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Title: Green Hazard
Author: Coles, Manning [pseudonym of
   Adelaide Frances Oke Manning (1891-1959)
   and Cyril Henry Coles (1899-1965)]
Date of first publication: 1945
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Toronto: Musson Book Company, 1945
Date first posted: 18 July 2019
Date last updated: 18 July 2019
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1620

This ebook was produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer,
Mark Akrigg & the Online Distributed Proofreading
Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net


PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained.

Italics in the original printed edition are indicated _thus_.

As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital
format, we have made certain minor adjustments in its layout.






GREEN HAZARD

by Manning Coles




    When you have said, "A Tommy Hambledon story by Manning Coles,"
    you have introduced the big spy story of the year. Hambledon is
    back in Berlin snatching secrets and liquidating Nazis, and doing
    so through the courtesy extended to him as an honored guest of the
    unsuspecting Reich.

    News that Hambledon is killed in a chemical explosion spreads gloom
    throughout the British Foreign Office and Military Intelligence.
    He had been sent to Switzerland to investigate a new explosive
    being developed by Professor Ulseth, a famous German chemist.
    Both Hambledon and the professor had apparently gone up in the
    blast. Then from British agents inside Germany come reports that
    a Professor Ulseth is in Berlin, alive and doing well under the
    care of the Nazis--but the Herr Professor's fingerprints are those
    of Tommy Hambledon.

    Interlaced with real Hambledon humor, the story goes on to tell how
    Tommy jumps in and out of one ticklish predicament after another,
    saved by his wry fatalism and hair-trigger thinking. The suspense
    never lags for a moment, and every page holds a fresh surprise.




    To Michael and Peter




TABLE OF CONTENTS

  I. Peace, 1941 Vintage
  II. Explosion at Servatsch
  III. A Slight Case of Abduction
  IV. Nazi Welcome
  V. Personally Conducted Tour
  VI. Reformation of a Crook
  VII. Three Gentlemen of Stockholm
  VIII. Theophilus Meets Romance
  IX. Pattern for a Documentary
  X. Much Ado about Ulseth
  XI. The Green Flash
  XII. Next Sunday's Headlines
  XIII. Ulseth Visits Ulseth
  XIV. Pink Cloud over Spandau
  XV. The Case of the Golden-Haired Typist
  XVI. Quick Worker
  XVII. The Gentleman from Spain
  XVIII. One Hundred Cigars
  XIX. Osberg the Carrier
  XX. Mein Kampf--Japanese Edition
  XXI. Black for Amalie
  XXII. Sweden First Stop




GREEN HAZARD




CHAPTER I
PEACE, 1941 VINTAGE


"I suppose," said the old colonel sadly, "that one had come to regard
Hambledon as practically indestructible."

"No man," said the Foreign Office head of department, "is indestructible
if he is close to a sufficiently violent explosion at the moment of
detonation. Poor Hambledon seems to have been in the middle of this one,
according to Denton."

"He was getting on, you know," said the colonel, "and he'd lived a
pretty trying sort of life. Must have lost his grip a bit, what?"

"I did my best to persuade him not to go," said Wilcox of the Foreign
Office, "but he insisted. He said that (a) he was sick of office work,
(b) that it was only Switzerland and nobody could come to any harm there
if they were careful to avoid precipices, and (c) there was his beard
anyway. You know how he used to talk."

"Beard," said the colonel. "Beard? I didn't know he had one."

"He grew one," said the departmental head, "after Dunkirk. You remember
Churchill's defiant speech telling the world that we should go on
fighting whatever happened and if we were driven out of the British
Isles we should continue the fight from overseas? Yes, I suppose none of
us are likely to forget it; it looked too much as though it might come
true at any moment. Well, Tommy----"

"It may yet," said the colonel.

"It may, of course. Tommy said that if that happened, he would be one of
those left behind to make himself useful, and the more unrecognizable he
was the longer his usefulness was likely to continue. So he grew a
beard. He said it was cheaper than having his face remodeled by plastic
surgery, and a lot less painful."

"It grew quite well," said Wilcox. "It's a good beard now--that is----"

"Oh, quite," said the colonel. "But what happened, exactly?"

"He went to Servatsch--that's a small village between Zurich and Lake
Constance--to have a look at a man who was alleged to be making high
explosives. We had heard of this fellow, and there seemed to be points
of interest about him. Then there was a really startling explosion at a
moment when poor Hambledon is known to have been on the premises, and he
has not been seen since. I haven't heard any details yet. We sent Denton
out with him and he stayed on to make inquiries. I expect him here this
morning."

"He should be here," said Wilcox, looking at the clock. At that moment
there was a knock at the door and Charles Denton was shown in. He was a
tall, loose-limbed man with a habitually languid manner. On this
occasion one felt that the languor was not a mannerism but the result of
a depression of spirit too heavy to be thrown off.

"Glad to see you, Denton," said the Foreign Office man.

"Thanks," said Denton in a tired voice, and shook hands all round
mechanically, as one thinking of something else.

"This is a melancholy occasion," said the colonel.

"Did you have a good journey?" asked Wilcox.

"Oh, much as usual," said Denton. He threw his hat into a corner of the
room and dropped into a chair. "Well, I suppose you want my report."

"Please."

"I may as well start at the beginning and go on straight through. As you
know, Hambledon reached Servatsch three days before I did. He was
staying at a pub called the Trois Couronnes, and I took a room there
too. Foul place; I think they knitted their omelets out of catgut."
Denton sighed heavily. "We did not know each other, of course, and we
never did more than pass the time of day, as they say. I used to go
along to his room in the middle of the night for conferences; he had the
end room of a corridor, and the one next his was empty. By the time I
got there--to Servatsch, I mean--he had done a certain amount of
scouting round Ulseth's place and got the lie of the land fairly well."

"Ulseth," said Wilcox to the colonel, "was the name of the man who was
alleged to be making high explosives."

"'Alleged' is good," said Denton grimly. "Ulseth's place, as I told you
before, was a small farmhouse just outside Servatsch on the Zurich road,
rather isolated. There was a house and a number of outbuildings all
surrounded by high iron railings with barbed wire on the top. Inside
this was a wooden fence to prevent rude people from staring in. In fact,
the only way to get any view of what was going on inside was to climb
one of the local scenic humps and admire the landscape through a pair of
binoculars. There was only one entrance--a tall iron gate with spikes on
the top. Very private, our Mr. Ulseth."

"What sort of a chap was he?" asked the colonel.

"Only saw him at a distance of about a mile, through glasses. Shortish,
gray or fair hair, usual Continental beard; nothing remarkable about him
at that range. He never came outside his fortress, so I did not see him
face to face. He was waited upon by a man one saw occasionally who used
to come into the village to buy his master's chops and potatoes and
fetch parcels from the station. He didn't talk either; he was surly and
rather stupid. Not a local man; I don't even know what nationality he
was. Everyone talks German there, of course. By the way, those snaps I
got of Ulseth with the telephoto lens--were they any good?"

"They came out all right," said Wilcox's chief, "but nobody recognized
him. They were small, of course, but quite clear."

Denton nodded. "He didn't look to me like anyone I'd ever seen before. I
did try to get into conversation with his servant, but he was very
unforthcoming. He snubbed me and scuttled away."

"Tell me," said the colonel, "weren't you and Hambledon a trifle
conspicuous in a small place like that? You know what villages are."

"Normally we should have been, in which case I should have left at once,
or never arrived; but as it happened, we were more or less lost in the
crowd. There were quite a lot of people in Servatsch and district taking
an interest in our Mr. Ulseth. There were three Swedes, for example.
Hambledon got into conversation with them; they were quite friendly.
They told him frankly that they represented a firm of armaments
manufacturers in Sweden who had backed Ulseth financially on the
strength of some demonstrations he had given which had impressed them.
Ulseth told them he was on the point of discovering an explosive twenty
times more effective than TNT and only wanted some money to complete his
experiments, so they had advanced him some. And then some more. Now they
wanted to see results, but Mr. Ulseth was never at home when they
called, so they were sitting round the place like patient cats round a
mousehole, waiting."

"I suppose they hadn't any ideas about his formula?" asked the Foreign
Office man.

"None whatever. Hambledon thought of that; it would have simplified the
job if they had."

The colonel raised his eyebrows, and Wilcox explained that the British
had the formula for an extremely effective explosive, only unfortunately
it was so unstable as to be unusable. "Either it won't go off at all or
it detonates spontaneously on practically no provocation, and no means
has yet been found of making it manageable. It's not new; our chemists
have been working on it for years without success. Hambledon's job was
to find out if this fellow Ulseth's explosive was the same or whether
he'd really got hold of something fresh."

"But Hambledon wasn't a chemist, was he?" said the colonel.

"No, but he went through a short but concentrated course of chemistry
before he started, just enough to enable him to recognize the formula if
he saw it. I beg your pardon, Denton."

"Then there were the Swiss police, trying to get damages out of him for
destruction of the property of a neighbor--to wit, one cow. Apparently
the cow was being taken past his premises one day when there was a
sudden bang from inside the fence. The cow was in a delicate state of
health at the time, and this startled her so that she bolted for a
couple of miles and subsequently died, and the owner wants compensation.
Ulseth obstinately denied responsibility; he said he wasn't a cows'
midwife anyway and she shouldn't have been walking about in that state,
and it was their own fault for bringing her past his place where bangs
were liable to occur. So the police wanted to interview him too, as all
they'd done so far was to write him polite letters and get rude
answers."

"That's two lots of people after this fellow Ulseth," said the colonel.

"There was a third lot," said Denton, "and I think he was more
frightened of them than all the others put together. They came and went
in powerful cars or on motorcycles and didn't talk to anybody, but they
were Gestapo all right. In fact, Hambledon is sure he recognized one of
them as a man who used to work under him when he was deputy chief of the
German police. I gather that Ulseth used to come into the village
occasionally before the cow episode, but since these fellows started
hanging about no one had set eyes on him. I suppose they were after this
formula too, but they weren't admitted any more than anyone else."

"Gestapo, eh?" said the Foreign Office chief. "I don't imagine Hambledon
exactly sought their society, did he?"

"Definitely not," drawled Denton, "but he wasn't peculiar in that.
Nobody did. Quite curious to see the way everyone drifted out of a bar
if they came in, even though we weren't in Germany. Nobody seemed to
like 'em."

"Sons of Ishmael," said the colonel.

"Sons of Cain. Well, as I was saying, here was this bird Ulseth sitting
tight in his nest and all these other people revolvin' round outside
with nothing to do but wonder about each other. Tommy got fidgety and
said something would have to be done and he was going to do it. So he
took to going for country walks with a long stick like a young pole. You
sent it out to him, didn't you?"

Wilcox nodded. "Looked very Alpine, didn't it?"

"Very. You pulled out a pin at one end," said Denton to the colonel,
"and the thing sort of dissected itself and turned into a ladder with
rungs about six inches wide. You fitted a hook on the top, hung it on
any fence or what not you desired to scale, and there you were."

"Doesn't sound much like Hambledon, somehow," said the colonel. "His
methods were usually so brilliantly ordinary."

"Yes, I know, but there wasn't any alternative. He had managed so far
never to meet any of the Gestapo face to face--they made him nervous; he
admitted it. But you can't keep up that sort of thing for long in a
place the size of Servatsch even though the Nazis weren't actually
staying there. They used to come and go, as I said, across the frontier.
So one night he slipped out with his pole and made an entry over the
fences, neither of which was electrified. I went as far as the first
fence with him and then awaited developments. He said he was going to
reason with Ulseth. I helped him with the first fence, and there was a
certain amount of subdued cursing over the barbed wire atop. Eventually
he borrowed my coat to muffle the barbs with and threw it back to me
when he was over. The second fence--the wooden one--presented no
difficulties; it was merely a screen. I could faintly see him going
over; it was a very dark night."

"Nobody saw or heard you, of course?"

"No. I don't think so. We were on the far side of the place, away from
Servatsch, at a point where there weren't any outbuildings or sheds near
the fence on the inside. This fence of theirs enclosed a fairly big
area, ten or twelve acres or so. I listened for some time and didn't
hear a sound, so I went back to the hotel and waited. It was about
half-past eleven when Hambledon went over."

"Nothing to be seen? No lights?"

"I shouldn't have seen it if there had been, on account of the fence.
But it must have been all quiet, or Hambledon wouldn't have gone in. I
went back to the Trois Couronnes and sat in my bedroom waiting for him
to come back. The arrangement was that he should come straight to my
room if he returned before the hotel awoke. So I sat there reading a
perfectly foul murder mystery and the Continental Bradshaw, alternately,
and getting up every now and then to look out of the window. There was
never anything to see; I don't know why I kept on doing it. It was one
of the longest nights I remember, and I began to get fidgety as time
went on. Eventually, at about a quarter to five, I was again staring out
of my window--with the bedroom light out, of course--when from the
direction of Ulseth's place there came a most terrific flash, obviously
an explosion. Never seen anything like it since the Vimy Ridge went up,
in the last war. A few seconds later there was a very loud boom; the
whole house shook and the glass fell out of my window. I hardly knew
what to do. I naturally hoped that it was Hambledon who'd blown the
place up and that he would presently arrive, so I stayed put. Lights
appeared all over Servatsch. In a few minutes car and cycle lights were
rushing up the road in the direction of the chteau Ulseth. Disturbed
noises took place all over the hotel, and there was an indignation
meeting in the corridor outside my room. They said that the British had
dropped a bomb. I knew that wasn't right, as I hadn't heard any
aircraft. I waited and waited, and when the coast was clear I went along
to Hambledon's room." Denton stopped and coughed.

"Have a drink," said the Foreign Office man sympathetically. Wilcox
brought whisky and glasses from a cupboard and administered refreshment.

"Thanks," said Denton. "Well, here's luck. I went into Hambledon's room,
and it was completely bare and empty--except for the furniture, I mean.
His luggage had gone and all his clothes; there was nothing of
Hambledon's left. Even his attach case with the Heroas people's papers
in it had gone. There was the hotel's bill for the week lying on the
table with the necessary money lying on it, and," said Denton
emphatically, "the money was Hambledon's."

"How could you possibly tell that?" asked the colonel.

"There was a five-franc note among it which was filthily dirty and torn
almost across. Hambledon showed it to me only the night before, with a
few incisive comments upon foreign currencies, and I mended it for him
with stamp paper. I recognized it."

The colonel grunted, and Denton continued.

"It could not have been Hambledon himself who came to the hotel, or he
would have come to me. Therefore it was somebody else making it appear
that Hambledon had left, and since he'd got Tommy's money, something had
happened to Tommy. I got out of the hotel and up the road as hard as I
could leg it. By the time I got there the place was fair hotching with
gendarmery, villagers, and the unfortunate Swedes in leather overcoats
over striped pyjamas. I suppose they thought their money had gone up
with the bang, and I expect they were quite right, too. The farmhouse
was wrecked, the other buildings were damaged, and most of the fence
blown flat. They dug the body of the manservant out of the ruins of the
house; he was quite dead. The police found Ulseth still partially alive
and rushed him off to hospital, where he died later the same day. I did
not see him myself, but I see no reason to doubt it. Hambledon simply
disappeared completely, and though I hunted round very thoroughly for
several days till I was warned off by the authorities, I could find no
trace of him whatever. It is true one usually finds something, but not
always. If he was close enough to that explosion, one wouldn't. The only
thing I found was his scaling ladder where he left it on the fence. I
collected that."

There was a short space of silence. As no one seemed to have any comment
to make, Denton emptied his glass and continued.

"Besides, if Hambledon had survived he would have got in touch with me,
or you, or somebody. Nobody else in the district found a body or a
wounded man. I made sure of that."

"It sounds fairly final," said the colonel with a sigh. "Poor old
Hambledon. Not to beat about the bush, I suppose he was one of the most
brilliant men who ever served the department."

"I should say quite the most brilliant," said the head of the department
concerned. "They say that no man is irreplaceable, but I personally
regard his death as an irreparable loss. He had a very remarkable
career, very remarkable."

"He lasted longer than most people," said Wilcox. "Of course he was lost
for years in Germany and turned up again. I wish I could think he was
likely to do so this time."

"I'm afraid not," said Denton.

"What was he ostensibly supposed to be doing in Servatsch?" asked the
colonel.

"Merely recuperating after influenza," said Wilcox. "He was the Herr
Theophilus Hartzer, of Swiss nationality, a traveler for the Swiss
Heroas Company of railway wagon manufacturers. The firm is quite real;
it is actuated mainly by British capital and some of the directors are
British subjects. Even those directors who are themselves Swiss are
pro-British in sympathy. After all, before the war we took the bulk of
their products. They were very helpful. The British directors knew of
Hambledon as a British intelligence agent and did all they could: they
provided him with all necessary credentials and a wonderful range of
literature--complete with pictures, diagrams, and production
charts--about their goods. Hambledon, I imagine, merely knew a railway
truck when he saw one before he became Herr Hartzer with a perfectly
good Swiss passport. If he'd read all their leaflets, handbooks, and
folders he must have become quite an expert before he died. I wish he
hadn't," added Wilcox impulsively.

"A very good cover," said the colonel. "I wonder what the firm do with
their products now they can't get 'em through to us."

"Sell 'em to Germany," said Denton. "What? A firm must live. Besides,
Switzerland can't afford to annoy Germany."

"Looks like being a complete clear-up of the Servatsch problem, anyway,"
said the Foreign Office chief. "Ulseth is dead, his servant is dead, and
I imagine his notes and formulas are literally scattered to the four
winds. We can write off this item, I think, unless anything very
unforeseen turns up."

"What did the various parties do then?" asked the colonel. "The
different people who wanted to interview Ulseth, I mean."

"The Swiss police immediately swept in and tidied up. They said they
thought a claim for the cow might be laid against Ulseth's estate; there
was enough salvage from the wreck to cover that. They are advertising
for his heirs and assignees. I wish 'em luck. The Swedes merely heaved
deep sighs when they heard Ulseth was dead, packed their bags, and went
away. Back to Sweden, presumably; I don't know. The Gestapo hung around
for days, nosing about, asking questions, and picking up any odd scraps
of paper they could find scattered over the hillside. I don't think any
of it was any good; I got there first. No, it was a clean sweep. The
Servatsch problem is solved--dissolved, in fact." He sighed.

"I suppose there is nothing more we can do," said the colonel.

"Nothing, in my opinion," said the Foreign Office man. "We have, as a
matter of routine, circularized our agents everywhere, including
Germany, to keep a lookout for Hambledon, alias Herr Theophilus Hartzer,
but I should be very surprised if we got any result. Very surprised
indeed."

"Yes," said the colonel. "But what I want to know is who went into
Hambledon's room, packed his things, and took the luggage away? And paid
the bill. Why pay the bill?"

"To make it appear that Hambledon had left suddenly," said Denton. "To
catch the 4.15 A.M. from Servatsch, for instance. I may as well say that
I went down to the station and asked if anyone resembling Hambledon left
by that train, though I didn't believe it for a moment. Only one
passenger boarded that train, and that was a local Servatsch man well
known to the station staff. Various people arrived, but they did not
interest me. As for who took the luggage, frankly I don't know."

"It must have been taken out before the explosion," said Wilcox. "I
mean, I suppose that somebody could have walked into the hotel
unobserved while everyone was running about asking what the noise was;
but he wouldn't have had time to pack before you went along, Denton,
would he?"

"No. Certainly not. Besides, someone would have seen him. I should think
the only person who didn't open their bedroom door and leap out was me.
No, the packing was done earlier. I asked the porter if anyone came in
between midnight, when I returned, and the time of the explosion, and he
said no one at all. But he sleeps in his little chair--I've seen
him--and the front door is never locked. Someone came in and went out
again without being seen, that's all."

"Someone else staying in the hotel?" suggested the colonel.

"Very few people there. The three Swedes, three or four stray ladies who
knitted, Hambledon, and myself. Also I had a look round each of their
rooms at a well-chosen moment. Besides, you forget. Whoever it was had
been in touch with Hambledon, or he wouldn't have had that five-franc
note."

"It looks to me," said the Foreign Office man, "as though Hambledon must
have been already dead, since it was necessary to make it appear that he
had just gone away of his own accord."

"Then he didn't die in the explosion," said the colonel.

"I don't know anything at all," said Denton in an exasperated voice.
"Somebody passed twice within a few yards of my bedroom door, and though
I was awake and listening, I didn't hear a sound. I put it down to those
Nazi blighters who were always nosing about, but that may be my
uncharitable dislike of the Nazis. If it rained on my birthday I should
think it was their fault. It's just possible that the fellow whom
Hambledon thought he recognized also thought he recognized Hambledon, so
they went through his luggage. That's reasonable, so far as it goes, but
they wouldn't pack it up and take it away."

"Nor pay the hotel bill," said Wilcox.

"No. More likely to rob the till in passing," said Denton savagely.

"If Hambledon was already dead, who blew up Ulseth?" asked the colonel,
but Denton merely shook his head.

"I suppose he blew himself up," said Wilcox. "Hambledon wouldn't have
done it. He might have hit the man on the head or shot him, but not blow
up the whole place, surely?"

"It would have been a good way of concealing the fact that Ulseth had
been brained with a poker," said Denton. He rose impatiently and kicked
his chair back. "It's sheer waste of time sitting here arguing when we
don't know enough to argue about. Somebody outed Hambledon and evaded me
and got away with it--that's all we know. I shall go and put my head in
the fountains in Trafalgar Square; perhaps that'll give me an idea.
Good-by." He walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

"If I hear anything," said the Foreign Office man, "I will let you
know."

"Personally," said the colonel, "I shall look forward impatiently to the
Judgment Day. I don't think we shall hear anything before that. Poor
Hambledon."

As Denton had said, directly after the explosion the Swiss police swept
in and tidied up. There were several of them in the neighborhood, in
addition to the local gendarme, because the Zurich police were beginning
to take an interest in Herr Ulseth. At the time of the cow episode the
police were successful in interviewing him once, though their later
efforts to see him were all failures. During that interview they
obtained from him, as a matter of routine, particulars about himself and
his origins. He was, he said, a Swiss citizen by birth, born in Semione
in the pleasant canton of Ticino in 1893, that he was educated in
Lucerne and took a science degree in the University of Milan and that he
was by profession an experimental chemist. The police looked with
natural distaste upon a chemist whose experiments were of so violent a
character and sought about for means of persuading him to go and live
elsewhere, preferably outside Switzerland. With this in view they
checked his statements and found that in the village of Semione, where
memories are long, there was no trace of any Ulseth.

"Strange," said the superintendent in Zurich. "It's not so long ago, and
he said his parents lived there many years."

"I am not myself surprised," said the inspector, who came from the
south. "I spoke to him in Romansh and he failed to comprehend me."

"Try the Lucerne school he mentioned," said the superintendent.

But the Lyce of St. Joseph in Lucerne also disclaimed the budding
Ulseth.

"He is a liar, it appears," said the superintendent. "I wonder who he
really is. It would be helpful to have his fingerprints. Go and try to
see him again and see if you can get them. I dislike mysterious people
who make explosions."

But Ulseth was not to be seen, and the inspector was giving it up as a
bad job when the roar of the chemist's last experiment brought all
Servatsch out of their beds in the chilly hour before the dawn. The
inspector collected his gendarmes and rushed up to the scene to find the
house turned into rubble round a large hole in the ground and a
semi-conscious man, blackened and dirty and much cut up, lying some
twenty yards in front of where the door used to be. Around him were the
ruins of a chair.

"Which one is this?" asked the inspector, gingerly turning him over.
"Ulseth or the servant?"

"It is Herr Ulseth," said the gendarme from Servatsch. "He has a beard;
the servant was clean-shaven."

"He is still alive," said the inspector. "Is there a doctor in
Servatsch? No, I thought not. Put him in that shed over there and get
that big hire car from the village. He'd better go to hospital in
Zurich. Gently, now. Get a door or something to carry him on."

"I have some morphia tablets," said the Servatsch gendarme, "in case of
accidents on the mountains."

"Give him one. Tell all these people to stand back and get out of the
way; the whole village seems to be in the act of arriving. Tell them we
expect another explosion at any moment."

The village recoiled obediently, but certain strangers, refusing to be
alarmed, insisted on helping to carry the injured man and asked what was
to be done with him.

"Hospital in Zurich," answered the gendarme surlily, for he disliked
these visitors from over the German border. "Thank you for your help;
that will do. Best get back out of the way now; there's no knowing what
may happen next."

The Nazis retired with unexpected readiness, and the police went on
searching the ruins by torchlight till the car should arrive. They found
the other body in installments, but that was all. The big car arrived
from Servatsch, and the wounded man was lifted carefully into the back
seat, a gendarme sitting on either side of him. The inspector sat in the
front seat beside the police driver, and the car moved off just before a
tall man arrived, having run all the way from the Trois Couronnes, and
began a vain search for the missing Hambledon.

"Careful over these ruts," said the inspector to the driver. "Take it
slowly till we reach the main road. We do not wish to complete upon Herr
Ulseth, by shaking, the work begun by the explosion."

"No," said the driver, anxiously trying to avoid the bumps in the road.
"He appeared to me to be, in effect, considerably damaged. No Christian
would wish to harm the poor man further."

"That is so," agreed the inspector. "Besides, when he recovers
consciousness I want him to talk. I was looking, only two days ago,
through a number of dossiers of international criminals, and the
portrait and particulars of one of them reminded me strongly of this
man. Only the name on the dossier was not Ulseth."

"Indeed?" said the driver. "That is interesting, and he must certainly
be preserved alive if possible. Though it is a consolation to remember
that his fingerprints will be just as good when he is dead."

The car turned on to the main road and gathered speed, with powerful
head lamps lighting up the turns and bends as they came.

"Was the subject of the dossier you mentioned a chemist?" asked the
driver.

"No. A swindler. A confidence trickster. His career is fairly well
known, and if this is the same man, I shall be surprised to learn that
he knows much about explosives."

"He seems to have been undoubtedly successful on this occasion," said
the driver.

"Any fool with an elementary textbook can make explosives," said the
inspector. "It is when one manages to render them controllable that real
success is attained."

The car rounded a bend in the road and skidded, with complete disregard
of its damaged passenger, to an abrupt stop before a barricade hastily
improvised from timber which had been stacked at the side of the road.
Several men, in civilian clothes but armed with revolvers, appeared
suddenly beside the car.

"Halt," they said imperiously. "No trouble will be made, please.
Nevertheless, we are taking possession of your passenger."

"What is this unwarrantable----" began the inspector, but a revolver
pushed against his tunic hushed him as by a spell. The men in the road
opened the rear doors of the car and said, "Out, please," to the two
gendarmes sitting beside the casualty.

One of them obeyed promptly, but the other drew his revolver, or
attempted to do so. Before he had it clear of the holster a gun cracked
in the road and the unfortunate man rolled out of the car in a heap.

"Lift out the Herr Professor," said the leader, and four men helped
Ulseth out of the car and carried him to another which was waiting in
the shadows.

"We told you not to cause trouble," said the leader to the inspector.
"You have only yourselves to blame for this," and he indicated the
wounded gendarme who was rolling about in the dust. The ambush party
then climbed into the waiting car with their patient and drove away at a
high speed in the direction of Germany.

The inspector got out of his car and made several ineffective attempts
to speak, but rage choked him. One of the gendarmes suggested
telephoning orders for the car to be stopped at the frontier.

"No," said the inspector unwillingly. "I must obtain authority in
Zurich. My poor Heller! Pick him up; we will drive on."

They removed the barricade and drove to Zurich as fast as the road would
let them. Heller was rushed to hospital, but he died half an hour after
admission.

"Discretion," said the superintendent to the sizzling inspector,
"discretion. Incidents are to be avoided at all costs. These are our
definite orders."

"Even if the 'incident' includes the murder of our own men?"

"Even so," said the superintendent sadly, "for many more would die if we
gave occasion for reprisals--God curse the Germans root and branch!
Heller died of an accident, and Switzerland remains at peace."

So when the newspapers announced next morning that the distinguished
scientist Ulseth had died in hospital as a result of the fatal explosion
at Servatsch which had also killed his servant, nobody corrected the
mistake. Heller's wife was told of an unfortunate accident at revolver
practice, and the newspaper paragraph which reported it was much shorter
than the one relating to Ulseth. For peace was bought in many strange
currencies in 1941.




CHAPTER II
EXPLOSION AT SERVATSCH


Tommy Hambledon climbed carefully over the wooden fence, left his
inconspicuous scaling ladder hanging there in case he wished to leave
the premises in a hurry, and looked carefully about him.

"I don't think this was a good idea," he said to himself, for Hambledon
was always nervous at the outset of an adventure. "Invading fortresses
singlehanded is not really in my line, especially at my age. Thank
goodness the sky is clearing; it's getting quite starlight now. There's
the long barn away on the left there. Denton says it's a store. Denton
ought to be doing this, not me; he'd enjoy it. I wonder if the place is
festooned with trip wires attached to loud electric bells. It was a good
thing that iron fence wasn't electrified, or was it? If it had been I
should have bounced backward off it into the edelweiss, or whatever the
local weeds are called, and could then have picked myself up and gone
home to bed; how lovely. Straight across from here, avoiding the ancient
pond, and we reach what Denton says is the blighter's workshop. No,
there don't seem to be any wires. I wonder what time Herr Ulseth goes to
bed. I have a nasty feeling it's too early; an hour later would have
been better. And about ten years later better still. This is where they
dump their empty tins. I avoid that with care. Or shall I kick them
about and miaow loudly, hoping that Ulseth will think the cats are
having a night out and take no notice of further noises? Better not;
perhaps the Servatsch cats sing differently from English ones. I wonder
why I always get such ridiculous ideas on these occasions--wind up, no
doubt. Here is a stone wall; what--if anything--is waiting for me on the
other side, and if I stick my head over will somebody biff it? Perhaps
there's a gap in it round this corner--there is. Good. Now for the
workshop. Better work round behind it in case there's anyone about,
though I see no light in the windows. Great care is indicated."

Hambledon crouched down and crept round behind the building--merely a
substantial outhouse which was once a stable. He felt his way with his
finger tips on the ground, in case of unseen obstructions, and reached
the last corner abutting on the front of the building. Here he dropped
to his knees and put his head cautiously round the corner.

Something cold touched the back of his neck, and he started violently as
a harsh voice behind him said, "Hands up! And get up." The language used
was German.

"I can't possibly hands up and get up at the same time," said Tommy
plaintively. "I want my hands to get up with."

"Get up, then," said the voice, "but no monkey tricks. Now, hands up.
Walk forward slowly---- No, not that way. Turn half right, down that
path to the house." The owner of the voice switched on a small electric
torch, and Tommy's shadow moved before him along a concrete path and up
four steps to the front door of the house. At this point the revolver
was removed from the back of his neck and placed against his spine in
the neighborhood of his waist instead, a move which in Hambledon's
opinion was no improvement at all.

"Have I the honor to address Herr Ulseth?" he asked politely.

"You have," said the voice, and immediately shouted, "Joachim!"

"I am so glad," said Hambledon. "I came here on purpose to see you."

"It seemed like it," said Ulseth sarcastically, "crawling round my place
on your hands and knees. Joachim! Joachim!"

"Perhaps he's asleep," said Tommy helpfully. "Shall I ring the bell?"

"Keep your hands up!" snapped Ulseth. "_Joachim!_"

There came a sound from within of heavy footsteps down a stone passage,
and the door opened.

"In!" said Ulseth. "Turn left. Wait. Joachim, switch the lights on." The
servant did so, and Hambledon walked forward into a bare room furnished
with a large table and a few hard chairs. Ulseth followed, still
menacing him with the revolver, while Joachim awaited further
instructions by the door. Hambledon turned and saw Ulseth for the first
time: a nondescript, medium-sized man with a beard and fish-like eyes.

"I owe you," said Hambledon courteously, "a sincere apology for my
unceremonious entry, but----"

"Don't bother to apologize."

"Oh, but I must. You see, it doesn't seem much good ringing at your
gate."

"No?"

"No. Nobody is admitted, are they?"

"Has it not occurred to you that that might be because I do not desire
visitors?" said Ulseth.

"Oh, quite. But until you met me you couldn't know whether you would
enjoy meeting me or not," said Tommy logically.

"Sit down in that chair," said Ulseth peremptorily, "Joachim, get the
rope out of the hall. Just behind you, on the settle. That's right. Now
tie him to the chair. Round his waist and round the back of the chair.
Now tie his arms to the back of the chair too---- Cut the rope, idiot!
That's right. Now his legs to the front chair legs. That will do; you
may go."

"Will you want me again tonight?" asked Joachim.

"I don't think so; you can go to bed. If I do want you, you can always
get up again."

Joachim went out without another word, but as he shut the door he threw
a look at his master which was not one of affection, and it occurred to
Tommy that here might be an ally.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said politely. "Theophilus Hartzer of
Zurich, traveler for the Heroas Wagon Company of Zurich."

