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(Based on a World War II poster)
"Escape for Sandra," Todd Publishing Co., London, 1945
"Escape for Sandra," Poynings Press, Brighton, England, 1945
O'Mara held an automatic pistol in each hand.
IT was seven o'clock. The November evening was cold, clear, peculiarly luminous. A pale moon bathed the streets of the West End with a mixture of silver and shadows. There seemed to be a strange quality in the atmosphere which comes to London sometimes in the winter months.
Not a mile from Piccadilly Circus is the Green Turtle Club. If you think that the Green Turtle Club was just another of those places you would be perfectly right. It was. You could get most things there. If you had the money and liked getting the things the Green Turtle supplied.
It was well-furnished, expensive: the liquor was good and there was lots of it. The restrictions of wartime were not too obvious. The people you met there were the sort of people you would expect to meet. Slim, sleek-hipped, well-dressed women with a hungry look in their eyes: men who had not been to war and were trying to escape the business of going; men who had been to war who were trying to forget it for a while. All sorts and conditions of men and women, each one of them trying to get something in rather a hurry.
You know the kind of place. If you don't you're not missing a lot.
The girl Carla leaned up against the pillar at the end of the bar. From the next room—the tiny dance-room—the music of a hot number played by four maestros (who came from the East End) permeated into the smoky atmosphere.
Carla was tall, slim. She had a fascinating figure. Her black dinner frock looked as if it had been pasted on her. She had lovely ankles, good feet. Her face was pale, interesting, thin. There were dark circles under her eyes. She leaned, lazy and relaxed, against the pillar: wondered how long she must stay in this place, being a hostess, talking to interesting—uninteresting—half-cut men—listening... watching....
She shrugged her shoulders.
She stiffened a little, as, down the short stairway at the other end of the bar, came a burly figure in battle-dress. The man was tall, broad, and smiling. He wore the uniform of a Canadian Commando unit. His name was Dombie.
He came over to the bar close to her. He said: 'Hello, Chickenpie! What about a little drink?'
She arched her shoulders against the pillar. She said: 'Thanks, Dombie. I want a brandy and soda. I'm tired. Where have you been? We haven't seen you for a long time.'
Dombie ordered the drinks. He waited till the barman had gone, handed her her glass. He said cheerfully:
'I've been around.' He raised his glass slowly to his lips, dropped his voice, said: 'Listen... Nielek's broken out. There's goin' to be hell poppin'. Some goddam fool's blown the works an' the press have got it. It'll be in all the evening papers.'
She said, smiling casually: 'What do I do?'
He said: 'Let Quayle know, and make it snappy.' He finished his drink. He said in his usual loud voice: 'What about a little dance, honeypot?'
She said: 'No, I don't want to. I'm tired. Have you a cigarette, Dombie?'
He gave her a cigarette. As he was lighting it she said softly: 'Quayle's been through. He's coming here. Do you think he's heard?'
'Why should he?' said Dombie quietly. 'I've just got it myself from the horse's mouth. Maybe he knows, but I'm not taking any chances, so you tell him.' He spoke in his former hearty voice. He said: 'Well, baby, if you're not dancing, I'm going to scram. This place is too hot for me. So long, sweet, I'll be seein' you.' He went out.
The girl Carla finished her drink. She leaned back once more against the pillar. She was thinking. She was thinking that life is a strange thing, that nothing is what it seems; that even she was not what she seemed; that far from being an attractive and well-paid hostess in an expensive club, she was merely a sort of walking pillar-box.
The bar began to fill up. People came to her, said good-evening, went away, drank and danced. It was a quarter to eight when Quayle came down the stairs into the bar.
Quayle might have been anything—a well-to-do man in the city, a stockbroker, or a member of one of the many Government Ministries. He was broad. His face was round. He looked benign. His head was bald except for a fringe of hair which gave him the appearance of a tonsured monk. He was well but quietly dressed.
Carla went over to him. She said: 'Good evening, Mr. Quayle. It's so nice to see you again. I missed you.'
Quayle smiled at her. He said: 'That's what you tell all the customers, I expect, Carla. Would you like a drink?'
She said: 'No thanks, but I'll talk to you while you have yours. Let's go and sit down.'
Quayle ordered a large gin and soda, picked up the glass. They went to a table in the corner of the bar.
She said quietly: 'Dombie's been in. He says that Nielek has broken out. I don't know what that means. Perhaps you do?'
Quayle nodded ruefully. 'I know exactly what it means, my dear,' he said, 'and I'm afraid everybody will know if they look at the stop-press in the papers.'
The girl said: 'It all sounds very mysterious.'
Quayle shrugged his shoulders. He said: 'It's not a bit mysterious, Carla. Nielek is a German agent—a spy. We got him three months ago. We were entitled to shoot him but we didn't. We should have.'
'Why didn't you?' she asked.
Quayle said: 'I had an idea that he'd be better on ice for a bit. I thought he might talk. Well, he hasn't talked and somehow he's got out. Maybe somebody helped him to get out. Did Dombie say anything else?' he asked.
She shook her head. 'No,' she said. Then: 'Tell me, how long do I have to stay working in this place?'
Quayle smiled at her. 'I wouldn't know, my dear. You're doing a very good job here. I don't know what we'd do without you.' He patted her hand, got up. He said: 'So long, Carla.'
He went out.
OUTSIDE, he began to walk in the direction of Knightsbridge.
He walked slowly, his hands in his overcoat pockets. He stopped
outside Green Park Station, picked up a passing taxicab. Inside
the cab he relaxed in the corner of the seat, lit a cigarette. He
continued to think about Nielek.
At St. John's Wood, Quayle paid off the cab, walked to his apartment building, went up to his flat. He let himself in, passed down the corridor into the kitchen. On the far side of the kitchen was a built-in cupboard. Quayle opened the cupboard, stepped inside, passed through the door inside the cupboard into the flat next door.
He went into one of the rooms. It was large; furnished like an office. The walls were lined with steel filing cabinets. A blonde girl in the uniform of a Squadron Officer in the W.A.A.F. sat at a large desk in the middle of the room typing.
Quayle said: 'Anything come in, Myra?'
She shook her head. 'You know about the Nielek thing?' she said. 'There's been nothing else. Only routine calls. Farber landed in Scotland this afternoon. He's on his way down, I told him to report tomorrow.'
Quayle said: 'Good girl. Let me have the Nielek folder, when you've done that get through to the Security people and say that I want the Nielek escape broadcast in the nine o'clock news. Just the normal news item.' He grinned. 'Everybody seems to know about it so we might just as well let the rest of the world know.'
'Very good, Mr. Quayle,' said the girl. She went to one of the steel cabinets, unlocked it, checked through a rack of folders. She brought one to Quayle.
He drew up a chair to the desk, sat down, opened the folder. The girl went to one of the five telephones on the mantelpiece, asked for a priority call, gave a code number, began to talk quietly.
Quayle read:
JOHANNES ANTON NIELEK.
