The Legion of the Lost

by John Creasey

  He turned and led the way, unfaltering, to the gap in the ground, going down first. Once below, he shone a torch so that a faint glow guided the others to the hole. One after another they lowered themselves into it, treading first on the top rung of a ladder and then negotiating seven steps until they reached the floor of a tunnel, the sides of which were dripping with water and along which they could hear rats scampering in fright.

  There was an unreal quality about the hours which followed, although Palfrey experienced a degree of contentment marred only by the fact that Stefan was missing. Orleck’s confidence was so contagious that it infected all of them. Palfrey saw Raffleck look towards the little ugly man a dozen times, as if he could not believe this revelation.

  They reached Skien, going by foot through the hilly country to the north of it, a little after one o’clock. From there they were taken by horse and cart, when they reached a point some two miles out of the town, to Nisseda. The sturdy black horses, much smaller than English breeds, pulled heavy loads without apparent effort. The jogging of the big carts, mostly filled with hay and vegetables, had a not unpleasant rhythm. They were stopped twice en route but only for a cursory examination of the driver’s papers; Palfrey and the others, in the middle of the carts and hidden by the produce, were not seen.

  It was after dark when they reached a little village and stopped for a few hours, going on to Nisseda before daybreak. There more questions were asked of the carters, and one or two half-hearted efforts to prod the hay and stacks of vegetables gave them no more than an uncomfortable few minutes.

  The following evening they reached Rokn, travelling over the hills by the route they had taken the day of their arrival. After dark, they were escorted by curly-headed Olaf to the little hut where Pastor Martin was sitting and smoking his large-bowled pipe, now filled with good tobacco. He expected them, and his eyes lighted up with pleasure – but to Palfrey the big moment of that first adventure, the thing which convinced him finally that everything that happened had been justified, was the expression in the pastor’s eyes when he saw Raffleck.

  The two men stared at each other for a pregnant moment. Then Martin exclaimed in a low-pitched voice: ‘Doktor Raffleck! It is—incredible! It is—superb! You go to England?’ His eyes were glowing, he held the doctor’s hand in both of his.

  Raffleck cleared his throat awkwardly.

  ‘I wish you would come also, my friend.’

  ‘I am of much more use here,’ said the pastor. ‘But you, Herr Doktor—’ he looked positively radiant. ‘There will be a great rejoicing when the news reaches us that you have arrived safely. All that happens in Oslo will be well worth while, more than worth while. But I am wasting time,’ he exclaimed, and turned to Palfrey. ‘I have had no word about the men you wish to trace, but will continue my efforts. I have information that the flying-boat will be here in three hours’ time. Will you need to rest before then?’

  ‘We’re all right,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘That is good! But—’ Martin frowned. ‘Your friend the giant? Where is he?’

  ‘Joining us in England, I hope!’ said Palfrey quietly.

  Martin looked at him levelly.

  ‘I understand. It is worrying. But he is not an easy man to handle, that giant; I think there is a good chance that he will be safe.’ He smiled. ‘You will all stay here, please, and I will go to make the final arrangements for the boats.’

  He left them and they sat about the large room, saying little, feeling an acute sense of anti-climax. Palfrey found that now they were so near the end of the first adventure his nerves were on edge, he would not be really satisfied until they were on board the flying-boat.

  In the next half hour he looked at his watch a dozen times. When Raffleck began to talk the time passed more quickly and Palfrey was lulled into a feeling that Martin was right.

  When a tap came at the door it startled them all, making them sit up abruptly. Palfrey half rose to his feet as the door opened. Conroy, always the first to be ready for action, had a hand at his pocket.

  It was Olaf, who looked wide-eyed and alarmed.

  ‘There is someone coming.’ His voice was low-pitched but obviously anxious. ‘Who, I do not know, but none of us; we do not come from the back. You should be warned. Please, go into the smaller room. I will shout twice if you need to go into the woods. Hurry, please!’

  Reluctantly, Palfrey went with the others. The room, little more than an outhouse, was uncomfortably crowded; their breathing made the only noise except for the dripping of water from a large tap set in the wall.