"Really," said Ulseth. "Now what would a fat little drummer of the
Heroas Wagon Company want with the Herr Professor Ulseth so badly that
he scales fences in the dark to reach him?"

Tommy winced slightly. "Fat" was unfair. More, it was untrue.

"The fact is----" he began.

"The fact is," interrupted Ulseth; "that you are no more a traveler for
a wagon company than I am. You are one of these blasted Swiss
detectives, that's what."

He walked across to the helpless Hambledon and went through his pockets,
taking out all his papers and his automatic.

"I am nothing of the sort," said Hambledon indignantly, "and your
behavior is an outrage."

"This is quite a nice passport," said Ulseth, taking no notice. "It
seems to have visas for every country in Europe except the principality
of Montenegro."

"Naturally," said Hambledon coldly. "Travelers generally travel a good
deal. Look here, Herr Ulseth, you are making a big mistake. I have come
here with a proposition to put before you."

Ulseth crossed the room to a cracked and discolored mirror on the wall
and looked from his own reflection to the passport photograph and back
again.

"I have no interest in wagons," he said, "except passenger wagons en
route for the nearest frontier. I am going to leave, Herr--what is
it?--Hartzer, and I think this will help me. Absurd things, passport
photographs, don't you think? Really, this one will do quite well for me
if I clip my beard a bit and thin out my eyebrows. Yours are scanty;
deficiency of thyroid, you know."

"I have come here," said Hambledon again, "to make you an offer on
behalf of a certain government for the formula of an explosive which I
understand you have discovered. That is, if upon investigation the
formula----"

"So you're the agent of a foreign power now, are you?" said Ulseth
sarcastically. "I thought you traveled for a----"

"So I do," interrupted Hambledon. "I am merely a messenger sent here to
open negotiations since I know the district well."

"Oh," said Ulseth. He laid down the passport and opened a wallet he had
taken from Hambledon's pocket. "Printed cards, introducing Herr
Theophilus Hartzer of the Heroas Wagon Company. They might be useful;
I'll take those too. A letter from the firm authorizing a fortnight's
sick leave on full pay--a nice firm, evidently. I trust your health is
now quite restored. Not that it will matter much by tomorrow morning
anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you see? If I resemble you, you also resemble me. Not a startling
likeness, but enough to pass, especially after a regrettable explosion.
Poor dear Professor Ulseth is going to have a disastrous accident
tonight, and his mangled remains can be sorted out by the police
tomorrow morning. Any little discrepancies will be put down to the
effects of the explosion. I have enough TNT in the cellars of this house
to blow the whole place to bits, let alone alter the shape of your nose.
Anyway, nobody here knows me well, and the police only saw me once. It
is really quite providential--for me--that you should wear a beard.
Funny to think that if you'd been clean-shaven you might have lived a
lot longer, isn't it? I'll have your automatic too; it might come in
useful. It's a nice one, pity to destroy it."

Hambledon was seized with a spasm of remorse, such as had never
afflicted him about any of his sins, for having given way to a beard at
all. It seemed such a good idea in London, but now----

"I have been considering for some time how to arrange my unobtrusive
departure," went on Ulseth, "and have made certain preparations already.
The explosion is all ready for use. I did think I should have to be
blown to pieces without leaving a trace, but that was not very
satisfactory. Some of the people whom I wish to deceive have
unpleasantly suspicious minds, and if they did not find anything of me
at all, they might conclude that I wasn't here at the time. Then they
would go on looking for me, and I don't want them to. I want them to go
home satisfied, and when they've examined your remnants I am sure they
will. I hope there will be some remnants, by the way. I wonder whether
I'd better move you to another room not directly over the cellar?"

"You are a cold-blooded scoundrel," said the indignant Hambledon, "and
if I can manage it I'll haunt you. You will look well with a dismembered
commercial traveler accompanying you everywhere you go."

Ulseth looked at him and laughed. "Really, I'm sorry I've got to kill
you," he said. "You deserve to live for a remark like that, I am quite
glad your end will be so sudden as to be practically painless. Would you
like to hear how it will be arranged? Just a moment while I run through
the rest of your things. Handkerchief--no mark on it. Bunch of three
keys--your luggage, of course. I'd forgotten your luggage; naturally you
will have to disappear too--abscond is the right word for you. Hotel
bedroom key with admirable metal tab, Hotel des Trois Couronnes,
Servatsch, p.d. Zurich, Switzerland; room number fifteen. I must visit
room number fifteen on my way to the railway station. If your luggage
disappears, it will add color to the idea that you have fled. I expect
Herr Hartzer is in financial difficulties if one only knew. Gambling or
women, Hartzer?"

"Both," said Hambledon without hesitation.

"Well done. I like you more and more. Your sense of----"

"Your sentiments are not reciprocated," said Tommy, "and if I get out of
this alive I will look for you till I find you and then I'll saw your
head off with a meat saw without an anesthetic."

"Cruel," said Ulseth, "very cruel. Now, I'm not cruel, only practical.
You had better have my passport and a few odd letters--bills mostly. If
you do come out of this alive, you might pay them, will you? I can't. An
appropriate thank offering," he went on, putting his papers into
Hambledon's pockets. "You may have my cards too--in fact, my wallet and
all. I'll take the money out; you won't want it where you're going, and
I shall. Excuse me a moment; I'll fetch the simple apparatus. It might
interest you to see how it's going to be worked."

Ulseth walked toward the door and stopped suddenly.

"I am a fool," he said. "I hope no one else ever finds that out, but I
am. Of course you have got to have my clothes on, and I had better have
yours. The effects of blast are notoriously uncertain: you may be blown
into atoms or you may sail through the air all in one piece and finish
up on the spire of Servatsch church. I expect your clothes will be blown
off you, but they may as well find the right ones, if they find any.
This means calling Joachim again. He won't like it, but that doesn't
matter."

"I think you talk more than any man I've ever met," said Hambledon
contemptuously. "Why not discuss the offer I am empowered to make you?
It's quite a good offer. Your formula----"

"Because, you poor fool, there isn't any formula. I know no more about
chemistry than you could learn from a handbook given away with Our Boys'
Chemistry Outfit in a cardboard box. Well, a little more, because I had
to talk intelligently to those Swedes. I found it a strain, believe me.
No, all this is merely a scheme for getting money out of the Swedes, and
quite successful, too. So now you know all my dark secrets, we will get
on with the arrangements." He left the room, and Hambledon heard him go
down the passage toward the back of the house and call Joachim again.
Ulseth's voice sounded hollow, as though the place were bare and empty.

He called several times and then stopped. Presumably there had been an
answer, though Hambledon did not hear it. "It doesn't sound as though it
would be much good yelling for Joachim from here when Ulseth goes," he
said to himself. "My brain's going; of course he'll take Joachim with
him." He strained at his bonds, but they did not yield enough to do any
good. His automatic had gone away in Ulseth's pocket; otherwise he might
have struggled toward the table and got it somehow.

"If I were a pessimist I should think I was sunk," he said, and thrust
the thought from him. There were voices returning along the passage.
They sounded quite friendly; presumably Ulseth had thought it worth
while to pacify the aggrieved Joachim.

"I see," said the servant's voice. "And then we makes off, do we?"

"That's it," said Ulseth. "This won't take long, and then you can go
upstairs and pack." The men entered the room, and Ulseth stripped off
his suit and stood up in his underwear.

"I wonder whether your underclothes are marked," he said. "If not, this
is as far as we need go. We'll have a look in a minute." He leveled his
own revolver at Hambledon again and said, "Go ahead, Joachim. Untie him.
Not all at once, legs first." He was very careful never to let Joachim
get into his line of fire. "You must excuse Joachim if he is awkward; he
has not had much practice at valeting. I should not struggle with him,
either, if I were you; he is liable to kick if he is annoyed."

Hambledon's trousers were pulled off and the rope round his waist
slackened to get Ulseth's on instead; it was something of a struggle, as
they were a little too tight. "I can't do up these two top buttons,"
said Joachim, gasping.

"Never mind," said Ulseth. "Herr Hartzer has put on weight a little
during his holiday--it often happens. Now tie his legs again and we'll
start at the top."

Hambledon made the process as long and awkward as possible without
appearing to do so. There was no sense in resisting violently; they
would only stun him or shoot him, and nothing would be gained thereby.
Eventually coat and waistcoat came off, and Joachim removed collar and
tie to look for marks on them and on the shirt and vest. There were
none.

"Good," said Ulseth. "Now dress him up and we're done." When the job was
finished and Hambledon trussed up again, the servant prepared to leave
the room.

"Just a minute," said Ulseth, in shirt sleeves and Hambledon's trousers
with the braces dangling. "I think you deserve a drink--we'll just have
one for the road." He went across to a corner cupboard, and Hambledon
could hear the chink of glasses and the sound of liquid being poured.

"Well, here's luck on our journey," said Ulseth, and drank.

"_Salut_," said Joachim, and sipped it. "This is very strong wine,
surely."

"It only seems so when you first taste it," said Ulseth. "It has no ill
effects."

Joachim drank again. "It is very pleasant. Is this a long journey we are
going?"

"No, no. Not really. You will be surprised to find how soon you arrive.
Drink up now and then go upstairs and pack."

The servant obeyed. He staggered a little as he reached the door, caught
at the doorpost in passing out, and failed to latch the door properly.
It swung open again, and the sound of his footsteps could be heard along
the passage, irregular and seeming to slow down. They persisted,
however, and died away in the distance. Ulseth listened with his head a
little on one side and a smile on his thin lips.

"Poor dear Joachim," he remarked. "Stupid, and becoming tiresome. He had
outlived his usefulness."

"You disgusting murderer," said Hambledon.

"Oh, don't say that. He is as much a necessary part of the local color
of my great explosion as you are--even more so. One must not neglect
details, and Joachim's body cannot be missing, you must see that.
Besides, he has a chance--a small one. I have not poisoned him, only
given him a little something to make him sleep. So it will be no good
your yelling for him when you are alone; he will probably hear no more
until the Last Trump," went on Ulseth, putting his papers, passport,
cards and wallet, pocketknife, and other small items back in the pockets
of the suit Hambledon was wearing. "I seem to have wasted a lot of time
swapping these things about from one pocket to another, but there is
plenty of time. My train doesn't leave till a quarter past four, and
it's only half-past one now. I will now explain my simple apparatus; no
time to show it to you. You know the German stick bomb? It is a hand
grenade with a wooden handle rather like a stonecutter's maul, and in
the end of the handle is a string you pull when you are about to throw
it. I suppose, the Swiss being neutrals in the last war, you didn't have
occasion to meet one. The pulling of the string ignites the fuse, which
in due course does the rest. Well, if you have followed me so far, now
imagine a stick bomb fastened securely to a board, upon the other end of
which is an alarm dock also screwed down. This neat contrivance is
placed near the TNT in the cellar below us. The clock is one of those
cheap alarm things your countrymen turn out in such quantities; when the
bell rings, the alarm winder at the back revolves. Now imagine the
string of the bomb tied to the alarm winder, which I shall set for four
forty-five. At that moment--some three hours hence--the bell will ring
downstairs, and if you listen carefully I expect you'll hear it. The
winder will revolve, pulling the string of the bomb. Four seconds later
your troubles will, I trust, be over. I shall be in the train heading
for Germany, where I might take up your appointment as traveler for the
Heroas people unless something better offers itself. I believe you are
only a commercial traveler after all; no detective would have been
caught so easily, not even a Swiss one. Besides, you had no official
card. I wish you had; it might have been fun to use it--outside
Switzerland. It wouldn't give one any authority, of course, only a sort
of official status."

"If you keep on talking much longer," said Hambledon wearily, "you'll
miss the train."

"Oh no. I've only got to wind up the alarm, walk down to the Trois
Couronnes and pick up your luggage, and stroll gently on to the station.
Still, perhaps it's time I made a move."

Ulseth went out of the room, and Hambledon heard him open a door in the
passage and run down some stairs. Five minutes later he came back again
and stood in the doorway looking in.

"Well, I think that's all I can do for you," he said cheerfully. "You
will be called at four forty-five sharp."

"Does the clock keep good time?"

"You are a cool hand," said Ulseth admiringly. "Er--would you like a
drink? I'll get you one if you like."

"No, thanks," said Hambledon coldly. "For a commercial traveler, I've
always been rather particular whom I drank with."

"Hell blast you!"

"And remember this. The time will come when you will regret this. Look
at this room again a moment, look at me, and remember this scene when
you die screaming."

Ulseth turned white, stared round the room, avoiding Hambledon's eye,
and bolted out of the house without waiting to lock the front door after
him.

"And I hope that comes true," said Hambledon aloud. "Don't know what
made me say it; it just seemed to come to me. Now then, I've got three
hours to get away from this house." He began very carefully to wriggle
in his bonds.

At the end of half an hour he had loosened his right arm enough to move
it six inches from the side of the chair at the expense of tying up his
left arm so tightly that the circulation left it. Then he began to
wriggle his feet down toward the floor. Joachim had lifted them off the
ground when he tied the ropes.

There was a cuckoo clock somewhere in the back premises which called
three times just after he got his left toe on the floor.

"If I could hear that thing ticking," said Tommy, "I should go mad." The
sweat ran off his nose and dripped on to Ulseth's waistcoat.

At half-past three he had got both feet on the ground and, balancing
himself very carefully, he began to shuffle forward, walking the chair
with him. It would never do to overbalance forward; if he once fell on
his face he was done. He had to stop frequently because his leg bonds
constricted with the strain and he lost all feeling in his feet. Then he
had to sit and wait for the pins and needles to arise, sting, and
subside again before he could shuffle on a few inches more.

When the cuckoo clock struck four he was almost at the doorway, and
excitement made him careless. He fell back on the chair's hind legs so
roughly that he nearly went over, and his heart almost stopped beating
with the fright.

Once in the doorway, it was easier, for he had the wall to help him to
balance, and he reached the front door in what seemed like a few
moments. Then there came the business of getting the door open. It took
him an endless age of struggling to get hold of a handle he could
scarcely reach; when he did his hand was so wet with perspiration he
could not turn the knob.

At last he managed it, and there came the dreadful business of pulling
the door open toward him and getting round its edge. Surely the time
must be past; perhaps the alarm clock had stopped. Twice he nearly went
over.

He was out of the door at last, on the little platform at the top of the
four steps. The night wind blew refreshingly on his face and the stars
still shone overhead.

"So far, so good," said Hambledon, drawing a long breath, "though how on
earth I'm going to get down those steps----"

At that moment a shrill bell somewhere below him began to ring.
Hambledon shuffled to the edge, threw himself down the steps anyhow,
chair and all, and tried to roll.

There was a blinding flash and a great heave upward----




CHAPTER III
A SLIGHT CASE OF ABDUCTION


Charles Denton was recalled from leave to another meeting at the Foreign
Office a fortnight after the first. He found the head of the department
sitting as usual in the swivel armchair behind his big desk, on which
were three sets of papers; from time to time he glanced at these with an
expression of mingled incredulity and amusement not without a trace of
exasperation. Wilcox was leaning against the mantelpiece, rubbing his
hair with the palm of his hand, and a retired colonel, who had come up
from his Sussex cottage on purpose to be present, was sitting staring
out of the window at white clouds floating in a blue October sky over
St. James's Park. Denton greeted his friends, dropped into the most
comfortable chair available, and waited to hear why he had been
summoned.

"Now we're all here," said the Foreign Office man, "I will give you some
rather curious news I have received. I should like your opinions upon
it."

"Hitler got a new secret weapon?" asked the colonel.

"Performing seals trained to tie sponge bags over the periscopes of
British submarines," said Denton instantly. "They distinguish British
submarines from German ones by the smell of carbolic soap used by the
crews."

"It's a lot funnier than that," said Wilcox.

"It could be, easily," conceded Denton.

"That is, if it's funny at all," said their chief. "I am not quite sure.
This is it. Four days ago I had a call from one of the British directors
of the Heroas Wagon Company of Zurich. He had heard from Zurich that
they had received an order from Berlin--a very large order--for
meter-gauge contractors' tipping wagons. He wanted to know if they
should fulfill it. They are in a position to do so from stock, as they
had made them some time ago for an order from England, and of course
they can't deliver them here now."

"Those little truck things?" said the colonel. "See 'em when they're
making embankments."

"Very polite of them to ask our permission," said Denton, "but wouldn't
it be all the same whatever we said? I mean, a firm must live. I said
that before, I'm sure I did. It sounds familiar."

"You did," said Wilcox. "Here. Last time."

"I agree," said the Foreign Office man. "I mean that they would have
carried out the order in any case. Their politely asking permission was
only a pretext for coming here to tell me that the Berlin agent who
forwarded the order is Herr Theophilus Hartzer, of Zurich."

"That was Hambledon's alias," said the colonel.

"It can't be Hambledon," said Denton. "It must be the----"

"One moment," said the man at the desk. "I shouldn't have called you
back from leave merely to tell you that. I have more. I told you at our
last meeting that I had sent out a routine instruction to all our agents
to look out for Hambledon or Hartzer. Yesterday morning I got a report
from one of our fellows in Berlin that somebody with Hambledon's Hartzer
passport is living in an expensive flat in the Uhland Strasse, a turning
off the Kurfrstendamm."

Denton sat up. "Tommy's passport? Impossible. He had it on him when he
went up to Ulseth's place; I know he did. I saw him put it in his
pocket."

"It's in Berlin now. Our man saw it."

There was a short silence, which the colonel broke by remarking
reminiscently that Hambledon always did like living in comfort, and
Wilcox snorted.

"Even that is not all," said the Foreign Office chief. "Late last
night--and this was the point at which I telephoned to you--I got a
message from your father-in-law, Denton. He calls himself Weber,
Colonel; he keeps a tobacconist's shop in Spandauer Strasse in Berlin."

"I remember," said the colonel. "His real name is Keppel; he comes from
Loch Awe."

"Yes. I ought to explain that though this message reached me last it was
actually sent off before either of the others. It took some time coming.
He said that on Tuesday of last week the Herr Professor Ulseth came
into----"

"_Ulseth?_" said Denton.

"Ulseth came into his shop with a couple of S.S. men as
escort--bodyguards, warders, or guides; Weber wasn't sure which. Anyway,
Ulseth seemed on the best of terms with them. He asked for American
cigarettes, and Weber said he was out of them. Ulseth then introduced
himself--Weber hadn't seen him before--and said that though his main
interest in life was explosives he still preferred cigarettes that
didn't behave--or taste--like fireworks, as most of the German ones do.
Or so he said. He said saltpeter is all right in gunpowder but could
easily be overdone in tobacco."

"It seems to have been a very full report," said the colonel.

"It was. I got the impression that our good Weber was a little excited.
After that, Ulseth made some excuse to send his escort out of the shop
and immediately told Weber to ask M.I.5 at once for the name of a
reliable laboratory assistant with experience of explosives. The man
should preferably come from Holland or Belgium. It was urgent. While he
was talking he placed the thumb and four fingers of his right hand,
severally and seriatim, on the lid of a polished cigarette box, rolling
them slightly as he did so. Then he beamed upon Weber, who does not seem
to have said anything--I imagine he was speechless--and asked again for
American cigarettes. Weber found him some this time. Ulseth went out of
the shop and could be seen outside sharing his cigarettes with his
guides--or guards. Then they went away together. Weber photographed the
fingerprints and sent them over with the message. Gentlemen, the prints
are those of Thomas Elphinstone Hambledon."

Denton shut his mouth, which had been hanging regrettably open, rose to
his feet, and took several turns about the room. "Hamble----" he began,
swallowed, and started again. "So Hambledon is alive," he said slowly.
"He is Ulseth. I suppose he blew up Ulseth and---- But why go to
Germany? It's the last place he meant to visit; we all know that.
He----"

"Yes," said the departmental head. "It's much too dangerous. But listen.
Who are the other two? Hartzer with the passport in the Uhland Strasse,
and Hartzer of the Heroas Company with an office in the Schnebuerger
Strasse buying tipping wagons for the German Government? Is Hambledon
all of them?"

"He seems to have been blown into three pieces," said the colonel, "all
going strong. I thought you said, Charles, that the Nazis had walked off
with Hambledon's luggage."

"I said I supposed it was they. And they are quite capable of
impersonating Hartzer in Berlin to get wagons out of the Heroas people,"
said Denton. "And the commission, of course. This may be the explanation
of the wagon agent. But the fellow in the Uhland Strasse flat--a real
Nazi wouldn't use a faked passport in Berlin----"

"You're getting mixed up," said Wilcox. "If Hambledon walked out of
Ulseth's place before or after blowing it up----"

"Before," said Denton. "Nothing walked out of that place after it."

"Before, then. Why shouldn't he pick up his own luggage?"

Denton merely looked at him.

"And proceed to Berlin by the first available train and start business
as the Heroas Company's representative."

"Tommy would never go to Germany of his own free will," said Denton
positively. "Not while Goebbels is still with us, anyway. He must have
been taken there, and taken so suddenly that he had no chance to
communicate with me, I tell you, if he walked up the stairs at the Trois
Couronnes he only had to take five paces to the left and he would have
been at my bedroom door. It wasn't Hambledon who came that night."

"Unless he saw an opportunity for abducting Goebbels in a tipping wagon
and blowing him up with TNT," said the colonel distractedly. "This
business makes my head ache. Which is Hambledon?"

"We know definitely that he is posing as Ulseth," said the departmental
head. "Fingerprints are definite evidence. He may also be the man in the
Uhland Strasse flat, on account of the passport. It is less likely that
he is the Heroas man; as Denton has pointed out, that might be any Nazi
on the make who got hold of Hambledon's luggage from the Trois
Couronnes. Of course he might have collected it himself, as Wilcox said,
but he can hardly be all three, and this one has the least evidence of
connection."

"But Ulseth was a chemist," said the colonel. "Hambledon wasn't, in
spite of the short course you told us about."

"Oh, quite. Hence his demand for a laboratory assistant."

"Have you found him one?" asked Denton.

"Oh yes. A nice young man named Grautz, from the University of Leyden.
He has been useful to us before, but the Nazis don't know that, of
course. Stevens recommended him."

"Poor Stevens," said the colonel.

"Hambledon must be having a wonderful time," said Denton, "stalling off
real chemists who want to talk shop. He doesn't know the difference
between a sulphide and a sulphate."

"If anybody can do it, he will," said Wilcox with conviction.

"Is there anything more we can do to help him?" asked the colonel.

"Not at the moment, I think," said the Foreign Office man. "Weber and
others have been warned to stand by him, and we are trying to get more
details about the two Hartzers. I will let you know at once when I get
any more news."

"If I were Hambledon," said the colonel, rising stiffly and picking up
his hat, "I should give up espionage after this and take to walking a
tightrope across Vesuvius. It would be so much less dangerous."

"I'm afraid you're right," said Wilcox.

                 *        *        *        *        *

As the police car drove off from Ulseth's place Hambledon, between two
gendarmes in the back seat, was feeling far from well. He was stunned
and shaken by the proximity of that appalling explosion; he was sore and
bruised all over by flying fragments and falling debris; he had cut his
face and made his nose bleed rolling down the steps, and finally there
was the kindly gendarme's morphia tablet. He was, in fact, little more
than half-conscious. He was vaguely aware that he was extremely lucky to
be alive at all, and he had an indistinct idea that somebody had said
something about a hospital. Bed. Nurses. Kindly attentions. Peace and
quiet. Excellent ideas; let them be imple--implicated--implemented.
That's the word, implemented. Agricultural implements. Speed the plow.
If only his head didn't ache so...

Hambledon slept.

He was awakened by being thrown roughly forward when the car skidded to
a standstill, and only the prompt action of his two gendarmes prevented
him from slamming his unfortunate nose again on the back of the front
seat. The car door was thrown open, and a rush of cold night air revived
him and made him shiver. He shivered again for another reason when he
heard a peremptory German voice saying, "Out, please."

"They've got me," said Tommy to himself. "They've got me at last. One of
them spotted me in Servatsch, and this is the end." Nevertheless he
retained enough self-control to slump back in his seat, and did not open
his eyes even when a shot was fired close by and one of his fellow
passengers rolled out in the road with a groan.

"Lift out the Herr Professor," said the German voice. Herr Professor?
Why Herr Professor? Probably the brutes were being sarcastic. Now for
it.

But he was lifted out gently enough, carried across to a waiting car,
and deposited, with tender care, in the back seat. Rugs were wrapped
round him, cushions were placed where they would do most good;
apparently he was not to be shot just yet.

"Is the Herr Professor in much pain?" asked someone.

Hambledon half opened his eyes, moaned feebly, and relaxed again. Still
this Herr Professor business, whatever it meant.

"He is unconscious," said the same voice to somebody else.

"Of course he's unconscious," said the rasping voice which had ordered
the gendarmes out. "What did you expect? If he wasn't as tough as old
boots he would be dead. Drive on, Georg."

The car moved off in the direction of Servatsch, passed through the
village again, and took the left-hand fork two miles beyond it.
Hambledon had been waiting for this, but when they actually took that
turning he nearly fainted in earnest.

"We shall be in Germany in an hour," he said to himself. "If I had a gun
I'd shoot the driver. If I had a hand grenade I'd wreck the car. I
should go out too, but not in Germany." He wriggled feebly, and the man
beside him patted his arm and said, "Patience, Herr Professor. All will
yet be well."

Hambledon sighed and lay quiet again. Who was it who said "the Herr
Professor" somebody a little while ago? In a bare room with a big table
in the middle, and a man looking at himself in a mirror----Ulseth, that
was it. The Herr Professor Ulseth. Got it. "My hat, I believe they think
I'm Ulseth. Of course I had his passport and things; besides, that was
the idea. To make out I was Ulseth."

The car sped on toward the German frontier.

Hambledon waited till he saw ahead, in the growing light of dawn, a
house or two at the side of the road. He then stretched himself
painfully, threw up his arms, and slid off the seat. He lay crouched on
the floor of the car and whimpered at every attempt his escort made to
raise him.

"Stop the car!" said the man beside him. "The Herr Professor is taken
seriously ill."

The man beside the driver turned and shone a torch on Hambledon, who
squinted alarmingly.

"My orders are not to stop the car till we get to Germany," he said
doubtfully, and the driver slowed down a little.

"We could, perhaps, obtain some water at one of these houses," he said.

"No," said their leader decidedly. "No stopping at houses. Pass them and
pull up at the side of the road further on."

"Water," said Hambledon feebly.

"There," said the driver. "That's what he wants." He slowed down yet
more.

"There is a stream beside the road two hundred meters further on," said
the leader. "I have a cup on my flask; he shall have his water there."

They passed the houses, and Hambledon could have cried. When they
reached the stream the leader got out with his flask in his hand, dipped
the cup, and came back to Hambledon's door with it brimming in his hand.
Tommy was still pathetically but strongly resisting all attempts to lift
him.

"Better open the door," said Georg, the driver. "It will be easier to
get at him."

The door opened, and Tommy immediately rolled out in the road, butting
into the man with the cup and spilling the water. Hambledon straightened
out as though actuated by a spring and lay perfectly stiff, rolling
slightly from side to side.

"It is tetanus, Herr Gruppenfuehrer," said Georg. "I have seen it
before." (So had Hambledon.) "I think the Herr Professor is dying."

"I have some brandy," said the Group Leader, pouring from his flask into
the cup. "Lift his head, Hans."

Hans, having emerged from the back seat, strained and grunted, and
Hambledon rose up a few inches all in one piece like a wooden doll.

"Help him, Georg," said the leader, and between them quite an
appreciable dose of brandy went down Tommy's throat. Would nobody come
along the road? He could not hold his stiff pose another moment; with a
grunt he collapsed so suddenly that the two men holding him banged their
heads together, exclaiming "Ach!"

"Quickly!" said the leader. "Back in the car before he stiffens again."
Before Hambledon could do anything he was in the back seat again with
Hans on one side and the Group Leader on the other, both holding him
firmly.

"Get in, Georg, and drive like blazes. There is a nursing home at
Singen. The sooner we get him there the better."

"Suppose he dies on the way," said the softer-hearted Hans.

"Then he dies," said the Group Leader. "In any case, it is now the
nearest place where he can receive proper attention. What good would it
do to lay him out on the roadside? You are a fool."

Hambledon thought he had better faint again, but even this did not
affect the leader. As they approached the frontier post the side window
was wound down and signals were flashed from an electric torch. The car
went through without slowing, and Hambledon really lost track of
proceedings till the car turned into the entrance of a large house in
Singen and stopped.

Half an hour later, washed and with his more obvious wounds dressed, he
was in bed with a doctor and a nurse leaning over him. He murmured
something about nitroglycerin which he hoped would be noticed and went
to sleep. At least he would now have a little time in which to think. At
least he was out of that car and not too far from the Swiss frontier. It
might be possible to escape from this place.

But when he woke up in the morning he was so stiff that he could not
turn over in bed, and his face was so swollen he could hardly eat. When
on the third day he had recovered enough to get up and stagger across
the room, he noticed through the half-open door a chair in the passage
outside, and on it was seated a man in the uninspired uniform of the
S.S.

"Damn and blast," said Hambledon to himself. "Always so thorough, these
Germans." He went back to bed.

In the afternoon the Group Leader was permitted by the doctor to pay a
short visit, and Hambledon was distinctly snappish.

"I trust," said the Group Leader in tones as pleasant as possible to a
naturally unpleasant voice, "that the esteemed Herr Professor Ulseth
finds himself recovering."

"Recovering? Of course I'm recovering. No thanks to you. I am told I was
brought here in a car direct from Servatsch. Why? It might have killed
me. It ought to have killed me. There were nearer places than this to
deposit a man who had just had a severe accident."

"I regret extremely----"

"No use regretting, it's done now and I have survived."

"Only the urgency of my instructions----"

"I don't know who was the mentally deficient baboon who instructed you
to drag a half-dead man round the countryside in the middle of the
night, but you can tell him from me that if I ever meet him I shall have
pleasure in telling him my opinion of him. The callous, half-witted----"

"I think," said the S.S. man, rising, "that the Herr Professor is not
yet calm enough----"

"Calm? Calm? I'm perfectly calm. But if you suppose I'm going to put up
with----"

The Group Leader left the room.

"That's the line to take," said Hambledon to himself. "These people are
so used to being bullied that they just lap it down. I wish I knew why
they abducted me. What on earth do they want with Ulseth? Do they really
believe in him?"

The next day he sent for the Gruppenfuehrer and was a trifle more
genial.

"I was, perhaps, a little abrupt with you yesterday," said Hambledon. "I
still think you took a grave and unjustifiable risk in bringing me so
far, but I must say this nursing home is a very excellent place."

"The Herr Professor is not only kind but just," said the gratified Group
Leader. "This place is famous for its excellence in every respect--it
was the first place I thought of when I realized how ill the Herr
Professor was--none but the best would have been suitable----"

"The medical attention is beyond praise," said Hambledon.

"I myself instructed the Herr Doktor that no pains were to be spared
to----"

"The nurses, too. Gentle, intelligent, and comely."

The Nazi smirked. "The Herr Professor's powers of recuperation----" he
began.

"And the view from the windows!" pursued Hambledon hastily.
"Magnificent! Superb! Soul-in-the-highest-degree-uplifting!"

"To the disturbed nervous system inevitably soothing," agreed the
Gruppenfuehrer.

"Inspiring," said Hambledon.

"Psychologically satisfying," said the German.

"In short, I am your debtor for having brought me here, and when, in
future, any of my friends are ailing, I shall insist on their coming
here if I have to throw them into a car and bring them by force."
Hambledon laughed kindly, and the Gruppenfuehrer politely joined in.

"I shall return to Servatsch tomorrow," said Hambledon carelessly,
"taking with me a pleasant memory of your indefatigable kindness."

The smile left the German's face. "But why return to Servatsch?" he
said. "I regret to inform the Herr Professor that his establishment was
completely and utterly destroyed. Not a wall left standing--not a trace
of his labors----"

"What?" cried Hambledon, rising in agitation. "All my notes--all my
preparations----"

"All lost," said the Nazi mournfully.

"But my servant----"

"I regret. Dead. More than dead. In-several-directions-disseminated."

Hambledon covered his face with his hands, and there was a respectful
silence.

"My poor Joachim."

"He died in the noble cause of science," said the Gruppenfuehrer
consolingly.

"I must return at once," said Hambledon energetically. "Today--this
afternoon--this minute. Send out to the nearest shop for some clothes,
and I will dress at once and go. Some of my notebooks may have
escaped--they must--my life's work----"

"A thorough search was made, not only among the ruins but all around.
Nothing was found, nothing."

This did not surprise Hambledon, who knew there was nothing to find.

"Nevertheless, I must myself make search, or I shall never sleep again.
Clothes, Herr Gruppenfuehrer, clothes."