Johannes Anton Nielek (son of Karl Frederick Nielek, who died in 1937). Born Berlin. Educated Military Academy, Leipsic. Gazetted to 421st Infantry Regiment. Seconded 1937 to Himmler International Organisation. Trained under Himmler. Transferred Columbia House, Berlin 1938. Responsible for information and organisation of complete espionage section England. Operated from London, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Dorking and Fleetwood.
Came under observation M.I.5, January, 1940. All documents to Q. Counter-Espionage Section, February, 1940. Complete organisation arrested February, 1941. Other associates unknown.
Quayle closed the folder. He pushed it across the desk to the
blonde girl, who had resumed work.
She said: 'Security will arrange for the Nielek break to go into the nine o'clock news.'
'Right,' said Quayle. He got up, lit a cigarette, went back through the door in the cupboard to his own flat.
He went into the sitting-room, began to walk up and down. His movements were impatient, restless.
After a while he began to smile. He looked almost happy.
THE clock on the mantelpiece struck eight. Sandra Kerr
switched on the light over the pier glass; stood in front of it
looking at herself. She stood quite silently, her hands clasped
behind her back. Reflected in the mirror, a yard or two away,
standing by the dressing-table, was Ingrid, her maid. Sandra
could see that the maid's eyes were regarding her back intently:
that they were hard and bright.
Sandra was a lovely person. Tonight she looked very beautiful. She wore a cherry-red velveteen coat and skirt, a lace jabot at her throat. Her sheer sun-bronze stockings—relics of a peace-time store—and brown court shoes, set off the perfection of her legs and feet. Small ruby and diamond ear-rings glittered in her ears.
She said: 'My coat, please, Ingrid. Is something worrying you tonight?'
The maid said slowly, in good and carefully pronounced English: 'Nothing at all, Madame... well, nothing of importance. I was thinking that you are very beautiful. That was the thought in my mind. Also, Madame, I am a little worried. This war... this terrible war... makes life so difficult for my people in Norway. Each day I am a little more concerned for them. Perhaps I am foolish. You are kind to be concerned, Madame.'
She went up to the wardrobe, brought out the mink coat, held it up. Sandra slipped into it.
She said over her shoulder: 'Has Mr. Vayle telephoned?'
The maid nodded. She said: 'I was going to tell you, Madame. He telephoned about half an hour ago. He said in would be at the usual place. It was important that he should see you.' She hesitated, then: 'Madame...'
Sandra said: 'Yes?' She turned; stood looking at the maid.
Ingrid Sven said: 'Just before that, Mr. Kerr telephoned. He asked if there'd been any calls. He asked if I knew what you were doing tonight. Madame—I hate to say this, but—' She hesitated again.
Sandra said: 'What do you hate to say, Ingrid?'
The girl shrugged her shoulders. She made a little moue of distaste. She said quietly: 'Madame... he sounded as if he was suspicious.' She stood looking at her mistress—a mere suggestion of a cynical smile about her mouth.
Sandra went to the mantelpiece. She took a cigarette from a silver box; lit it. She said casually:
'So Mr. Kerr sounded suspicious, Ingrid? I wonder how one sounds suspicious? What did you say?'
The maid shrugged her shoulders. She said: 'I said I didn't know what you were doing, Madame. I said that you'd given me no instructions; that I thought you were coming back to change; that I believed you had been at a tea party this afternoon. I said nothing that—'
Sandra smiled at her. 'Of course you didn't, Ingrid,' she said. 'You wouldn't do anything like that. Why should you?'
The maid said: 'Forgive me, Madame... I think you should be very careful. These meetings with this gentleman... I am sure Mr. Kerr suspects something.'
Sandra said: 'I shouldn't worry if I were you, Ingrid. You know I'm very careful. Did Mr. Kerr say what time he would be returning home?'
The maid said: 'Yes, Madame. He said he would not be home before ten. He said between ten and eleven.'
Sandra Kerr stubbed out her cigarette. She said: 'Would you give me my hat, Ingrid?'
The girl brought the small mink toque with its little veil. Sandra went back to the pier glass; put it on.
She said: 'If I shouldn't be back before Mr. Kerr arrives tell him I shan't be late. I expect he'll dine out as usual. You may go to bed if you want to, Ingrid. I shan't need you any more.'
The girl said: 'Very well, Madame.' She opened the door.
SANDRA KERR went out into the long passage that bisected the
flat. She walked slowly down the passage, opened the front door.
Ricky Kerr, a cigarette in his mouth, his key in his hand, was
standing on the other side of the threshold.
She said: 'Good evening, Ricky.' She stepped back into the hallway.
Kerr took a pace forward. He was looking at her while he felt for the door and closed it behind him. He stood with his back to the door.
He said, a little vaguely: 'My dear, has anybody ever been able to tell you just how lovely you are? I should like a picture of you just as you are at this moment. It would be superb. You have the most wonderful honey-coloured hair, the most marvellous violet eyes and a skin like cream.' He hiccoughed a little. 'And that suit you're wearing. It's quite supreme. I don't think I've even seen that before. Who did you get that for... me?' His voice was acid.
She said: 'Ricky, I think you've been drinking.' Her nice was cold. It carried. Standing by the door in the bedroom, the maid Ingrid heard it; smiled a little.
Kerr's voice was louder. He said: 'I wonder why you think you can afford to be so damned insolent. I wonder why you think you can get away with the things that you get away with. I suppose you imagine that I'm fool enough not to suspect... not to know....'
Sandra said in a clear bored voice: 'Know what, Ricky dear? Whatever are you talking about? And do you mind standing away from the door? I want to go out.'
Kerr said: 'Yes? I suppose it would be an impertinence to ask where you're going?'
She said: 'I think it would, Ricky, don't you? In any event, do you propose to stop me going? Aren't you being a little ill-mannered?'
He looked at her. He stood leaning against the door, the cigarette hanging from the corner of his well-cut mouth. She was thinking: What a fine-looking man you are, Ricky. You're really quite handsome.
She asked: 'Well?'
He pushed himself away from the door with an effort, moved to one side. He said: 'All right, my lady. Off you go. But it's not always going to be as easy as this. One of these fine days I'm going to put a stop to this damned funny business that's going on.'
Sandra sighed. She opened the door. She said: 'You know, Ricky, you used to be such an interesting man once. Now you're becoming so fearfully boring.'
She went out. She closed the door quietly behind her.
Kerr walked down the corridor. Through the open door of his wife's bedroom he could see the maid hanging up clothes. He went into the room; stood in front of the fireplace. The ash from his cigarette fell on to the carpet. He looked at it, swaying a little. After a moment he said: 'Ingrid, come here.'
The maid closed the wardrobe door. She came towards him. She stood a few feet away, her hands folded demurely in front of her.
She said: 'Yes, sir?'
Kerr said: 'I want to know what's going on. You know... there's a man, isn't there? I know there's a man, and by God you're going to tell me who it is....'
IT was nine o'clock. The maid Ingrid stood in the middle of
her bedroom, listening. From the dining-room came the tinkle of
glass on decanter, as Kerr poured himself out another drink.
