He will agree!’ The German’s thin mouth became a sneering line. ‘He would not turn back to New York without an order from me, would he? That old Norwegian fool at least has the sense to know who is the master here. He will do what I tell him!’
Stepping forward a pace and thrusting out both his chin and his pistol, Eiderman became even more threatening as he went on: ‘Before you die, little Englishman, it is good that you should understand that soon there will be only two kinds of people in this world—Masters and Slaves. We Germans, who are the natural Master Race, will at last come into our own. Every other race will either submit—or be liquidated. France, Holland, Belgium will give us little trouble. The Balkan countries are too ill equipped to offer any resistance, and it is so long since the Scandinavian peoples went to war that they have forgotten how to fight. In Europe that leaves only Britain; and you British are so stupid you will not even have the sense to realise the hopelessness of fighting—so we shall have to wipe you out. Don’t think either that your Raft Convoy would have saved your country. It was a good idea, a very good idea, but as your proverb says: “One swallow does not make a summer!” Also, even quite a number of clever young men are not enough to save a country which allows itself to be led by a lot of old men who think only of party politics. That is where we Germans have been so wise in abolishing political parties for the National Socialist State. Above all, we have our mighty Fuehrer to lead us. …’
Almos
t as though some invisible presence were standing beside him and had whispered a warning in his ear, Philip suddenly felt convinced that, worked up as Eiderman now was, when he reached the end of his peroration he would exclaim: ‘Heil Hitler!’ and simultaneously press the trigger of his gun. Philip knew that the sands of his life were running out.
The German’s words, fast increasing in tempo as his voice became louder and more guttural, were now lost on him. He still remained near the door, tense and rigid, his eyes riveted on Eiderman’s, no longer with fear but with a strained vigilance, as he waited for something—he hardly knew what—to happen.
Suddenly the sign he watched for came. Eiderman’s eyes flickered, his voice rose almost to a scream and he threw up his head. At that second Philip cast himself forward, lunging out with every ounce of strength he could muster behind the heavy turnscrew. The distance between them was too great for the blow to fall on Eiderman’s head or body, but the attack was so unexpected that he had time neither to pull back his gun nor squeeze the trigger. The rounded brass head of the turnscrew caught him on the thumb, and he dropped the pistol with a screech of pain.
If Philip had had more experience of such desperate fighting, he would have followed up his advantage by beating down the German’s guard and stunning him. Instead, he rashly dropped his weapon and made a dive for the automatic. At the same moment Eiderman plunged forward in an attempt to retrieve it. Neither succeeded in his object; instead, they crashed into each other and rolled over together on the floor.
For the next few moments they fought with silent ferocity, each struggling to get a stranglehold on the other’s throat. Physically, they were fairly evenly matched. In height and weight there was little to choose between them. Philip had the advantage of age as he was nearly thirty years younger than his antagonist, but he had never gone in much for games and was soft in comparison to Eiderman, who had spent the best part of those thirty years as an officer in the German Navy.
Backwards and forwards they rolled, only to be brought up with a bump, owing to the confined floor space in the cabin. First one was on top, then the other. At last, Eiderman managed to straddle Philip and, his white teeth exposed in a snarling grin, began to bash sideways at his face. Philip took two smashing welts on the left ear, which momentarily stunned him; then, exerting all his strength, he threw the German off. Eiderman promptly kicked him in the face, but, fortunately for Philip, he was wearing soft bedroom slippers.
They were panting now as they strove to get a new grip on each other. The sweat ran down their faces and both were marked from blows. With a great effort Eiderman pushed Philip off and staggered to his feet. As he stepped back he kicked the iron turnkey, which gave a metallic clang as it slithered against a stanchion. Stooping he grabbed it up and raised it high above his head. Philip was still half-crouching on the floor, now absolutely at his enemy’s mercy.
In the split second that he huddled there staring up he knew that one blow from the great key would be enough to bash out his brains. In a desperate effort to save himself he flung his body back, sprawling headlong across the floor. The blow fell but, overshooting its mark and with its force largely spent, caught him on the thigh. In his violent twist to avoid the blow his head struck the leg of a chair and his right arm shot under it. As he thrust out his hand to raise himself his fingers came in contact with the butt of Eiderman’s automatic. Snatching at it he rolled right over. The German was towering over him and had lifted the heavy iron to strike again. Philip thrust up the pistol and pulled the trigger.
For a moment Eiderman remained quite still, his arms above his head, a demoniacal look of hate and fury on his lean features. The shattering report of the pistol seemed to echo round and round the cabin, a wisp of blue smoke trickled from its barrel. Then, as the reverberation died away, the light went out of the German’s eyes, his knees buckled beneath him and he slumped sideways across Philip’s legs. As Philip strove to free himself, there was a loud rattling from Eiderman’s throat, one of his hands clawed spasmodically at the air, then dropped, and the sound ceased.