"Listen," said the German persuasively. "Why exhaust your valuable
energies searching among ruins for what is not there? Why conceal in a
remote corner of Switzerland the brilliant intellect which could assist
a great nation in its hour of need? Come to Berlin, Herr Ulseth. Your
fame has preceded you there----"

"Heaven help me," said Hambledon to himself. "I was afraid it had."

"A welcome awaits you from the most powerful, the most talented sections
of our Reich. Facilities shall be placed at your disposal--I am
authorized officially to say this--such as could not be equaled in any
other capital in Europe. Or the world."

"Very well," said Hambledon after a moment's pause. "A day--two days--to
visit Servatsch and say a prayer over the grave of my servant, and lay a
wreath to his memory, and I will come to Berlin at once."

"It is inadvisable. I regret. The Herr Professor has forgotten--the
Swiss police----"

"What about the police?"

"There was a little matter of a cow."

"Bah! I will pay for the cow. I ought to pay for the cow. I am obliged
to you for reminding me. I must return in order to pay for the cow."

"The money can be sent," said the German obstinately. "The wreath also.
The Herr Professor is strongly advised to travel to Berlin at once."

Hambledon saw it was no use arguing. He sank into his chair murmuring,
"I am fatigued. Leave me alone, please; all this is very agitating. My
poor servant! My precious formulas!"

The Nazi rose instantly. "Let the Herr Professor's mind be at rest. He
has chosen wisely. Tomorrow the clothes shall be obtained." He left the
room, and Hambledon looked anxiously after him.

"They are not going to let me go," he said. "Well, I couldn't very well
bolt in pajamas, anyway. Perhaps something will occur tomorrow."




CHAPTER IV
NAZI WELCOME


By the fifth day Hambledon was regretfully well enough to be moved, and
not the faintest chance of escape had presented itself even though he
was once more clothed in garments more suitable for travel than a pair
of fawn Jaeger pajamas with pink stripes. He had spent hours trying to
compose a telegram to Denton which would not tell the Gruppenfuehrer
more than it was advisable for him to know, but had had to give it up.
It would have to be signed "Ulseth," and Denton would simply disbelieve
it. It would be better to go on to Berlin and try to get in touch with
one of the British agents there. All the same, his heart sank at the
thought of traveling straight into the heart of Nazi Germany without a
further effort to extricate himself, and he beat his brains till his
head ached trying to think of some way out. But no solution came to him,
and it was even dangerous to appear too unwilling. He gave it up.

"If I have got to be a distinguished chemist visiting Germany," said
Tommy crossly, "I will be the most irritable and eccentric scientist
that ever stepped out of the pages of a book. The few real ones I've
ever met have been singularly mild and unassuming. I'm hanged if I will
be. If they annoy me--and they're sure to--I will curse them from Hell
to Halifax. I shall merely sneer whenever I'm asked questions I can't
answer. Like Professor Challenger with his 'every schoolboy knows' in a
horrid sarcastic voice. I only wish I knew as much about chemistry as
'every schoolboy knows.' It is going to be difficult, very."

He got up and looked at himself in the glass. He had been clean-shaven
when he was in Germany before, with hair cut short and marks on his face
which looked like dueling scars. He had been a soldier when he was a
young man, and contact with the militaristic Nazis had kept him in the
habit of walking like one. Now the scars on his face had disappeared;
his hair was rough and getting long. The beard which had seemed such a
good idea was ragged and uneven as a result of the explosion; one side
was burned considerably shorter than the other. His eyebrows had been
singed off, and various strips of sticking plaster decorated his skull.
One of his knees had suffered quite severely, and he walked with a limp
in consequence, a limp which he intended to last him throughout his stay
in Germany. Hambledon noticed all these alterations with growing
confidence.

"I don't look like a leading Nazi now," he remarked to the mirror. "I
look like a dilapidated goat. I might get away with it--perhaps. Though
I doubt it."

He traveled by train to Berlin accompanied by the Group Leader, who
combined the offices of courier, nurse, and, Tommy strongly suspected,
warder. For one thing, there was no money forthcoming, though Hambledon
did his best. He could not even attempt to escape without any, and
Ulseth had left him none.

When the Gruppenfuehrer came to tell him the time of their departure, he
said casually, "By the way, I should be glad of a couple of hundred
marks or so, if you could oblige me. My own money is doubtless scattered
broadcast over the landscape of Servatsch."

"The Herr Professor," said the Nazi awkwardly, "will not be put to any
expense on the journey. He is the guest of the Reich."

"I will not insult the Reich by suggesting that they expect me to work
for my bare keep. What I want is a small advance to enable me to tip the
boots here. He has been civil and obliging."

"That has already been done."

"Thank you," said Tommy coldly, "but I should have preferred to do it
myself. I also wish to make some small presents to my kind nurses."

"They have already been more than adequately remunerated."

"But----"

"In your name, Herr Professor, I myself have just given them fifty marks
each. This is more than ample, besides the natural gratification they
feel at having been of service to the famous Herr Ulseth," said the Nazi
in a tone meant to be soothing. But Tommy refused to be soothed.

"My good young man, when you have had a little more experience of life
you will learn how narrow a line divides being helpful from being
officious. You mean well, no doubt," said Tommy with one of the sneers
he had been practicing in the mirror, "but be so good in future as to
permit the famous Herr Ulseth to manage his own unimportant affairs. For
the last time, I refuse to be treated like a child. I want some money,
Herr Gruppenfuehrer."

"I regret----"

"What! Am I to come to you whenever I want a pfennig on the journey?"

"Oh, if it is a matter of a few copper coins," said the German, "that is
another matter." He brought a handful of small change out of his pocket
and laid it on the table. Tommy promptly picked it up and threw it at
him, and the coins rolled about the floor.

"Who do you think you are?" he stormed. "Who do you think I am? A blind
beggar at a street corner, I, Ulseth? You insult me!"

"I regret deeply," said the Gruppenfuehrer, rising, "but I have no
authority to----"

"Ah! Of course I had forgotten. An underling like you would not,
naturally, have access to anything but the smallest petty cash. Send me
the local gauleiter at once."

"He is ill in bed," said the Nazi, backing toward the door. "Patience,
Herr Professor. In Berlin all will be explained.

"Yes, I will do the explaining and you will be regularized! and
regularized."

"Get out of my sight," shouted Hambledon, just in time as the door
closed behind the German. "Owl! Donkey! Jackass!" Retreating footsteps
sounded along the passage.

"A moral victory, as people always say when they lose elections," said
Tommy ruefully. "I may as well have what there is, though." He hunted
about for the scattered coins and counted them up. "Three marks
seventy-five pfennigs. Not so good. I shouldn't get far on that."

They arrived in Berlin late one evening, and Herr Ulseth was conducted
to the Adlon, where the Reich parks its distinguished visitors. The
Group Leader took a ceremonious leave of him, saying that one more
worthy than himself would come in the morning adequately to welcome him;
in the meantime let the Reich's honored guest rest himself and sleep
well. Hambledon, who was still suffering from the after-effects of the
Servatsch affair, thought this an excellent idea. He thanked the
Gruppenfuehrer in a few kindly if patronizing phrases, had a light
supper in his own room, and went early to bed.

The Gruppenfuehrer left the Adlon and went to the Armaments Ministry to
report. Yes, he had brought the Herr Professor Ulseth as directed. He
described the occurrences at Servatsch with exactness and the explosion
with awe. There was no doubt the Herr Professor had got something there.
The Herr Professor had not talked about his experiments except to lament
the loss of his notes, and the Gruppenfuehrer had not questioned him----
Oh, quite. A matter for experts. Not within his province at all. The
Herr Professor was without doubt a very able man indeed; he had that
authoritative manner one always found in the---- Well, a little
dictatorial, perhaps. The Gruppenfuehrer had found it necessary to be
diplomatic. One made excuses for a certain irascibility in one who had
just suffered such a loss---- Well, yes, to be frank, definitely
hot-tempered. A tendency to throw things. These scientists, these
brilliant intellects, no one should be surprised if they exhibited
impatience, even to the point of calling one names, when it was
unfortunately necessary to refuse some request. The Gruppenfuehrer bore
no malice; on the contrary, he would always recall with pleasure his
good fortune in being brought into contact with---- Oh, certainly. His
private opinions were not, indeed, of the slightest importance. No, he
had nothing further to report. Heil Hitler!

After which the official at the Armaments Ministry knew what to expect
when he called upon Hambledon at the Adlon next morning. He found the
distinguished scientist in his bedroom, in dressing gown and slippers,
consuming coffee and rolls without enthusiasm. The official introduced
himself.

"Obersatz Erich Landahl, of the Armaments Ministry," he said, bowing in
the doorway. "I have the honor to address the Herr Professor Ulseth?"

"Heil Hitler!" said Hambledon smartly, with a Nazi salute rather spoiled
by the fact that he had a coffee cup in the hand he used to make it.
"Uttermost hells, I have now spilt my coffee----"

"Heil Hitler," said the Obersatz, "let me help you to mop it." He rushed
forward.

"That is, if you can call it coffee," went on Hambledon irritably.
"Roast acorns, is it not? I thought the Adlon would be capable of
producing----"

"A mistake has been made," said Landahl, ceasing to mop Hambledon and
ringing the bell instead. "I will give instructions that more care shall
be taken in future." He looked nervously at the coffee cup which
Hambledon was holding more like a missile than a receptacle. "Coffee is
becoming a difficulty in our Germany, but there is still enough for
those whom the Reich delights to honor. A replacement shall be made."

Hambledon relaxed slightly and put down the cup.

"A cold morning, is it not?" he said.

"We do, indeed, experience the onset of winter," agreed the Obersatz.

"Especially when the door of the room has been left open," remarked
Hambledon, and Landahl shut it hastily, with apologies. Having thus
established matters on the right footing, Tommy thought it time to be a
little more friendly.

"It is a source of gratification to me," he said politely, "that the
Herr Obersatz should have honored me with a call in person."

"The honor is bestowed upon me. Moreover, I do not come in my own
person, but as representing the Armaments Minister, who has commanded me
to greet you in his name, to make you welcome to the Reich, and
particularly to ask what can be done to expedite in every possible way
the prosecution of your invaluable experimental research work."

"I thank the Armaments Minister," said Tommy solemnly. A waiter came in
response to the bell, and Landahl ordered coffee, "real coffee," in a
masterful voice. The waiter raised his eyebrows, Landahl glared, and the
man withdrew.

"I trust the Herr Professor is completely recovered from the effects of
the unfortunate accident at Servatsch?"

"I am recovering, thank you. My burns are almost healed and my bruises
are disappearing. I still suffer daily from most devastating headaches,"
said Hambledon, clutching at excuses for putting off the start of his
chemical adventures. "My doctor told me they would pass in time, I must
be patient." He added with a laugh, "I fear patience is not my most
outstanding virtue."

Landahl thought of what the Gruppenfuehrer had told him.

"Patience and enthusiasm are bad yokefellows," he said tactfully.
"Nevertheless, certain preparations can be made. I understand the Herr
Professor has lost all his apparatus in the accident?"

"Accident," said Hambledon, becoming agitated. "The Herr Obersatz is
mistaken in calling it an accident. It was due entirely to my own
carelessness. I blame myself. I blame myself severely. I was engaged in
a process of distillation with a small quantity of my product--I call it
Ulsenite, Herr Obersatz; forgive the vanity of a creator, Ulsenite--in a
laboratory flask. The laboratory was hot, the fumes were somewhat
overpowering, I was tired and jaded, I had been working all night----"

"Indeed, I heard that the explosion took place early in the morning,"
said Landahl, nodding his head.

"I always work at night. No distractions, no interruptions. As I was
saying, no doubt fatigue had made me careless. I was gasping for air. I
went outside and sat on a chair in the garden to smoke a cigarette, my
eyes on my watch--I had a watch then," added Hambledon with a sad little
laugh. "The air was cool and refreshing. I remember thinking how
brightly the stars shone as I rose from my chair to return to my labors.
But the distillation must have proceeded more quickly than I expected,
for at that moment--it happened." Hambledon leaned back in his chair and
closed his eyes, as one overpowered by a painful memory.

"Unfortunate," said Landahl, "most unfortunate. Had you much in the
flask?"

"About half a liter," said Hambledon, still with closed eyes.

"Then the bursting of the flask set off other explosive material in its
immediate vicinity?"

"My good man," said Tommy, sitting up sharply, "one does not have 'other
explosive material' lying about in the vicinity of such experiments. One
isolates them--one segregates them--every schoolboy knows that." ("Got
that one off," he added to himself.)

"But--I do not understand," said the Obersatz. "The flask containing
half a liter exploded, and----"

"And the explosion took place," said Tommy testily.

"Half a liter--then what blew up the house?"

"I've told you twice!" roared Hambledon. "Half a liter of Ulsenite. How
many more times----"

"Half a liter!" gasped the astonished Landahl. "Only half a liter--half
a-- Merciful heavens, what an explosive!"

"What do you take me for?" asked Hambledon contemptuously. "A child
playing with toys?"

"No, no, most excellent Herr Professor. No, no. I was surprised, that's
all. Forgive my foolishness. The Armaments Ministry will be most--half a
liter--nothing like it has ever been heard of before."

"Naturally. There is nothing like it," said Hambledon with perfect
truth. The waiter came with the fresh coffee and poured out a cup.
Hambledon tasted it.

"This is better," he said, "though still not equal to that my poor
Joachim used to make."

"And what will you require to continue your work?" asked Landahl, when
the affronted waiter had gone.

"A well-equipped laboratory situated near the city, yet sufficiently
isolated to be private. I shall want to visit makers of laboratory
equipment in order to explain my requirements exactly. I shall want some
books--my excellent technical library, all destroyed----"

"All these things shall be obtained," said Landahl. "If necessary, a
laboratory shall be built. You will doubtless require assistants."

"I will choose my own assistant, thank you," said Tommy loftily. "It is
quite bad enough to blow oneself up. I have no wish to be assisted
heavenward by ham-handed boneheaded
of-the-necessary-experience-not-possessed chemists."

"No, no. I will report to the Armaments Ministry. Is there anything
else?"

"The tiresome but necessary money, Herr Obersatz. I am at the moment
possessed of three marks twenty-five pfennigs, and until I get in touch
with my bank in Zurich----"

"Your salary starts as from today and is payable monthly in advance,"
interrupted Landahl. "The amount suggested is fifteen hundred marks per
month."

Tommy hastily altered his astonished expression to one of politely
suppressed contempt. No wonder Ulseth had taken so much trouble to work
up this pose; the financial rewards were worth it. Landahl noticed his
expression and added hastily that, in addition, the expenses of fitting
out and upkeep of the laboratory and the raw materials of his
experiments would naturally be supplied by the Reich.

"Naturally," said Hambledon in a bored voice.

"Then I can now tell my colleagues at the Armaments Ministry that Herr
Ulseth will proceed with his work as soon as his health is sufficiently
restored?"

"Certainly."

"And in the meantime a suitable laboratory shall be found or erected."

"Thank you."

"I will supply you the names of firms manufacturing scientific
appliances."

"Reliable firms," said Hambledon.

"All German firms are reliable since our Fuehrer weeded out the Jewish
element in commerce."

"One of the numerous blessings for which Germany has to thank her
Fuehrer."

"That is undoubtedly so," said Landahl, rising. "By the way, one small
item."

"What is it?"

"An escort will be provided for you. There are too many people who would
like to deprive the Reich of the Herr Professor's eminent services."

"But----" began Hambledon, seeing an inconvenient check upon his liberty
of action.

"Forgive me," said the Obersatz firmly, "but it must be so. Our Germany
is at war--unwillingly, but still at war--and our enemies are bold and
cunning."

Tommy thought of the Swedes at Servatsch, patiently waiting at Ulseth's
gate. If a mention slipped into the German papers of Herr Ulseth's
arrival in Berlin, it would not be long before they arrived, too, and
waited at his gate. They had known him as Hartzer, the traveler for the
Heroas Company; if they saw him again as Ulseth, they would be naturally
surprised, and their surprise might become vocal. Then a spark of doubt
might kindle in the Nazi mind, and an explosion follow more fatal to
Hambledon than the one at Servatsch.... Something must be done to
ward off the Swedes. Tommy turned a frank gaze upon Landahl.

"There are some Swedes," he said.

"Swedes?" said Landahl, sitting down again.

"Swedes. They were negotiating with me for the purchase of the formula
for Ulsenite before I was--er--approached by your government," said
Hambledon. "They insisted upon paying me a sum down as a lien upon
future discoveries, and I saw no reason why I should not accept it. They
may consider they have a prior right----"

"Pah," said Landahl. "A prior right. Swedes. Pah."

"Oh, quite. But they may come and worry me. I cannot be worried when I
am working."

"Fear nothing. You shall never see a Swede."

Tommy felt that it was more important that they shouldn't see him, but
hardly liked to say so. If an emergency arose, it must be dealt with at
the time.

"You will find these men tactful and unobtrusive," said Landahl. "They
have been carefully selected."

"I will give you my opinion of them when I have seen them," said
Hambledon loftily. "I daresay I may find them useful."

The Obersatz rose for the second time. "They have been so instructed,"
he said. "I go now to convey the good news to my colleagues that our
Germany has henceforth the collaboration of the eminent Herr Ulseth. I
have the honor to wish you good day. Heil Hitler."

"Heil Hitler. The honor is mine," said Tommy politely, but when he was
left alone he held his hand up before him and looked at his fingers.
They were shaking.

"I have been in some damned tight corners in my time, but never one like
this. I'm supposed to be an expert on a subject I know nothing about, in
a city where I was once far too well known. I am to have two warders
trailing me wherever I go unless I can do something about it. There are
three perfectly intelligent neutrals who knew me as somebody else a week
ago, and who may be in Berlin a week hence. There is also Ulseth, who
said he was coming to Germany; it's a large country, but it would add a
lot to the fun if he turned up in Berlin too. As representative of the
Heroas Company, this is where he'd make for. Well," said Tommy, setting
his teeth, "I think I can deal with Ulseth. As for the other
emergencies, perhaps some solution will present itself. Let's hope so.
My time may be short, but it doesn't look as though it was going to be
dull." He lifted his right hand in the Nazi salute and added, "Blast
Hitler!"




CHAPTER V
PERSONALLY CONDUCTED TOUR


The waiter came in to remove the breakfast things and said that there
were two men ready to attend the Herr at any time he thought fit to
appoint.

"Send them up," said Hambledon, "in--ah--half an hour's time. I have not
yet seen the papers. By some oversight they were not sent up with the
breakfast."

"I will bring them at once----"

"Tomorrow I should like them earlier."

"It shall be as the Herr wishes."

"Naturally. Tell the manager that the last brew of coffee was better,
but still on the weak side."

"There is a shortage----"

"Difficulties exist, my good man, in order to be overcome. Now the
papers, if you please."

The waiter went out with the tray and met the liftman in the passage
outside.

"That old rhinoceros in there," said the waiter, "look out!"

"Like that, is he?"

"'Tell the manager,' he says, 'the coffee's weak.' Weak! Real coffee!"

"Oh well," said the liftman philosophically, "they come all sorts. He's
a scientist, or some such, isn't he?"

The waiter was just beginning to say what Hambledon, in his opinion was,
when the door suddenly opened.

"My papers," said Hambledon irritably. "Must I come and get them myself?
I thought the Adlon----"

"Immediately, _gn' Herr_. At once," said the waiter and liftman in
duet, and left hurriedly.

"I wonder if this kind of manner grows on one," said Hambledon as he
shut the door. "It seems to come unexpectedly easy to me, perhaps it's
the Berlin air. Rhinoceros, indeed!"

He received his papers with commendable promptitude from the hands of
the liftman, whom he rewarded with his last remaining three marks.

"You work the lift which is nearest to this room?"

"Yes, _gn' Herr_."

"Good. If you are civil and obliging, there will be more where that came
from."

"It will be a pleasure as well as a duty to serve the gracious Herr."

"I sincerely hope so," said Hambledon.

"Rhinoceros, _quatsch_!" said the liftman to himself as he shut the
door. "He's a very nice gentleman. It is that Alberich who is a clumsy
bear."

"Divide and rule," said Tommy as he opened the _Vlkischer Beobachter_.
Banner headlines all across the front page announced the "Annihilation
of Soviet Armies Almost Concluded." There were scenes of appalling
terror in Odessa; deserters from the Soviet forces were being shot in
the back by their infuriated comrades. The Bolshevist hordes were either
surrounded in masses and being rapidly pulverized or reeling back in
disorder from an unending series of merciless hammer blows which they
could not hope to survive. Russia was already defeated. The war was
practically won. The liquidation process, so far advanced, had only to
be completed, and all the immense resources of Russia would be available
for the prosecution of Germany's other wars. _Sieg Heil!_ The date was
October the twelfth, 1941.

"I don't like it," said Hambledon anxiously. "I don't like it at all. If
even one tenth of this is true--and surely not even the Nazis would lie
on this scale--it won't be long before the Eastern Front closes down,
and then it'll be our turn. I shouldn't have thought the Russians would
have collapsed like this, but of course they did very badly against
Finland. I hope it isn't true, but I'm afraid it is. Oh damn!" He
screwed up the _Voelkischer Beobachter_ into a ball and hurled it across
the room, only to rise hastily to his feet, retrieve the paper, and
straighten it out carefully. He then dropped it in the seat of his
chair, sat on it to account for the creases, and was attentively reading
the _Berliner Zeitung_ when there came a knock at the door.

"Enter," said Hambledon peremptorily.

"The two men whom the gracious Herr wished to see at this time," said
the liftman.

"Let them come in."

They came in, two men in the uniform of Storm Troopers; one tall and
thin with a long, melancholy face and a long nose red at the end ("Has
indigestion," commented Tommy within himself), the other short and
rotund, with a round face, bright red cheeks, and very black hair. They
introduced themselves.

"Storm Trooper Kurt Bernstein," said the tall, thin one with a polite
bow.

"Storm Trooper Wilhelm Eckhoff," said the short man with a similar bow.
Then they straightened up and stared at him.

"Chemist--Professor Sigurd Ulseth," said Hambledon in a sarcastic voice,
and barked, "Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler!" they chorused, with the appropriate gesture. Hambledon
looked at them both carefully all over from head to foot without
speaking till Bernstein averted his eyes and Eckhoff shifted his feet.

"Well, now we all know each other," said Tommy after nearly half a
minute's silence, "what happens next?"

"Whatever the Herr Professor wishes," said Bernstein.

"I want to go out."

"_Jawohl_, Herr Professor."

"First to the bank."

"_Jawohl_, Herr Professor."

"Then to some booksellers' shops."

"_Jawohl_, Herr Professor."

"Booksellers of a good class, where I can obtain scientific books."

"_Jawohl_, Herr----"

"_Herrgott!_" roared Hambledon. "Say something else besides '_Jawohl_,
Herr Professor' every ten seconds like a pink-crested psittacotic
parrot!"

Bernstein started nervously, but a distinct twinkle appeared in the eyes
of Eckhoff.

"As Your Excellency wishes," stammered Bernstein.

"Of course it is as I wish. Wait now while I put on my coat and hat, and
we will go out."

Clothes were rationed in Germany, but Hambledon had been supplied with
the necessary coupons at Singen by the Gruppenfuehrer. Singen was a
provincial town, not a fashionable resort, and Hambledon had taken care
to choose clothes of country cut as unlike as possible to the sort of
thing he used to wear when he was in Berlin before the war. A flowing
green overcoat of a slightly surprising tweed labeled by the tailor
"Schottisch," and a broad-brimmed hat "to shelter my poor damaged
eyes"--and also to conceal them--together with a beard which looked as
though the rats had been at it, combined in a picturesque effect very
unlike the trim city figure of Hitler's late chief of police. Also,
Hambledon no longer walked smartly; he ambled. He looked at himself in
the long glass of his wardrobe when he put his hat on and was
considerably reassured. "Anyone who recognizes me now must have second
sight," he thought, and pulled the hat-brim well down. "Of course there
are still my fingerprints..." He kept his escort waiting while he put
on a pair of thick leather gloves. "Not that this does any good; I can't
wear gloves all the time. I just like to feel as completely covered as
possible."

He picked up a substantial walking stick--a present from the hospital at
Singen on account of his damaged knee--and the curious trio set out;
Tommy Hambledon stumping along half a yard ahead of his escort, who
followed up smartly behind. At least that was their idea. In practice it
was not quite so simple, because Tommy's pace varied from moment to
moment. He would stop so abruptly that they almost cannoned into him
whenever he saw something that interested him or wanted to ask them the
way, and would then start off again at a pace which surprised them till
his knee hurt him and he pottered along limping, tapping loudly with his
stick on the pavement and glancing keenly about him under the brim of
his wide hat. They went first to the bank, where Tommy presented the
letter which Obersatz Landahl had given him, interviewed the manager,
left a specimen signature, and drew a satisfactory number of marks to go
on with. When they left the bank Hambledon stopped and looked about him.

"This street--Mauer Strasse, is it?"

"Yes, Herr Professor."

"Any bookshops here?"

"There is one almost opposite----" began Eckhoff, but broke off with a
cry of horror as his impetuous charge immediately dived across the
street and had to be snatched from the brink of death under a lorry.

"This traffic is singularly ill regulated," said Tommy, disregarding the
lorry driver's remarks.

"Perhaps it would prevent fatigue if the Herr Professor engaged a taxi,"
suggested Bernstein.

"I have not yet seen one," said Hambledon.

"They are, in point of fact, somewhat scarce," admitted Bernstein.

"Practically unobtainable," said Eckhoff.

"There is, after all, a war on," said Bernstein.

"Young man," said Hambledon, "endeavor not to commit platitudinous
imbecilities."

Bernstein looked as though he thought Hambledon had accused him of some
new kind of sin.

"The Herr Professor means that he has already noticed the war," said
Eckhoff.

Hambledon grinned at him, entered the bookshop, and was directed to the
section labeled "Scientific, Technical, etc." He took several books down
from the shelves and dipped into them. The mere appearance of their
contents appalled him.

"And to think I've got to mug up this stuff to save my life," he
murmured. "'O Death, where is thy sting?'"

He selected several with increasing distaste and gave them to Bernstein
to carry. There was a section labeled "Elementary"; he drew from this a
_Child's First Steps in Chemistry_ and a _Beginner's Guide to
Chemistry_. They had lovely pictures of apparatus of all kinds, clearly
named and described.

"Those are of a very elementary character," said the shopkeeper, who had
had a few words with Eckhoff. "The distinguished Herr Professor would
scarcely----"

"I have a little grandson, sir," said Tommy with simple dignity. "It is
impossible too soon to direct the childish mind into the
in-later-years-supremely-useful branches of study. Have you a note of
those I have selected?"

"I will make out the account in the shortest possible time," said the
bookseller, scribbling furiously on a bill pad.

"Good. Send the account to the Ministry of Armaments," said Hambledon,
walking toward the door.

"There is one here," said a bright girl assistant with tight hair and
immensely strong glasses. "I think the Herr Professor overlooked it. It
is the most advanced textbook of chemistry yet published."

Hambledon took it--a solid lump of learning in depressingly dingy covers
and crammed on every page with formulas of the most horrifying aspect
and in the most painfully small print. The others were quite bad enough;
this one was simply frightful. He decided to lose his temper.

"You offer me this?" he roared. "This--this foul outpouring of the most
debased Jewish mentality of our century? How dare you?"

"But," began the assistant, "the eminent author is the most----"

"He is a Jew! How dare you pollute your premises with such infamy? Take
your wretched book," said Hambledon, and hurled it at the assistant,
giving her plenty of time to dodge, for he was a kind man at heart. The
book sailed over her head, hit a revolving stand of postcards, and
vanished over a counter in a snowstorm of Views of Berlin, real
photogravures. Hambledon watched its departure with deep satisfaction
and left the shop without another word; his escort followed, sharing his
purchases between them.

"Definitely a tiger," said Bernstein out of the corner of his mouth to
Eckhoff.

"_Quatsch_," said Eckhoff, which means "nonsense."

"The man is dangerous," persisted Bernstein. "We were warned about his
temper, weren't we?"

"_Quatsch_," said Eckhoff again. "He's not a bad old boy at all."

"I want some soap," said Hambledon.

"The Herr Professor has his ration cards, of course."

"I have a handful of variously colored permits to buy," said Hambledon,
producing a sheaf of cards in blue, orange, green, yellow, purple, and
pink. "Very gay. Very enlivening."

They entered a store where the professor was handed a cake about the
size of a matchbox.

"Two, please," said Hambledon.

"One only," said the assistant.

"Another next month," said Eckhoff.

Hambledon remembered the shortage of soap in Germany during the last war
and did not argue; besides, it would have been of no use.

"Small men have an advantage," he said while he was waiting for his
change.

"How so, Herr Professor?"

"Less acreage to wash. The big fat man must find it
difficult--Reichsmarschall Goering, for example?"

His two guards laughed, for Goering's size is a joke in Germany as
elsewhere, and they drifted out into the street again.

"Now a few smokable cigarettes, and my immediate needs are satisfied,"
said Tommy.

"The Herr Professor will get as good cigarettes at the Adlon as
anywhere," said Bernstein, but this did not fit in with Hambledon's
plans at all. There was a certain tobacconist named Weber in Spandauer
Strasse whom he must visit soon, but it was a long way from where they
stood at the junction of Mauer Strasse and Kanonier Strasse, by the
Dreifaltigkeits Church. Spandauer Strasse was more than a mile away
eastward across Die Lange Brcke--the Long Bridge--it was the second
crossroads on the Konigs Strasse leading out to the Alexander Platz.
Some other day, provided it were soon. Tommy felt keenly the need for a
little moral support; besides, it was necessary to get in touch with
M.I.5. For one thing, he wanted an assistant who did know something
about explosives. He must work up to Weber by natural degrees.

"They have no American cigarettes at the Adlon," said Hambledon. "I
always smoke American cigarettes."

"So did we," said Eckhoff, "while we could get them. I fear the supply
is now exhausted; I have not seen one for months."

"There might be a small, inconspicuous tobacconist somewhere with a few
left," said Hambledon.

"There would be no harm in asking whenever we see such a place as the
Herr describes," agreed Bernstein.

"The Herr has undoubtedly indicated the only chance," said Eckhoff.

"The Herr is now thirsty," said Hambledon firmly. "Must one walk all the
way back to the Adlon to satisfy that craving also?"

The faces of his escort brightened. "By no means, Herr Professor, by no
means. But one block further and we reach the Leipziger Strasse, where
the Herr Professor's thirst can be assuaged in suitable surroundings."

"I am not interested in the surroundings," said Hambledon. "Only in the
beer."

His guards exchanged a few brief sentences. "Gottfried's." "No, he was
sold out last night. Friedl's have some." "Friedl's is no good." "The
last lot was better."

"Straight ahead, gracious Herr, and turn left. We will show you."

The beer in Friedl's was definitely bad in Hambledon's view, but his
escort seemed to enjoy it, and even Bernstein cheered up. They strolled
together like old friends up the Wilhelmstrasse to the Adlon, with the
two Germans pointing out the government buildings on either side and
especially Hitler's new yellow Chancellery.

"Has the Herr never been in our city before?"

"Only a brief business visit some twenty years ago. I have only the
vaguest recollections."

"Our city is beautiful," said Eckhoff. "We will show the gracious Herr.
It will be a pleasure as well as a privilege."

"Tomorrow," said Hambledon as they parted, "if the weather is fine, we
will go on a sight-seeing tour."

"The Royal Palaces," said Eckhoff.

"The museum," said Bernstein.

"The Tiergarten--the Sieges Allee," said Eckhoff.

"The Domkirche," urged Bernstein.

"The Zoo!" cried Eckhoff.

"It all sounds too with-breathtaking-excitement-filled for words," said
Hambledon. "Tomorrow morning at eleven, then? I shall not go out again
today. I shall rest and read. The liftman will carry the books if you
will give them to him. Thank you. Heil Hitler!"

Hambledon was not by preference a sight-seer; baroque architecture,
ornate furniture stiffly preserved in uninhabited rooms, and labeled
specimens in glass cases afflicted him with a sensation resembling
indigestion. He endured about an hour of it and then jibbed.

"If I see too many of your priceless treasures of art and history at one
time," he remarked, "I shall get them confused in my memory. That would
be regrettable. I would rather see fewer at a time and thus preserve the
recollection of them like precious jewels in separate compartments."

"The Herr is right," said Bernstein. "Besides, the contemplation of too
many interesting objects at once is fatiguing."

"Undoubtedly," agreed Eckhoff.

"Doubtless the noticeable dryness of the air in these places is
deliberately provided to preserve the exhibits," said Hambledon,
coughing delicately.

"It affects the throat," said Eckhoff.

"A remedy should be applied," said Hambledon, making for the door.