She stood, her hands hanging down by her sides, waiting. After a little while she heard the dining-room door open. Then Kerr's footsteps going down the passage; then the pause whilst he fumbled for his hat; then the sound of the front door banging behind him. The sound of his footsteps going towards the lift grew fainter and fainter.
Ingrid said quietly to herself: English swine .. damned English swine....
She came out of the bedroom into the passage. She began to walk slowly towards the hallway.
The telephone jangled. The noise was so sudden that, for a second, she was startled.
She moved quickly down the passage towards the hall telephone, took off the receiver, listened.
For a moment her face was set; then she began to smile. Then she said: 'Yes... this is Ingrid Sven... This is me... yes... YES...!'
MR. SHAUN ALOYSIUS O'MARA opened the door of his apartment in
Knightsbridge; went inside, threw his overcoat over a chair in
the hall, walked into the dining-room, helped himself to a whisky
and soda. With the glass in his hand, he moved to the radiogram
on the far side of the room; switched it on. It began to play a
South American tango. He stood in front of the radiogram,
drinking the whisky and soda, appreciating the music.
O'Mara was tall, big, strong. He looked like a very attractive bull. His eyes, of the peculiar blue so often found in Ireland, radiated a charm that was so intense that sometimes it seemed almost hypnotic. His hair was blond, wavy. His skin clear and slightly tanned. Altogether Mr. O'Mara was a very attractive, a very tough, a very dangerous proposition—unless he happened to be on your side. In which case he was only dangerous if you were a woman and he liked you.
He moved over to the table. Two evening papers were lying there. He picked one up, looked through it; then turned to the stop-press news. He whistled quietly to himself. He put the paper down, picked up a cigar case, extracted a small black cigar, lit it. He stood there relaxed, the whisky-glass in one hand, the cigar in the other. He was smiling. He felt benign and happy.
The telephone jangled.
O'Mara put the cigar in his mouth, walked over to the instrument. He said: 'Yes? This is Shaun O'Mara. Who wants him?'
Quayle said: 'Good evening, Shaun. Have you read the paper?'
O'Mara said: 'Yes. I've just read the stop-press column in the Evening News.'
Quayle said: 'It's all over the place. So Nielek's broken out?'
O'Mara said: 'Well, it can happen. Telephones aren't good things for having conversations on, but it's a pity something wasn't done about that boy when you had the chance.'
Quayle said: 'I know. Well, you know what you've got to do, don't you?'
O'Mara grinned. He said: 'I can guess.'
Quayle said: 'Very well. Go ahead, Shaun. And for God's sake, don't make any mistakes!'
'I won't, said O'Mara. He sighed. 'I was looking forward to a quiet evening playing tangoes on the radiogram,' he said. 'Instead of which I have work. So long!'
He hung up the receiver. He finished the whisky and soda, went into the bedroom, opened a drawer in his dressing table. He took out a .38 Mauser automatic, slipped it into the inside pocket of his double-breasted jacket. He went back to the dining-room; poured out, drank another whisky and soda. He went into the hall, put on his overcoat.
He stood for a moment or two in the quiet, cold, hallway. He was thinking that the last time he had been on this sort of business it had been a long way away; in the fashionable and heat-tempered streets of Rio de Janeiro; in the fashionable, exclusive night clubs in the city.
He remembered a woman with Indian-ink hair, eyes black as sloes and as soft as the pile on black velvet.
Violante... that was her name. A lovely name for a lovely person, thought O'Mara. He wondered when he should see her again. If ever he would see her again.
He sighed; switched off the hall light, and went out—to work.
VAYLE stood in the far corner of the lounge at the Hotel
Mirabelle looking towards the wide red-carpeted steps that led
down from the front entrance. He was tall, slim, vital. His
face, young and eager, radiated a peculiar good-humoured urgency,
an expression of good-natured interest that made you feel when he
was talking to you that you were the only person in whom he was
at all interested. His face was healthily tanned. A well-cut
mouth was set off by good jaw-line. His eyes were blue; his hair
blond, short and wavy. His shoulders were square and he walked
with the quick, easy grace of the trained athlete. He was a man
in whom women had always been interested.
He stood leaning easily against the wall, watching the entrance steps. He was thinking. He was thinking that tonight must produce some sort of crisis. He was thinking that the time had come when Sandra would have to say, and to do, something definite. He wondered what she would say—and do.
He saw her. As she came down the steps, not seeing him, he moved quickly into the corridor on his left, walked along to the telephone. Three minutes later he came out of the corridor.
Sandra was sitting on one of the big settees on the edge of the almost deserted palm court. Vayle walked across to her.
He said: 'Good evening, my darling. It's quite unnecessary for me to tell you that you look absolutely beautiful; that I have the same wonderful thrill each time I see you; that you're entirely exquisite.'
She smiled at him. She said: 'Not only do you make the most charming speeches, Philip, but you do it in such a manner, in such a voice, that one is almost inclined to believe you.'
He laughed. He asked: 'Have you ever had reason to disbelieve me, Sandra?'
She shook her head. She said: 'No, I haven't. But I've been thinking, Philip. I've been thinking—'
He sat down beside her. He said: 'You've been thinking that the time has come when we've got to do something definite, haven't you? You're going to tell me that this situation is one which cannot go on. Has something happened? Ricky—'
He looked at her smilingly.
She said softly: 'Yes, I'm rather worried.'
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Is there anything to worry about?' he asked. 'Listen, Sandra, I've a quiet table in the restaurant. Let's go and eat dinner. Even if something definite has to be done there's no reason why we should be hungry. Come, my dear.'
They went into the restaurant. Vayle had reserved their usual table in the corner—a quiet table half-screened by convenient palms. They sat down and he ordered cocktails.
He said: 'I've ordered dinner. Sandra—something rather special. I feel this is quite a night. There is something in the air—something odd in the atmosphere. I've felt it for hours.'
She said: 'I'm afraid there is, Philip. I don't know that I like it awfully.'
He handed her a cigarette, lit it. When the waiter had brought the cocktails and gone, he said quietly: 'Drink your cocktail, Sandra. Then tell me all about it. I suppose at last he realises that he's going to lose his wife?'
She drank a little of the cocktail. She put the glass down. 'He'd 'phoned through in the afternoon and asked my maid if she knew what my engagements were for this evening. She told me that he sounded rather odd. As I was leaving the flat I met him. He'd been drinking a little too much. He was very, very rude. I think he might do something about it.'
Vayle raised his eyebrows. 'Yes?' he said. 'And what do you think he's going to do, Sandra?'
She said miserably: 'I don't know. I wish I did know.'
The diminutive page-boy came in from the lounge. He came up to the table. He said: 'Excuse me, Mr. Vayle, but you're wanted on the telephone—No. 4 box in the lounge.'