Still gasping for breath, Philip stumbled to his knees and stared down at his would-be murderer. The Nazi was not a pretty sight. His mouth lolled open, the flashing upper denture had fallen forward and from below it oozed a trickle of dark blood. There could be no doubt that he was dead.
Philip’s first reaction on seeing Eiderman fall had been one of triumph: Never before had he had to fight for his life, and all the exhilaration of primitive man at his first victory surged through him as he savoured his own escape and witnessed the death throes of his adversary. But he was hardly on his feet when the full implications of what had happened struck him.
Eiderman could have killed him and, no doubt, got away with it; but his having killed the German was a very different matter. He could not go to Captain Sorensen and say that Eiderman had died of a sudden haemorrhage with the least hope of such a statement being credited. Neither could he call on the walleyed Hans Auffen to sew up the corpse in canvas for burial at sea.
For one wild moment he thought of attempting to arrange matters so that Eiderman’s death looked like suicide. But that was impossible. Even if a motive could be suggested, the position of the wound showed at a glance that it could not have been self-inflicted. The bullet had gone in under the ribs, travelled up through the body and come out at the neck. And when it came to a motive for murder Philip saw at once that Sorensen would think they had quarrelled. The Captain knew that one of them had wanted to turn back at the last moment. He might quite reasonably assume that the other had large financial interests in the venture and so had refused to do so. High words could easily have followed, and although the pistol was Eiderman’s only the person with him could have fired the shot.
All these thoughts rushed through Philip’s brain in a few seconds. Hardly a minute had elapsed since the shot had been fired. The rain was still pelting down overhead, but Philip cast an anxious glance at the door. When the pistol had exploded it had sounded like the bursting of a bomb. It seemed impossible that no one should have heard it.
Some strange instinct caused Philip to tiptoe as he stole to the door, opened it, and peered out. There was no one in the passage. Shutting it again he bolted it and stood for a moment gazing down at Eiderman’s body in bitter despair. It seemed to him now that this unscrupulous servant of a maniac master had trapped him as surely by his death as if he had carried through undiscovered his original assassination plans. It now looked as if, instead of being knocked on the head and thrown overboard, his victim was headed for a murder trial.
Such a trial, Philip knew, would take many weeks. Even if he could succeed in proving that Eiderman was a German agent and that he had killed him in self-defence, by the time he was once more a free man the summer would be gone, and there would be no hope of testing his Raft Convoy till next spring. By that time Europe might be in flames, and once war actually broke out it would probably be impossible even to get permission to try out the idea. But would he be able to prove anything against the dead man? And if he failed to do so what would the outcome be? He would be dead long before the spring. They would send him to the electric chair.
The more he thought about it the more convinced Philip became that he would find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to prove anything about the conspiracy against his life. Eiderman’s determination not to allow any accusation to be made against him argued his conviction that he believed himself entirely unsuspected up to date. If the American Political Police did not even suspect that he was working for the Nazis, what weight would Philip’s bare word carry? As for the five thugs, he could prove nothing against them either, and it was not they who would be grilled now, but himself.
With sudden determination Philip opened the door of the cabin’s tall, narrow hanging-cupboard. Bending down, he stripped off Eiderman’s silk dressing-gown and threw it, as though casually abandoned, on the bunk. Exerting all his strength, he lifted the dead man and prop
ped him upright in the cupboard, hung up his jacket in front of his face and spread a spare blanket he found there over his feet to sop up any blood that might drip from his wound. Having locked the door and pocketed the key, he carefully mopped up the little pool of blood on the cabin floor with a rubber sponge from the washstand. Slipping the catch of the pistol to safety he put it also in his pocket, picked up the turnscrew, switched out the light and stepped into the passage, closing the door softly behind him. There was every chance now that anyone looking into the cabin would think that Eiderman had got up and left it. Sooner or later the body would be discovered, but not until Eiderman had been missed and a serious search made for him—and that might not be for several hours to come.
As Philip replaced the brass turnscrew in the corridor his face was flushed but his jaw was set in a grim line. He was damned if he would stand trial for the murder of one of Hitler’s filthy Nazis and most probably be executed for it! What an ignominious end to all his plans! No, he wouldn’t submit to that without a struggle. Anyhow, he would give them a run for their money and, with a little luck, he would yet contribute something of real value to the defeat of Hitler.
Walking quickly but quietly to his own cabin, he crammed all his belongings into his handbag. As he thrust in his travelling clock he saw to his amazement that it was only just after three. It seemed hours since he had gone up on to the bridge to speak to Captain Sorensen, yet that had not been much over twenty minutes ago. He looked round in vain for a strap, some cord or a piece of string, and, finding none, snatched up the face towel from the basin. Pushing one end of the thin towel through the handle of his bag, he turned round and passed the other end under the back of his braces before knotting the two firmly together. It was an awkward way to carry the bag, dangling and bumping against his behind, but it left both his hands free which was what really mattered. After a last glance round, he left the cabin.
The Man who Missed the War Page 8