"_Jawohl_, Herr Professor," said his escort cheerfully, and guided him
to a place where a remedy for laryngeal dryness could be obtained.

"This will be quite a good moselle," said Hambledon, sipping it, "in
another fifteen years' time."

"It is pleasant," said the uncultured Eckhoff; "it has a fresh taste."

Hambledon shuddered, and the bartender said apologetically that it was
the war. "Our brave troops at the front--they must have the best."

"Certainly," said Tommy. "I absolutely agree. Nothing is too good for
them. Nevertheless I am puzzled, because before they went to the war
they lived at home, and there was then enough wine for all. I mean,
several million full-grown Germans have not suddenly been created."

"The Herr is right," said Bernstein gloomily. "I also do not understand
it, now that it is so clearly explained."

"Perhaps the soldiers drink more when they are at war," suggested
Eckhoff. "I should."

"Another for my friends," said Hambledon, taking the hint.

When he considered the party had lasted long enough he suggested
resuming the search for American cigarettes. The escort took an
affectionate farewell of the bartender, and Hambledon led them forth on
a round of visits to every tobacconist they saw. In the course of the
tour they crossed the Long Bridge, worked up the Konigs Strasse, and
came to Spandauer Strasse.

"Left or right first?" asked Bernstein.

Weber's shop was down the turning to the left. "It does not matter,"
said Hambledon carelessly. "Left today, right tomorrow. It is nearly
lunch time, and I am getting tired. We can try again another day."

"Would the excellent Herr Professor not prefer to go straight home from
here?" asked Eckhoff anxiously. This professor was definitely a treasure
to be carefully preserved. He had the right ideas. This job was a soft
number.

"No, no," said Hambledon. "There is plenty of time. We will just walk
along here before we give up."

They strolled along the pavement, and Eckhoff pointed out three
tobacconists, two on the right and one on the left; this last was
Weber's modest establishment. They entered it, and the proprietor
shuffled forward to serve them. Hambledon noticed with distress that the
man had aged rapidly in the four years since they had last met: his hair
had thinned and turned white, and his once sturdy figure seemed to have
shriveled. He looked dusty and neglected, too; his coat had not been
brushed recently, and his cuffs were ragged at the edges. Hambledon
thought of Weber's precious only daughter who ran away with a British
Intelligence officer at the time of the Nazi purge. What would she say
if she could see him now? Weber looked at his new customer, and no spark
of recognition showed in his eyes.

"I am Sigmund Ulseth, professor of chemistry in the service of the
Reich," said Tommy pompously. "If you have any American cigarettes, I
will make it my business to see that you do not regret having secured my
custom."

"I am honored by a visit from the distinguished Herr Professor," said
Weber, who had never heard of him. "I regret exceedingly that I am out
of stock of American cigarettes. They were sold out some months ago, and
fresh supplies appear unobtainable."

"It is the fault of the damned British blockade," said Tommy gloomily,
leaning one elbow on the counter.

"Without doubt that is the cause," said Weber. "I have some
American-type cigarettes here which have a better flavor than most of
those now obtainable."

"They are longer than usual," said Hambledon, looking dubiously at them.
"What about the flavor? Saltpeter is all very well in gunpowder, but I
object to it in cigarettes."

"Naturally, Herr Professor. These are called 'Johnnies.' The leaves are
sprayed with a preparation which improves the flavor."

"And has no harmful effects?"

"As to that I could not say. I have only recently stocked them, and I am
a pipe smoker myself."

"I might try them. Give me a packet, please. I am interested in
explosives, but I do dislike cigarettes that behave like fireworks and
taste like them too." Hambledon paid him and sat down wearily on a stool
while he was waiting for the change. There was a cigarette lighter on
the counter in the form of a model tank. He picked it up and examined
it. "This is a very attractive model. How does it work?"

"One depresses the gun, thus, and the lid flies open and offers a light
there," said Weber, demonstrating.

"But it doesn't light," objected Tommy.

"The little machine requires filling with petrol. If the Herr Professor
could wait a little--it will not take a moment to fill it," said Weber,
fussing about with a small bottle of lighter fuel.

Hambledon turned a tired face on his escort. "I think I will go straight
home after this," he said. "If you men would go to the other two shops
while this man is making the tank work, it would save time. We can then
write off this street."

The men nodded and went out of the shop. Hambledon watched them
uninterestedly till they were out of sight and immediately rose to his
feet and leaned over the counter. "Weber," he said authoritatively.
"This is official. Get into touch with M.I.5 at once and tell them to
give me the name of a reliable laboratory assistant as soon as possible.
They will know what I mean by 'reliable'. The man must have considerable
knowledge of explosives. I suggest a Dutchman or a Belgian."

Weber stood as though he were frozen, with the little tank in one hand
and the bottle in the other, looking at Hambledon under his grizzled
eyebrows.

"You quite understand, don't you?" went on Hambledon. He drew a
varnished wooden cigarette box toward him, pulled off his right glove
and pressed his finger and thumb deliberately on the polished surface,
rolling them from side to side. "The matter is extremely urgent. Please
put it through as quickly as possible. The name is Ulseth, Professor
Ulseth, and I am staying at the Adlon." He resumed his glove and pushed
the cigarette box casually toward Weber. "Now then," he added with a
smile, "are you sure you really haven't got any American cigarettes?"

Weber put his hand under the counter and brought out two packets of
twenty Chesterfields.

"Thank you very much. That will be a treat. It will also be a good
excuse for coming here again. Does the lighter work now?"

The two S.S. men returned to the shop just as Weber screwed the cap down
on the tank, waited a moment, and flicked the gun with his thumb. At the
third attempt the flame sprang up.

"Good," said Hambledon cheerfully. "Excellent. I will buy that, please.
How much do I owe you?"

"We had no luck," said Bernstein mournfully.

"There are no American cigarettes in this street," said Eckhoff.

Hambledon laughed jovially as he picked up his change. "_Auf
Wiedersehen_, Herr Shopkeeper. I shall come back another day." Weber
bowed as Tommy went out, followed by his escort; just outside the window
they stopped.

"Look what I've got," said Hambledon, and produced one of the
Chesterfield packets.

"So he had some after all," said Bernstein crossly.

"Hush-sh," said Tommy. "Don't advertise it." He divided the cigarettes
and gave his companions ten each. "Make them last as long as possible.
Heaven knows when we shall get any more."

"The Herr is a miracle-worker!" said the delighted Eckhoff.

"A thousand thanks, but how did you manage it?" asked Bernstein.

"Aha," said Hambledon mysteriously. "Your friend is right, I am a
miracle-worker. And goodness knows," he added to himself, "I shall need
to be before I get out of this. Oh dear, what madness possessed me to
grow a beard?"




CHAPTER VI
REFORMATION OF A CROOK


When the original Sigmund Ulseth rushed out of the farmhouse at
Servatsch with Hambledon's unpleasant prophecies tolling in his ears, he
ran panting down the drive till he reached the gate. Here he stopped and
told himself not to be a fool; it didn't matter what that man said; he
would soon be dead anyway. The present and future affairs of Sigmund
Ulseth were much more important and interesting.

He pushed Hambledon out of his mind and unlocked the gate quietly, for
sounds carry far on a still night; he was not far from the village;
someone might be about. He slipped through and locked the gate after
him, withdrew the key and looked at it.

"They will think it was lost in the explosion," he decided, and carried
the key away with him. A few hundred yards ahead the lane crossed a
small stream. Ulseth paused on the bridge and dropped the key into the
pool below.

He was wearing rubber-soled shoes and padded silently through the
starlit night toward the village, considering his plans. On second
thoughts, it would be a fool's act to walk into Servatsch station,
especially at 4.15 A.M. when there would probably be no other passenger.
He had visited the station several times, and someone would certainly
notice him. A much better idea would be to collect Hambledon's luggage
from the hotel as unobtrusively as possible and thereafter take the path
over the hills and get a train on the Schauffhausen line which ran down
the next valley. It was not far, only five or six miles. He knew the
first mile or two well enough, after that it would soon be light. A much
better idea, if only Hambledon's luggage wasn't too heavy.

He had stayed at the Trois Couronnes for a couple of nights while he was
moving in to the farmhouse, and he remembered where room fifteen was. Up
the stairs and turn right, the last room at the end of the passage. His
room had been number fourteen, as luck would have it. Mustn't let anyone
see him.

He opened the front door quietly--it was never locked--and slid in,
looking for the night porter. There he was, in the little cubbyhole he
inhabited, sound asleep in a chair with his feet in the fender. Ulseth
tiptoed past him and up the stairs, turned right, and went to the far
end of the corridor. Hambledon's key opened Hambledon's door. Ulseth
entered and locked himself in.

Six doors away, just on the left of the head of the stairs, the waiting
Denton poured himself out a glass of lager, lit another cigarette, and
glanced at his watch. "Nearly two o'clock," he muttered. "Wonder how
much longer he'll be? He wasn't thrown out on his ear at sight,
evidently." Denton got up, turned out the light, and stared out of the
window for some minutes, though there was nothing to see but the starlit
sky bitten into by the black mountains. "Not so dark as it was. It's
clearing and getting colder." He drew down the blind again, switched on
the light once more, and looked with distaste at a copy of _The
Sky-Blue-Scarlet Murder_ (with several pages missing) which he had been
trying to read. He threw it across the room and picked up the
Continental Bradshaw instead. There is good solid reading in the
Continental Bradshaw. How many different ways can one travel from Rome
to Copenhagen inside four days?

Ulseth looked for Hambledon's luggage and found only a suitcase and a
small attach case. He packed all Hambledon's clothes quickly and
neatly, not forgetting the pajamas on the bed and the toothbrush on the
washstand. There remained only the Heroas Wagon Company's literature,
illustrated brochures printed on beautiful shiny paper, folders
containing schedules of costs, prices, and percentages, model contracts
and details of accessories. He put them all in the attach case, lifted
it, and grimaced at the weight. Still, it all had to go, so it was no
use grumbling.

He looked carefully round the room to see that he had left nothing
behind and noticed Hambledon's bill for the week lying tactfully folded
on the table. "I suppose an honest little commercial traveler would pay
that before bolting," he said to himself. "Stupid, but one must keep in
character. After all, it's his money I'm paying with." He counted out
the necessary number of francs from Hambledon's wallet, added a quite
inadequate tip, and laid the money conspicuously on the bill. He then
switched out the light, picked up his luggage, and walked out of the
room, leaving the key in the lock inside.

Getting out of the hotel was a more nervous business than getting in.
One is less agile and inconspicuous with luggage than without. Besides,
if anyone had caught a glimpse of him coming in they would only have
thought it was Hambledon going to bed and thought nothing of it. A guest
surreptitiously leaving a hotel at 2.15 A.M. complete with suitcase was
quite another matter. Interest would be aroused, surprise caused, and
probably remarks occasioned. On no account must remarks be occasioned.

He passed carefully along the passage and froze into immobility by the
head of the stairs because Denton had a fit of coughing which seemed to
Ulseth to resound along the corridors like the Last Trump. However, it
ceased at last and no door opened. Ulseth began to descend the stairs.
The fourth one creaked loudly as it took his weight, and he cursed it
frantically and silently. If that didn't waken the porter, nothing
would. Ulseth put the luggage down at the foot of the stairs and peeped
cautiously into the porter's office. The man had been disturbed by the
sound; he moved restlessly and muttered something in his sleep.

Ulseth stood like a statue of the Winged Mercury, poised for flight, for
what seemed like half an hour but was probably five minutes. The porter
settled off again and even began to snore, so the fugitive picked up the
luggage once more and got it and himself outside without further
incident. He sighed with relief and set off almost at a run for the path
over the mountains. The sooner he was out of Servatsch, in the train,
and over the frontier, the better.

The path started as a lane between cottages, continued as a track across
two or three fields, and then began to climb. Ulseth plodded on,
occasionally resting himself by changing over the suitcase in one hand
for the attach case in the other. When even this was not enough to ease
his aching arms he laid down his burden for a few minutes and stood
looking down at the valley below him. Very few lights showed in sleeping
Servatsch: a dull glow from the station where lamps burned high under
the roof; an amber oblong in the village, probably the Trois Couronnes'
landing light behind its linen blind; a lighted window here and there
where someone was ill or could not sleep. No light from his own farm. He
could not even be sure where it was in the darkness. Ulseth smiled at
the thought of Hambledon still sitting on that hard but strong chair
waiting for a bell to ring in the cellar below. He picked up his burden
again and went on. The path was clearly marked; even by starlight he
could see it well enough.

Some time later there rose from the valley a rattling mutter. Ulseth
rested again for a few minutes to watch a string of topaz pass below
him, slow down, and come to a stop at Servatsch station. "My train," he
murmured. "If I'd stayed there I should now be getting into a
comfortable carriage and sitting down on a comfortable seat. Never mind,
this is safer though it's damned tiring. Curse this luggage."

Ulseth's watch had a luminous dial; as the time for the explosion drew
near he kept on glancing at it and finally stopped, lighting a pipe with
a carefully shielded match and keeping his eyes on the part of the
valley where his house lay. The time ran on just sufficiently past the
moment for him to begin to wonder whether some part of his apparatus had
failed him, when suddenly there was a flare of flame, followed thirty
seconds later by a dull boom. Lights sprang up all over Servatsch as the
startled village woke. Ulseth sighed with relief and continued on his
way. Well, that was that, and he was now the only Herr Theophilus
Hartzer, agent for the Heroas Wagon Company. Judging by what one read in
the papers about Germany's transport difficulties, it should be easy to
sell railway wagons in Berlin. It would be amusing to earn an honest
living for once.

He wondered whether anyone in Berlin knew the authentic Hartzer; it
might be a little awkward if someone did. If the situation arose, it
must be dealt with; he had got out of tighter corners than that many a
time. "Queer little chap, that traveler, got plenty of pluck. He really
gave me the creeps for a moment. Silly." The stars paled before the
dawn; gradually the sky grew light and he could see his path more
plainly. Ulseth took a fresh grip on his detested baggage and strode out
with greater confidence.

He arrived in Berlin six days before Hambledon and took a room in an
inconspicuous hotel near the station. He discovered with faint
uneasiness that instead of merely registering at the hotel he had to
fill in a police report form of some length which, in addition to
searching questions about himself and his past, wanted information about
his parents, their birthplaces and nationalities. Also his children, if
any, their names and ages. Ulseth intensely disliked being asked
personal questions.

"Tomorrow," said the hotel proprietor, "the Herr will go to the police
and apply for permission to stay for a fortnight."

"Suppose I want to stay longer?"

"Then the Herr applies for further permission to do so."

"Oh," said Ulseth, and decided that the police took altogether too much
interest in their visitors. He went for a stroll to see how Berlin was
getting on.

The first thing he noticed was that most of the bright, friendly little
bars were closed for want of something to sell and that those which
remained open were not bright at all but shabby to the last degree.
Paint peeling off, broken windows not replaced but blocked with
cardboard, stuffing coming out of the seats of chairs. Ulseth went into
one of the places which remained open and ordered a cognac; what he
received was a terrifying compound rooted in rhubarb. He shuddered and
passed on.

He went for dinner to the Pschorr Haus--the Lyons of Berlin--in
Potsdamer Platz; he used to enjoy going there; it was noisy and cheerful
and the food good but cheap. Now Ulseth hardly recognized it; it was
grimy and shabby beyond words, the plaster cracking on the walls, the
paint dirty, the elderly waiters harassed and uncivil. Worst of all was
the smell of bad fish which hung about in the unventilated air. The
place was full, and Ulseth had to wait near the door for a vacant seat.
He watched the meals being served at the tables nearest to him; everyone
had the same dubious tomato soup and two undersized sausages. Before
there was a vacant table Ulseth sickened at the smell; he turned and
went out. Berlin seemed to have gone downhill rapidly in this war, it
wasn't so bad during the last, at least not till the closing stages. He
began to wonder whether it had been a good idea to leave Switzerland.

He went on a tram to the Wedding district, the working people's quarter,
hoping to meet some men he used to know--two in particular. He strolled
into a public house in the interminable Mller Strasse, obtained a glass
of watery beer and a couple of mysterious sandwiches, and looked about
him. Apart from the general shabbiness, the place looked much the same
and was filled with the same sort of people, though he did not recognize
any of them.

Presently an old man came in whom Ulseth did recognize, mainly because
his face was hideously scarred where a horse had kicked him and
destroyed one of his eyes, hence his nickname--Einauge--One-eye. Einauge
did not notice him and was edging his way toward the bar when Ulseth
clapped a jovial hand on his shoulder.

The man spun round with a stifled yelp and turned perfectly white, at
least as perfectly white as was consistent with being imperfectly
washed.

"Who are you--what d'you want me for?" he stammered.

"It's all right," said Ulseth. "Quite all right, Einauge. You remember
me, don't you? I only want to buy you a drink."

Einauge peered closely at him and became reassured. "Yes, I do. I
remember you now. Can't remember your name. Haven't seen you for a long
time, 'ave I?"

"Not for a long time," said Ulseth. "What's yours? Beer--such as it is?"

The man nodded. Ulseth obtained a second pot of a fluid which owed more
to a laboratory than a brewery, and led the way to a fairly quiet spot,
uncrowded because it was furthest from the stove and the night was cold
for the thinly clad.

"_Prosit_," said Ulseth, sipping his drink. "Not much change here."

"_Prosit_," said the old man. "No, this place don't alter much."

"How are you getting on?"

"Oh, fine," said Einauge loudly. "Fine. No unemployment now, you know.
We're all doing fine."

Ulseth looked at him. The man's face was yellow, drawn into lines of
permanent ill temper, and his one eye was red-rimmed; his teeth had
nearly all disappeared, and he would have been better without those that
remained. Still, it would obviously have been tactless to comment.

"Glad to hear it," said Ulseth. "Yes, we're not doing too badly
considering there's a war on, and when it's over we'll all be fine."

"That's the way to talk," said Einauge. There was a short pause while he
looked Ulseth over carefully and then said, "It's odd, but I still can't
remember your name."

"Never mind," said Ulseth. "It's not important. I came in here hoping to
see Gregor Heppler and Rudi the plumber. Seen 'em lately?"

"No," said the old man, edging closer and dropping his voice. "No, I
'aven't. Nobody 'as."

"Why?"

"They've gone away."

"What, into the Army?"

"No. Oh no. Jus' disappeared." He dropped his voice further toward a
whisper and added, "People do, you know. It don't do to ask questions."

"Oh," said Ulseth, unpleasantly impressed. "I see."

"That's why I was so scared when you put your 'and on my shoulder jus'
now. We never knows, you see." The old man looked round nervously and
noticed two men who appeared to be staring at him, though probably they
were thinking about something else and one's eyes must rest on
something.

"I'm goin'," said Einauge suddenly. "Thanks for the beer. Watch your
step." He added "Heil Hitler" in a louder voice, gave the Nazi salute,
and slid out at the nearest door.

"Windy," said Ulseth, thoughtfully filling his pipe. "Very windy.
Probably been up to something and thinks the police are after him.
Curious. He never used to mind the police. Must have been in and out of
jail dozens of times. Getting old, I expect. Losing his nerve."

But the incident left an uneasy feeling behind it; the place looked
shabbier and less friendly than it had seemed when he came in; also it
smelt, and not of bad fish this time. The severe rationing of soap made
itself evident to one fresh from the pure air of Switzerland. Ulseth
wrinkled his nose with distaste, lit his pipe, and walked out.

He dropped off the tram at the nearest point to his hotel and had walked
only a few yards toward it when two dark figures emerged from an archway
and said, "Stop, please. May we see your papers?"

Ulseth stopped at once, though a pulse began to hammer in his throat so
hard that it was difficult to speak. Why this? Was it usual, or was this
what Einauge meant? These men were in uniform, no use to argue.

"Certainly, _mein Herren_." He handed over the Hartzer passport, which
was examined by the light of an electric torch.

"Your permission to remain, also?"

"I haven't got it yet. I only arrived from Switzerland this evening. I
was told at the hotel that it would be in order if I went to the police
station in the morning."

"That is so, but do not fail to do so. You are staying--where?"

"At Auguste's Hotel in Sniebuerger Strasse--just along here."

The men nodded, made a few notes from his passport, and handed it back
to him.

"You will take that to the police station in the morning."

"Thank you," said Ulseth meekly.

"Heil Hitler," said both men, saluting together like automata.

"Heil Hitler," answered Ulseth, and walked hastily away. Nor did he feel
safe till he was back in the stuffy hotel bedroom, for his knees were
quivering. When it occurred to him that of course he wasn't safe there
either if they chose to come for him, he rang the bell and ordered a
drink of some kind--any kind so long as it was good. The landlord for a
wonder had a little schnapps, and Ulseth began to feel better. Nothing
to be alarmed at; of course they took precautions with a war on. He was
obviously a stranger. Hambledon's clothes were made in Zurich and looked
foreign in Berlin. The S.S. men were perfectly civil if a trifle
peremptory. Yet--yet--there was something cold and terrifying about Nazi
Germany.

In the morning the sun shone and things looked brighter. Ulseth scoffed
at his overnight attack of nerves and went along to the police station
quite cheerfully. He had more forms to fill up and was asked a number of
questions.

"Why have you come to Germany?"

"On business."

"What business?"

"I am a commercial traveler for the Heroas Wagon Company of Zurich. I
propose to open an----"

"One moment," interrupted the official, taking notes. "The Heroas
Company--how do you spell it?"

Ulseth obliged.

"And their products are?"

"Wagons. Railway wagons."

"Oh. And you propose--you were going to say?"

"I propose to open an office in some convenient place and solicit orders
for my firm."

"You have credentials, doubtless?"

Ulseth produced Theophilus Hartzer's credentials and put in, for good
weight and measure, the firm's letter giving him a fortnight's sick
leave.

"Yours are considerate employers, evidently," said the official, reading
it. "A good firm, no doubt."

"None better," said Ulseth proudly.

"You can have your _permis de sjour_. At the end of a fortnight, if you
wish to remain longer, you will return here and make a further
application."

Ulseth left, rejoicing. It was all quite easy. These people were
perfectly all right to deal with, provided you knew how to treat them.
He must have had a touch of liver the night before.

He spent the afternoon strolling about looking for a vacant shop he
could take for an office. There was no difficulty about that; so many
small shops were empty that he had an almost endless choice. It should
be near the Anhalter goods yards; eventually he decided upon one in the
Schnebuerger Strasse and opened negotiations for it. He wired to the
Heroas Company details of what he had done, requesting their approval,
and returned to his hotel for dinner, happy in the consciousness of a
good day's work well done.

The proprietor met him to say that a message had just been received
asking the Herr Hartzer to be so good as to remain within the hotel on
the following morning as someone would be calling to see him.

"Who?"

The proprietor could not say. The message appeared to be official. It
was from the Transport Ministry.

"Oh," said the relieved Ulseth. "Is that all?" He gave an impersonation
of one upon whom ministries waited daily, and the proprietor was visibly
impressed. Ulseth, however, sat up half the night soaking himself in
information about wagons--their sizes, capacities, weights, gauges,
materials, prices, habits, tricks, and characteristics. At last he
stretched himself wearily and went to bed. Earning an honest living
looked like being horribly hard work.

In the morning there came to Auguste's Hotel a fat little man with white
hair cut so short that pink skin showed through it all over his head. He
introduced himself as coming from the Transport Ministry. "I have the
honor to address the Herr Theophilus Hartzer?"

Ulseth agreed with him, and they settled down to business. Before long
the spurious Hartzer was very glad he had spent the night studying
railway wagons, for the fat man seemed to have been brought up with them
as a brother. They discussed wooden ones, steel ones, special containers
sometimes refrigerating and sometimes not for (a) liquids and (b)
solids. Then they branched off from standard-size wagons for ordinary
railways and discussed narrow-gauge railways such as contractors lay
down, the small boy's dream of delight, to haul cement, sand, and gravel
to wherever these may be required. Just when Ulseth was beginning to
feel that this particularly exacting viva-voce had lasted since
yesterday and looked like going on till tomorrow, the fat man stopped
and took off his glasses.

"There is no doubt," he said politely, "that the Heroas Wagon Company
are well served in the person of Herr Hartzer. The Herr has the business
at his finger tips."

Ulseth laughed. "My company expect their people to know what they're
talking about," he said, "though I think if you'd gone on much longer
you would have come to the end of my knowledge somewhere. May I offer
you a cigar?"

They were Havanas. Ulseth, unable to bear the thought of their being
blown like chaff before the TNT at Servatsch, had snatched up two boxes
and brought them with him. Germany's stock of good cigars had all gone
up in smoke long before; the little fat man had not had a Havana for
nearly a year, he said. He cut the end carefully, lit up and inhaled,
and an expression of bliss came over his face.

"Delightful," he murmured. "Exquisite. Ravishing."

Ulseth felt as though someone had presented him with a handful of
trumps. These cigars were going to be useful.

"I am glad the Herr approves," he said carelessly. "Myself I fear they
are not in perfect condition--traveling, you know--the unavoidable
changes of temperature----"

"The Herr is a connoisseur," said the visitor enviously, and made an
appointment for Ulseth at the Transport Ministry at eleven-fifteen the
following morning.

Ulseth, now on top of his form, strolled in there punctually to the
minute. He did not see his fat friend again. He was shown into an office
where an oversize man sat behind an oversize desk barking into a
telephone. Nobody asked Ulseth to sit down, so he remedied the omission
himself.

The telephone conversation came to an end. The big man put the receiver
down as though he disliked it and barked at Ulseth instead.

"You are Hartzer from Zurich?"

"I am," said Ulseth easily, and rose from his chair because he had a
feeling he was going to be told to stand up. "May I offer you a cigar?"

The transport official glared, grunted, noticed the band on the cigar,
and accepted. Ulseth gave him a light and sat down again. There was a
short pause.

"Agent for the Heroas Company?"

"Yes, mein Herr."

"Contractors' tipping wagons, meter gauge."

"Yes, mein Herr."

"Can your firm supply them?"

"Certainly. Where to, and in what quantities?"

"What is your price?"

Ulseth quoted him the list price, f.o.r. Zurich.

"Huh. Quote me a price for two thousand delivered at the following
French ports: Calais, Boulogne, Dieppe, Havre, Cherbourg, Brest,
Lorient, and St. Nazaire."

"Two thousand to each place?" asked Ulseth calmly, making notes on the
back of an old envelope, "or two thousand only?"

"Two thousand only," said the big man, somewhat deflated.

"I must consult my firm and will then notify Your Excellency," said
Ulseth, tactfully promoting him.

"Certainly." The official drew carefully at his cigar and his expression
softened considerably, as Ulseth noticed with inward glee. "Eighty of
these trucks will be delivered here in Berlin at once if possible. You
will also state the time required to complete the contract."

"Naturally."

"I shall expect to hear from you in the course of the next few days."

"I shall not fail Your Excellency. To whom shall I address my reply?"

"Department D.23. I will give you a reference number. Here it is.
MD/46943."

Ulseth repeated it and wrote it down, and the big man relaxed slightly.

"This is a very excellent cigar," he said, waving it in the air and
watching the blue smoke drift through a sunbeam.

"I shall give myself the pleasure of sending Your Excellency a box of
them," said Ulseth, rising.

"Most kind of you," said the transport man, also rising politely. "Such
cigars are rare in our Germany today. I shall accept with pleasure, as
an earnest of our good relations in the future."

"I am honored by Your Excellency's cordiality," said Ulseth, retreating
toward the door.

"The name is Adler," said the official hastily, for he had no intention
of letting his cigars loose upon Department D.23. "Herr Andreas Adler."

"Herr Andreas Adler," said Ulseth, with his hand on the door handle, "I
have the honor to wish you a very good day. Heil Hitler!"

When he got outside, only self-control and a sense of the fitness of
things prevented him from performing a small dance upon the pavement. He
went into the first post office he came to and sent a wire to the Heroas
Company about the order. He had to wait six days for the answer, because
the company communicated with the Foreign Office in London before they
replied.

When the answer came it approved of everything he had done, accepted the
order for two thousand tipping wagons, and gave the particulars required
by the Transport Ministry. Ulseth sat down on the edge of his bed and
worked out the amount of his commission. He blinked at the figures and
checked them carefully, but the result remained the same. He shook hands
with himself, a gesture he had learned from American films, and went out
to look for a small service flat. He found one in the Uhland Strasse.




CHAPTER VII
THREE GENTLEMEN OF STOCKHOLM


In less than a week after his visit to Weber, Hambledon received a
message from him. It ran: "Grautz, Hugo, University of Leyden."
Hambledon said, "Thank goodness," and rang up Major Landahl at the
Armaments Ministry.

"Ulseth speaking," said Hambledon. "In the matter of my laboratory----"

Landahl said that an extensive search had been made for suitable
premises and three buildings had been selected for the Herr Professor's
approval. Alterations could be made if necessary. One was in the
Grnewald, another in the Jungfern Heide, and the third out beyond the
Weissensee. The Grnewald place was originally a keeper's cottage, which
could doubtless be adapted----

"Electric light and power, and main water?"

"Well, no. The cottage was remote and had not been occupied for some
time. The Herr Professor would understand----"

"Next, please," snapped Hambledon.

Landahl explained that there was a disused ammunition store in the
Jungfern Heide, close to the Berlin-Spandau Canal. "It is readily
accessible, just off the Tegeler Weg, yet private. It is solidly built
of stone and resembles a small castle in appearance, having
castellations upon the walls and a small round tower at each corner.
It----"

"Listen," said Tommy, breathing heavily into the mouthpiece, "I am
looking for a workshop, not a picturesque castle in which to spend my
declining years cultivating radishes. Has it water and electricity?"

Landahl, who was beginning to wonder whether he would ever be allowed to
finish a sentence again, said no, but these supplies were conveniently
available and could readily be laid on. The third place, out by the
Weissensee, had been a clubhouse and had all modern conveniences. It was
at present being used by a band of the Hitler Youth Movement, but they
could be transferred elsewhere if necessary. It was not quite so
solitary as the other places, there being a few houses in the vicinity.

"I will look at all these places," said Hambledon, "this afternoon.
There will doubtless be a car available."

Landahl said that a car would arrive at the Adlon at fourteen-thirty if
agreeable to the Herr Professor, and Hambledon said he would be ready
then. "About my assistant," he added. "There is a young man named Grautz
in the University of Leyden, Hugo Grautz. He was very highly spoken of
by a distinguished scientist of my acquaintance; in fact, he was
recommended to me if ever I should need a subordinate colleague. Let him
be sent for."

"Certainly," agreed Landahl.

"That is all for the moment," said Hambledon, and rang off.

Hugo Grautz was called from his work on the following afternoon by a
messenger who said that there were two men desiring to speak to him
instantly. "There must be no delay, they said," quoted the messenger, an
elderly man who had grown gray in the service of the University of
Leyden. Grautz, a thin-faced young man with strong glasses and wearing
the white overalls of the chemist, stood in the tiled corridor and
looked at the messenger.

"They are Germans," said Grautz, "to send a message like that."

"Yes, Mynheer," said the man stolidly, "our masters the Germans." His
face bore no particular expression, but there were beads of perspiration
at the sides of his nose.

"As you say, my good Loken," said Grautz gently. He went at once along
the corridor and ran lightly down the stairs. He had been expecting some
such message for two days now and knew what he had to do; though of
course one could not be sure, their errand might be of another kind
altogether. Things did leak out sometimes....

However, when he entered the room where they were waiting, his doubts
were set at rest. They told him in the fewest possible words that he was
honored far above his deserts, he had been selected to act as assistant
to the distinguished Herr Professor Ulseth in Berlin. As doubtless he
had books and so forth to pack, he need not start at once. A car would
call for him at eight-thirty the following morning to take him and his
goods to the train.

"This Professor Ulseth," said Grautz. "What is his particular line?"

"It is unwise to question an order. It is only necessary to obey."

"It would be a help in selecting what to take, if I went," said Grautz
dryly. "In any case, I cannot go at such short notice. I must see the
university authorities, ask for leave of absence, and arrange for a
substitute."

"You can see your precious authorities tonight, not to ask for leave of
absence but to inform them that you are ordered to Berlin tomorrow
morning. They can find a substitute for you if it is really necessary."

Grautz hesitated for a moment and then threw up his head. "My
compliments and thanks to the Herr Professor, but I beg to decline the
honor. There must be hundreds of chemists in Germany better qualified
than I to fill this post."

"Thousands, not hundreds. But for some not-to-be-understood reason it is
you who have been selected. Let this futile arguing cease. See that you
are ready when the car calls for you at eight-thirty tomorrow."

But when the car came Grautz was nowhere to be found, though search was
made throughout Leyden. No one had seen him go and no one knew what had
become of him. Grautz had been told to display unwillingness for the
post, and he was a very thorough young man.

Landahl, trembling a little at the knees, rang up Hambledon on the
telephone.