  They did not hear Olaf go out, but they heard footsteps soon afterwards.

  There was another tap on the outer door.

  After a pause Olaf ’s voice, sounding gruff and full of sleep, responded: ‘Who is that, there?’

  Someone spoke; none of the crowd in the little room heard what was said, the voice seemed weak and a long way off.

  ‘Why should I be disturbed?’ grumbled Olaf.

  The second voice came again, more clearly. Palfrey heard the words and, what was more important, knew it was a woman or a girl. Olafs footsteps sounded heavily; the door creaked open. There was a flurry of sound and a gasp before Olaf said: ‘Is there anyone else? Answer! Are you followed?’

  ‘I—I do not know,’ said the girl, ‘I do not know. Please, let me hide!’ She ran across the room and they could hear her light footsteps and heavy breathing. Olaf shouted to her, once, then twice. But, obviously, he could not catch her, for she flung open the inner door and stood still on the threshold, seeing the party there, crowded against each other.

  Palfrey and Drusilla were in front of the others.

  She was taller than Olaf, who stood agitatedly behind her. Her fair hair was braided but dishevelled, her dress of white was torn across the shoulders and the right breast; on the shoulder there was a single stain of blood which seemed to spread as Palfrey looked at her.

  Her eyes were enormous; she was gasping for breath, but there was fear in her expression when she saw them.

  ‘No!’ she gasped. ‘No—’

  Palfrey stepped forward but was passed by Drusilla, who reached the girl as she swayed backwards. Olaf moved awkwardly from one foot to the other. Drusilla led the girl towards a chair in the large room, the others hesitated but then followed. They stood about the fireplace, none of them at ease.

  Drusilla spoke fluent Norwegian: ‘We are your friends,’ she said quietly. ‘You have nothing to fear from us. Be quiet, now.’

  Olaf said thickly: ‘She is from a farm in the hills. The Germans will be following her, that is almost certain. She must not stay!’

  ‘Keep watch outside,’ said Palfrey to the youngster, and glanced at Brian and Conroy. ‘Come on!’ he said. ‘Herr Doktor, you can help the girl if necessary?’

  Inside the hut Drusilla tore a handkerchief in two, then soaked it in water from the tiny room and bathed the scratch – it was no more than that but there were others which had brought white lines up on the girl’s creamy flesh. They were the marks of fingers. Then the girl began to talk as if talking were all that mattered – the only thing which could ease her agitation.

  ‘They pretended they were searching for food,’ she said. ‘There were two of them, big men, beasts—beasts—beasts! They forced their way in, and there is only my mother and myself there now, except Jakob who is too old and hears little. They came in, and when they had finished searching, finding nothing but a little fish which Jakob had taken from the river, they began to laugh and joke about us, and pretended to draw lots to decide who should take the one and who should take the other. We could do nothing, it seemed, but then—but then my mother took a knife from her bosom. When one of them seized me and would have carried me to the couch, she killed him.’

  The girl stopped; Drusilla dabbed the scratches. Raffleck looked down at the girl, who was perhaps twenty but might have been two or three years older. She was not beautiful, but even what she had experienced th
at night could not rob her face of charm which tore at Drusilla’s heart.

  ‘You are safe now,’ Drusilla said.

  ‘I am safe!’ said the girl. She shuddered. ‘But Mama—she—she is dead. The other man killed her, he shot at her. Then I flew at him and knocked the gun from his hand. He tried to catch me but I ran. I flung the door in his face and then I ran again. But I should have stayed behind for Mama. I should have looked after her, although—the bullet went into her face,’ she sobbed.

  ‘You could have done nothing by staying,’ said Drusilla.

  She took a ring of safety-pins from a small pocket in her skirt and began to fasten the girl’s dress, while Raffleck, knowing that there was nothing he could do then, went to the door.

  Palfrey was nearest it and as the Norwegian stepped into the darkness Palfrey said quickly: ‘Don’t move, please.’

  Raffleck stood quite still.