Sandra looked at Vayle. He saw the query in her eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. He said: 'I wonder who would know that I was here. Well, I'd better go and find out. Excuse me, Sandra. I shan't be a minute.' He went away. Sandra finished her cocktail. She sat looking across the restaurant, thinking: I wonder what's going to happen to-night. I wonder what will happen... whatever it is I hope it's going to be all right. As Vayle had said, there was, Sandra thought, something peculiar in the atmosphere— something electric. She felt it was one of those nights When anything might happen. She felt elated and scared simultaneously.
Vayle came back. As he approached the table she felt a sense of surprise. He was walking with a peculiar staccato step. There was an air of bravura in his movements. He was smiling, but the smile about his mouth was not the tender, rather pleasant smile to which she was accustomed. He was hard and cynical. He sat down. He looked at her without speaking. His eyes—very blue, very hard—shone with a light that was almost fanatic.
She asked: 'What is it, Philip? Has something happened? You look strange.'
He said in a peculiar incisive voice: 'I feel a little strange. I should like to tell you something. I should like in tell you that late this afternoon an individual called Nielek escaped from prison. Do you understand?'
Sandra looked at him in astonishment. She said: 'Nielek.... I know nothing of any Nielek. Who is Nielek?'
Vayle said quietly: 'You're a damned liar—very beautiful, very attractive, but nevertheless a damned liar! So you don't know who Nielek is? In a moment, my delightful Sandra, you will be telling me that you don't know who I am.'
She raised her eyebrows. She said: 'Philip, what are you trying to tell me? I don't understand your attitude. You startle me.'
His voice was caustic. He said: 'Yes? I suppose you're going to tell me that you don't know that in reality I am Captain Fritz Seydlitz—a German officer who has been spying in this country for the last four years. You're going to tell me that you don't know that Nielek—one of our best external Intelligence Officers—is the man who was responsible for forming the organisation in this country.' He spread his hands. 'How stupid you English are,' he went on. 'You captured Nielek and you didn't shoot him. Today he has escaped by some means or other. Even your military prison was not strong enough, not clever enough, to hold this superb German. But of course you know none of these things, my beautiful Sandra, do you?' He smiled cynically.
Sandra said nothing. She sat looking at the tablecloth. He picked up his glass, finished the cocktail. When he spoke again he was smiling. He said casually:
'My dear, in a moment you'll tell me that you've never heard of a gentleman called Quayle. Mr. Quayle, who runs your most important counter-espionage section in this country. You'll tell me that you don't know that your own husband—Ricardo Kerr—is Quayle's chief operative. You will also try possibly to tell me that it is not true that you pretended to be attracted to me merely because you are assisting your husband in his work for Quayle. Well, my beloved...?' He laughed again.
Sandra thought: 'What do I do? What do I do? Whatever happens I must play for time.
She said: 'Philip, if you have not gone mad, if for the sake of argument all of this—or some of it—were true, don't you think you've been rather foolish to admit it to me? I'm an Englishwoman. If I believe what you say about yourself my duty is obvious.'
He grinned at her. He said: 'Don't you believe it. And isn't what I've said about you and your husband true? What fools you must have thought we were... what imbeciles.'
Sandra said: 'Philip, what are you trying to tell me? What is behind all this?'
He said quietly: 'I'm going to explain to you what is behind it all. Your Mr. Quayle, your husband and yourself, believed you held the winning cards in this game, but the odd thing has happened—a thing that changes the complexion of everything. Nielek has escaped. I've just had a very interesting telephone call. Because of that telephone call I think, my delightful Sandra, you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do.'
Sandra sat quite still looking at the man she had thought was Philip Vayle. She found herself possessed by a peculiar sensation of fear—an odd numbness. She found herself thinking: How funny it is... you meet a person as I met this man. You look at them. You think you know something about them. You think they're nice. Then when you discover something of their real character you look at them and you find in their faces all sorts of things which you did not see before. Now and for the first time she noticed the peculiar hardness of Vayle's eyes—the odd, almost ascetic, cut of his mouth. Here was a man whose fanaticism would lead him to anything; who would stop at nothing in order to achieve his ends.
She began to think about Ricky. She thought: What an extraordinary person you are, Ricky, to have done such a thing like this to me; to have allowed me to become involved in such an appalling situation—a situation which must be appalling even if only half of what this man says is true. Her mind went back five months. She remembered the evening when Ricky came back to the flat. She had been looking forward to his return. They had planned to dine out together.
When he came in she noticed that he was pre-occupied. She could understand that. She knew that he did important undercover work for the Quayle organisation, but exactly what that work was she did not know. Ricky had flopped down in the armchair by the side of the fire, lit a cigarette. She had brought him a whisky and soda, had said:
'Don't worry, Ricky. Whatever it is it'll pass. Have you had a bad day? Are things not going well?'
He had drunk the whisky; looked at her over the rim of the glass; had said: 'I'm not worried, Sandra. I'm thinking. I want you to do something for me. Do you think you would?'
She heard herself say: 'Of course, Ricky. You know I'd do anything for you. What can I do?'
'It's rather an odd request,' Ricky had said. 'The position is this. I'm interested in a man—quite a nice sort of person. His name is Philip Vayle. I don't think you've met him but he's seen you once or twice; has not concealed the fact that he has a great admiration for you.' Ricky had grinned at her. 'An admiration which I share.'
'I see,' she had said. 'Well... so Mr. Vayle in whom you are interested has a great admiration for me. What am I to do about that, Ricky?'
He had lit a cigarette. He had said: 'I'd rather like you to make friends with Vayle. Just that. He's quite a nice sort of man. He'll probably like taking you to lunch or dinner. When he gets to know you a little bit he might be inclined to talk. Men often do talk to a pretty women, you know, Sandra.'
She had said: 'I see. In other words, my dear Ricky, you're asking me to do a little work for you. What an honour. Can I know some more? I love being let into your confidence.'
Ricky had got up. He went to the fireplace; stood in his usual position with his back to it. He said: 'Sorry, old girl, I can't say anything else. But if you'd do that I'd be awfully obliged. We may throw a little party here next week. I'll see that Vayle is asked. Then all you'll have to do is to turn on that marvellous charm of yours; look at him with those lovely eyes, and I think that in next to no time you'll find out what I want to know.'
'Thank you for the compliment,' she had said. 'Ricky, exactly what do you want to know?'
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Believe it or not, Sandra,' he had said, 'I don't know. I mean that Vayle is a little bit of a mystery man. We want to find out all we can about him. Perhaps we're not quite sure of where we ought to start, but through you we may get some sort of indication—an unguarded remark on his part—some small confidence, meaningless by itself, but which added to one or two other things might provide a clue. Will you do it?'
She had said: 'Of course, Ricky. I said I'd do anything for you. And really you're not asking a great deal. You're merely asking me to be nice to this Mr. Vayle—to consent to lunch and possibly dine with him, naturally in public places. Well, that's going to be quite amusing. All the more amusing because all the time I shall be watching him like a cat, listening carefully to everything he says, hoping that I may have something to report to you....'
ACROSS the table, Vayle sat silent and relaxed, watching her.
