The Legion of the Lost

by John Creasey

  ‘Off-hand, no,’ admitted Palfrey worriedly. ‘But is it wise to let them all out of the prison and then leave them to their own devices? What’s going to happen to those who are caught again? Most of them will be caught.’ He began to play with his hair. ‘It’s almost too big, it—’

  He stopped abruptly.

  Stefan saw the light in his eyes and stood silently. Palfrey pulled at his hair, staring across the dilapidated garden, seeing the tops of some of the buildings towering towards the skies.

  Then he said, very softly: ‘On the sixth day from now the delegates will be returning to their own countries. They’ll have their passports returned, they’ll be quite free, they’ll be well looked after, von Otten’s powers are great enough to make sure of that. Now if they—’ he paused, his eyes searched Stefan’s face. ‘If they could be kept at the flats, their passports and papers taken and handed over to the prisoners, that would be a chance. More than a fair one. An exodus will be expected, reservations will be made for many on the trains. Is it possible? Even vaguely possible?’

  ‘Sap,’ said Stefan softly. ‘It must be done! I will see to the outside, you to the inside arrangements. It must be done!’

  Five clear days, thought Palfrey.

  They had gone. During them, hardly a minute had passed when Palfrey had not been afraid that news would come to smash all their hopes of this coup, a dream-like conception, something which had made Conroy, Brian and Drusilla look at him as if he were mad, until they became fired with equal enthusiasm.

  They attended lecture after lecture, heard the crazy outpourings of their tutors, been addressed by von Otten. They were prepared, now, for the return to their own countries. Things had gone so smoothly that they almost frightened Palfrey. He could not contact with Stefan easily, but once they had all visited the beer-garden – innocent enough to all appearances – and received a short message. Things were going well and preparations were in hand; Stefan expected to be able to pull his share off. He had been in touch with the Marquis, a plane would come for them in a wooded district, where planes had landed before to pick up agents and escapees from Berlin.

  Palfrey felt, in those five days, very much like a tiny cog in the wheel of a machine that was much too large for him; it was as if he and the others would be crushed in its turning.

  They did not matter, personally; all that mattered was freedom for that Legion from whom all hope had fled.

  On the morning of the sixth day they told Hilde.

  For the first time Hilde managed to visit them, explaining the long time she had been away with a casualness which Palfrey did not find natural. She had spent a great deal of time with von Otten, she said, and believed that she could exert some influence over him; but she was beginning to see a dreary future; she was much more lifeless than when he had seen her before.

  When Palfrey told her a little of their plans she stared at him as if she could not believe her ears. For a moment her lips parted and her eyes held an incredulous expression, she gasped and put a hand to her breast.

  Then, slowly, she said: ‘Is it possible? Is there even a slight chance? Is there!’ She almost shouted the words. ‘To get them all away, to get them all—no, no, I cannot believe it!’

  Palfrey said: ‘It will work, Hilde, and that’s where we want your help. We need the passports. Has there been any change of plan? When will the distribution really take place?’

  ‘I know that,’ said Hilde. ‘It will be at the last lecture, tonight. Von Otten will address them again, then they will file up for their passports and visas. There is a special stamp—they will be all prepared, of course. It will give them free passage to their countries. Everything is being done to make it easy for them.’

  ‘Good,’ said Palfrey, smiling with deep satisfaction. ‘It gives us an even better chance. We’ll have to raid the lecture hall at the end of the meeting.’

  ‘But how?’ demanded Hilde. ‘How can so few of you overcome so many?’

  Palfrey said: ‘Don’t worry, we’ll do it.’

  ‘You do not trust me,’ Hilde said sharply. ‘If there is a way you should tell me. I do not believe it is really possible, you will only make it worse for those in that hell-house! You cannot get them all out. You are pretending!’

  Palfrey said sharply: ‘Hilde! Stop that!’

  ‘I shall not stop,’ she cried. ‘I do not know that I trust you. Von Otten is very well-disposed towards you, and it was on your evidence that Karl was killed. He has told me that! Karl was a worker for our cause. Why did you allow him to be taken by them? Why, tell me that? Why?’