"A very awkward thing has happened," he said. "I am to express to you
the annoyance and distress of the Armaments Minister. The man Grautz has
disappeared from Leyden University and cannot be found."

"Cannot?" said Hambledon. "He must be found."

"Yes, Herr Professor. I mean no. We have caused search to be made, but
unsuccessfully. It is feared that the young man may have fled the
country. He first declined the honor, and then, upon pressure being
applied, he disappeared."

"This is ridiculous," said Hambledon angrily. "A solid human being does
not disappear like a soap bubble when touched. Your police, or whoever
you sent, have bungled the affair. Declined the honor, you say? Absurd.
If the matter had been properly explained he would not have either
declined or disappeared. Send to Leyden at once someone with a little
more intelligence than a cretinous anthropoid ape and get me Grautz
without further delay."

"Certainly, Herr Professor. Yet, in the event of Grautz not being
available, I am forwarding to you a list of German chemists with details
of their qualifications in order that----"

"Dunderhead!" roared Hambledon. "Donkey. Idiot. Fool. Jackass. Double
Jackass. I said, get me Grautz!" He slammed down the receiver and
remarked to himself that this was all very well but he hoped Grautz
wouldn't keep it up too long. Hambledon was beginning to feel acutely
the need for instructed moral support, not to say prompting. However, it
was a fortnight before anything further was heard of the missing
Dutchman.

Hambledon was quite accurate in his estimate of Swedish perseverance. A
small paragraph appeared in the _Berliner Zeitung_ announcing the
arrival in the German capital of the well-known Professor Ulseth; it was
read with interest in Stockholm. Three surprised and interested
gentlemen immediately started for Berlin.

"The paragraph said that he was staying at the Adlon until a laboratory
had been made ready for him."

"Then we will inquire at the Adlon."

"He may already have left."

"Then we will ask where he has gone."

Accordingly they arrived at the Adlon and asked if the Herr Professor
Ulseth was within. The clerk at the desk said she would inquire, and
what name, please? They gave their names and sat in a row in the hall,
waiting.

The clerk telephoned to Hambledon, who replied in a weak and pain-wrung
voice that unfortunately he was suffering from one of his violent
headaches and was quite unable to see anyone. Tomorrow, perhaps
tomorrow. He called up Eckhoff and Bernstein and gave them orders to sit
in the passage outside his door and admit no one but the waiter with his
lunch. He then rang up Landahl.

"Those Swedes," said Tommy irritably. "They are here."

"In your room?" twittered Landahl.

"Heavens no. In the hall or on the doorstep or sitting on the
stairs--how should I know? They are asking to see me."

"They shall be removed," said Landahl.

"At once, please," said Hambledon.

"Instantly," said Landahl.

In the meantime the clerk at the Adlon gave Hambledon's message. The
three Swedes expressed their disappointment and sympathy in a few
well-chosen words and retired into the street outside.

"We will come back tomorrow."

"One wonders whether this headache is genuine or whether this is merely
a continuation of his demeanor at Servatsch."

"It is possible. In that case, let us cross the street here in such a
way that our departure may be seen if he is looking out of the window,
walk round the block, and return to a point where we, unobserved, may
watch the door."

So the three Swedes crossed the Unter den Linden as leisurely as was
consistent with not getting run over and strolled away. Hambledon
watched their departure.

"They have gone unexpectedly meekly," he said. "I wonder whether they
really have? I don't think I shall be well enough to go out today." He
retired to bed with a book.

In the meantime the real Ulseth's affairs had been flourishing
extremely. On the day that the Swedes came to Berlin he was summoned to
the Transport Ministry and told that the first eighty contractors'
wagons had arrived in Berlin, been examined and found satisfactory. He
was to wire the Heroas people to proceed at once with the balance of the
order. The transaction was entirely satisfactory in every respect, and
the Transport Ministry congratulated Herr Hartzer on the firm he
represented, the Heroas Company on possessing Herr Hartzer, and
themselves upon entering into dealings with them both.

"Have a cigar," said the big man, and offered him one which was
definitely not a Havana.

"Have one of mine," said Ulseth with a laugh, and offered him one which
was.

"I was wondering," said Adler, "whether it would be possible for you to
obtain some more of those so excellent cigars. I have
friends--influential friends--who would be more than grateful for a few
boxes."

"To obtain them in Switzerland is simple," said Ulseth. "To get them
through the German customs is quite another matter."

"It is certainly a difficulty," mused Adler. "Yet, if it could be
managed, you would add several grateful persons of high position to the
doubtless already wide circle of your friends."

"The knowledge that I had been of use to the distinguished Herr Adler
would be more than enough reward," said Ulseth gracefully. "Did I
understand you to say that more of these trucks would be required here
in Berlin in addition to those already delivered?"

"Certainly. I will give you a memorandum, before you leave, of the exact
number."

"If your undoubted influence could be exerted to insure that these
trucks were not examined at the frontier," suggested Ulseth, "there is
no reason why they should not contain a few boxes of cigars now and
again."

"It would be a simple matter to order, on grounds of urgency, that they
are to be passed through without the delay involved in examination,"
said the German. "You would no doubt----"

"Oh, I'll attend to the rest of the business; that's simple. It is,
after all, only my duty to check the consignments on arrival at the
terminus here."

Ulseth was overwhelmed with thanks, followed up by a promise of further
orders for railway trucks of various types at an early date. "We will
make your firm's fortune," said Adler jovially, "and as for you
personally, you shall find Germany is not ungrateful to those who go out
of their way to serve her in her hour of need."

"Serve your fat party bosses with fat cigars," said Ulseth to himself
when he got outside. "Other things too, I daresay. I expect there are
stocks in Switzerland of brandy and armagnac and stuff like that they
haven't seen here for years. They say honesty's the best policy. I never
believed it before, but I was a fool. There's more money to be made out
of earning an honest living than I ever thought possible. Besides," he
added with surprise, "it's rather a nice feeling, to be honest. So
restful not to have the police after you." He turned this beautiful new
thought over in his mind, and his spirits rose to bubbling point. "This
is where I turn over a new leaf in life. Honest Hartzer, that's me."

He decided to stand himself a good lunch somewhere to celebrate the
fresh venture, and since the nicest place he could think of was the
Adlon, he went there. He arrived early and took his meal leisurely,
watching the people and enjoying his new peace of mind. It was while he
was in the dining room that the Swedes arrived in the hall.

They left again before he came out. They crossed the Unter den Linden
with Hambledon watching them, took the first turning to the right,
turned right again in Behren Strasse, and right again in the
Wilhelmstrasse.

"If we keep close under the wall we shall not be observable from the
windows."

"That is so. Moreover, if we stand well back and appear to be discussing
business, no one will notice us."

So they arranged themselves near the doorway of the Adlon, produced
notebooks and pencils, and engaged in animated conversation among
themselves until the moment when Ulseth, having finished his coffee and
alleged benedictine, came cheerfully out and nearly ran into them.

They sprang to attention as one man, removed their hats, bowed politely,
and said, "Herr Ulseth, I believe. May we----"

Ulseth, without a sign of recognition on his face, turned sharply on his
heel and bolted back into the Adlon. He almost ran through the entrance
hall, past the reception clerk at her desk, and down the passage to the
back entrance. He had known the Adlon well in former years. He got clear
away, jumped on a tram, left it again, dived into the Underground, and
did not stop till he was safely back in his Uhland Strasse flat. Here he
threw his hat on the floor, sank into a chair, and mopped his forehead.

"Great heavens, what an escape! I'd forgotten those wretched Swedes. I
must be careful--I'll never go there again. Just when everything was
going so well----"

The Swedes charged into the Adlon after Ulseth, but they were men of
dignity and also disadvantaged by surprise. Ulseth was out of sight
before they entered. "Herr Ulseth," they said, gasping. "We must see him
at once. Our business is urgent."

"I have already told you," said the reception clerk, "that the Herr
Professor Ulseth is incapacitated by ill-health today and can see no
one."

"Ill-health, nonsense. He has just come out of this hotel and dodged in
again when he saw us."

"I beg your pardon," said the clerk icily. "The Herr Professor is ill in
bed, as I had the honor to tell you just now. He has not been downstairs
today."

"This is madness! The Herr Professor----"

The door opened again, and four S.S. men entered and regarded the scene
with curiosity. At this point the unfortunate Swedes made their last and
worst mistake. They appealed to the newcomers.

"We are three Swedish gentlemen having business to discuss with the Herr
Professor Ulseth, and he----"

"Oh, you are, are you?" said the leader. "Then you're the men we're
looking for. Come along."

They hustled the Swedes out of the door and into a large black saloon
car which was waiting at the curb. They were taken they knew not where
and scolded by someone; they knew not whom. They were guilty of
conspiring against the Reich, they were criminals of the worst kind,
they were worthy of death. Only Germany was merciful and also anxious to
avoid international incidents. They would merely be taken to a Baltic
port under escort and put aboard a steamer sailing to Sweden. Let them
thank Germany for her clemency and never, never dare to come back.

Landahl rang up Hambledon that evening and said, "Let your mind be at
rest. The Swedes are in custody and already en route for the frontier.
They will not return."

"Thank you very much," said Hambledon, and meant it.

About a week after this the elusive Grautz turned up in a dockside
tavern in Amsterdam. There had been a British air raid, lights had been
reported, and the police rounded up everyone in the area and looked at
their identity papers.

"Grautz, Hugo," they said when they came to his. "There was something
about Grautz, Hugo, a little while ago, wasn't there? Turn it up and
see."

Accordingly Grautz found himself arrested, scolded, and sent under
escort to Leyden, where he was scolded more violently and threatened
with frightful penalties.

"If it were not," said the German police officer at Leyden, "that this
professor apparently wants you in good working order, I would show you
what it means to defy the Reich. Ever seen a rubber truncheon? Get out
of my sight before I lose my temper."

Grautz had a most uncomfortable journey to Berlin and arrived tired,
bruised, hungry, thirsty, and disheveled, but intact.

"Thank goodness you've come," said Hambledon as soon as they were alone.
"Now you can tell me what to say when they ask me damn-fool questions.
You can choose the test tubes and things. You can order the chemicals.
D'you know I've been reduced to staying in bed with a headache to keep
out of the way?"

"But why didn't you order them yourself?" asked the puzzled Grautz.

"Because I don't know the first thing about it," said Hambledon. "Didn't
they tell you?"

"No. I was only told to go to Berlin to help a British Intelligence
agent and to appear as unwilling as possible, so I did. Aren't you
really a chemist?"

"Listen. As a chemist I'd make a good ballet dancer," said Hambledon,
and told him the whole story.

"You are in a jam, aren't you?" said the young man thoughtfully.
"Something will have to be done about it."

"We will move into that gingerbread castle in the Jungfern Heide as soon
as possible. What I want," said the British agent dreamily, "is a nice
stout door about three inches thick with a lock on it about two feet
square. I want to turn the key and hear it go plonk, with all the rest
of Germany outside, and if anyone knocks I shall say, 'Go away. The Herr
Professor Ulseth is about to explode.'"




CHAPTER VIII
THEOPHILUS MEETS ROMANCE


During the time that Hambledon had been awaiting Grautz, workmen had
been busy at the ammunition store in the Jungfern Heide. It was
basically a stone-walled oblong thirty feet by forty-five, containing
little but cobwebs. It was scraped, swept, and whitewashed. Windows were
inserted, partitions put in, electric light and power installed, and
water laid on. The result was a large laboratory with smaller rooms
opening off it for Hambledon and Grautz to live in; they moved there
from the Adlon two days after Grautz arrived. Landahl suggested that
Hambledon's guards, Bernstein and Eckhoff, should live there also, but
Hambledon objected on the score of disturbance and the guards objected
on the score of risk. News of the explosion at Servatsch had drifted
round, and though Eckhoff and Bernstein regarded the professor at play
with esteem approaching affection, the professor at work was a matter
for distant respect and the more distant the better. So a frame hut was
erected for them a hundred yards from the laboratory. Bernstein's wife
came to cook for them, and Hambledon and Grautz went there for meals. An
electrified wire fence enclosed Hambledon's domain, and the guards' hut
served as a lodge. A private telephone was provided between the lodge
and the laboratory.

"I had no intention whatever of entering Germany," said Hambledon.
"These Nazis dragged me in for their own abominable purposes. Well, I
now propose that they shall bitterly regret it."

"Couldn't British Intelligence get you out?" asked Grautz.

"I daresay they could, but I don't think I want to go now. Look at the
position I've got. Look at the opportunities it offers. It's true I
haven't looked at many of them myself yet, but they will doubtless
present themselves in droves. Sabotage, for instance. We could make
enough explosives in this barn of a place," said Hambledon, waving his
hand round his beautiful new laboratory, "to damage half the factories
in Germany."

"I foresee a certain difficulty," said the Dutchman stolidly. "If large
quantities of ingredients are brought here and there is no obvious
result, the Nazis may begin to wonder."

"How right you are. There shall be some obvious results. The first
thing, however, is to stall them off from expecting us to produce
quantities of Ulsenite at short notice. Unless you have a formula for
Ulsenite?"

"No. The argument, however, is simply this. We have produced Ulsenite,
but it is dangerously unstable, and that is what we are working to
remedy. There is at least one explosive known to chemists of which that
is true; I have heard something about that. An explosive, to be of any
practical use, must be safe for at least three months, preferably much
longer. It has to be loaded into bombs or shells, and these accumulated
in quantity and then sent to wherever they are needed. On the Eastern
Front, perhaps. When they get there they will be stored again till they
are served out to the Luftwaffe or the artillery. Six months would be
none too long."

Hambledon nodded eagerly. "That's a good talking point."

"It's more than that; it's true," said Grautz.

"Continue," said Hambledon. "I hoped they would send me somebody
helpful, and you look like being the alligator's adenoids."

"Hitler being the alligator? I hope I choke him. Another means of
staving off the showdown is by asking for something they haven't got.
I've been thinking about this. Palm oil, for instance."

"Oh, bribery, of course," said Hambledon. "That was always easy in
Germany."

"No, no," said Grautz laughing. "I've no doubt you're right, but I meant
palm oil literally. Oil from palm trees. Coconut oil."

"Oh, ah. No, I shouldn't think they'd have much of that. But what should
we want that for?"

"I'll tell you what to say when the time comes. Yttrium, too, for use as
a catalyst."

"Come again?"

"Never mind. I'll coach you up in all that later on."

"I hope I take it all in," said Hambledon doubtfully. "But look here, I
can't do much good cooped up here. I couldn't meet anybody, for
instance, or receive or send messages very easily."

"Ask for a car and a driver," suggested Grautz. "You must be able to go
about and get necessary supplies at a moment's notice."

"I'll get a car out of Landahl, but Eckhoff shall drive. He used to
drive racing cars at one time, he tells me. I don't want another man
hanging about me; he might be more intelligent than our charming
guards."

"Or more suspicious."

"Same thing. Another quite serious reason for going out pretty often is
to get a decent meal. Bernstein's wife can't cook."

"She can't, can she? That's why Bernstein has indigestion."

"I shall go to restaurants and hotels and get myself elected to clubs. I
understand the Press Club serves the best food in Berlin, but I can't
think of any pretext for approaching them. I've never written for the
papers in my life."

"You might write scientific articles for the comic papers," suggested
Grautz.

"You are horribly unkind. But seriously, if I wanted to meet anyone, it
would be simple at some of those restaurants down the Kurfrstendamm.
One can go at an hour when they aren't crowded. Or when they are; one is
less noticeable in a crowd. All the same," went on Hambledon, "I think
it would be a convenience if there were some means of getting out of
this desirable residential property without our guards being any the
wiser. Let us go for a walk round the boundary and look for a possible
exit."

The fence consisted of four strands of wire which passed through their
supports on insulators. Hambledon regarded it with mistrust.

"Too thorough for words, these Germans," he said. "I suggested having a
fence put round to keep out intruders. I never asked for them to be
electrocuted. Isn't there any means of switching off the current?"

"There's a master switch in the lodge," said Grautz. "Also the current
goes off whenever the gate is opened; that breaks the circuit. Neither
is any good if we want to get out without the guards knowing it."

"No. We can hardly ask Eckhoff to leave the gate open one night to let
in the fresh air. Let's go on walking round; we might find something."

The ground was rough heath land, but the fence followed its
irregularities closely. However, they came at last to a place where a
miniature gully ran under the wire, leaving a space under the bottom
strand.

"Even this," said Hambledon, "isn't much of an escape route for a
well-developed man. We couldn't get under it without touching the bottom
wire."

"We could if it were propped up," said Grautz. "With a couple of pieces
of nice dry wood. I'll cut some the right length and keep them indoors
till wanted. You know, I think the blackout should have one or two
chinks in it."

"What for?"

"Not enough to annoy the local wardens. Only enough to show there are
lights on inside. It will look as though we are working. We might leave
a tap running, too. You can hear it under the grating near the gate. I
noticed your bath water this morning."

"Your price," said Hambledon appreciatively, "is far above rubies."

As time went by Eckhoff became used to driving Professor Ulseth about
Berlin at all hours, and the police became used to seeing the blue
Mercedes. Hambledon went to Weber's in the Spandauer Strasse for
cigarettes and to different restaurants and hotels for lunch and dinner.
Introduced by Landahl and others, he gathered a circle of acquaintances
and received invitations to cocktail parties till the cocktails began to
disagree with him.

"I may have to live in a laboratory," he said to Grautz, "but I'm hanged
if I'll drink its products. I had some alleged vodka tonight which took
the skin off my mouth. If this goes on I shall turn teetotal."

"It's mainly methylated spirits," said Grautz calmly, "with a dash of
battery acid, touched up with permanganate of potash. Better be
careful."

"Have I been drinking that?" asked the horrified Hambledon.

Grautz nodded. "I know the man who makes it. I meant to have warned you.
He's a sort of relation of mine; he's lived in Berlin for years. He
doesn't like the Nazis. He says it's great fun poisoning people and
getting well paid for it. He's getting quite rich."

"But doesn't it occur to people that there's something funny about his
drinks? What do they do to you--turn you bright blue all over?"

"Oh no. You go blind, probably, and it affects the brain too. But vodka
isn't a thing you sit and drink all the evening, at least Germans
wouldn't. They just have a glass or two to top off with, so they don't
know which of what they've had is hurting them. Besides, he charges such
a lot for it they're sure it must be all right."

"A bit unscrupulous, isn't it?" said Hambledon. "Practically wholesale
murder."

"It doesn't matter," said Grautz. "They're only Germans. I'm sorry you
got any of it, though," he added. "I ought to have warned you. Careless
of me. How much did you have?"

"Only half a small glass. I upset the rest."

"I expect it took the veneer off the table. I'll get you a glass of
milk. I think there's some left over from the coffee. Here you are; sip
at it slowly. You'll be all right."

Hambledon looked at his assistant with something like awe. Quiet, solid,
a trifle literal in mind. The stuff blinds you and drives you mad, but
it's all right, it's only Germans. "Is your relation a Dutchman, then?"
he asked.

"Oh yes. He was a wine merchant in Berlin before the war; he was rather
pro-German in those days. Then he lost his fiance in Rotterdam, in that
big raid while we were still resisting, you remember? So now he makes
vodka," said Grautz with his gentle smile.

"Gosh," said Hambledon inadequately.

He received a consignment of cigarettes from the helpful Weber and
noticed that one of the packets was slightly torn at the corner. He took
this packet out, dropped it in his pocket, and opened it when he was
alone, for not even Grautz knew that Weber was other than he seemed.
Between the double rank of cigarettes there was a scrap of tissue with a
message on it which ran: "Germannia Restaurant Kurfrstendamm Thursday
twenty hours and after." Hambledon destroyed the scrap of paper.

Soon after 8 P.M. on Thursday the blue Mercedes pulled up outside the
Germannia Restaurant and the Herr Professor got out. He told Eckhoff to
put the car away and then join him as usual. Hambledon then walked
impressively into the restaurant, where he was well known, and the
proprietor came to greet him.

"Anything fit to eat tonight, Hagen?"

"The fish is good. Yes, really. I have been fortunate in the fish today.
I recommend it."

"Umph. Well, I'll try it."

The proprietor looked a little anxious. Evidently the Herr Professor was
not in his more genial mood tonight.

"There is a man at my table," pursued Hambledon in an irritated voice.

"I regret exceedingly--I did not know Your Excellency was coming--he has
almost finished his meal--I am so sorry----"

"Who is the fellow?"

"I do not know the Herr. He is a stranger here."

"He looks like an undertaker's assistant," grumbled Hambledon, but he
strolled across to his usual table with the proprietor fussing round
him.

"Have I the Herr's permission to join him?" asked Hambledon. "This place
is infernally crowded tonight." The table was a small one for two only,
in the far corner of the room. Hambledon always said he liked it because
from there one could watch the animals being fed without having to share
a trough with them.

The man rose politely and said he would be honored; the proprietor took
Hambledon's coat and hat and retired.

"A nice place, this," said the stranger affably.

"Endurable," said Hambledon, "endurable. They do not poison you here so
regularly as in most of the Berlin eating houses."

"Only intermittently, eh?" said the man with a laugh.

"So long as you avoid their conception of minestrone you won't do so
badly. That is quite beyond tolerance."

"Thank you. I'll remember that if I ever come again."

The waiter came with Hambledon's soup, the people at the next table
finished their coffee and rose, collecting wraps and handbags. Hambledon
glanced over his shoulder and saw that Eckhoff had already found a seat
at a table nearer the door. There was a girl already sitting there.
Eckhoff would not move away.

"The Herr is perhaps a stranger to Berlin?"

"I am a traveler in tobacco," said the man for the benefit of those
within earshot. "I come at regular intervals to make contact with my
customers."

"If I thought you ever obtained American cigarettes," said Hambledon, "I
would ask you for the name of one of your customers." The people from
the next table drifted away; the waiter tidied up deftly and prepared to
depart.

"Try Weber's in Spandauer Strasse, near the Neue Markt," said the
alleged tobacco traveler. "How are things going?" he added as soon as
the waiter was out of earshot.

"Not too badly at all."

"I was to tell you that arrangements are being made to get you out. My
name's Gibson, by the way. As soon as details are complete, I----"

"I'm not going," said Hambledon decisively. "Tell the department that.
Since Grautz came I find I can manage quite well, so I'm stopping."

"But----" began Gibson.

"No buts. I've got a wonderful cover here. I should be able to do
something useful. You might as well get those details completed. I might
want them in a hurry later, but at present I'm staying."

Gibson grinned, "We rather gathered you were not in any immediate
danger. How did you manage it?"

"I didn't. I was kidnapped from Servatsch in mistake for Ulseth. It was
his idea that I should be mistaken for him. My corpse, that is, only I
didn't become a corpse. I survived, so now I'm Ulseth. Simple."

"And I was to ask you, are you Hartzer too, representing the Heroas
Company?"

"What? No, I'm not. Ulseth said he was going to take that part. Why, has
he turned up somewhere?"

"Here in Berlin," said Gibson.

"The devil he has," said Hambledon.

"Here's your fish," said Gibson. "Yes, most people have a hobby of some
kind. I am prepared to wager that the gracious Herr will not guess
mine."

"Matchbox labels, possibly?" said Hambledon in a bored voice.

"No, door knockers," said Gibson. "The variety in door knockers is
unbelievable until one studies the subject. Certain patterns are popular
in certain districts and never seen in others. The conventionalized hand
holding a wreath, for example----" He broke off as the waiter went away.

"About Hartzer," prompted Hambledon.

"He has an office in Schnebuerger Strasse, between the Potsdamer and
Anhalter stations, and a flat in Uhland Strasse, close by here. Quite a
nice flat."

"My hat," said Hambledon. "I might have bumped into him at any moment. I
wonder if he knows I'm here."

"I couldn't say," said Gibson. "He goes to the Transport Ministry quite
a lot; he's got some pretty useful contracts out of them for the Heroas
people. When the first one came through they consulted the F.O., but of
course we didn't know whether Hartzer was you or who he was. Then we
heard from Weber you were Ulseth----"

"Yes. A pretty tangle. But suppose you see fastened upon a door such a
door knocker as your soul desires, what do you do?"

The proprietor arrived at Hambledon's elbow, inquired earnestly after
the fish, was reassured, and went away beaming.

"I knock at the door and try to persuade the owners to sell it to me.
Tell me, are you really going to make explosives in your ersatz castle?"

"Yes, of course. In fact, we shall jolly well have to. Please ask the
department to let me have, urgently, the formula for that explosive
which is so wonderful but so unstable. They'll know the one you mean."

"Sounds dangerous," said Gibson. "What's it called, d'you know?"

"No. Don't even know if it's got a name. _La Donna  mobile_, perhaps;
it seems subject to tantrums. Were you going to say something?"

"Yes. As you know, we've got plenty of agents in Germany now. They came
in with the droves of forced labor from the occupied countries, a few of
them even volunteered. But for all the good most of 'em are, they might
as well be building sand castles at Morecambe Bay. They can't move, they
can't get out, and quite a lot of them can't even send messages. But
they are potential saboteurs; the difficulty has been to supply them
with the necessary wherewithal. If you could make the stuff, we can
arrange means of distributing it."

Hambledon nodded. "I think Grautz could manage that. We can't do much at
a time, or the gentle Nazi might wonder where all those masses of
chemicals have gone."

"Yes," said Gibson earnestly. "For heaven's sake be careful. These
people aren't in the least like the old Germans. They are horribly
dangerous."

"So am I," said Hambledon cheerfully, "and they don't know it yet, which
makes me doubly so."

"I must go," said Gibson, rising. "See you again soon, I hope. Here's
your cheese coming. I have the honor to wish the Herr a very good
evening. It has been an honor to spend a short half hour in his
company."

"To me, also, it has been a pleasure. I wish you many happy door
knockers. Is that really cheese, Heinrich? It much more strongly
resembles my soap ration."

"It is, nevertheless, cheese, Herr Professor. It will not lather," said
the waiter cheerfully, for this guest always tipped well.

"Nor does my soap, my good Heinrich, so there is not even that
difference."

                 *        *        *        *        *

Ulseth's flat was on the second floor of the block in the Uhland
Strasse; there were two floors of flats above him and one below; the
ground floor was occupied by a restaurant, kitchens, and other offices.
He was lucky to get it, for Berlin was grossly overcrowded at the end of
1941. He settled in happily and began to enjoy himself.

The people in the first-floor flats were principally middle-aged female
relations of Army men; since Ulseth was interested neither in the Army
nor in middle-aged ladies he took no steps in their direction. The flat
opposite his own was occupied by one of the heads of departments in the
Armaments Ministry, a dull man with a dull wife and no children. Ulseth
could not see, at the moment, how this man could be of use to him; but
one never knows, so the Heroas man made opportunities for exchanging
formal civilities formally reciprocated. The families on the floors
above were less important and influential, and he took little notice of
them. Besides, he hardly saw them until the day when the lift broke down
for the last time.

He came in from his Schnebuerger Strasse office one evening in November
to find a little group gathered round the lift on the ground floor.
There were the manager of the flats, the porter, and a lady whom he
remembered having seen in the restaurant once or twice. She was tall and
slim and dressed in black. Ulseth had thought when he first saw her that
she would be attractive if only she'd look a bit more cheerful.

"It is beyond measure deplorable, _gndige Frau_," said the manager. "I
regret extremely the inconvenience caused to you and the other tenants
of the higher flats. Nevertheless, the mechanic who repaired it before
told me that if that part should break again he could do no more. This
is an American-made lift, and spare parts are now unobtainable."

"It is not your fault, Herr Schwegmann," said the lady in a particularly
pleasant voice. "It is only the extra stairs to climb at the end of a
tiring day, but it is of no use to lament."

"I hope all my tenants will take the news as reasonably as the Frau,"
said the manager, bowing. The lady smiled doubtfully and walked toward
the stairs, passing Ulseth on the way. He stood back as she passed and
noticed that she was younger than he had thought.

"Lift gone wrong again?" said Ulseth to the manager, who repeated, in
exactly the same words, the explanation he had just given.

"What a nuisance," said Ulseth. "Do you have to stand there and say your
little piece to each tenant as they come in? Must be a bit monotonous,
what?"

"It is very distressing," said the manager. "Fortunately for the Herr,
he is only on the second floor, which is bad enough. For the poor Frau
Weissen with the four children on the top floor----" He made a gesture
of despair.

"Is that the lady who has just gone up?" asked Ulseth, dropping his
voice although she was probably out of earshot already.

"No, no. That is the Frau Clausen who has no children. She is a widow;
her husband was killed by the English on the Albert Canal in 1940."

"Poor soul," said Ulseth, and, having learned what he wanted to know, he
too walked up the stairs. Hence the mournful expression, no doubt. The
Albert Canal fighting--that was in May 1940, wasn't it? Eighteen months
ago; time she began to cheer up a bit. Not that he felt particularly
called to do the necessary cheering, but she had a very nice voice. Easy
to listen to.

It was some days before he saw her again. He had breakfast earlier than
usual one morning; he was in the restaurant by eight, and there she was,
almost at the end of her meal. He bowed in passing and said it was a
cold morning, and she agreed. When she had gone out he asked the waiter
if Frau Clausen was always as early as this, and the waiter said yes,
the Frau worked at the Marinamt--the German Admiralty--he understood one
began work there at eight-thirty.

"Oh, really," said Ulseth in an indifferent tone. "Eight-thirty to
seventeen-thirty, I suppose."

The waiter said he supposed so too and bustled away. Ulseth took the
trouble to be in before six that evening; he was on his little landing
fussing with the flap of his letterbox when she walked wearily up the
stairs. Ulseth smiled and said that in these days one had to do these
little repairs oneself, and she agreed that it was indeed unavoidable
and passed on.

"She has great dignity," said Ulseth, unwillingly impressed. "She walks
beautifully, too." He drew a long breath to encourage himself and added,
"I'll take her out one evening if she'll come. Do her good."




CHAPTER IX
PATTERN FOR A DOCUMENTARY


The Obersatz Erich Landahl came to the gate in Hambledon's wire fence
and tried the latch, but found it locked. He looked about him. Just
inside the gate on his right was the sectional hut where the guards
lived; a hundred yards further back rose the castellated walls of the
Ulseth laboratory. Snow lay upon the ground, pathetic birches shivered
throughout their branches, and stiffly frozen clumps of broom stuck up
through the snow and rustled crossly in the northeast wind. Landahl's
nose turned a brighter pink and he clapped his hands together to warm
them; it was not a pleasant morning. He shook the gate, but it remained
uncivilly fast, and there was no one about.

"Does one, then, howl like the Valkyries?" asked the fat little major in
an aggrieved voice.

"One perhaps rings the bell, Herr Obersatz," suggested his chauffeur.
"At the Herr's right hand I see a rope."

There was indeed a rope which connected to a bell of the chapel variety
hung from the branch of a tree by the gate. Landahl took hold and pulled
cautiously, and the result was a clangor which could easily be heard at
the laboratory, let alone the hut. Hambledon had chosen it for that
purpose; he liked to know when visitors were arriving. He looked out of
the window.

"Friend Landahl from the Armaments Ministry," he said to Grautz.

"Coming to see how we're getting on?"

"I expect so. Well, we know what to say."

The door of the hut opened, and Eckhoff bounced out, buttoning his coat,
and ran to the gate. Converse was evidently held, after which the guard
ran back to the lodge, leaving Landahl outside the gate, for such was
the procedure Hambledon had arranged.

"The Herr Obersatz Landahl to see the Herr Professor," said Eckhoff on
the telephone.

"Let him be admitted," said Hambledon.

When Landahl was ushered in, Hambledon was intently watching something
boiling in a flask while Grautz stood by in an attitude of respectful
alacrity, signaling with his hand for the visitor to wait near the door.
Landahl hardly breathed till at last Hambledon moved.

"It goes well," he said to Grautz, "but I am not yet quite satisfied.
The emulsification is still too rapid."

"That is so, Herr Professor," said Grautz. "Shall I remove the flask?
The Herr has a visitor----"

Hambledon emerged from his absorption like a seal rising to the surface
of his pond in the zoo and turned genially to Landahl.

"The Herr Obersatz----what a pleasure! How long have you been standing
there? Forgive my inattention----"

"The Herr Professor is too kind," said the gratified Landahl. "I must
apologize for intruding upon his distinguished labors."

"It is impossible for the Herr Obersatz's arrival to be an intrusion.
One moment while I wash my hands." Hambledon washed them very thoroughly
under the tap in the laboratory sink and thereafter rubbed in glycerin
which he poured freely from a bottle. "Lest the Herr Obersatz should
think us fine ladies anxious to preserve the texture of our hands, I
will explain that many of the chemicals we use have a corrosive effect
and we use glycerin as an antidote. In fact, it is sometimes necessary
to wash in it. Besides this, glycerin is an ingredient of many
explosives, as doubtless the Herr knows, so in one way or another we use
a great quantity."