She dropped her eyes. Well, it seemed that this man who had
professed to be so fond of her; who had such a deep and sincere
love for her that he had never even kissed her fingers, was very
much more clever—very much more dangerous—than they
had known. And all the while he had known about the plot. All the
while he had known what she was trying to do. Had known about
Ricky... what his work was. Sandra thought: Ricky, my clever
husband, you have slipped up for once, rather badly. I'm afraid
you've not only let yourself in for something unpleasant, but me
as well.
She said: 'Philip... if you don't mind I'm going to continue calling you that... I don't quite understand these threats of yours. Of course I understand what you've said. You've told me you're a German officer—a spy; that you have an organisation here; that you know that my husband does the same sort of work for our country. Now you say that I'm going to do exactly what you tell me to do.' She smiled. 'I'm not a coward, Philip,' she said. 'You'll find that in order to make me do exactly what you want me to do you'll have to have a very strong reason—perhaps a lot of strong reasons. Perhaps you're bluffing.'
Vayle smiled sardonically. He opened his cigarette case; took out a cigarette, lit it. He did not offer her a cigarette. The action was such a contrast to his usual charming manners that Sandra experienced almost a sense of shock.
He said: 'My dear Sandra, I assure you I'm not bluffing. You're going to do what I tell you to do. You'll probably be glad of the chance of doing it. You say that in order to secure the results I want from you there must be a very good reason. There is. I'll tell you now what it is....'
THE waiter began to serve dinner. Outside, from the other side
of the lounge, where a small dance band was playing, the 'hot'
refrain of one of the latest American numbers percolated through
to the dining-room.
Sandra went through the process of eating, mechanically. She was thinking that this was the weirdest, most terrible situation in which any woman ever found herself. She tried, vainly, to think of some means of gaining time, of temporising with a situation which was beginning to appear too ominous to be pleasant.
She looked at Vayle. Now he was relaxed. The tautness which had shown in his face when he had been speaking had gone. He ate his dinner with pleasure. It seemed to her that he had concluded in his own mind that everything was well; that his plans, whatever they were, must succeed; that he was master of the situation.
Her mind turned once again to Ricky. She felt a strange sense of disappointment. Ricky, who was supposed to be so strong, so brave, so clever. Perhaps just for once he had not been clever. Perhaps he was slipping a little. Perhaps he had been drinking a little too much.
Vayle finished his chicken. He folded his hands, rested his chin on them, looked across at her. He said: 'Sandra, listen to me. If you are a clever woman you will agree to do what I tell you. If you don't it will be bad for you, and worse for your husband.'
She said nothing.
He went on: 'This is the story: The man who has escaped tonight—Nielek—is one of our finest agents. He is a master of espionage. He is brave, strong, cultured, intelligent. He speaks many languages. He is a superb actor. Always I should have liked to have had the honour of working under Nielek. Unfortunately for me he was already a trained and experienced agent at the time when I was completing my own training under our great Himmler. So that I have never met Johannes Nielek. Well'—he smiled—'I shall meet him tonight, and so will you.'
He paused for a moment; then he went on: 'Nielek came to this country early in 1939. He came here to prepare a small, but splendidly trained, organisation, to work against England in this war. Well, he was unlucky. A few months ago by some strange chance your Mr. Quayle, who runs your Government's chief counter-espionage organisation, and for whom your husband works, came across Nielek's trail. Nielek was arrested, imprisoned, but the fools did not do what they should have done; what we should have done in Germany. They did not shoot him.
'I continued with my own work. I was disappointed. I was miserable and unhappy about the arrest of Nielek, but I still believed that if they did not execute him he would escape. In the meantime I went quietly on, serving my Fuehrer and my country waiting for my chance.'
He stopped speaking. He looked at her silently for a few moments; then he smiled. He asked: 'Are you listening, Sandra?'
She said in a dull voice: 'Yes, of course I'm listening.'
Vayle went on: 'Then a wonderful thing happened. By some means best known to himself Nielek managed to bribe one of the prison officials. He began to get messages out—not very often, but enough to tell me what was in his mind; what he intended to do. He was able to tell me that he thought it possible that at some time or other he would escape.' He smiled again. 'Well, Sandra, as you know, the time has come. Nielek is out. Now the time has come for us to act.'
Sandra said: 'You told me that I would have to do what you wanted me to do. Up to the moment you haven't given me any reason. All this has been very interesting, but that is all.'
Vayle gave himself a fresh cigarette. The waiter brought coffee. When the man had gone, Vayle said: 'I'll give you your reason, Sandra. When you came into the hotel tonight, I was waiting in the dark corner of the lounge near the corridor by the telephone call box. When I saw you arrive I slipped into the 'phone box and telephoned your flat. To whom do you think I spoke—?'
Sandra said: 'I imagine that you spoke to Ingrid, my maid.'
Vayle shrugged his shoulders. 'Yes, I spoke to her,' he said. 'But that is not important. The important thing is that Nielek was there. He had already arrived at your flat.'
Sandra said: 'But why should he go there? Why should he go to my flat?'
Vayle said: 'Isn't it obvious? Nielek is an extremely thorough and consistent person. He knows who was responsible for his arrest. You know who that was. Can't you guess? That man was your husband, Ricky.'
Sandra said slowly: 'You mean that this Nielek intends to—'
'That depends,' said Vayle. 'You were going to say he intends to kill Ricky. Well, yes and no. That depends on you. You understand?'.
Sandra said: 'I'm beginning to understand.'
'Excellent,' said Vayle. 'Let me tell you what we are going to do. We are going back to your flat—you and I. When we get there we shall find the woman Ingrid. Nielek will not be there, neither will your husband. Nielek will have taken Ricky away to a safe place. What happens to him depends on the telephone message that I send to Nielek from your flat. It depends on what happens—on what you consent to do when we arrive back there. In other words, my dear Sandra, you are in a position when you can decide the fate of your husband for yourself.'
He looked at his watch. He said: 'Well, what do you propose to do? Shall we return to your flat and discuss this matter further, or do you think you would like to telephone the authorities and hand me over to them? What would you like to do, my dear?'
Sandra said: 'It's quite obvious what I've got to do.'
He smiled. 'Excellent,' he said. 'I will pay the bill and then we will leave. Possibly we can drink a glass of brandy together at your home.' He grinned cynically. 'I am sure Ricky wouldn't object.'
He got up. He said: 'Come, my dear Sandra, let us go.'
Sandra sat in the corner of the taxicab, pressing herself against the side of the cab, putting the greatest possible distance between herself and the man who sat in the other corner.
She looked at him sideways. In the darkness she could see the shape of his face illuminated by the light from his cigarette.
Now she began to think of him as Von Seydlitz—a German. She no longer thought of him as Philip Vayle—the rather attractive Englishman whose friendship she had sought because Ricky had asked her to do so—but as a ruthless enemy.
She sighed. She thought: I wonder what the end of this evening is going to be. I wonder what will happen. She shuddered a little.