  Palfrey strained his ears to catch a repetition of a sound he thought he had heard. There was no mistaking it; someone was hurrying towards the hut from the north – and the hills. As he lumbered onwards, drawing rapidly nearer, Olaf came to Palfrey’s side and gasped: ‘It is not the pastor, for he does not come that way!’

  The blundering footsteps grew louder. Then a torch was switched on, carving a single beam of light through the darkness. It missed all of the waiting men but shone on the hut. There was a pause before the man holding the torch uttered a guttural oath in German and, keeping the torch steady, came on.

  Chapter Eight

  Palfrey is Disquieted

  Palfrey, Raffleck and Olaf moved away from the advancing beam, trying to see the man who held it. Palfrey was toying with the idea of going forward and distracting the man’s attention so that Olaf could attack him, when there was another sound – a scuffle of feet on the gravel just behind the German. The latter swung on his heel so that the light shone on Brian, who was close to the man. The latter, crying out, tried to defend himself, but Palfrey caught a glimpse of Brian using his gun as a club before the torch went out.

  They heard the thud; a scuffling sound followed.

  After what seemed a long time, Brian called: ‘It’s all right.’

  He was standing over the unconscious body of a German soldier, a big, blond creature whose hat was by his side and whose temple was swelling where the gun had struck him. Brian stood up and said thoughtfully: ‘He won’t come round for a bit. I wonder if he’s on his own?’

  ‘It seems like it,’ said Palfrey. ‘Olaf—’

  ‘A moment, please!’ said Olaf in an urgent voice.

  This time, when they stopped, the silence was broken by someone who was within a few feet of them. Palfrey, prepared for further emergency action, heard Pastor Martin’s voice.

  ‘What is happening?’ Martin drew nearer, but when Brian switched on the torch which he had taken from the ground, the pastor said quickly: ‘No light, please!’ He listened as Palfrey told him briefly what had happened, then went on: ‘I will see the child, we must learn if there are more besides this man to come. This one must not live,’ added the pastor, quietly, ‘but there must be no signs that he was killed here.’

  He turned away and went into the hut.

  Conroy spoke softly at Palfrey’s side.

  ‘It looks as if another Hun is going to know what hell’s like, Sap. What do we do? Draw lots for the privilege?’

  ‘There is no need for that,’ said Raffleck quietly. ‘I have a hypodermic syringe charged for such a contingency—although I expected to use it on myself.’ His voice was quite calm and dispassionate. ‘Allow me, please.’ When he straightened up there was a lighter note in his voice. ‘That is all he will need. He will be dead within an hour. I have given him a strong dose of insulin. It will be best to take him to the cottage from whence he came, for then it will look as if they were both killed together.’

  Martin, emerging from the hut, said: ‘How was he killed? Strangled? But would a child like Hilde—it is Hilde Silversen, Olaf, from the cottage—have the strength to strangle him?’ Urgently, Martin went on: ‘You have not used a knife? It is difficult to erase all signs of blood, and there will be a widespread search when the men are discovered to be missing.’

  ‘Steady,’ said Palfrey reassuringly. ‘There will be no trace of how he was killed, Pastor, except a small puncture in the skin. If he were to be dropped from a height soon, his neck would be broken.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Martin, smiling in the darkness, ‘that will answer all questions, except—’ he paused – ‘the safety of Hilde.’

  ‘She’s hardly a heavyweight,’ said Palfrey slowly. ‘We’ll have room for her. But I’d like to know a little more about her.’ He waited while the pastor appeared to marshal his thoughts.

  Martin spoke simply.

  The Silversens had been like thousands of other families in the west of Norway, united, contented; the father farming his poor ground, but making a better living out of his rights in the countless tiny salmon rivers. A good man, Martin said, proud of his three sons and two daughters. All the children had been educated, first at Rokn and then at Bergen, Hilde and one of the sons, the younger, proving more brilliant than the others. Hilde and the one son had gone to Oslo, where Hilde had studied domestic science and become a teacher at the Oslo College just before the invasion.