"The Ministry of Supply," said Landahl, "has asked me to impress upon
you the difficulty that exists in procuring enough glycerin for all the
purposes----"

"Tell the Supply Minister," broke in Hambledon testily, "that if Germany
requires Ulsenite she must provide the ingredients necessary. Actually I
asked for palm oil, for which the glycerin is an inadequate substitute."

"The palm oil," began Landahl, who always became nervous when Hambledon
began to interrupt him, "the Supply Minister asked me to ascertain for
what purpose you required it. Palm oil is not a product native to
Germany, and the damned British blockade----"

"I will tell you what I want it for. I am nitrating the next homologue
above glycerin----"

"One moment," said Landahl, hastily producing a notebook, "may I write
that down?"

"You can rubricate it in red and blue with gold capitals if you like,"
said Hambledon. "This nitrate----"

"I beg your pardon. You said first you were 'nitrating the next'--what
was it? I beg a thousand pardons----"

"Homologue," said Hambledon, and kindly spelt it for him, "above
glycerin. This nitrate is obtained by the fractionalization of palm oil.
Fractionalization, that's right. By the way, will you ask the supply
people to expedite delivery of the colloidal platinum I asked for? It is
more than a month since I requested it urgently."

"Certainly," said Landahl, scribbling again. "Platinum, you said,
coll---- Oh, thank you. Colloidal. Quite so. Platinum, again, is one of
our difficulties. The Minister wondered----"

"What I want that for, I suppose," said Hambledon contemptuously. "It is
used as a catalyst, and if he wants to know what that is, he can ask the
chemist from whom he buys his liver pills. I don't keep an infant
school."

"No indeed, Herr Professor. Certainly not."

Hambledon left off rubbing glycerin into his hands and suddenly beamed
upon the little major.

"It is a cold morning, and here I keep you standing in my comfortless
workshop surrounded by you know not what death-dealing mixtures. Let us
go into our humble sitting room, such as it is," said Hambledon, leading
the way, "and we will see if we can find some liquid more congenial to
the human frame. Grautz!"

"Yes, Herr Professor."

"Continue with the process, noting down all variation of temperature at
five-minute intervals."

"Yes, Herr Professor."

"It would be a convenience if you charted the results."

"Certainly, Herr Professor."

"An attentive and intelligent-looking young man," said Landahl, almost
before the door was shut.

"He is very well," said Tommy carelessly. "He is learning fast. A little
glass of schnapps, Herr Obersatz, to keep out the cold. Is there any
news today?"

"Has the Herr Professor not heard?" asked Landahl, staring.

"No, my paper has not yet come. Has something, then, occurred?"

"We have sunk the _Ark Royal_."

"What, again?" said Hambledon with a smile.

Landahl looked rather shocked but laughed dutifully in response. "It is
really true this time; even the British admit it. They tried to tow her
into Gibraltar, but she sank before reaching it."

"How was she sunk? Bombed by the Luftwaffe?"

"No, no. By torpedoes from a submarine."

"It is good work," said Tommy solemnly, and he handed the Obersatz his
glass. "The _Ark Royal_ has been many times a thorn in our side. Let us
drink the health of the gallant and skillful U-boat commander and his
crew. Hoch!"

"Hoch! But how comes it you did not hear this wonderful news on the
radio this morning?"

"My set has been out of order," said Hambledon. "It has only just come
back from being repaired." In point of fact he listened only to the
B.B.C. news service, though sometimes he called it names. Regarding the
German news bulletins, he told Grautz that if he had to listen to fairy
tales he preferred Hans Andersen's. They, at least, had not been
polluted by passing through the mind of Goebbels on their way to the
world. Goebbels, huh!

"You dislike Goebbels," said Grautz.

"How right you are," said Tommy cheerfully.

To revert to Landahl's visit. When they had rejoiced suitably over the
sinking of the _Ark Royal_, the little major returned to the subject of
Ulsenite. The Armaments Ministry were wondering whether, at a time and
place entirely subject to the wishes of the Herr Professor, a small
demonstration could be arranged. Hambledon and Grautz had expected this,
and the Herr Professor was ready with his answer.

"Certainly. By all means. At an early date. I shall, however, ask you to
make it clear to the Armaments Ministry that a demonstration is one
thing and production quite another." Hambledon repeated Grautz's
arguments about the stability of the explosive and added, "We now have
it controllable for a matter of five or six hours. No one knows better
than the Herr Obersatz that five or six months would be none too long."
Landahl nodded eagerly. "I expect another seven or eight months' work
upon it before it is fit to be put into production without endangering
the lives of those who handle it. Especially," went on Hambledon
emphatically, "when I am hampered by inability to procure what I want,
and by having to use substitutes."

"It is understood," said Landahl. "I will make it all clear to the
Minister myself. Everything possible shall be done. You will, then, let
us know about the demonstration?"

"I will write to you in the course of the next few days," said
Hambledon, and showed him out. Hambledon then dived into his laboratory
and told Grautz the news about the _Ark Royal_.

"It's a pity," said Grautz, "but you will build many more _Arks Royal_.
Was there much loss of life?"

"I don't know yet. I hope not. We will listen in to London tonight;
perhaps they'll tell us. Returning to Landahl, these people want a
demonstration."

"I thought they would."

"They shall have it. I said I would write and fix a date. How long will
it take us to arrange it?"

"Today's November the fourteenth. Next Friday?"

"I'll write and tell him so. I said my little piece about insuring the
controllability of Ulsenite. Did I get the other bit right, about
nitrating the homologue, whatever that means? Good. You noticed I closed
the conversation before he could ask me what a catalyst was. Grautz, if
we get out of this with our lives I shall spend the rest of my declining
years in a state of perpetual astonishment. It's not in the least
likely, you know, that we shall get away with it. It only wants somebody
who does know something about chemistry to corner me and ask me some
damn-fool question I can't answer, and we're done. Sunk. Oh, why did I
grow a beard?"

"Cheer up," said Grautz. "If we live long enough to hit them where it
hurts, I personally shall be satisfied. It's more than most people have
been able to do in this war."

"You're right, as usual. Now, about this demonstration."

"We will hold it on that flat piece of land just behind here. We bury in
the ground beforehand two five-liter cans of nitroglycerin complete with
detonators, that will make a bang which should surprise them."

"It goes to my heart," said Hambledon, "to waste all that nitroglycerin
on a mere firework display when it would do so much more good under
Hitler's bed."

"I know, but it must be done. We connect the detonators to a battery
with wires running from it to the place where there is a button to
press. They will be very long wires indeed. At the time of the show we
will fill one of those half-liter beakers with something mysterious
looking, carry it ceremonially down to the place where the nitroglycerin
is buried, and inter it carefully on the top. When we have regained the
starting place you can give the word, your most distinguished guest can
press the button, and I trust the result will fulfill their wildest
hopes. As a result, they ought to give us everything we want and about a
year's grace to work in. Then we can turn out explosives for your friend
Gibson, the traveler in sabotage."

"I asked Gibson for that formula, you know, the unreliable one," said
Hambledon, "but it hasn't come through yet. What did you want it for?"

"To leave about," said Grautz.

"Eh?"

"I have an idea that our papers are sometimes disturbed," said Grautz.
"I think that perhaps our experiments are a subject of curiosity to
other firms manufacturing explosives, or it may be the German
Government, with a panel of chemists of their own, trying to keep
abreast of us."

"You didn't tell me this before," said Hambledon.

"No, and I'm not sure now. But I think our invoices of goods delivered
here are copied, and probably anything else we leave lying about."

"Who does it? Surely not our guards; they're not educated enough to----"

"Bernstein was a schoolmaster, didn't you know? Only at an elementary
school, it's true, but he could copy correctly. He got into some sort of
trouble, so he joined the Party to get out of the rain."

"I never did like Bernstein much," said Tommy thoughtfully. "How did you
learn that?"

"His wife told me. She thinks they've come down in the world, and it's a
grievance."

"Oh. So you're going to leave this formula lying about and see who blows
themselves up?"

"I had some such idea. In the meantime we can keep a watch."

"Yes. It is a consolation to remember that, as regards the Ulsenite
formula, there isn't anything to steal."

Accordingly Hambledon wrote to the Armaments Ministry proposing to give
a demonstration on the following Friday, November the twenty-first. He
expected an answer saying that the performance would be attended by a
couple of semi-retired generals, two or three high officials from the
Ministry, and a handful of smaller fry. Instead of the postman with a
letter, however, an enormous black limousine drew up at his gate and the
driver descended and rang the bell. The usual ceremonies were performed,
and Bernstein spoke on the telephone.

"The Herr Minister of Propaganda Goebbels to see the Herr Professor."

"Admit him," said Hambledon in a slightly breathless voice, and turned
to Grautz.

"Goebbels," he said, "dear Doktor Goebbels. Well, well. We do move in
aristocratic circles, don't we? Or don't we? The slimy little toad. I
wonder what the devil he wants." Hambledon took out his handkerchief and
mopped his face. "Just time for a small dose of schnapps. I feel hot at
the ends and cold in the middle, as it were. I wish I'd had a little
more notice of this, though I don't know what I'd have done if I had.
Grautz, I've got the wind up. You can't arrange a small explosion as he
enters and blacken my face all over, can you? Bernstein is opening the
gate. Yes, that's him all right. Just the same as ever, hasn't even put
on weight."

"I gather you knew him before," said Grautz, handing the restorative.
Tommy gulped it down and returned the glass.

"Yes, I did. Put that where he can't see it. But I look very different
now. I wish I was a fairy queen. I'd wave my wand, turn him into a log
of wood, hurl him into the stove, boil a kettle on him, and then pour
the water down the drain. Thank you, Grautz. I feel better."

Bernstein ushered in their distinguished visitor, and Goebbels was
genial, as he can be when he tries. It was a pleasure too long delayed
by pressure of business, to meet the Herr Professor, and so forth.
Hambledon responded suitably, having arranged himself with his back to
the light, and compliments were bounced back and forth until Goebbels
tired of it.

"But I must not waste your valuable time in idle chatter," he said.
"About this demonstration you are giving us."

"Yes, Herr Minister?"

"You were thinking of something in the nature of a private show before a
few experts?"

"I was, yes," said Hambledon, wondering what was coming.

"I have great news for you. Most gratifying news. Astonishing. Our
Fuehrer wishes to be present in person."

"I am overcome," said Hambledon, and meant it. "The Fuehrer himself!
Why?"

"Your modesty does you credit. The point is this. It is our duty at the
Propaganda Ministry to do everything possible to encourage our people by
showing them the wonderful inventions Germany is producing for the
downfall of our enemies. So far as is consistent with military secrecy,
of course. It is good for morale."

"Quite," said Hambledon. "Exactly. Of course."

"There will, therefore, be quite a splash made over your demonstration,
my dear professor. You will permit photographers, cinematographers----"

"Heaven help me, Herr Goebbels! I am a poor student of chemistry, not a
glamorous what-d'you-call-'em--radio star, is it not? Am I then to make
up my poor face and strut before the----"

"No, no," said Goebbels, laughing heartily. "No. Quite a natural
out-of-door affair. A feature film, as they are called. You will be
shown making your arrangements; you would perhaps consent to say a few
explanatory words. The Fuehrer will be seen to press the button, and
then the explosion will be recorded. A simple matter, my dear professor.
Short. Easy. A quarter of an hour at most. Do not be alarmed; everything
will be done to suit your convenience."

"But I am alarmed. I am horrified. To be dragged from the cloistered
life of the laboratory into the glare of publicity--no, no. No, Herr
Minister of Propaganda. The marvelous not-to-be-believed war effort of
Germany must provide many more fruitful opportunities for the uplift of
morale than my poor efforts. I must really refuse."

Goebbels' expression hardened. "I see I have not made myself clear.
There is no question of refusing, Herr Ulseth. The decision has been
made."

Hambledon leaned back in his chair as one overborne by insistence.

"There is only one alteration necessary, the date. Next Friday does not
suit our Fuehrer," went on Goebbels. "Tuesday week, November the
twenty-fifth, is the appointed date, and the time fourteen-thirty."

"Very well," said Hambledon in a weak voice, and Goebbels immediately
beamed upon him.

"You will not find the experience an ordeal," he said. "Instructions
will be given to make it as easy and pleasant as possible. You have not
to act, only to reveal yourself as you are--patient, brilliant,
successful."

"Heavens above forbid," said Hambledon inwardly, and added aloud. "No
doubt the terrors I experience must seem ridiculous to you, who are
filmed every day. Put it down to my idiotic shrinking from publicity,
Herr Goebbels. After all," went on Hambledon with a wry laugh, "is it
not the ambition of all bright young people to appear on the films?
There must be something fascinating about it."

"Well done, Herr Professor. We shall yet turn you into a film star,"
said Goebbels, rising. "I have already taken up too much of your
precious time----"

"Not at all, an honor----"

"A pleasure, believe me. Some other day may I come again and improve our
acquaintance?"

"Delighted," said Hambledon, "delighted." By this time they had arrived
at the door; Tommy, holding it open for his visitor, had to face the
light. Goebbels turned on the step and looked him full in the face.

"I can't help thinking," he said, "that I've seen you before somewhere."

Hambledon turned perfectly cold.

"Are you, by any chance," went on Goebbels, "the same Ulseth who was one
of our party members in the very early days?"

"I am," said Tommy without hesitation.

"During and before the Munich putsch?"

"Even so."

"I thought there was something in your appearance which was familiar.
That doubtless accounts for it," said Goebbels, still regarding him in a
manner which made Hambledon feel he was being perforated by gimlets.

"I remember Your Excellency very well," said Hambledon with a smile
which made his face ache.

"You should have told us this at first," said Goebbels, smiling in
return. "One of our earliest members--a welcome would have been
ready----"

"One does not presume upon having done one's duty," said Hambledon
loftily. "I am now a poor chemist, Herr Minister of Propaganda, but
happy beyond words to be following our beloved Fuehrer once more in the
service of the Reich."

Goebbels nodded in a friendly manner and went away. Hambledon shut the
door and then leaned against it, holding the handle.

"You are shaking," said Grautz, regarding him with interest. "Come and
sit down."

"If I let go of this handle I shall probably fall down. Well, I suppose
I can't stand here all day; here goes. My legs do support me; curious,
must be habit. One of these days, Grautz, that appalling little squirt
is going to remember where he's seen me before, and the results will be
interesting. And probably painful. I made a mistake then, overflowing
into moral aphorisms. I used to do that when I knew him before, and it
may remind him. I don't know why Goebbels should have that effect on
me--natural reaction, doubtless."

"Drink this," said Grautz practically.

"You do have the right ideas," said Hambledon, obeying. "Did you hear
that last bit of conversation at the door?" Grautz nodded, and Tommy
went on, "I wonder what Ulseth did in the Party's early days. I expect
he was a rogue; most of 'em were. I don't remember him at all."

"Were you one of the early rogues?"

"Early, but not a rogue, believe it or not. My business was to catch
'em."

"May I ask, without being indiscreet, what you were in those days?"

"I joined the Party at Munich and rose to become chief of police," said
Hambledon. "My name in those days was Klaus Lehmann."

"My immortal soul, what a nerve," said Grautz reverently.

"No nerve required; it just happened. I had an accident toward the end
of the last war and lost my memory. I recovered it on the night of the
Reichstag Fire; that same night our Adolf made me assistant chief of
police."

"Are you a German, then?"

"Oh no, I'm English."

"And how did you get out? did you escape?"

"I died," said Tommy in a solemn voice. "I was assassinated in Danzig
and accorded a state funeral here in Berlin with an oration by our
Fuehrer, may moths devour his underclothing. D'you mean to say you
didn't hear about it? I am pained. I thought Europe rang with it."

"I did, of course. I am sorry, I became confused--I did not connect that
Lehmann with you."

"Don't apologize, please. It's not a connection which would naturally
occur to anyone, at least I piously trust not. I ought to go and visit
my grave."

"Lay a wreath on it," suggested Grautz, "of immortelles."




CHAPTER X
MUCH ADO ABOUT ULSETH


Two days later there arrived at the laboratory gate quite a cavalcade of
cars, headed by Goebbels' big car. Hambledon looked at this display of
efficiency and his jaw came out.

"They have come to arrest us," he said. "Well, that's that, Grautz.
Pleased to have met you."

"Perhaps they have some other purpose," said Grautz, not very hopefully.
"Goebbels wouldn't come in person to arrest us, you know. Look, those
aren't S.S. men getting out, they are civilians."

"You may be right; perhaps they've come to arrange the film show."
Hambledon opened the door and signaled to Eckhoff to open the gate. "We
may as well make a display of welcome, anyway."

Goebbels came up the path accompanied by a fat man in a leather overcoat
whom he introduced as "my friend, Herr Kallenbach."

Kallenbach said he was honored. Hambledon looked him over and was coldly
polite, wondering who he was and why he had been brought there since
Goebbels never did anything without a reason, usually an unpleasant one.
The occupants of the other cars drifted about or walked briskly from
place to place, viewing the laboratory, the hut, and the adjacent
scenery through little wire frames which they produced from their
pockets.

"We have come to worry you about this film, Herr Professor," said
Goebbels. "We don't want to take up more of your time than can be
avoided. If you just show us where you propose to give this
demonstration, the cameramen can make their mysterious arrangements."

"Certainly," said Hambledon. "My time is at the disposal of the Herr
Minister of Propaganda; he knows as well as anyone how valuable it is."

Goebbels' smile diminished slightly at this two-edged remark, and
Hambledon went on without waiting for an answer. "If you would come this
way, Herr Goebbels--is the Herr Kallenbach my film mentor?"

"No, no," said Kallenbach, heartily amused. "My interest in films is
confined to taking my good wife to the cinema once a week. Still, I
think I'll stay here and see what these fellows are going to do," he
added to Goebbels, "if the Herr Professor will permit. It might be
amusing."

"I beg the Herr to entertain himself in any manner which my poor
resources will permit," said Hambledon. "Grautz! The Herr Kallenbach
will perhaps have a little glass of something."

"No, thank you, no," said Kallenbach to Grautz. "A cup of coffee,
perhaps, if the trouble is not too great----"

Hambledon left them at it and conducted Goebbels through a screen of
birches round the end of the laboratory and over the shoulder of a
little ridge of hill behind the building. "An ideal spot, Herr Minister.
Close at hand, yet the ridge protects the buildings from blast." They
topped the ridge and saw before them a stretch of flat land some half a
mile long, covered with snowy grass. "I directed that the fence should
enclose this area," went on Hambledon. "I foresaw when we came here that
it would be useful for my experiments." In point of fact the suggestion
came from Grautz, who said that since loud and repeated bangs would be
part of their camouflage they had better have somewhere to make them.
"No sense in blowing out the lab windows in midwinter to impress the
natives. Besides, the sound will carry further out of doors."

"Very convenient," said Goebbels. "Eminently for-the-purpose suitable.
Schafer!"

One of the strangers who had drifted after them came trotting up, and
Goebbels presented him.

"This is Herr Schafer of the Ufa Film Studios, who will be responsible
for immortalizing you, my dear professor."

"With a camera or a gun?" asked Tommy cheerfully, and the jest was well
received. Herr Schafer was almost excessively amused. He was a gaunt
young man with black hair which fell in a soft plume over his eyes. He
tossed it back frequently with a manicured hand and had the manner of
one accustomed to public appearances. "I can see we shall get on fine,
Herr Professor. I like a man with a sense of humor."

"The demonstration will take place here, Schafer. The Fuehrer's stand
will be hereabouts, will it not, Professor?" Hambledon nodded. "And the
explosion over there, about a hundred meters away?"

"Heavens no," said Hambledon. "Three hundred meters at least."

"But we shan't see anything at that range," objected Schafer.

"Oh yes, you will, my good young man," said Hambledon.

"Surely two hundred meters will be far enough," said Goebbels. "How much
explosive are you going to use, for goodness' sake?"

"About half a liter," said Hambledon. "One of those flasks you saw me
with the other day, do you remember? Yes. You want to show the Fuehrer
something worth seeing, don't you?"

"Certainly. But only half a liter, at that range----"

"Listen, Herr Minister of Propaganda. I wrecked a stone house in
Switzerland with half a liter of Ulsenite two months ago, and I have
slightly improved it since then. You tell me I am to be honored with the
presence of our heaven-sent Leader, and yet you argue with me--me,
Ulseth!--about the range at which his person will be in safety. I tell
you frankly that either I have my way in this matter or there will be no
demonstration," said Hambledon, becoming more and more excited. "Even at
the range I have decided upon, I shall have a bank of earth thrown up
this side to minimize the blast. You have no notion of the powers with
which you are dealing, Herr Minister; we are not children playing with
fireworks----"

"Calm yourself, Herr Professor, calm yourself," said Goebbels, yielding
gracefully. "I bow to the expert. All shall be arranged as you wish."

"Naturally," said Hambledon with a snort. "Otherwise it will not take
place."

Schafer kept in the background during this exchange and walked behind
when Hambledon and his visitor returned to the laboratory, Goebbels
chatting lightly of this and that and Hambledon making humph noises. At
the door Schafer drew Hambledon aside and asked him if he would come to
the Ufa Studios on the following morning together with his
eminently-to-be-respected assistant.

"Whatever for?"

"Because we should like to take some interior shots of you and him
working in your laboratory, and the lighting is better there."

"But am I supposed to bring my laboratory fittings?"

"By no means, Herr Professor. Not necessary at all. We have a permanent
set representing a laboratory which will serve admirably as a
background."

"Background to what?" said Hambledon impatiently.

"To your impossible-to-be-overestimated labors. In the studio----"

"But, my good young man, you don't seriously suppose I should transfer
my chemicals--some of which are highly dangerous--to your imitation
laboratory even for----"

"No, no. I was thinking that if you could be seen boiling something in a
flask--water would do--while your invaluable assistant took notes, or
whatever he does----"

"Oh, I see. Pretend to be working."

"Even so, Herr Professor. Then if you could be heard discussing with him
the future of Ulsenite----"

"While waiting for the kettle to boil?"

Schafer laughed. "Think it over, Herr Professor. Regard it as a welcome
relaxation from your so-arduous labors."

"I will discuss it with Grautz and telephone to you."

Schafer thanked him and retreated hastily to make way for Goebbels and
his Kallenbach, who took their leave. Hambledon withdrew into his
laboratory and watched through the window the party climbing into their
cars again; at last the procession drove away. Then he turned on Grautz
and said, "Well? Who and what is Kallenbach?"

"I don't know who he is. He is a chemist and knows quite a lot about
explosives. I think he came here to pump me while you were out of the
way. The ingenuous young assistant overflowing with enthusiasm might
easily let something slip, you understand. He did it rather well," said
Grautz thoughtfully.

"How did you deal with him?"

"Talked a lot and said nothing."

"Here's Eckhoff coming for the coffee cups and to tell us dinner's
ready, I hope," said Hambledon. "Nervous exhaustion always makes me
hungry."

Eckhoff entered with his usual cheerful grin, saying that dinner was now
being served for the gracious Herren. He gathered up the coffee cups and
added, "Is this Herr Kallenbach's? I'll give it an extra wash."

Hambledon paused in the act of opening the door and said, "That sounds
as though you didn't like the man. I didn't know you knew him."

"Actually, I've never spoken to him. It's his partner who sometimes
speaks to me," Eckhoff put down the tray and became serious. "I have
been wishing to tell the Herr Professor, but no opportunity offered.
They are paying me money to find out anything I can about what you are
doing."

"Oh, are they? And who are 'they'?"

"Kallenbach's firm. They make explosives. A small firm, but they get
good orders. It is said that Herr Goebbels has a controlling
interest--is that how to put it?"

"And what do they want you to do?"

"Send them copies of anything I find lying about. I nearly told them to
go to hell, then I thought again. It is unwise to disoblige the big
bosses of the Nazi party; besides, the money is good and my pay isn't
much," said Eckhoff frankly. "On the other hand, the Herr Professor--it
is an honor to serve him--Your Excellency is always kind, I couldn't
bring myself----"

"Very good of you, Eckhoff."

"I really mean it, Excellency," said Eckhoff, actually blushing with
earnestness. "Then it occurred to me to put the facts before the Herr
Professor."

"In order that I should pay you instead of Kallenbach?" said Hambledon
sternly. "A clever scheme, Eckhoff, but----"

"No, no," broke in Eckhoff. "Not at all. That would be foolish, for you
have only to dismiss me, and I like this job. No. I only thought that
perhaps you could sometimes leave something about that looked
interesting but didn't matter. Then Kallenbach would be happy and pay
me, and I should be happy serving Your Excellency, who would be happy
knowing he was not being betrayed, and thus everyone concerned would be
contented."

Hambledon burst into a roar of laughter.

"What do you think, Grautz? Shall we have Eckhoff shot at dawn?"

"I think it would be a waste of an intelligent man," said Grautz.

"So do I," said Hambledon. "After all, trying to learn one's
competitors' trade secrets is a thing that is done all the time in peace
as well as war. Now we are forewarned, we can be careful."

"But sometimes there might be a little something," urged Eckhoff.

"After this, Eckhoff, you will be welcome to anything you may find left
about. Come on, Grautz. My stomach is ringing the dinner bell."

When they were alone again Hambledon told Grautz about the Ufa man's
suggestion that the interior scenes should be taken in the studio.

"I think it's a good idea," said Grautz. "We don't want people poking
about in here. We can say so openly and no harm done."

"I should agree," said Tommy, "only the last thing I want is to have my
face, form, and movements brilliantly photographed and displayed to the
entire population of Germany. I shrink. I nearly shrivel. The proverbial
violet is a peony compared to me."

"But you can't get out of this film, can you?"

"No. Blast Goebbels and all his Ministry. That's an idea, by the way; we
might do it one day."

"Yes," said Grautz. "This film, though--I think the only thing to do is
to go through with it. You could avoid facing the lights as much as
possible because they hurt your eyes."

"Already damaged in the Servatsch affair. I couldn't wear an eyeshade, I
suppose? Why not? No one except Landahl has ever seen me working at my
chemical researches, and if I keep my wits about me no one ever will.
Get me an eyeshade when you go into town this evening, will you? What do
we do in their chromium-plated laboratory?"

"We will get out a script," said Grautz. "We shan't have to learn it by
heart, because we can have it in notebooks and refer to them whenever
necessary. I expect Schafer will want to see it, and possibly the censor
also."

"You can write it while I ring up Schafer."

"By the way," said Grautz, "I have been thinking about this
demonstration of ours. Ulsenite should be different from all other
explosives."

"God knows it is already," said Tommy. "What d'you suggest?"

"Adding colloidal copper to the nitroglycerin. The result should be a
vivid green flash. I'll try a few small experiments for quantity;
there's plenty of time before the twenty-fifth."

"I'll ask for some colloidal copper," began Hambledon, but Grautz
interrupted him.

"Better not. I'll go and buy some tonight. We don't want to let the
Ministry into all our secrets."

"Buy some? What's it sold for?"

"Spraying fruit trees," said Grautz.

"Oh. So long as it doesn't spray us over the adjacent trees, that's all
right."

"I want to make it clear to you," said Grautz earnestly, "that that is
quite likely to happen. Nitroglycerin is the most touchy stuff
imaginable, and if we get it into the ground without blowing ourselves
up I shall be agreeably surprised. I don't think adding copper will make
it any worse, but frankly I don't know."

"Oh," said Hambledon rather doubtfully. "Couldn't you mix up something
else?"

"Not in the time. Guncotton would take much longer to make."

"Well, we must chance it. We've got nothing to lose but our lives, and I
couldn't insure them for twopence each without defrauding the company. I
like your idea of a vivid green flash. Green for danger, eh?"

"A soft apple-green," said Grautz placidly. "Very pretty."

Hambledon looked at him in silence for a moment and then went away to
telephone to Schafer.

Tommy had never been a motion-picture enthusiast and regarded the whole
performance as an unavoidable nuisance. He had a hazy idea that film
studios were full of glamorous young females being temperamental and
long-haired young men being self-important in a strong atmosphere of
grease paint and publicity. Much ado about nothing, in short. He arrived
at the Ufa Studios prepared to be patronizing and bored. To his surprise
he found the place buzzing with hardworking people doing a highly
technical job with marked efficiency and lack of fuss. Schafer with his
foot on his native heath was very different from the obsequious
attendant upon Goebbels at the Ulseth laboratory.

"I am delighted to receive the Herr Professor," he began, "and the Herr
Grautz. The laboratory set is over here. We have the cameras and the
lights all in position already, in order not to waste your valuable
time. Will you look over it and see that everything is as you like it?
Please tell me if you want anything altered."

Hambledon looked at the white laboratory bench, the polished pipes,
flasks, and tubes shining with cleanliness, the Bunsen burner already
alight, the sink tap very slowly dripping, and said frankly, "I think
it's wonderful. I had expected something much more--how shall I put
it?--makeshift. Eh, Grautz?"

"It all appears to me completely satisfactory," said the unemotional
Grautz.

"Good," said Schafer. "This your script? Thank you. It will have to be
submitted to the censor, but I don't expect he will raise any points. I
will just run through it while you are putting your white coats on, then
we will go through it once to see how it runs and afterward try it with
the camera. I don't want to bother you more than I can help, and what's
more, we don't want the film to look professionally acted. We are
eavesdropping on two men working, not watching a stage play, if you see
what I mean." He sat down on a chair and read rapidly through Grautz's
neatly written dialogue while Hambledon and his assistant changed into
linen overalls. Schafer looked up as Tommy was adjusting his eyeshield.

"Oh, I say! Must you wear that thing?"

"I fear it is unavoidable," said Tommy mildly. "My eyes have not
recovered from an accident I had in Switzerland. I always wear a shield
when I'm working, otherwise they become inflamed."

"Oh. In that case it can't be helped, but it conceals so much of your
face, and that's a pity. Perhaps you could remove it for a close-up at
the end, just a few moments."

"We will see when the time comes," said Hambledon, adding, "Not if I
know it," to himself. When the lights were all turned on he gasped and
blinked without artifice.

"I could not bear this for a moment without the shield," he said, and
Grautz, scowling against the lights, said he wished he had one too.

"You will get used to them in a few minutes," said Schafer. "Try not to
frown. Now, let's have a preliminary run through." He looked at his
watch and they began.

By the time they had gone through the script twice without the camera
and once with, leaning over the boiling flask above the blue flame of
the Bunsen and talking in measured sentences with an air of profound
concentration, Hambledon was dripping with perspiration and his head was
beginning to ache. Schafer noticed it.

"Knock off for a few minutes and sit down," he said. "I'll get a mug of
beer for you. It is trying when you're not used to it, I know."

"It's the heat as well as the light," said Hambledon, removing his shade
to mop his face. "I can't think how anyone ever gets used to it."

"Oh, you do," said Schafer. "Come over here; it's cooler. There isn't
much more to do. I just want to take one or two shots again that I'm not
quite satisfied with. That place where Herr Grautz is measuring stuff
out; you got in front of him, and people won't see what's happening.
Again, at that point where the flask comes to the boil you get in each
other's way. Sit down here, won't you? May I present you to the Frulein
Amalie Rielander? The distinguished Herr Professor Ulseth, Herr Grautz.
Excuse me a moment."

Frulein Rielander was young, slim, and attractive, with a mop of dark
curls and very blue eyes. She smiled upon Hambledon, who sat beside her
with Grautz upon his further side.

"You are doing this documentary about explosives, aren't you?" she said.
"I was watching you for some time. I think you're going to be good."

"I feel as though I were going to be bad," said Hambledon. "The
atmosphere under those lamps is just like the onset of influenza. Heat
to the head, cold to the feet, and lights unbearably bright."

"One gets used to it," she said.

"That's what Schafer keeps on saying, but I don't think I want to."

"You haven't got to earn your living that way," she said with a laugh.

"Heaven forbid. Besides, I have been unfairly handicapped in the matter
of a face. Now, Grautz here----"

The girl leaned forward and regarded Grautz critically. "A nice face,"
she said, as though he were not within earshot. "Clearly cut features.
Good width across the eyes. Not bad at all."

Hambledon laughed, and Grautz said he had always been told he was the
image of his grandmother when she was young. Tommy asked Frulein
Rielander if she was making a film at the moment.

"Oh yes," she said indifferently. "An awful thing all about young heroes
in E-boats. I haven't much to do but stand about in admiring attitudes
and be suitably delighted when they come home again. Part of the
decorative background, you know."

"Then the background is the best part of the film," said Hambledon with
conviction.

"You have a discerning mind," she laughed.

"There cannot be much scope in war films for such as you," went on
Hambledon. "There's no place for charm and beauty in war. Don't they
produce anything but war films now? I should have thought people would
want something different."

"They do, but we aren't encouraged to make anything else," she said.
"Here's your beer now. That is a lovely sight, don't you think?"

A messenger boy arrived with two steins of beer on a tray, and Hambledon
took a long pull at his before replying.