The end of Von Seydlitz's cigarette glowed regularly as he drew breath. He said suddenly: 'It's really rather amusing, isn't it, Sandra—this situation I mean? And what a situation! Your delightful husband asks you to make my acquaintance in order, I imagine, to find out anything you can about me. The plan is rather spoiled because I happen to know that. It is a sort of cat watching the mouse watching the cat. Only in this case instead of being the mouse it would seem that I am the cat.'
She said coldly: 'I see no reason why I should consider the situation to be amusing. And now may I ask what it is that you want me to do?'
'Have patience, my dear Sandra,' he said. 'Very soon everything will be made perfectly clear to you, I assure you.' She could almost sense him smiling cynically in the darkness.
There was a silence; then the cab stopped. Von Seydlitz put his hand on the door handle. He said:
'Sandra, there is one thing I should like to point out to you. In my overcoat I have an automatic pistol. If you try anything that I consider to be strange I should have not the remotest scruple about killing you.'
She got out of the cab, entered the apartment block. Von Seydlitz handed the driver a note; did not wait for the change; came quickly after her.
Arrived at the flat, he pressed the bell. The door opened almost immediately. They went in. Standing in the hall, smiling, was Ingrid the maid. But she no longer looked like a maid. She was wearing a well-cut black frock. Her hair was well-dressed.
She stood looking at Sandra with ruthless eyes which could not conceal their triumph. She closed the door. She said softly to Von Seydlitz: 'Heil Hitler!'
He said: 'You are a very good girl, Freda. You have done excellently. I shall report well of you.'
He followed Sandra into the drawing-room. Freda came after them.
Von Seydlitz said: 'I think a glass of Mr. Kerr's excellent brandy would be good for Mrs. Kerr. I would like one too. I am sure he would like us to drink his health.'
Freda smiled. She went away; returned in a few minutes with the two glasses on a tray. She handed the tray with mock obsequiousness to Sandra; gave the other glass to Von Seydlitz, who drank it at a gulp.
He said: 'Well, Freda, there is not a great deal of time to be lost. Tell me exactly what happened. Speak English, my dear. I would like our dear friend here to hear everything. There is no reason why she should not know the whole story.'
Freda stood in the centre of the room, her hands hanging down by her sides. She said: 'Herr Oberst, this evening Kerr came back to the flat. He pretended to be drunk. This of course is the usual act which has been put on for my benefit for some time between himself and Mrs. Kerr. They knew of course that I was working for the Fatherland; that I was watching everything. They pretended, as you know, to be falling out with each other because of you. Kerr came in as she was leaving to meet you tonight. When she had gone he asked me who the man was... said that I must know. He pretended he wanted to find out. Well...' she smiled sardonically. 'I played up to him. I was the faithful maid who was not going to give her mistress away, but all the time I was remembering my earlier telephone call to you this evening when you told me that Nielek had escaped; when you told me that now the time of crisis had come for us.'
'Yes?' said Von Seydlitz. 'There is no need to embellish the story, Freda. Keep to the facts. What happened?'
The girl said: 'He went into the dining-room and poured himself a drink; then he went out. A few minutes after he had gone, the telephone bell rang. A voice came through and told me who was speaking—Nielek! My heart thrilled. He asked me if I knew where Kerr had gone, when he would be back. I said I did not know. He told me to stand by and prepare for any eventuality. Then he rang off.
'Hardly had I put the telephone receiver down when Kerr returned. He came in here, began to walk up and down. He was now pretending to be the jealous, enraged husband. Then he went to the door and called for me. As I came along the passage I heard the front door open. A man came into the flat. He had an automatic pistol in his hand. He signalled me to be silent. Herr Oberst... it was Nielek!
'I came in here. Kerr began to question me again, but before many words were out of his mouth the door opened and Nielek stood in the doorway smiling, his automatic covering Kerr.' She laughed. 'I have never seen a man so surprised in my life,' she said.
Von Seydlitz nodded. 'A dramatic scene, Freda,' he said. 'Go on, my dear. What happened then?'
She said: 'Kerr stood looking at his visitor. He stiffened. Then he said: "My God... Nielek!" Herr Nielek said: "Exactly, my friend. I think it has always been understood between us that I should return one day if possible to settle old scores. Remember, on the slightest hesitation from you to do as I tell you, I shall kill you. Even if I do nothing more than that, I shall have done adequate service to the Fuehrer. Get your hat, put on your overcoat, precede me down the stairs. There is a cab waiting outside. You will get into it. I shall be just behind you. My hand will be in my pocket holding this pistol, and I should not mind spoiling the overcoat by shooting through the pocket."'
Von Seydlitz nodded again. 'And then?' he asked.
The girl Freda said: 'Kerr shrugged his shoulders. He did as he was told. He went out into the hall, put on his overcoat and hat. Herr Nielek was close behind him as they went out of the door. Nielek said to me over his shoulder: "Stay here. You will probably receive instructions from Von Seydlitz. When you see him give him this telephone number."'
She put her hand to her dress, produced a piece of paper, handed it to Von Seydlitz.
He looked at it. He said: 'Excellent. Now everything is complete. Now I think we can turn our attention to our delightful and charming Mrs. Kerr. Now I think we can tell her exactly what she has to do.'
Von Seydlitz put down his glass, got up, walked across to the telephone. As he passed Sandra he gave her a slow smiling, sideways glance. She saw the triumph in his eyes.
He dialled a number. There was a pause; then he said: 'Good evening. This is Philip Vayle.' He waited. A satisfied smile spread over his face. He went on: 'Thank you... thank you.... Yes, she is here.... Yes, everything has gone well.' There was a long pause; then: 'I understand your instructions perfectly. They shall be carried out.'
He hung up the receiver. He looked from the woman Freda, who was now standing in front of the fireplace, to Sandra. He said: 'I have spoken to Nielek. He has given me his instructions. Now I know exactly what I have to do. Now, my delightful Sandra, I can tell you exactly what you have to do.'
He moved to the centre of the room, took out his cigarette case, lit a cigarette. He took a long time about the process, obviously enjoying with a sadistic pleasure this dramatic silence. Eventually he said:
'I knew that Nielek would have organised this matter perfectly. He has done so.' He turned to the woman in front of the fireplace. 'Our business is now to get in touch with my group—all four of them. They are to come here immediately. It should be possible for each one of them to be here within the next half hour. During that time I have a little business to transact with our delightful friend Sandra. By the time they arrive that business should be completed. Then,' he went on happily, 'that being settled, Nielek will come here. He has a car; by some means best known to himself he has obtained a permit to proceed to the coast. Tonight we shall all leave for Eire. From thence we return to the beloved Fatherland. And we shall take with us a charming hostage—our delightful Sandra! Herr Nielek believes that the knowledge that his wife is in a German concentration camp may possibly assist your husband to mind his own business in the future.'
His eyes blazed. 'What damned fools you English are!' he said. 'You think you are so clever, so brilliant—and always you are so stupid.'
He stood in the middle of the room—a heroic figure. Sandra thought: I have never hated anybody quite so much in my life. She began to think of Ricky. A terrible sense of failure, of disappointment, came over her. If Ricky had only told her the complete truth, if he had trusted her entirely.... She lay her head wearily back against the chair.