  Martin went on: ‘After that it is very simple, Herr Doktor. The two sons and old Silversen would have nothing to do with the Germans. They were amongst the first to suffer—they were killed when they tried to help hunted men to escape to England. Hilde kept her post in Oslo for a while. The younger son was in Germany at the time of the invasion—the last they heard of him was that he was in a labour gang. The school was closed down in Oslo, but Hilde was fortunate and escaped from there to the little farm where she worked with her mother and old Jakob. It is as simple as that—it has happened countless times. The child has seen much. Tonight she is distraught. But she is clever, and she will not easily forget. I think she had stayed only because of her mother. Now, if work can be found for her, she will take it eagerly, provided it helps against the invaders. That is all any of us wish, Palfrey—help against the invaders.’

  There was no hitch in the arrangements and they left in the same plane that had brought them from Scotland nearly ten days before.

  When they landed and were put into another plane, taking Hilde with them to London, Palfrey was aware of a sense both of anticlimax and disquiet. It was because of Stefan, of course – he could not feel high-spirited at the success of the first venture. Raffleck said little; he took his rescue and his new freedom with a staggering aplomb, although there were moments when he looked at Palfrey with a strangely intent gaze; Palfrey guessed at the conflicting thoughts passing through his mind.

  At Hendon they were met by three agents of the Marquis. Raffleck was taken off by two of them, one a Norwegian who greeted the specialist with an eagerness the more impressive because it was restrained. Their car drove off before Palfrey’s; the little party watched its rear light disappear.

  It was Hilde who broke the silence, speaking in broken English, but with a fair command of words.

  ‘I have never found a thing so hard to believe,’ she said simply. ‘This—this is England!’ She clutched Palfrey’s arm, looked up into his face in the grey light of the early dawn. ‘It is England. I am free! To do—’

  She broke off with a catch in her voice. Palfrey said, awkwardly: ‘To do what you can, where you can, yes?’

  ‘What I can, where I can,’ echoed Hilde. She stared at him, her wide-set blue eyes suddenly very earnest. ‘I will remember that.’

  An hour and a half later, just after half past seven, Palfrey sat with the Marquis in the breakfast-room at the Brierly Place house. It was a charming, mellow room, of the Jacobean period; there was no false touch. The long refectory table had only an eggshell polish, the tapestry curtains made the light subdued.

  Palfrey had bathed for the first time for over a week
. He had shaved, too, and felt much fresher, but he was still conscious of the feeling of disquiet.

  They talked idly for a short while, Palfrey pausing when he heard a clock strike.

  ‘Nine,’ he said quickly. ‘The news. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not!’ said Brett. ‘I doubt whether there will be much; there has not been a great deal the last few days, but things go well on all fronts. A more stringent purge looks more likely than ever in Germany,’ he added. ‘The occupied countries aren’t getting the attention they might. With Himmler in control in Germany—’ he paused – ‘the blood bath will come everywhere. I’m afraid it’s inevitable.’

  Standing by a small radio in a cabinet of dull, mellowed oak, Palfrey nodded and heard the tail end of the short news. The calm, assured voice of the announcer said:

  ‘There is more news this morning of patriot activities in the occupied countries. In Belgium, two German officers were killed when a bomb exploded outside the Town Hall of a provincial town. In Norway there are reports, as yet unconfirmed by Norwegian authorities in this country, of great damage done to the three main power-stations at Oslo. If the reports are accurate, it means that vital war work will be held up in the war factories of south-eastern Norway for at least a month. The Germans have taken a hundred hostages and have declared their intention of shooting them all unless the identity of the saboteurs is revealed.’

  Palfrey stood in silence; the Marquis stirred his coffee slowly. Palfrey switched off the radio with a heavy frown.

  ‘Well, it will be confirmed,’ he said, abruptly.

  ‘Orleck sent a little information through,’ said the Marquis. ‘It wasn’t easy, Oslo is very closely watched now. But that isn’t what I want to talk about, Palfrey.’

  Palfrey sat down again, saying slowly: ‘The next show, I suppose?’

  ‘Partly, yes. It had better be Copenhagen. I’ve heard that a number of the men we want have gone from there, although Erikson and Ohlson are still in the city.’