  Palfrey, standing in front of her, watched her closely. Her eyes were blazing, her hands were clenched; he was reminded of the time when she had rated at him because he would not allow her to return to Norway.

  Conroy and Brian, Brian looking startled, were staring at the girl. Drusilla, standing with her back to the window, was frowning. It was a moment of greater tension than Palfrey had known since he had visited the prison. He thought suddenly that he should not have told Hilde. She was not safe; she was too prone to such outbursts. He marvelled the more that she had been able to deal with von Otten so effectively.

  And then something that she had said came back to him. Its import, the sickening realisation of what it might mean, made him feel cold, then sick and hot.

  He said slowly: ‘Hilde, I know. No one else here does. I’ve told no one because it isn’t safe to know. It’s no more safe for you than the others. We’ll find a way, don’t worry about that, and—’

  ‘You are lying to me!’ she shouted. ‘I know you are, you are lying! You have lied all the time!’

  ‘Hilde—’ Brian started.

  ‘You be quiet!’ she spat at him. ‘Hold your tongue!’ She was standing at her full height, a lovely creature made more beautiful by the emotion which shook her. For some moments there was no sound but her heavy breathing; then she turned away with tears in her eyes.

  Hardly had she turned before she looked back at Palfrey, holding out a hand beseechingly. He still felt nausea at the realisation.

  She was acting: she had acted the same way in London.

  ‘Dr. Palfrey, I beg of you, do not distrust me. I have sacrificed so much, it is part of my very life.’ Her voice throbbed. ‘I cannot feel that I have done anything to help you; if I know, if I can hug that secret to my breast—’ there was a catch in her throat, but when Palfrey only continued to look down at her, expressionless, she turned to Drusilla.

  ‘You, Drusilla,’ she said in that piteous, broken voice. ‘You know to what lengths I have gone, how I have suffered that beast of a man, how I have tried, have sold my very soul that I should help my people. Can you not make him understand how much it matters to me?’

  ‘Hilde—’ began Drusilla.

  Palfrey said sharply: ‘Leave it to me, ’Silla.’ He stared down at the girl, who was now leaning against the arm of a chair as if she lacked the strength to support herself. ‘Hilde,’ he said. ‘How long have you known von Otten?’

  She looked startled.

  ‘How long have I been here? It must be—’

  ‘How long have you known von Otten?’ demanded Palfrey. To the stupefaction of the others he went forward and gripped her wrist. ‘How long have you been working for him?’

  She stared, transfixed. Brian gasped, Conroy stepped forward, swiftly, to the door. Then Hilde opened her lips, a shrill scream began, but Palfrey clapped his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him but her teeth slid over the palm of his hand; she struggled and tried to get away, but he held her fast.

  ‘Sap—’ began Brian in a strangled voice.

  ‘It’s clear now,’ said Palfrey, thinly. ‘She made the mistake of being too temperamental. I wasn’t happy about her in London. She changed too quickly, she was too anxious to get back or to get work with us. She let me think that she didn’t know that Karl had been shot, now says that we condemned him. So she betrayed herself. She told von Otten that Karl had
unburdened himself to us.’ He spoke like a man in a dream, while he gripped the girl’s wrist, holding her so that she could hardly move. ‘I couldn’t understand why he was arrested so soon afterwards, it seemed a freakish thing.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Brian, unsteadily.

  ‘We’ve got to face it,’ said Palfrey roughly. ‘She’s been spying on us for von Otten, damn her treacherous soul! He’s held his hand to the last because he wants to know just what we’re planning. He wants to make sure that we can put nothing across him. Why else was she so desperately anxious to know how we’re going to work?’ He released her, even pushed her away from him as if to rid himself of something unclean.

  She rushed towards the door, mouth wide open, a scream starting again; Conroy met her, stopped the scream, quite simply, by driving his fist against the point of her chin. She staggered back and banged into Palfrey; then, half conscious, sagged to the floor.

  Conroy said: ‘That’s your answer, Brian.’ He looked suddenly much older. ‘She’s had us on a piece of string, and now—oh, heck! von Otten knows us. He sent her to find out what we were going to do. We’ve got to face it, for he knows all right—if she isn’t back soon he’ll want to know why.’ With an effort the American twisted his lips into a crooked smile. ‘Any ideas?’ he demanded, and then repeated: ‘Any ideas?’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Last Stage

  There was no noise outside.