"Ah, that's better," he said. "I begin to hope I may yet live. May I
offer the _gndiges Frulein_ a cigarette?"

She took one and offered Hambledon a light from a gold lighter with her
initials in rubies. Hambledon remarked on it.

"A present from Doktor Goebbels," she said in a noncommittal voice.
"There is a shortage of matches."

"Very useful," said Hambledon. "Very thoughtful of him."

She glanced quickly at him and away again. "Yes. There are, of course,
various kinds of thoughts, kind and otherwise."

"Wise thoughts and foolish ones, Frulein," said Hambledon in order to
check her. He was not sure whether she was trying to pump him or on the
point of pouring out undesired confidences to see how he would react.
Goebbels would not give a girl an expensive present like that unless she
was useful to him. Apparently she took the hint.

"Do you often go to the cinema, Herr Professor?"

"Not six times in my life, though, as it happens, I saw a film in Berne
about three months ago."

"What film was that? Who took the star parts?"

"I don't know whether you would say there were any star parts," said
Hambledon. "It was very interesting. It was a documentary called _Atomic
Energy_."

She laughed at that. "I'm afraid I should have found that very dull.
Come and see my awful film when it comes out? Oh do, you must. It's not
so bad as some, really. I spend most of my time clutching an infant in
my arms and waving good-by with a handkerchief."

"Perhaps," said Hambledon, "it would be an improvement if you clutched
the handkerchief and waved the infant. It would at least make people
laugh. But surely the Frulein has had better parts than that?"

"This is my first lead," she said frankly, and, noticing Hambledon's
puzzled look, kindly explained. "The first time I've had the leading
part, you know. I've played in much better films. My first small part
was in _Die Schwedische Nachtigall_ with Gottschalk," she added, her
face clouding with sadness. "It was a lovely film all about Hans
Andersen. Gottschalk was wonderful--poor Gottschalk."

"He committed suicide the other day, didn't he?" said Hambledon, with a
vague idea of having seen the name in a paper.

Amalie Rielander nodded and turned eyes bright with tears upon
Hambledon.

"He married a Jewess," she said in low and hurried tones. "She was
beautiful; they were terribly happy. They had one child. Then Goebbels
wanted to run him for propaganda purposes--the great German film star,
you know. So he tried to persuade Gottschalk to part from his wife and
child, and he flatly refused. So then he was told she and the child
would be exported to Poland and he would have to stay behind; they had
an hour in which to pack. When the police went to get them, there they
were waiting, all three dead. He'd killed his wife and child and then
himself."

"What a frightful affair," said Hambledon, visualizing the unnaturally
silent room.

"They are saying," she went on with a wry laugh, "that he's killed
Goebbels too, only the Herr Minister of Propaganda hasn't found it out
yet."

"You Berliners are terribly cynical," said Hambledon cautiously.

"Here's Schafer coming for us," said Grautz.

"You are giving a demonstration of your new explosive, aren't you?" said
the girl, recovering herself. "I should love to see it. May I come? Do
send me a ticket, do!"

"I have no tickets to send, Frulein. The Herr Minister of Propaganda is
arranging it all. I merely perform--like a trained seal."

"I adore trained seals," she said, laughing. "I shall certainly come. I
will get hold of a ticket somehow."

"_Auf Wiedersehen_, then," said Hambledon as Schafer descended upon them
and hurried them away.




CHAPTER XI
THE GREEN FLASH


On the morning of November the twenty-fifth Hambledon, with Grautz
beside him, watched a small party of workmen erect a platform for the
Fuehrer. It was merely a wooden dais about two feet high, just enough to
raise the Leader above the herd. On the dais was placed a wooden table
with a chair behind it. Grautz was holding in his hand a switch of the
press-button type; twin-flex wire leading from it ran down to the ground
and across the frozen grass to a bank of raw earth some four hundred
yards away. Grautz put the switch down on the table and tied the flex to
the table leg with a piece of string.

"What for?" asked the workmen, watching interestedly.

"In case someone should trip over the wire and pull the switch off the
table."

"Would that make it go off?"

"Probably."

"Oh. Well, there's all sorts of jobs," said the workmen philosophically
and went away. Hambledon and Grautz walked along the wire to the place
where the soil was thrown up. Here two loose ends of wire waited to be
connected; they waved uncertainly in the east wind.

"Sure you'll be able to find the other ends?" said Hambledon anxiously.

"Without doubt. Here they are," said Grautz, delving with his hand in
the loose earth of the trench from which the bank had been dug. He
brought out two more ends of wire from underground. "I have only to
twist the wires together in pairs, and the rest is with the divine
Fuehrer."

"I hope it goes off."

"Oh, it'll go off all right. The only pity is that it is here instead of
under the Fuehrer's dais."

"It is," agreed Hambledon, "but they would spot it when they come to
inspect the place. They have thought of that one, you'll see. In fact,
here they come."

Four S.S. men, conducted by Bernstein, came over the ridge and descended
upon the dais. They looked all over it, round it, and under it.

"There you are," said Hambledon. "What did I tell you? Very thorough,
these Germans."

The S.S. men lifted the switch and examined it; they followed the wire
down to the ground and across the grass toward Hambledon and Grautz. The
second pair of wires had disappeared into the earth again.

"It will not be a good idea if they stamp about over all that
nitroglycerin with their heavy boots," said Grautz.

"I'll tell them not to," said Hambledon, and turned to meet the
approaching men. "Heil Hitler," he began, with the regulation salute. "I
shall want a man on duty here to see that nobody tramps about on the
bank and crushes it down. There is a wire here which must not be
tampered with."

"I will put a man here on duty," said the corporal in charge. "Where
would the Herr wish him to be stationed?"

"Here," said Hambledon, indicating a spot on the further side of the
bank. "No one else is to approach nearer than those birch trees upon any
pretext."

"Certainly, Herr Professor. Hans! On guard."

Hans obeyed, though he did not look as though he liked it much. "There
is nothing there yet, is there?" he asked, with an apprehensive glance
over the bank.

"Don't stand on the wire, you oaf!" roared Hambledon, and the unhappy
man leaped into the air. "Stand there. Don't move." They left him there
alone and strolled back together toward the dais. "One cannot be too
careful when dealing with high explosives," said Tommy sententiously.
"The smallest mishap and----" He gestured upward.

"The Herr is more than right," said the corporal earnestly.

Soon after two o'clock cars began to arrive. Hambledon, looking out of
the laboratory window, saw the cameramen being escorted to their
appointed places. Some of them were plainly arguing with the corporal
because they would be too far away from the explosion.

"If they knew what there was under there," said Hambledon to Grautz,
"they wouldn't be so eager. I think they are rather close as it is."

"They are only Germans," said Grautz indifferently. He held up a beaker
he was stirring with a glass rod. "Looks pretty, doesn't it?" It was a
viscous liquid of a beautiful deep green; tiny flecks of gold floated in
it.

"Reminds me of Christmas trees for some reason. Here's Goebbels. Now the
Fuehrer won't be long. Where are the notes for my speech again? Ah,
here." Hambledon pored over them, muttering.

"Here's Adolf," said Grautz irreverently.

"Now for it," said Hambledon. "I wish I didn't perspire so readily.
Well, here goes."

He opened the laboratory door and advanced to meet the Fuehrer. Grautz
following respectfully behind with the beaker of Ulsenite in one hand
and a metal container in the other. Goebbels came forward, shook the
professor warmly by the hand, and led him to Hitler.

"Mein Fuehrer, this is the distinguished Herr Professor Ulseth." Cameras
clicked; sound-recording apparatus buzzed happily.

"I remember the Herr Ulseth," said Hitler in the orator's carrying
voice, "from the old days of the inception of Our Party. I welcome an
old comrade and party member."

"I am honored beyond my deserving," said Hambledon, bowing jerkily, "to
have retained the smallest niche in the memory of Adolf Hitler."

Hitler smiled and nodded and immediately turned restlessly away. "The
place--where is it?"

"This way, mein Fuehrer, this way," said Hambledon, and the party
proceeded at a rapid pace up the path through the trees and over the
ridge. Hitler kept glancing at Hambledon as they went past the
cinematograph machines, and Tommy ambled along in as unsoldierly a
manner as possible.

"All old comrades," said Hitler, who was apparently bent upon amiability
that morning, "are dear to me."

"Everyone knows that," interjected Hambledon, thinking of Ernst Roehm
and others.

"You have been too long absent from the Reich, Party Member Ulseth."

"I have spent studious years fitting myself to be of use to the Reich,"
answered Hambledon. They arrived at the dais. Hitler sat in the chair
with his arms on the table before him in the familiar attitude;
Hambledon stood in front facing the Fuehrer, and the rest of the
concourse grouped itself around. The day was clear and sunny, and the
cameramen continued to enjoy themselves. Hambledon drew a long breath.

"Mein Fuehrer, on this, the proudest day of my life, I have the honor to
lay at your feet the results of a lifetime of labor. Here before you in
this beaker"--Grautz handed it to him--"is Ulsenite, the new explosive,
ten times more violent, volume for volume, than nitroglycerin or
trinitrotoluol. It looks harmless and even beautiful, does it not?" said
Hambledon, holding it up to the light. "Beautiful it is, but harmless?"
Hambledon laughed scornfully. "In a few months, when I have perfected
it, let Moscow say if it is harmless. Let London say. Let Leningrad
say--if there is a voice left in any of those cities to say anything
except 'Mercy, Hitler!'"

There was a murmur of approval from the crowd.

"Imagine," went on Hambledon, "the effect of a bombing raid when one
hundred-kilogram bomb will do the work of one thousand-kilogram bomb.
When a thousand kilograms will equal the effect of ten thousand
kilograms. This, mein Fuehrer, is the gift I lay at your feet."

The Fuehrer, without actually recoiling, showed no inclination to
inspect Ulsenite more closely.

"Nor is this all," said Hambledon, warming to his subject. "By no means.
I look forward to the day when Victory shall crown our German Eagle and
the world shall acknowledge the rule of Adolf Hitler from east to west
and north to south. When we shall lay aside the arts of war and
cultivate the arts of peace. Shall Ulsenite then be laid aside with the
sword in the scabbard and the bomb in the--in the bomb rack? No, mein
Fuehrer, no. Your acute mind has looked beyond these shadows and seen
before I speak the future of Ulsenite in the internal-combustion
engine."

Hitler left off fidgeting with the press-button switch and gave
Hambledon his surprised attention.

"Here," said Hambledon, tapping the beaker with his fingernail, a
performance which caused those nearest to him to retire several paces,
"here is the ideal concentrated motor fuel. Men will fly to America and
back on as much Ulsenite as would fill the familiar and useful beer mug.
When I have perfected my explosive I lose interest in the production of
war material. Let the manufacturers work. I, Ulseth, will cloister
myself and not seek your august presence again until I have produced the
Ulseth carburetor. Then let Adolf Hitler say if Sigmund Ulseth has lived
in vain!"

Hambledon ceased amid applause. When it had died down he said, "I will
now go and connect up this sample. Grautz! The detonating container."

Grautz handed over his can, which had two terminals soldered on the top
and a screw cap at one corner. It had been painted black to conceal the
fact that it had once held a liter of motor oil.

"Inside this container," said Hambledon, continuing to address the
class, "is a fulminate-of-mercury detonating cap. I will attach these
wires to these terminals. When our Fuehrer presses the button, a spark
will detonate the fulminate of mercury and that, in its turn, the
Ulsenite. I will now pour it in."

Grautz unscrewed the cap; Hambledon poured in the Ulsenite, gently
glittering in the winter sunshine, handed the empty beaker to Grautz,
and screwed the cap firmly on again.

"Now I will go to the explosion point and connect up," said Hambledon.

"When, exactly, do I press the button?" asked Hitler.

"When we return here, Excellency, when we return," said Hambledon
hastily. "Not before, if you have any further use for your servants!"

"You shall yourself give the word," said Hitler kindly. Hambledon bowed,
turned smartly, and walked in a processional manner beside the wire,
holding the container of Ulsenite in both hands and followed by the
faithful Grautz half a pace behind. Cinematograph machines followed
them, focusing upon their faces, their hands, their feet. One observant
young man picked out a stiff clump of grass; one saw Hambledon's feet
approaching it. Would he avoid it? Would he trip over it? He did. He
recovered himself.

"For heaven's sake, look where you're going!" hissed Grautz. "Remember
what you're carrying."

"Sorry," said Hambledon. They were at that moment out of earshot, and he
added thoughtfully, "Ulsenite, of course. Ulsenite. A dignified name.
You know, I think it would have been much more appropriate if we'd
called it Poppo. You see, don't----"

"Shut up!" snarled Grautz, covering his mouth with a careless gesture.
"We're still being filmed, and some of the cinema audiences may be lip
readers."

The rest of the journey to the explosion point was made in silence.
Hans, still on guard by the bank, saw them coming and stood to
attention. Grautz impatiently motioned him away. He obeyed at a speed
which would have done him credit at the Olympic games. Hambledon and his
assistant climbed over the bank and down into the hollow behind it,
Grautz connected up the wires while Tommy partially embedded the tin in
the loose soil.

"Can they see us talking from here?"

"No, but keep your head down, just in case."

"I was getting quite carried away by that speech," said Hambledon. "I
nearly said Ulsenite was a certain cure for baldness and invaluable for
the cleansing of false teeth. What is that stuff, incidentally?"

"Some of my cousin's homemade crme de menthe with a small bottle of
gold paint stirred in. Attractive, wasn't it?"

"It might even be explosive."

"I shouldn't wonder," said Grautz. "Inflammable, anyway. Well, I think
that'll do." He stood up.

"I only hope dear Adolf doesn't put his bony elbow on the switch before
we arrive," said Hambledon, appearing to blow his nose behind a large
handkerchief. They returned to the dais much more quickly than they
went. Hambledon saw the film actress, Amalie Rielander, among the crowd
as he came nearer. Evidently she had managed to obtain admission
somehow.

"Well," said Hitler, with his front-teeth smile, "is it all ready now?"

"Whenever mein Fuehrer pleases," said Hambledon, and turned to look
toward the explosion point just in time to see the cinema men nearest to
it pick up their machines and race toward it. "Stop!" he yelled at the
top of his voice, "stop, you damned fools----"

He was too late. Hitler had pressed his hand on the button and kept it
there. One man tripped and fell; the others ran on a pace or two before
the earth opened and there was a vivid green flash plainly seen even in
the sunlight. There followed an earsplitting roar, and debris flew up in
a dense cloud, blotting out the scene; the ground jerked beneath their
feet. There was a chorus of cries from the crowd. Hitler ducked
instinctively and clung to the table; small pebbles and fragments of
soil rained down upon them all. Even Hambledon turned rather white. The
only man unmoved was Grautz, who watched the scene with exactly his
usual air of placid interest. One felt that he was about to smile;
Hambledon looked at him and shivered suddenly.

When the air cleared a little the cameraman who had tripped and fallen
picked himself up unsteadily, supporting himself with his tripod; the
others lay where they fell and did not move at all.

"They are stunned," said Hitler hoarsely. "Send a doctor to revive them.
Hagen, will you see to it?" Several men ran; Hitler turned to Hambledon
and said, "Remarkable! Astounding! Incredible! I congratulate you, Party
Member Ulseth, on an amazing success. Please continue your so-wonderful
work to its triumphant completion."

Hambledon bowed again and said he was happy to have satisfied his
Fuehrer; Hitler showed his teeth again in his nervous grin, which had
even less of mirth in it than usual, and left at once, accompanied by
Goebbels and the more important of his companions. Hambledon stood
uncertainly for a moment, and Amalie Rielander came from the small group
which remained, to speak to him.

"I know I ought to congratulate you," she said, "but I can hardly speak.
I've never been so frightened in all my life."

"If I had told you not to come, Frulein," said Hambledon, "would you
have taken any notice?"

"Probably not, but I certainly shall another time. Those poor men, are
they much hurt?"

"I don't know, Frulein. I am just going to see."

"I must not keep you," she said hastily. "I really wanted to ask you to
come to the premire of my film. Oh, do! It's at the Ufa-Palast next
Monday at eight."

"Frulein Rielander----" began Hambledon.

"Amalie."

"Frulein Amalie, I am a very busy man, and cinematograph displays are
hardly----"

"Oh, Herr Professor, don't be a grump. Bright green explosions aren't in
my line at all, but I came to your premire, didn't I? So you must come
to mine. Do; it'll be such fun. Goering will be there with his Emmy, but
there will still be room for you. Everybody will be there. I shall be so
disappointed if you aren't."

"I could not disappoint the gracious Frulein," said Hambledon,
wondering why on earth she wanted him. There was only one way to find
out why, and that was to go. Hambledon was incurably inquisitive.

"Oh, good! I am so glad. I must go; they are calling me. I'll send you a
card. _Auf Wiedersehen_, dear Herr Professor."

She hurried away, and Hambledon walked across the grass to the place
where the men lay; just before he reached it the doctor came to meet
him.

"They are quite dead, Herr Professor. Not from their injuries, which are
slight. It is their lungs which are collapsed."

"I am horrified," said Hambledon, "but they disobeyed orders----"

"No one can possibly blame the Herr Professor. I will convey what you
have said to their families. Here, there is nothing to be done. I will
arrange for the removal of the bodies at the earliest possible moment."

"Please," said Hambledon. He walked rapidly back to his laboratory,
speaking to no one, went inside, and shut the door. Grautz was waiting
for him.

"A great success," said the Dutchman cheerfully.

"Well done," said Hambledon. "I think a small drink is indicated; my
head is still singing. I admired your 'soft apple-green' color
immensely; it showed up well. In fact, I thought a distinct reflection
of it lingered on the face of our Fuehrer for several moments
afterward."

"Goebbels was the one," said Grautz, "only he didn't quite match. He was
more the color of cabbage."

"Diseased cabbage. Well, here's to Poppo."

"Ulsenite," said Grautz firmly. "If you think Poppo, one of these days
you'll say Poppo, and that won't do at all. Here's to Ulsenite."

"All right, Ulsenite. By the way, the gracious Amalie Rielander
buttonholed me just now and insisted I should go to the premire of her
new film. I accepted to pacify her. I don't want to go. I can't even
remember what the beastly thing's called."

"_Wolfhounds of the Deep_," said Grautz. "When is it?"

"Next Monday, at the Ufa-Palast. Goering will be there, she says, and
everyone else who is anyone, I gather. Perhaps I'd better go; it's time
I started doing something else besides providing the comic relief while
you do all the work. Something might transpire. Besides, I want to know
why she wants me. It's a trifle mysterious, and I don't like mysteries
unless I make 'em myself."

"Perhaps she likes you," suggested Grautz.

"Heaven defend me," said Hambledon. "Life is quite difficult enough
without being complicated by film actresses."

                 *        *        *        *        *

In the meantime the real Sigmund Ulseth was settling down well into the
job of earning an honest living, answering to the name of Theophilus
Hartzer and brightening the life of the widowed Frau Gerda Clausen. He
made one trip to the Swiss frontier--not over it--and met a friend of
his with whom he had a long talk. Thereafter, among the numerous
deliveries from the Heroas Company which arrived at the Anhalter goods
yards were many trucks containing wooden cases plainly marked "Spare
Parts. Heroas Wagon Company, Zurich, to Herr T. Hartzer, Schnebuerger
Strasse, Berlin." Ulseth sorted these out personally, and a railway
delivery van brought them to his office. Here, after closing time, they
were opened in private, and the Herr Andreas Adler of the Transport
Ministry and his friends received cigars, liqueurs, cognac, and
chocolate, but principally cigars. Their gratitude naturally expressed
itself in more orders for the Heroas Company, and Ulseth's bank balance
grew like grass in summer pastures.

Ulseth was of the type which becomes bumptious with success; that he did
not do so was due to Gerda Clausen, and sometimes it annoyed him. He
used to sit in front of the fire in his comfortable flat and make up
imaginary conversations with her in which he was sparkling,
irresistible, and a trifle condescending. "Little woman," he called her
in his aspiring mind. "Come along, little woman; what about a spot of
dinner and a show tonight, eh?" and her eyes would light up. "Oh, Herr
Hartzer! How kind you are!" "Not Herr Hartzer," he would say. "Theo to
you. Just Theo. Let me hear you say it, little woman." Then he would get
out of his chair, walk up the two flights to her door, since the lift
was still not working, and knock. This time he would really call her
"little woman."

But every time the same thing happened. There came the quick tapping of
high heels inside the door, she opened it and looked at him with those
deep blue eyes of hers, and immediately his self-confidence evaporated.

"_G'n abend_, Herr Hartzer."

"_G'n abend, gn' Frau._ I was wondering--if you are not too tired--if
you have nothing better to do--whether you would honor me with your
company this evening? We might----" And he would suggest one of the
quieter Berlin resorts, or a play, or an opera. Sometimes she excused
herself on the plea of fatigue and sometimes she accepted, whereupon he
went downstairs to wait on his own doorstep for her coming, his breath
uncontrollably light and his palms damp with excitement. All the evening
he would squire her about, "If the _gn' Frau_ would care to----" "Would
the _gn' Frau_ like----" This or that amusement or item on a menu.
Seated opposite her at table, he would talk of places he had seen and
adventures he had had, carefully edited for her ears; and Ulseth could
talk well if he chose. After all, he had made his way in life by being
able to talk. She was a good listener; she had little to say herself. A
question at the right moment, a subdued exclamation of surprise, a
suitable comment at the end of each story, that was all. But Ulseth felt
himself well rewarded by a flash of amusement in her eyes and sometimes
by her rare soft laughter.

When the evening was over he would escort her home, walk up the stairs
again to her door, and kiss her hand like any stranger. "Thank you very
much, Herr Hartzer. A very pleasant evening." "The pleasure entirely
mine, Frau Clausen. So kind of you to consent to come."

After which he would return to his room, stare discontentedly at himself
in the mirror over the mantelpiece, and determine that next time it
would be different. Next time, always next time.

On the evening of the day when the Ulsenite demonstration took place
Ulseth was waiting in his sitting room with the door open, listening for
Gerda Clausen's step on the stairs. They were going to dine at the
Bristol--Ulseth still avoided the Adlon for fear of meeting the Swedes
again. She had said she would be ready in twenty minutes. While Ulseth
was waiting he remembered that he had an unread evening paper in his
pocket. He took it out and opened it.

Headlines confronted him. "Ulsenite, the great new explosive. Beware the
green flash, England! Famous scientist demonstrates before the Fuehrer."
There was a photograph, in the center of the page, of Hambledon bowing
before the Leader. The caption read, "Adolf Hitler greets an old
comrade, Professor Ulseth, the explosives expert." The photograph was,
needless to say, basically a portrait of Hitler, Hambledon presented a
three-quarter back view of a man in a white coat who might be anybody;
even a house decorator, thought Ulseth distractedly.

He put the paper down, rubbed his hands over his face, took a turn
across the room, and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked quite
normal, if a trifle wild-eyed; everything in the room was perfectly
normal. He even pinched himself--yes, he felt that, but one could
presumably pinch oneself in a dream. He returned to the paper, picked it
up again, and went on reading.

Gerda Clausen, standing in the doorway, had to speak to him twice before
he heard her. He considered for a moment asking her to put off the
dinner; it would be no lie to say that he did not feel well. He felt
very queer indeed, rather as though he had suddenly become twins. But
even at a moment like that the sight of her exercised its usual spell.
He could not disappoint her; besides, he felt he needed comforting. He
crushed the paper into his overcoat pocket and they went out together.

The Hotel Bristol was full as usual of light, color, and animation.
Famous people passed by. Gerda Clausen knew them all by sight much
better than Ulseth did; she pointed them out. There was Ribbentrop, the
Foreign Minister, with the regalia of an order across his chest,
advancing to greet an elderly man who, Gerda said, was the Rumanian
Ambassador. Himmler, unsmiling and apparently in a hurry. Emil Jannings,
the film star, making a stage entry.

"It is very interesting to see all these famous people," said Gerda
Clausen in her gentle voice.

"I am glad you are enjoying it, _gn' Frau_," answered Ulseth, and
immediately fell back into the press of his own thoughts. Who could this
fellow be who was impersonating him? That man he had left tied to a
chair in the farmhouse at Servatsch--impossible. He died, all right;
there was a notice of his death in the Swiss papers. He died in hospital
at Zurich; the servant was killed outright.

"Are you sure you are feeling quite well this evening?" asked Gerda
Clausen compassionately. Ulseth pulled himself together.

"I beg your pardon; I am dull company tonight. I saw in the evening
paper the death of a man I used to know," lied Ulseth. "The news brought
back the old days, you understand. I did not mean to bore you with the
story----"

"Tell me," she said, leaning forward across the table. "To me your
stories are always interesting."

Ulseth recalled a few anecdotes for her entertainment but found it an
effort to keep his mind on what he was saying.

"Do you not find this noise and glitter unwelcome tonight? Would you not
rather we went home again?"

That did wake him up for a moment. "We went home." Dear intimacy; dear
little woman. But already she seemed to have slipped away again,
watching the people. "Look, there's Goebbels. I wonder who the woman is
who's with him; it's not his wife."

"It often isn't with Goebbels," he answered. Goebbels: he was mentioned
in that newspaper article; he was there that morning talking to the
other Ulseth, shaking his hand, presenting him to the Fuehrer. A wild
idea crossed Ulseth's mind of going up to Goebbels and asking him
outright. "Who was that man you were talking to this morning? He's not
Ulseth, because I am." Ridiculous idea; Goebbels would probably have him
arrested then and there. Besides, he was Hartzer now, the Heroas
Company's man; he could not unmask the other Ulseth without betraying
himself. Ulseth passed his hand over his eyes; his head was beginning to
ache.

Gerda Clausen saw it and cut the dinner short; Ulseth did not argue; he
wanted to be alone and read that newspaper again. He wished her good
night absent-mindedly, let himself into his own room, and locked the
door.

A newsreel film of the Ulsenite demonstration would be shown, said the
paper, at the following cinemas in Berlin and district tomorrow, one of
them was the Ufa-Palast in the Kurfrstendamm. Ulseth hurried away from
his office and saw the film the next evening. When Hambledon turned away
from the Fuehrer's dais, holding the can of Ulsenite reverently in both
hands, he looked straight at one of the cameras for a second. Ulseth,
sitting in the stalls at the Ufa-Palast, met the eyes of the man he had
murdered in Switzerland seven weeks before.

He went straight back to his flat in Uhland Strasse and opened a case of
Herr Adler's cognac. At ten o'clock that night he rolled out of his
chair on to the floor, blind drunk.




CHAPTER XII
NEXT SUNDAY'S HEADLINES


"If only my beard were a little longer," said Hambledon, struggling in
front of the glass, "I shouldn't have to bother with an evening tie,
should I?"

"Let me," said Grautz, and tied it expertly. "After all, a little
dshabill is expected of eminent professors."

"And to think I had to part with precious coupons to acquire a dress
suit. Grautz, why am I going?"

"To enjoy yourself," said Grautz stoutly. "Remember to keep off the
vodka and all will be well."

Hambledon arrived at the Ufa-Palast cinema in the blue Mercedes with
Eckhoff driving and Bernstein sitting up beside him. Amalie Rielander
was receiving her friends in a corner of the foyer. She gave him a
dazzling smile and said she would look for him at the reception
afterward. Hambledon was then conducted to a seat in the stalls and
proceeded to sit through the show. In the event, it took more than all
his patience to do this. The film was violent, trashy, and without
subtlety; not even beautifully photographed sea scenes could give it
dignity, and only when Amalie Rielander herself appeared was there
anything worth seeing. "The acting's good," said Tommy to himself. "It's
the characters that are so obnoxious. Too immaturely adolescent for
words. Oh, why did I come?"

The reception was held in a gilded hall somewhere at the back of the
stage, and with the help of a glass or two of excellent Rhine wine
Hambledon began to recover his temper. He bowed over Amalie's hand and
said all the right things in the right voice, exchanged a few words with
Landahl of the Armaments Ministry, and talked amiably with a few
acquaintances. Presently a booming voice behind him said cheerfully,
"Well, Party Member Ulseth, did you enjoy the show?"

Hambledon turned and found Goering just behind him.

"Immensely, thank you, Herr Reichsmarschall."

"Especially when our young friend here was on the stage, eh?"

"She was by far the best actor in the whole cast."

Goering glanced round to see who was near him and spoke in a sort of
stage whisper. "The only one of the whole menagerie who can act worth a
damn, in my opinion."

Hambledon laughed and agreed with him. Goering handed his glass to
someone inconspicuous with a tray, beamed down upon Hambledon, and said
bluntly, "You know, when I first heard that you were one of the old gang
in the early days I couldn't remember you at all, but now I see you I
do. Quite distinctly."

"It is a long time ago," said Hambledon calmly. "There has been nothing
to remind you of me for nearly twenty years."

"D'you mean to tell me you've been sitting in a laboratory making stinks
and bangs ever since?"

"Incredible, but true."

"Well, well. You seem to have done it to some purpose, from what I hear.
I couldn't get to your show last week, wish I had."

"I expect you'll have plenty of opportunities for studying Ulsenite in
the future," began Hambledon, but Amalie Rielander interrupted him.

"Herr Reichsmarschall, did the Herr Professor tell you what he said
about my poor film?"

"No, m'dear, what was that?"

"That it would be much funnier if, instead of clasping the baby and
waving my handkerchief, I clung to the handkerchief and waved the baby."

Goering gave one of his famous roars of laughter. "Wave it round your
head by its long petticoats, eh? I quite agree with him. Ulseth, you and
I had better collaborate in a farce, I think. I'll suggest the low
comedy--very low--while you provide the wisecracks. What?"

"Why not appear in it while we're about it? A new Laurel and Hardy."

Goering guffawed again.

"What about a part for me?" said Amalie. "I can't be left out of this."

"We will find something for you to wave, if only a baby," said
Hambledon. At that moment the crowd parted a little and disclosed
Goebbels watching them with malicious black eyes. Goering saw him and
added pointedly, "Or a monkey. I could suggest an actor for that part."

Amalie Rielander followed his glance and said, "Thank you. On the whole
I think I'd rather have a real one."

Goering laughed again. "I agree with you." He added in a lower tone,
"All the same, be careful, my dear. The animal is dangerous."

Hambledon thought the subject had better be changed and offered Amalie a
cigarette. "A real American one, Frulein."

"Oh, how nice. Where on earth do you get them?"

"That would be telling," laughed Hambledon. "May I offer the Herr
Reichsmarschall one also?"

"Have a cigar in exchange," said Goering. "These also are not ersatz.
Curious how one picks these things up here and there, isn't it?"

"Yes, isn't it?" agreed Hambledon. "Though there's no particular mystery
about my cigarettes. I happened upon a tobacconist who had a few left. I
fear these are the last."

"I shall have to ask my tobacconist if he can get you some more with my
next consignment of cigars," said Goering.

"Thank you, it would be kind of you," answered Hambledon, and made a
mental note that there was evidently a little favored smuggling going
on. Probably the information would never be of any use, but one never
knows.

Goebbels arrived unexpectedly at Amalie Rielander's elbow and said,
"Good evening, Herr Professor. Did you sleep well last night, Goering?"

"With the help of a good conscience, yes, thank you."

"Splendid. I was afraid you had been kept awake by echoes from Hamburg.
What do you think of the British air raids, Professor?"

"I prefer them elsewhere," said Hambledon dryly. "They rattle things,
and I live surrounded by substances which resent being rattled."

"You know whom to complain to, don't you?" said Goebbels. "The head of
the Luftwaffe." He indicated Goering, who scowled, and Amalie Rielander
intervened with immediate tact.

"Must we discuss such horrible things at my party?"

"Your pardon, _gn'_ Frulein Amalie," said Goebbels. "Your glass is
empty, Herr Ulseth. Let us find the Niersteiner. I can recommend it." He
led Hambledon toward the bar.

Tommy refrained with an effort from saying that the habits of one's
early youth tended to persist and merely answered, "Have you tried the
vodka? Or is it unpatriotic to drink it now that they are no longer our
allies?"

"I don't care for spirits," said the Minister indifferently. Having
detached Hambledon from Amalie Rielander, Goebbels appeared to lose
interest in him and introduced him at random to the nearest man at hand,
an elderly general whose name Hambledon did not catch.

"Delighted to make your distinguished acquaintance," said the general
politely. "I had the privilege of seeing your so-remarkable
demonstration last week. Most impressive."

"Excuse me," said Goebbels, "a man there I ought to speak to----" He
went away.

"I am reasonably satisfied myself with the explosive as such," said
Hambledon carelessly. "The problem of making it stable for an adequate
period is the difficulty at present. It is a great difficulty and will
probably take some time to solve."

"How long?" asked the general anxiously. "Have you any idea how long?"

"Some months at least," said Hambledon. "One tries one expedient after
another, you understand. We might hit on the right thing tomorrow, or
not for seven or eight months."