Von Seydlitz said: 'Sandra, I will tell you exactly what my instructions are. It would seem that our clever Freda here has discovered during her service with you that your husband—the delightful Ricky—has a list of Frenchmen —so-called patriots—who behind the German lines are organising Maquis and patriot groups in France. This list, dear Sandra, is in this flat. There is apparently a wall safe behind the oil painting in the dining-room. The list is inside. I require that list. Nielek has instructed that I get it.'
He stopped speaking. The room was quite silent. Sandra lay back in the armchair looking at him. She said: 'I know nothing of any list—nothing at all.'
Von Seydlitz shrugged his shoulders. He said: 'Delightful Sandra, that is quite possible. I think the trouble with your husband is that he did not confide in you sufficiently. Possibly he did not entirely trust you. In any event, I am quite prepared to believe that you know nothing about the list. But one thing you do know. You know the combination of the safe. Will you give it to me please?'
She said coldly: 'No, I will not give it to you.'
Von Seydlitz shrugged his shoulders again. He said: 'Freda, will you go into the hall and from the telephone there you will ring our four friends; tell them that they should come here quickly; not to worry about anything—merely to throw a few things in a suitcase; to come here at once. Tell them that I expect them here within half an hour. Report to me that you have done that. Do you understand?'
She said: 'I understand, Herr Oberst.' She went out of the room.
Von Seydlitz sat down in the chair opposite Sandra. He said: 'My dear girl, of course I understand your attitude of mind, but it will avail you nothing at all. Nielek, who foresees everything, has foreseen that, and why not? Neither he nor I would expect you quickly to obey such instructions as I gave you, because after all it would be letting your so great Empire down. It would be putting yourself in a position where you were working for us, for our Fuehrer—our Fatherland. Nevertheless, you will tell me what the combination of the safe is.'
Sandra looked straight in front of her. She thought to herself: Whatever happens I must not do this. If Ricky were here he would tell me that whatever happens to me I must not do this.
She said: 'I refuse. I will not give you the combination.'
He knocked the ash from his cigarette. He said: 'You will. Let me tell you why. At the present moment your husband is with Nielek. Nielek and one or two other people who are good friends, of ours. It is quite obvious of course that your husband knows the combination of the safe and you may ask why Nielek has not got it from him. I will tell you why. Because he prefers that I should get it from you. If you refuse to give it to me Nielek has instructed me that I am to telephone him, after which he will take steps to make your husband talk. And, you know, Sandra, it is not very difficult to make a man talk—even a man who is as tough, as clever, as brave, as your husband. Perhaps you don't believe me?'
Sandra said: 'I do not believe you.'
Von Seydlitz got up. He went to the telephone; he dialled a number. He waited; then he said into the instrument: 'I regret to tell you that Mrs. Kerr is being a little difficult. Perhaps you would like to do something about it.' There was another pause; then he said: 'Very well. Hold on.' He put the receiver down on the table. He came to Sandra; stood in front of her looking down at her. He said: 'Sandra, go and talk to your husband. It might save a great deal of trouble.'
She got up. A peculiar feeling of heaviness possessed her. She walked slowly to the telephone, picked up the receiver.
She said: 'Ricky...?'
He answered. He said: 'Hello, Sandra dear. It's not quite so good, is it? I haven't been so clever as I thought. It looks as if I've failed unutterably, but there isn't any way out of this. You'd better give Vayle the combination.'
She said: 'Do you mean that, Ricky? You know what this means? You know...'
He interrupted her. He said almost angrily: 'I know what it means, but I'm in a tough spot here. I haven't got a hope in hell. If you don't give Vayle the number they'll make me talk. They're not awfully nice people, and each one of us has a breaking point, you know, Sandra. They'll get it from you eventually, so why not let us save ourselves a great deal of trouble. Give Vayle the combination.'
She said: 'Very well, Ricky... very well. Is there anything else?'
He said: 'No. Nielek tells me that once they have the combination and that list they want they're getting out. They'll probably let me go. I think he's clever enough to know that nothing worse could happen to me than this; that no worse fate could befall me than the knowledge that they have that list; that they have been successful; that I have failed. Give Vayle the combination. With luck I'll see you sometime.'
Sandra said in a broken voice: 'Very well, Ricky,' She hung up the receiver.
She stood, her arms hanging by her sides, looking at Von Seydlitz. He drew on his cigarette. He said cynically:
'Well, Sandra?'
She said: 'I've spoken to Ricky. He's told me to give you the combination. I would never have believed in a thousand years that he would have told me to do such a thing, but he has, so I must do it.'
He said: 'I think you're very wise, Sandra. After all, Nielek's being very kind to you, you know. He's not going to kill Ricky. Ricky will be released some time tonight after we have gone, and are safely on our way to Eire.' He laughed. 'Nielek is a wise man,' he said. 'He knows it will be very much more difficult for our good friend Kerr to go on living, knowing how he has failed; realising how much he has helped us; than it would be to, shall we say, receive a quick pistol bullet through the head. Now, Sandra, I suggest that you open the safe for me.'
She said nothing. She turned away, moved out of the drawing-room down the passage into the dining-room. She moved back the oil-painting on the wall on its hinge, set the combination of the wall-safe behind, opened it. Inside at the back of the lowest compartment in the safe was a long envelope, sealed. She took it out. Written on the front of it was: Secret. French Partisan List. She handed it to Von Seydlitz.
He said: 'Thank you, my dear Sandra. A very successful evening.' He moved past her, closed the safe, put the picture back in its position. She followed him back to the drawing-room. He poured himself out a glass of brandy, drank it with zest. He lit a fresh cigarette, said:
'Sit down, Sandra. I agree that this is rather an anticlimax to our so charming friendship.' He smiled reminiscently. 'I remember the night that I first saw you,' he said. 'It was, I think, at a cocktail party given by a delightful woman called Mrs. Olinda Milton. You were there, and so was Ricky. I can remember his standing in the corner of the room pretending to be a little drunk—that, I think, is one of his favourite acts—looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I can remember thinking to myself: You're wise to me, Kerr. You know I'm a German agent, but you're not satisfied yet. You have got to find out what I'm doing, for whom I'm working, who my contacts are. I wonder what you're going to do.'
He laughed. 'I had not to wonder for long,' he said. 'I think it was about a week afterwards that Mrs. Milton told me how interested you were in me, what a charming man you thought I was. Then I realised how Ricky was going to play this game. You were to be put in to find out anything you could about me. Of course I didn't know how much our friend Ricky had told you. Apparently he told you very little.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Not that it would have made any difference,' he said.
The door opened. The girl Freda came in. She said: 'Herr Oberst, I have telephoned each of them. They've had their instructions. Each of them will be here within half an hour.'
Von Seydlitz said: 'That is excellent. There is just one thing, Freda. Your training should have told you that in no circumstances should you address me as Herr Oberst, as you have done several times this evening. In all circumstances until we get out of this accursed country I am Mr. Vayle.'