  Palfrey stood looking down at Hilde, whose face was turned towards the floor. He did not immediately answer but took a penknife from his pocket and bent down. Drusilla made a quick step forward, but Palfrey simply slit the skirt of Hilde’s dress and then cut it downwards towards the hem. He had a piece of the soft material in his hands when he turned her on her back, then raised her head and tied the cloth about her face; he did not tie it loosely. When he straightened up he wiped his hand across his forehead and said oddly: ‘Ideas? No, we’ve been sold out. How much longer to go?’

  ‘The last meeting’s due in an hour,’ said Drusilla steadily.

  ‘Von Otten’s waiting for her report, he’ll want it pretty soon,’ said Palfrey. ‘If she doesn’t arrive with it he’ll come to find out why, and he won’t come alone.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘He might be alone if we go to him.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Conroy. ‘So there are ideas?’

  Palfrey turned to Drusilla.

  ‘See if she has a key, will you?’ Then to Conroy. ‘Find out what kind of a guard we have outside. If it’s Stolte or a stooge, bring him in.’ He was quite crisp and decisive. ‘No point in delaying. The meeting will be a big one tonight, no one will be missing. If we can seal this place up for twelve hours we’ll get away with it.’ He did not think of the possibility of a failure from outside.

  ‘And if it isn’t?’ said Conroy.

  ‘Isn’t what?’ asked Palfrey. ‘Oh, if it isn’t Stolte? Well, come back and let us know the position.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if I don’t take some exercise,’ said Conroy gently.

  He went out, only just opening the door wide enough to squeeze through, and closed it behind him. Drusilla was going through Hilde’s clothes; she straightened up when she found a small bag in a pocket on the inside of the skirt. As Palfrey watched her he thought grimly of the Marquis’s acquiescence in Hilde’s return to the continent. He had been quite sure that the Marquis had checked her credentials in every way; instead, he must have left a serious gap.

  Drusilla opened the bag.

  She took out a small automatic pistol, a ring of keys, some loose change and thin piece of paper, like tissue, folded into a tiny square. She exclaimed aloud when she saw it, and Palfrey’s lips tightened.

  ‘That’s one of ours,’ said Brian swiftly. ‘One of the Marquis’s slips—’

  ‘It looks like it,’ said Palfrey. When he opened the folded paper his fingers were a little unsteady. The paper was plain on both sides, exactly like that on which he had received the earlier messages. He nicked at his lighter and held the flame in front of the paper; gradually lettering showed up. It was in the familiar shorthand code and they read it together, Palfrey deciphering it more quickly than the others.

  It read:

  ‘Delivery of this will come through Carlson. Drusilla will meet you at Wylen and will tell you that Hilde Silversen will be at Berlin. Hilde believes she is acting for us. Actually she has co-operated with the Nazis for over a year, and cannot be trusted. Watch her closely. Do not make contacts with any regular rendezvous until you are sure of her. You may find it possible to use her. No other message until you reach Berlin.’

  Palfrey finished; Brian took longer than either of them to read, and when they had finished Palfrey said softly: ‘Now it’s really working out. We had the fake message about the danger in Berlin in place of this one. They received it after they’d taken over the place at Trenborg. They knew we’d take the chance of coming to Berlin. And Hilde returned to Norway from Germany as a spy. The little—’

  He had never felt so savage; the girl’s own mother had been sacrificed in the maws of the monster that had possessed the daughter. He remembered vividly her show of desperation when she had reached Pastor Martin’s hut – and he knew, now, why it was that Martin, Olaf, Orleck and the others in Norway had been seized immediately after their escape.

  There was worse than that on his mind.

  It was obvious that they had been followed to Norway, and their route checked. The Marquis had already told them of the leakage, thus explaining the fact that they had been so closely watched. From the start there had been some measure of collusion – except, Palfrey thought, that the Nazis would not have allowed their prisoners to escape; at most they would have allowed Palfrey and his party to remain free so that they might be followed to their final objective. Palfrey imagined that the Nazi design was simply to unearth all the subversive agents with whom Palfrey made contact. Outwardly, they had been few in number, but – was Stefan being watched as closely as they? Were his arrangements suspected?

  Drusilla broke a silence which had lasted for only a minute but had seemed unbearable.

  ‘Sap, if von Otten knows—and he surely does—how much colour does that lend to von Lichner’s story?’

  ‘Not much,’ said Palfrey briefly. ‘I’ve been thinking—we’ve been beautifully duped right along, so beautifully duped.’

  Brian said: ‘I don’t know that it affects von Lichner, Sap. He might be working for a different faction. He warned us that the others knew we were in Berlin.’

  The faintest of smiles curved Palfrey’s lips.

  ‘Ye-es, I suppose so. You’ve changed your mind about von Lichner, have you?’ He stared at Brian, then suddenly snapped his fingers, the report echoing sharply. ‘But this won’t do! We’ve got to raid von Otten’s room.’ He put a hand inside his waistcoat, between the waistcoat and shirt, and drew a small automatic from a concealed pocket.

  All of them had similar guns.

  Palfrey said: ‘We’d better wait for Alex. Then—’ he paused. ‘You and ’Silla had best stay here for the time being. Alex and I will—’

  He broke off, for the door opened and Conroy came in, softly closing and leaning against it; his hair was ruffled and his coat awry, but he was smiling with evident satisfaction.

  ‘It wasn’t Stolte,’ he said, ‘but a little guy who won’t be doing much for a long time to come. I’ve pushed him into a closet, and here’s the key.’ Conroy tossed a key in the air, where it glittered in the light from the lamp; outside it was nearly dark. And what’s next, Cap’n?’

  ‘You and I will go to see the Count,’ said Palfrey quietly.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better if we all go?’ asked Brian.

  ‘No,’ said Palfrey briefly. ‘There might be a visit from von Lichner, or even Stefan, we’d better not leave the rooms empty. And we don’t want anyone coming to look for Hilde. You’ll get your share of action soon enough,’ he added, and stepped towards Conr
oy and the door.

  The passage was empty.

  They walked along together, one small gun in Palfrey’s trousers pocket, Conroy’s in his waistcoat. The little American looked purposeful and hopeful. Conroy passed two men with a tight-lipped smile; they were plain-clothes men whom they recognised as the guards of the delegates, and who seemed mildly surprised to see them. They went up two flights of stairs, Palfrey remembering the way to von Otten’s apartment.

  Outside it were two armed guards, with fixed bayonets.

  As the two men approached the guards crossed their bayonets, presenting an uncompromising barrier. They were hard-featured men and neither of them spoke, both seemingly touched with the superciliousness which affected von Otten’s whole entourage.

  Palfrey cleared his throat.

  ‘Is it possible to see the Count, please?’ he said. ‘We have a matter to discuss with him, and—’

  ‘No one is to see him,’ said one of the men. ‘He is in conference.’

  Palfrey’s face dropped.

  ‘But—I assure you—it is most important.’

  ‘His Excellency is in conference,’ the man growled. ‘He is not to be disturbed.’

  Palfrey ran a hand across his forehead, then said slowly: ‘Well perhaps—would you give him a message when he is free? Herr Cattorn, have you a pencil?’ He blinked at Conroy, who put his fingers to his waistcoat pocket while Palfrey put his hand to his trousers pocket. The guards kept their bayonets crossed, but looked quite unsuspicious.

  They were confronted, simultaneously, with the two small pistols poking towards their stomachs. Standing as they were, they could not lower their rifles with any speed; they gaped in amazement and alarm at the small guns.

  One of them opened his mouth to shout.

  ‘Do that tomorrow, son!’ said Conroy, softly.

  He struck the man with his free hand. The fellow staggered back, trying to lower his bayonet; Conroy knocked the1 rifle aside. Palfrey’s man stood transfixed, too scared to move. The other was helpless, for Conroy wrested the rifle from him and prodded it against his stomach. He backed away, his teeth showing. Conroy said: ‘Watch ’em for a moment, Sap.’