He grinned sideways at Sandra. 'That fortunate Mr. Philip Vayle who was lucky enough to attract the attention of such a charming, such a beautiful, such a delightful, woman as Mrs. Kerr.'
He looked at his watch. 'Well, now we must be patient. Within the next half-hour my group will be here. Soon after that I expect our leader Nielek. Till then let us relax.'
THE clock on the mantelpiece struck the half-hour. Its
metallic tingle seemed to cut the atmosphere like a knife.
Sandra lay back in her chair, her eyes closed. Strangely enough a peculiar sense of peace—the result of hopelessness—possessed her. Her one desire was not to think—not to think about Ricky, the future, or anything; merely to sit there, to wait for something that was inevitable.
Von Seydlitz, smoking a cigarette, sat in the armchair by the side of the fire. On the other side of the fireplace, her arm resting on the mantelpiece—a straight silent figure, stood the woman Freda.
The door bell rang.
Von Seydlitz smiled. He said: 'Freda, the door. This will be our friends.'
She went out. A moment passed by and Sandra could hear voices in the hall. Then the woman returned. She opened the door. She said triumphantly: 'They are here, Mr. Vayle.'
Four men came into the room—normal, ordinary-looking men, whom one might meet in the street any day. Each one shook hands with Von Seydlitz, who sat back in his chair, smiling. Then they stood about the room, relaxed, waiting. Sandra looked at them. When you looked closely at each face you saw, underneath the normal appearance, the peculiar tautness and determination which characterised Von Seydlitz.
He said: 'Gentlemen, tonight is the happy ending for all our work. You know of the escape of Nielek our leader, who will be with us shortly. Then we leave for the coast. Tomorrow evening we should be in Eire. From thence we return to the Fatherland, our work completed, taking with us'—he smiled sideways at Sandra—'this charming lady.'
One of the men said: 'Excellent. The information that we take back will be of great value. We shall be glad to leave this accursed country.'
'Why not?' said Von Seydlitz with a smile. 'We have done our work and it has served its purpose. Gentlemen, I think we might permit ourselves a little refreshment at the expense of our absent host, Mr. Kerr.' He smiled cynically. 'The brandy is on the sideboard. Help yourselves.'
One of the men began to move towards the sideboard. The front door bell rang. Von Seydlitz got to his feet. He said, hardly able to control the excitement in his voice: 'This is Nielek!'
The woman moved away. The five men stood in the room looking towards the door. Sandra looked at Von Seydlitz's face. On it was a look of triumph and satisfaction. He stood facing the doorway, his shoulders squared, his head held high. The woman came back. As she entered the room Sandra noticed the peculiar expression on her face. Then, on her heels, came Ricky, Quayle and O'Mara.
O'Mara held an automatic pistol in each hand. He stood on the right of the doorway smiling, his blue eyes twinkling.
Sandra's heart leapt. She said: 'Ricky... Ricky...!'
He said: 'It's all right, my sweet.'
An unintelligible sound came from Von Seydlitz's mouth. The other four men stood looking at O'Mara, in whose steady hands the black automatics menaced them.
Quayle said: 'It's too bad, Von Seydlitz. We're here to present our apologies for the non-appearance of Nielek. I'm sorry you've been disappointed.'
Von Seydlitz said hoarsely: 'Where is Nielek? Where is he?'
Quayle smiled. 'Where do you think?' he said. 'You know, we're not such fools as we look. Nielek was shot the day after we captured him, four months ago. The rest of this little comedy or tragedy, whichever way you like to look at it, has been played for your benefit.' He smiled at Sandra. He said: 'I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Kerr, I've had to make a stooge out of you. I expect you had a pretty bad time tonight, but it had to be played this way. What Ricky did, and what he asked you to do, was done at my request. And look at the bag we've got'—he gestured towards the five men—'the last spy group in the country in our hands—thanks to you.'
A great feeling of thankfulness swept over Sandra. Tears welled into her eyes. Through the mist they made she could see Ricky smiling at her. Ricky who was brave and clever and strong.
Quayle went on: 'The least I can do, Von Seydlitz, is to let you know that we have been wise to you for a long time. When we got Nielek he was, as I have told you, shot the next day. But I wanted to find out who your friends were. I wanted to get you in one group, as I have done. So for your especial benefit we created another Nielek.' He pointed to O'Mara, who stood leaning against the doorpost, still smiling. 'We had notes sent to you through the prison official who was supposed to be bribed, in Nielek's handwriting—we've got one or two very able forgers in this country.
'Then Mrs. Kerr was put on to you. We knew that you guessed we suspected you. We know that this woman—the maid—was in your employ. The list of the French Maquis organisers, which you were so keen on getting, was of course known to her. Incidentally, that also is a fake—another little sprat to catch a large mackerel. Then, when the time was right, we arranged for the non-existent Nielek to escape from prison. My friend O'Mara speaks very good German. He knew all about Nielek's background. When he came here tonight your good friend Ingrid was naturally taken in. And why not? We knew that neither you nor she had met Nielek, and O'Mara is a good actor.'
Von Seydlitz said nothing. He stood, his hands hanging by his sides, looking at the floor in front of him.
'The telephone calls were quite easy,' Quayle went on. 'They were made to us in the flat next door. The telephone number that this woman gave you was that number. Well, it's all very simple, isn't it?'
Quayle turned to Kerr. He said: 'You might see if they've arrived, Ricky.'
Kerr went outside. He returned in a minute. He said: 'The car is here, Mr. Quayle.'
Quayle said: 'Well, gentlemen, this is where you go. You have done what you considered to be your duty. We shall do ours. I am sure you will appreciate the same fate that befell your so greatly admired leader Nielek.' His voice hardened. 'In any event, it's better to be shot than hanged. So perhaps I should congratulate you on the fact that you will be shot.'
O'Mara pushed himself away from the doorpost. He came into the centre of the room. He said in perfect German:
'Come on, my children. This is the end of the story.'
The five men looked at each other, then at Von Seydlitz.
He said: 'I have nothing to say.' He clicked his heels, drew himself up, gave the Nazi salute. He said: 'Heil Hitler!'
O'Mara said: 'Don't be a damned fool. That sort of business is rather old-fashioned these days. Get going, Von Seydlitz. And you too, my pretty one. In no circumstances would we leave you behind.'
The woman Freda looked at him with the eyes of a snake; then she followed the men out of the room.
Sandra heard the front door close behind them. She got unsteadily to her feet. She said: 'All this is too wonderful. I—'
Ricky's arm was about her. She heard Quayle's voice say: 'Drink this, Mrs. Kerr. A little brandy is very good at a time like this.'
He went to the door. He said: 'Well, so long, you two. I think you're a pretty good pair. Another thing, Ricky, I think you ought to take her out to dinner tonight.' He grinned. 'Also,' he went on, 'if ever a woman deserved a new hat—and a very expensive one—your wife does!'
The door closed behind him. Sandra put out her hand and felt Ricky's strong fingers close over it.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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