"So long as that----"

"My dear sir," said Hambledon impatiently, "I can't remember offhand how
many years it was after the discovery of nitroglycerin before Nobel
found out that the addition of diatomaceous earth----"

"It's no good hurling scientific names at me," said the general simply.
"I don't understand a word of it." Hambledon warmed toward him. "All I
know," went on the soldier, "is what to do with the stuff when I get it.
The point I was trying to make was, the sooner the better."

Hambledon pricked up his ears. "I should work double tides," he said.
"Night and day. Good night. I am going back to work."

"Good night," said the general. "I wish you luck from the bottom of my
heart."

"Not luck, General. Inspiration," said Hambledon, and took his leave.

                 *        *        *        *        *

After breakfast next morning the Herr Professor made a public fuss in
front of Eckhoff because he had apparently run out of cigarettes. He was
certain he had some. Where were they?

"I expect you gave away a good many at the reception last night, _gn'
Herr_," said Grautz.

"Here is a packet with two left in it," said Eckhoff, producing it from
behind a photograph of Hitler on the bookcase.

"Two, huh," said Hambledon, lighting one of them.

"If I were to get out the car at once," said Eckhoff, "it would only
take a very little time to drive to the shop in Spandauer Strasse."

"I suppose that's the only thing to do, though I wanted to start work at
once."

"If I were to go alone," began Eckhoff.

"He would say he was out of them," said Hambledon. "He may be, of
course. And it's no good my writing a note, because he'd think the
Gestapo had forged it."

"Personal shoppers only," said Grautz.

"Quite. Yes, get the car out, Eckhoff. We'll go at once, not to waste
time."

"A run in the cool morning air," said Eckhoff kindly, "will refresh the
Herr Professor before he starts upon his labors." He left the laboratory
to get the car.

"Anybody would think I was on a binge last night," said Hambledon, "to
hear my chauffeur recommending the fresh morning air."

"Our Eckhoff is positively paternal," said Grautz.

"Our Eckhoff isn't at all a bad fellow," said Hambledon, "for a German."

By good fortune the shop was empty when Hambledon went in. He passed
behind the counter into the stuffy little sitting room which had heard
so many secrets. Gibson, whom he had met at the Germannia Restaurant in
the Kurfrstendamm, looked up from the _Berliner Zeitung_ as Hambledon
entered.

"Good morning, eminent Professor," he said. "How's Ulsenite this
morning?"

"Just as green as ever," answered Hambledon. "How are the door knockers?
And what's the news this morning?"

"Not much," said Gibson, "except that I've got that explosives formula
you asked for. Here it is. I was to tell you for heaven's sake to be
careful, it's horribly dangerous."

"Oh, I'm not going to use it. I don't know who is, but if there's a
resounding bang one afternoon I might be able to guess, mightn't I?
How's my twin brother Ulseth-Hartzer getting on?"

"Very nicely indeed. The Heroas people must be pleased with him. He is
well in with the Transport Ministry. He gets cigars and other trifles
into the country for them, and they respond by giving him orders."

"Cigars, eh?" said Hambledon. "Then I think I probably had one last
night, only Goering gave it to me, not one of the transport people. How
does he--Ulseth, I mean--get them in, d'you know?"

"In the trucks, in wooden cases marked 'Spare Parts.' We have some
fellows working as porters at the Anhalter, among other places, and one
of them thought the boxes were rather light for spare parts. So he
investigated, and lo! Havanas."

"What about the customs?" asked Weber. "They're my principal worry."

"I expect the transport people have squared them," said Gibson.

"I wish we could induce Herr Hartzer to replenish my stock," said Weber.

Hambledon emerged suddenly from a cloud of thought.

"Cigars," he said. "Explosives."

"Eh?" said the surprised Gibson.

"Look here. You want materials for your saboteurs. If I can induce
Ulseth to bring them in, can you get them put in his trucks in
Switzerland and collect them at the Anhalter goods yards?"

"No doubt," said Gibson. "It'll take a little time to arrange, but
doubtless it could be done. I thought you were going to make the stuff
at your place and----"

"This is a better idea. You can order just what you want and get it. You
see, if we get in a lot of materials without any results to show for it,
and if a lot of bangs and pops occur all over Berlin, somebody--probably
Goebbels--might begin to wonder. Goebbels doesn't like me already. He
never did, though he doesn't know it. Whereas, if I can get the stuff
into the country some other way, Grautz and I can go on playing with a
few ounces of this and that and it'll be obvious we've had nothing to do
with the sabotage. Much better. Thank you, Weber, that was a whale of an
idea. Nothing else of any interest, Gibson?"

"There's a lady," began Gibson.

"The world is full of them," said Hambledon. "What does this one do and
who is she?"

"I don't know, to both questions, and I should like to. Her name is
Alexia Schneider, and she lives in a flat in the Charlottenburg
district."

"German?"

"I don't think so."

"Don't say she's a beautiful Russian," said Hambledon. "All my life I've
wanted to meet a beautiful Russian spy, and I never have."

"She may be Russian," said Gibson, "but I fear she isn't beautiful. My
own idea is that she's possibly a Pole. She's a thin, dark woman of
about forty, I suppose, a bit haggard but extremely well dressed. She
seems to have plenty of money."

"What's queer about her?" asked Hambledon. "There are hundreds of women
like that in every town in Europe. Somebody's widow, is she?"

"Presumably. She's the Frau Schneider, and there doesn't seem to be any
complementary Herr. She makes friends with girls and gives them
presents."

"Oh gosh," said Hambledon with distaste.

"Always girls who work at the War Ministry," said Gibson pointedly.

"Oh. That's different. Typists and clerks and so forth?"

"Yes. She gives 'em frocks and bits of jewelry and so forth--usually
when _der liebe_ Fritz is coming home on leave, I think. I've seen one
or two of these girls out with their boy friends in clothes they'd
hardly have bought for themselves."

"And you think she's collecting information?"

"I just wondered. I can't imagine her cultivating these girls for the
pleasure of their company. I think they'd bore her stiff. She's witty
and cultured and very entertaining to talk to."

"Oh, you know her personally, do you?"

"Slightly. I shall improve the acquaintance."

"Well, be careful," said Hambledon, rising. "I don't know why I tell you
to be careful, because I'm sure it's quite unnecessary. It is merely the
automatic reaction aroused in me by the word 'woman.' I must go now or
my driver will begin to wonder what I'm doing all this time. What a
curse is the human capacity for wonderment in the wrong place. Think
over that suggestion about the explosives via Ulseth. I'll see you again
soon. These my cigarettes? Thanks awfully, Weber. What I should do
without you I can't think. Good-by."




CHAPTER XIII
ULSETH VISITS ULSETH


Ulseth's office in the Schnebuerger Strasse had been a small shop
devoted to the sale of sweets, tobacco, and newspapers. The window
looked so bare with nothing in it that he had obtained some models of
trucks from the Heroas Company, together with short lengths of track,
and arranged them in place of the cigarettes and chocolate long since
retired to the darkest recesses of the Black Market. Behind the window a
net curtain preserved the privacy of the office while enabling the
inmate to see out. Ulseth was at his desk one afternoon checking
consignment lists, when he heard a car stop outside. He looked out and
saw a blue Mercedes with two uniformed S.S. men in the front seats and a
bearded gentleman in a wide-brimmed hat sitting behind. "This is
somebody very important," said Ulseth to himself. "Fancy having a car to
drive round Berlin in these days--and such a car!"

One of the S.S. men sprang out as soon as the car stopped, opened the
office door, and said, "Heil Hitler! Herr Theophilus Hartzer?"

"Heil Hitler. Right first time," said Ulseth cheerfully, supposing his
visitor to be another candidate for his most-favored-bosses list for
special imports. The man retired, opened the car door, and saluted
smartly as the bearded gentleman got out. The next moment Ulseth felt as
though someone had hit him hard in the midriff, for his visitor was that
distinguished scientist the inventor of Ulsenite, friend of Hitler,
hobnobber with Goebbels and other great ones, impersonator of Ulseth
himself, mystery man and general nuisance.

Hambledon walked into the shop and shut the door behind him; Bernstein
returned to his seat in the car. Ulseth rose; he did not wish to stand
up because it might be taken as a sign of respect, but he felt better on
his feet.

"Good afternoon, Herr Ulseth-Hartzer," said Hambledon.

"Good afternoon, Herr Hartzer-Ulseth. I thought I might see you
sometime," said Ulseth impudently.

"You may sit down," said Hambledon, and took the other chair. Ulseth
hesitated and then obeyed. He felt it was a mistake to do, but for some
reason he could not avoid it. There was something unpleasantly
compelling about his visitor; there had been even when he was helplessly
tied to that hard kitchen chair at Servatsch. Ulseth pulled himself
together.

"I am really quite glad you're not dead," he said condescendingly. "I
was sorry to have to kill you. I said so at the time, if you remember."

"So you were expecting to see me," said Hambledon, disregarding this.
"Why?"

"Why? I should have thought that was obvious."

"Not to me," said Tommy, uncrossing his legs and crossing them the other
way.

"Oh, surely," said Ulseth. "Here you are, apparently in quite a nice
position, drawing a damn good salary too, I bet, calling yourself Ulseth
the chemist and getting away with it. It must have been rather a blow
when you found there was a man in Berlin who could blow your pretty
story kite high--as though with Ulsenite," he added with a grin. "My
congratulations on that name. I wish I'd thought of it myself."

"Is there such a man?" said Hambledon.

"Don't be ridiculous. Me, of course. It's no use your fencing with me,
you know. I thought better of your intelligence."

"Tell me," said Tommy, lighting a cigarette, "what did you think I came
here for?"

Ulseth uttered an exasperated sigh. "What's the matter with you? Since
you insist, what happened was this. You found out I was here in
Berlin--how, I don't know, but it doesn't matter. You probably
discovered I'd got a pretty good position, too. You said to yourself,
'This won't do. I must see that fellow Ulseth and persuade him not to
blow the gaff on me.' Why not? We're both businessmen. Why shouldn't we
come to an arrangement? I don't mind how far you fool these blasted
Nazis. Why should I? Live and let live's my motto."

Hambledon laughed scornfully.

"Whenever possible," amended Ulseth. "You're thinking of Servatsch. I
didn't see any alternative then, but maybe things have turned out for
the best. One of these days you shall tell me how you escaped. I should
be interested to hear it."

"I'll tell you that at once," said Hambledon. "I got up and walked out."

Ulseth stared. "You're not Houdini's twin brother, are you? I suppose
someone came----"

"No one came. Go on with what you were saying before."

Ulseth gulped. "Well, you're a marvel, I give you that. You came here
this afternoon, of course, to see what I'd take to hold my tongue."

Hambledon began to laugh. He was very much amused; he rocked in his
chair and had to wipe his eyes. Ulseth watched him with a sort of
creeping horror.

"You think," said Hambledon, recovering himself with an effort, "that
you have only got to go and ring Himmler's doorbell and say, 'That
fellow Ulseth's a fraud,' and the Gestapo will do the rest?"

"Well, I can prove it, can't I?"

"Can you? How?"

Ulseth said, "But I'm Ulseth; you aren't."

"Can you prove it? Suppose you go and say, 'I'm Ulseth, professor of
chemistry,' or whatever you called yourself. 'This fellow has merely
stolen my formula.' Then they'll--perhaps--say, 'All right. Here's a
laboratory complete with all necessary trimmings. Now go ahead and make
Ulsenite.' Could you?"

Ulseth stared unhappily at him.

"Complete with a nice green flash?" went on Hambledon. "You know
perfectly well you couldn't; you told me so at Servatsch. You'd be
unexpectedly lucky if you ended up in a lunatic asylum instead of one of
the Gestapo's Quiet Homes for Harmless People. Well?"

Ulseth had nothing to say.

"Whereas," pursued Hambledon, "I have made Ulsenite, and very good stuff
it is, though I say it myself. You're in the cart, not me. I've only got
to arrange for one of the Heroas Company's directors to come and have a
look at you, and you're sunk. We're not really much alike, you know."

"But," began Ulseth, "I have been getting orders for them, lots of
orders----"

"A blind, semi-paralyzed village idiot could get orders for rolling
stock out of the German Government just now. It's their greatest
shortage; everybody knows that. By the way, I suppose you practiced my
signature?"

"Of course," said Ulseth sulkily.

"And Heaven reward the man who invented typewriters."

"There are those three Swedes," said Ulseth, in the manner of a man
finding in his hand a trump card he'd overlooked. "You used to talk to
them at the Trois Couronnes, didn't you? They knew you as Hartzer. You
might find them rather a trouble."

"I did," said Hambledon calmly. "They came worrying at the Adlon when I
was staying there. So I complained to the authorities and had them
thrown out of the country. Besides, you forget. If they knew me as
Hartzer, who are you? I think you owe them some money, don't you?"

Ulseth abandoned the Swedes.

"Who the devil are you, anyway?" he exploded.

"Theophilus Hartzer of the Heroas Company," said Hambledon with an
impish grin. "Don't tell anybody, will you?"

"I wish I'd brained you at Servatsch," said Ulseth.

"Alas for wasted opportunities. But now I trust I have made our relative
positions clear. You are entirely at my disposal, Ulseth, not vice
versa, and I will now tell you what is going to happen. You can carry on
as you are doing for the present--during good behavior--on condition you
do what I tell you. I have got a little job for you, Ulseth."

"What is it?" asked Ulseth in a choking voice.

"Merely to get me some cigars."

Ulseth gaped at him.

"All this fuss over a few cigars? But I get those----"

"I know you do," said Hambledon gently, "and now you are going to get
some for me. I'll let you know the details later. Good-by, and don't do
anything rash. It won't pay you."

Hambledon went out to be saluted and waited upon by his smart servants
and drove away in state and the blue Mercedes.

There followed three or four weeks which Hambledon always reckoned as
among the most miserable he had ever spent. An evil dawn rose and fell
upon Pearl Harbor; Shanghai and Hong Kong were names to make the heart
ache. Siam admitted the invader; two days later _Prince of Wales_ and
_Repulse_ went down off the Malay coast. The U-boat war in the Atlantic
was an appalling menace; as the new year got into its stride Manila fell
and the name of Singapore began to have an ominous ring about it. The
Germans, naturally, rejoiced openly, and Hambledon had to join in the
general jubilation. He made pressure of work an excuse for not appearing
in public and remained, fretting and irritable, in the laboratory.

"I told you it would be death and damnation," he said to Grautz. "I wish
to God I wasn't so often right. Here am I shut up in Berlin and not
doing a damn thing about it. Posing and capering like a buffoon 'and
nobody seems one penny the worse.'"

"Patience," began Grautz.

"Patience!" exploded Hambledon. "I didn't come here to be patient. I
think I'll go and call on Hitler with a bomb in my pocket. There'll be
one scab the less on the----"

"They search Hitler's visitors," said Grautz with infuriating calmness.
"There'd be one British agent the less, that's all. Besides, if you did
kill him it wouldn't do any good. He would become the national Martyred
Saint, and the war would go on just the same."

"St. Adolf surrounded by a halo of Merry Widows," snarled Hambledon.

"You are losing your sense of humor," observed Grautz with justice.
"Merry widows don't usually wear halos--or compose them."

Hambledon laughed. "You are quite right, and I beg your pardon. It's
sitting here doing nothing that gets on my nerves."

"When the stuff begins to come through from Switzerland you'll feel
better. By the way, I forgot to tell you. I left that very explosive
formula you got from Gibson on the floor under the bench again last
night, and it was gone this morning."

"At last," said Hambledon. "How often have we left that out for Eckhoff
to find? I thought he would never find it."

"I expect he was afraid it was something really important left out by
mistake and didn't like to take it. We should have had to hand it to him
personally if it had stayed there much oftener."

"Couldn't do that," said Hambledon. "So inartistic. Not playing the
game. Eckhoff wouldn't have liked that. Well, I hope Goebbels' dear Herr
Kallenbach blows himself into a cloud of pale pink dew."

Hambledon had completed his arrangements with Ulseth for the delivery of
what Ulseth still thought were cigars, though he was a little surprised
to find what large quantities were wanted. "You smoke more than Winston
Churchill," he said, and Hambledon smiled amiably. "I also have
friends," he said. Ulseth was a little annoyed to find that his agents
in Switzerland were not expected to purchase the cigars, as there was
naturally a nice little profit to be made on them. All Ulseth's men had
to do was to refrain from interference when they found wooden cases
marked "Spare Parts" already in the Heroas Company's wagons when they
came from the works. These cases were clearly marked with a five-pointed
star burned into the wood. Many of them disappeared from the wagons
wherever the goods trains stopped en route to Berlin, and still more
vanished on arrival at the Anhalter goods yards. Very often there were
none left by the time the pilfering gang of porters at the Berlin
terminus had finished unloading them. If there were, Ulseth would ring
up Hambledon, and Eckhoff would come with the car to fetch them away.

Soon after these consignments began to arrive, things started to happen
in Berlin, and Hambledon cheered up. There was a cherubic old gentleman,
something like Mr. Pickwick in appearance, with gold-rimmed spectacles
and an umbrella, who traveled about a great deal on Berlin's transport
system by train, bus, and tram. He explained to any friendly traveler
who got into conversation with him that he was a chartered accountant
whose business it was to go round to different firms and audit their
accounts. "Very interesting work. So much psychology in it. So many
human documents!" He carried a dispatch case and sometimes small parcels
wrapped in paper. He was a careless old gentleman, for he used to leave
these parcels behind when he got out of the crowded carriages. Some time
later the small packages would burst into inextinguishable flame or just
burst with a shattering report. It was all very bad for civilian morale.

Then there was the night when the tramway depot caught fire and the
trams blazed furiously. The fire started right in the middle of the
parked trams, so that those behind and round it could not be got out.
This was pure luck, as the shabby workman who had pushed the
incendiaries behind the seat in the tram could not possibly tell where
it would be left.

There came a night when the sirens howled over Berlin, and presently the
steady roar of many aircraft could be heard. Hambledon and Grautz went
outside and looked up at the sky, bright with hundreds of searchlights.
A few minutes later the antiaircraft defenses of the city went into
action, and the uproar was deafening. It was increased when the bombs
began to fall, and in several directions a white glare appeared, turning
to red as the fires took hold.

"A pleasant sight," said Hambledon cheerfully.

"It is not yet so impressive as the bombing of Rotterdam," said Grautz
regretfully.

"Never mind. It will be presently. It's a long way from Britain, you
know."

"There's a big flash," said Grautz, pointing. "They touched off
something that time."

"I could watch this all night, couldn't you?" began Hambledon, and broke
off abruptly as something passed near them with a noise like "whee-aouw
plonk!"

"Everything that goes up," said Grautz, pushing Hambledon toward the
doorway, "must come down. I think it would be silly to be brained by
stray bits of antiaircraft shell."

After a time the raid came to an end; the searchlights went out, and
only the flickering red of fires illuminated the night sky and the smoke
which billowed up and hung like clouds over the city. Hambledon and
Grautz went to bed, but all through the night and the next day
occasional explosions proclaimed the presence of delayed-action bombs.
The following evening Hambledon went to dinner at the Adlon as a change
from Frau Bernstein's uninspired cooking. He was having a preliminary
sherry at the bar when he was greeted by Goering; they had met several
times since the premire of Amalie Rielander's film.

"Kept awake last night, were you?" asked Goering.

"It was a little noisy, wasn't it?" said Hambledon. "Your gunfire caused
most of the uproar, I think."

Goering nodded. "Have you got a shelter out there? You ought to have, if
it's only a trench with a sheet of iron over it and earth piled on the
top. I'll send a gang out and fix you up."

"It is thoughtful of you," said Hambledon, "but I think the certainty of
rheumatism is worse than the chance of a direct hit. My walls are pretty
solid."

"Yes, but your roof isn't. Besides, you must have a shelter; it's
compulsory. Going into it is compulsory too, you know. There are also
your guards at the lodge."

"There wasn't much damage done, was there?" said Hambledon, to change
the subject. "Apart from the fires, I mean. There seemed to be a lot of
explosions and not much to show for it."

"It's always like that in a city," said the Reichsmarschall. "London has
had a frightful hammering, and yet I'm sure you could drive through
street after street and not find anything worse than broken windows.
Houses shield each other from blast, you know."

Hambledon agreed. "Actually, the only damage I've really seen in Berlin
was at the place where I buy my laboratory glass. I went there this
afternoon for something, and the place was in ruins. Very annoying. They
knew me there. Curious, the other houses round about didn't seem much
the worse."

Goering emptied his glass and had it refilled; it occurred to Hambledon,
looking at him carefully, that he had done that several times before.

"Between ourselves," said the big man quietly, "it isn't all bombing.
Some of it is sabotage, and it's a little annoying."

"I should think so!" said Hambledon indignantly. "But how can you tell?
One heap of ruins looks like another to me."

"Yes. But if you have a building damaged on the ground floor by
explosion or fire, and there isn't a hole in the roof, it makes you
wonder how it got there, doesn't it?"

"I see. But how do they do it? I thought everyone had to leave their
houses and go into shelters in the city----"

"Not the air-raid services--firemen, wardens, and so on. The houses are
left open; any of these men could walk in. It is almost impossible to
keep a check on all of them."

"It's difficult to believe any man would do that in his own city."

Goering laughed and made a gesture with thumb and forefinger. "Money is
a great persuader, and sometimes people have private grudges to pay off,
you know. You are too innocent for this wicked world, Ulseth."

"I do indeed lead a rather retired life."

"Sometimes I could envy you. No, what's worrying me is not that people
can be found to do it, but where do they get their supplies from? Tell
me that."

Hambledon could have done so, easily. Instead he said, "I suppose it's
stolen from the various factories where it's made, isn't it?"

"No doubt," said Goering gloomily, "but there was a hell of a lot of it
about last night."

"Would it not be possible--I'm no businessman--to order a check to be
taken? A sort of stocktaking in the various firms. If any of them were
much short you would have something to go upon."

"Yes," said Goering. "That could be done. An awful job, though, with
stuff coming in and going out all the time. Still, I think it will have
to be tried. I'll turn the Armaments Ministry on to it."

"You could start with me," said Hambledon in a lighter tone. "We keep
our books very tidily."

Goering smiled. "I think I'll keep you as a last resort," he said. "You
haven't had enough materials in for a tenth of what happened last night.
Besides," he added, laughing, "there was no green flash that I've heard
of."

"Then there's Goebbels' factory," went on Hambledon in the same tone.
"The Kallenbach concern out at Spandau."

Goering looked at him. "Oh, you know that, do you?"

"Herr Goebbels brought his friend Herr Kallenbach to my place when we
were arranging my demonstration. He did not walk round with us, he
stayed behind talking to my assistant."

"Doing a little pumping, eh? The dirty dog."

"So I naturally wondered who he was," said Hambledon.

"Naturally." A slow smile broadened upon Goering's face. "It would be
funny if there was a leakage there, wouldn't it?"

"It would amuse me," said Hambledon frankly.

"I should laugh for a week," said the Reichsmarschall. "Popular little
fellow, G., isn't he?"

"So I've noticed."

"But dangerous, Ulseth, dangerous. Watch your step."

"I can't believe," said Hambledon, "that anything I do is important
enough to annoy the Herr Minister of Propaganda. If Ulsenite turns out a
success, his firm can have one of the contracts for making it. I don't
mind. I told the Fuehrer I wasn't interested in manufacture, and it's
true."

"Queer bird you are," said Goering.

"I didn't say I wasn't interested in a small percentage," said Hambledon
hastily. "I only meant I didn't care who made it, or where."

"Ah," said Goering with a laugh, "that's more human. If you'd meant you
didn't want to make any money out of it, there would indeed have been
something queer about you."

"Why?" said Hambledon. "Am I regarded as being a little----" He tapped
his forehead.

"I don't mean queer in the head. I mean--what was the expression?--a
trifle mysterious, I think."

"Whose expression was that?"

"Goebbels', of course. That's what I meant just now when I told you he
was dangerous."

"Oh," said Hambledon rather blankly. "But I still don't know what I've
done to----"

Goering began to laugh. "You're altogether too modest, Ulseth. Amalie
Rielander, of course."

"Delectable heavens," said the horrified Hambledon, "at my time of
life----"

"She always talks about you whenever she sees Goebbels. Perhaps the
little devil only does it to annoy him. I told her to stop it. Have you
been seeing much of the lady? No business of mine----"

"I have met her once or twice," said Hambledon rather stiffly. "In any
case, it would not have occurred to me to ask Herr Goebbels'
permission----"

"No, no," said Goering in a soothing voice; perhaps he also had heard of
the famous Ulseth tantrums. "Of course not. Don't let it annoy you. I
only thought it would be neighborly to drop you a friendly hint sometime
as to how the land lay."

"It is extremely good of you, and I'm very grateful," said Hambledon.
"Again, I can't think what I've done to deserve your kindness."

"I don't know," said Goering rather vaguely. "You remind me of someone I
used to like not so long ago, but for the life of me I can't remember
who it is."

"Some chance resemblance," said Hambledon, and took his leave forthwith.
He even found he had lost his appetite for dinner.




CHAPTER XIV
PINK CLOUD OVER SPANDAU


Hambledon went straight home from the Adlon to the laboratory and found
Grautz sitting over the fire and working out chess problems on a pocket
chessboard.

"Things are getting sticky," said Hambledon. "I'm beginning to wonder
how long we shall last."

"Not 'beginning,'" said Grautz. "You always did. What's happened?"

"Goering says I remind him of someone he knew not long ago and he can't
remember whom. And Goebbels has got his knife into me over Amalie
Rielander."

"Amalie----"

"Don't laugh; it's true. Apparently the little hussy goes all moony over
dear Professor Ulseth--I bet she calls me Sigmund--whenever Goebbels
shows signs of going moony over her."

"Trying to eclipse him with you?"

"Do be serious, because it is. Besides, at my age and with my beard--if
Goebbels had the faintest sense of humor he wouldn't believe it. It
isn't respectable," said Hambledon indignantly.

"Never mind," said Grautz. "You aren't chief of police now."

"What d'you mean?"

"No need to spend your days setting a good example."

"You have no sense of decorum," said Hambledon. "By the way, I think
I've caused some Nazi headaches tonight." He told Grautz about his
suggestion to Goering that stocks of explosives in the possession of
manufacturers should be checked. "I can't imagine how they'll do it,
with raw materials of all sorts coming in at all times, and the product
in all stages of manufacture."

"The best way," said Grautz, "would be to stop production for a couple
of days. Just as they close shops for stocktaking, you know."

"They'd never do that in the middle of a war. Or would they? It would be
typically German. If I've stopped all local production of explosives for
two solid days by a few idle words----"

"You have not talked in vain," said Grautz solemnly.

                 *        *        *        *        *

Far away to the east, between Mojaisk and Moscow, a German battery was
shelling a Russian position. The Russians were on the slope of a
hillside slightly above their enemies, so the German gunners could
themselves see their shells falling instead of having to rely upon
telephoned reports. The subaltern in charge of the battery was watching
through field glasses and occasionally cursing fluently.

"Another one, Herr Leutnant?"

"Another, yes. This is a rotten batch of shells we've got."

"That makes fifteen today so far," said the sergeant, "besides all those
we had yesterday. Would it not be possible to note the markings on these
shells in order to make a complaint?"

"An excellent idea, Feldwebel. An even better one would be to send back
some of the dud shells for examination."

"If we take the position, Herr Leutnant, we could pick some of them up,
no doubt."

"Whereas if we don't take the position, they are uncomfortably out of
reach. Let's hope we take it."

As it happened, they did take it, and the lieutenant with his sergeant
made a point of going to the spot to look for dud shells. They had to
dig them out of snowdrifts unpleasantly littered with the debris of
battle, but they managed to find six before the Russians got their range
and began to shell them.

"If you fellows have quite finished building snow castles or whatever
you're doing," said an infantry officer from the hole in the ground
where he was sitting, "you'd better clear out of this. The Bolshevik
Menace is coming on again."

They went, taking their treasures with them, and reported what had
happened. Since theirs was by no means the only complaint on this
subject which had recently been received, the defective shells, with
others similarly obtained, were sent back to Germany for investigation.
They proved to be full of sand and cement powder, and could not possibly
have injured any Russian unless they had actually collided with him.

"Sabotage," said the experts accurately. "Now, where did those shells
come from?"

The cases were stamped with the code number of the factory of origin and
a date. The lieutenant's six shells were turned out at the Kallenbach
works, Spandau, in October 1941; others came from various places. In
each instance an immediate investigation of the most stringent
description was ordered, and a song of sorrow arose from each of the
factories concerned.

"Infected with Bolshevik poison," said one manager. "The workmen have no
conscience. So long as they can produce so many filled shells, they care
not what they fill them with."

"It is all this rotten foreign labor," said another, with some
justification. "One can't trust any of them for a single minute, and
it's impossible to watch all the workmen all the time."

"It is the Jews," said yet another, and when it was pointed out to him
that there were no Jews working in his factory he said he didn't care,
it was the Jews. They had managed it somehow.

Goebbels sent for Kallenbach, and the interview was stormy.

"What the hell do you suppose I put you in as manager for, Kallenbach?
For decoration? If there is a factory in Germany whose products are
above suspicion, it ought to be mine. I thought it was. I had a right to
think it was. Now, here am I standing up to have mud thrown at me
because I have an incompetent, idle, muttonheaded fool at the head of
it, who allows shells to be filled with sand under his nose and can't
see it!"

"Very few people," stammered Kallenbach, "know that Your Excellency is
the owner of----"

"Don't blether! Quite a lot of people know. If only one knew, it would
be one too many; he'd talk now. How was it done?"

"It was sabotage----" began Kallenbach.

Goebbels exploded with wrath; Kallenbach backed away a couple of paces
and tried again.

"It was the French workers. I will arrange a new system of overseeing
and inspection----"

"You'd better. Where do they get the sand and cement from to fill them
with? Wheel it in in wheelbarrows when you're not looking?"

"Materials for the additional buildings, Excellency," said the agitated
Kallenbach. "When we added the two extra filling shops. There was a good
deal left lying about----"

"Have it cleared away at once. But the first thing to do is to inspect
every single one of the shells completed and awaiting dispatch."

Kallenbach blenched. "But there are thousands of them; as it happens,
the bays are almost full."

"All the better. If there are any more, perhaps we shall find them. If
there are any more after that, I'll have you shot. Get out of my sight."

Kallenbach fled.

The bays to which he referred were long, narrow, semi-subterranean
storage rooms with concrete roofs, having solid banks of earth between
them to localize the effect of any possible explosion. In these rooms
the boxes of shells were packed away, as soon as they were filled, to
await dispatch. Owing to transport difficulties there had been no
delivery from the factory for a longer time than usual, and, as the
manager had said, the bays were nearly full.

Kallenbach returned to his factory in misery and haste, sent for the two
undermanagers and several foremen, and unfolded his packet of woe. The
undermanagers lamented loudly; the foremen knew their places too well to
speak until they were asked for their views, but their expressions of
face equaled anything the undermanagers could say.

"Is it, then, necessary to unpack every one of about twenty-five
thousand shells, open them up and examine the contents?" asked one
undermanager.

"It will take weeks," said the other.

"It would seem so," said Kallenbach.

There was a painful pause which the manager broke by asking whether any
of the foremen had anything to suggest.

"I was wondering," said one of them, "whether they got the weights
right."

"Ah," said Kallenbach hopefully. "Go on."

"We'd 'ave to 'unt through one by one till we found a case with a dud
one in. Then we weighs it, and if, as I expect, it's a bit too 'eavy, we
'as only to weigh the others and we'd know. At least we'd know which 'ad
duds in; we'd 'ave to examine each shell in them cases as was too
'eavy."

"That'll be a long job," said the second manager.

"But not nearly so long as examining them all," said Kallenbach. "Thank
you, Muller, that was a helpful suggestion. Get on with the job at once.
Select trustworthy men to help you and start now. Also, put a gang of
laborers at once on the job of clearing away those dumps of sand and
stuff. Cart it right away outside the works. If Herr Goebbels sees them
still here when he comes again----"

The foreman Muller was right. The first case in which they found a
sabotaged shell weighed nearly a kilogram more than the perfect ones.
Goebbels came, saw, and approved.

"Get all the cases out of the bays at once," he said. "Get a dozen
weighing machines going. Keep at it night and day till you've done them
all. Then we shall at least have some ready to send away as soon as
transport is available. There will probably be some at the end of this
week."

Kallenbach said, "Certainly, Excellency," but one of the undermanagers
demurred.

"It is not safe," he said with truth. "Suppose the smallest explosion
occurred---- Besides, it is against the safety regulations, which
forbid----"

"I thought I gave an order," snarled Goebbels. "Besides, it will only be
for two or three days. You can pack the cases away again as they are
weighed."

Kallenbach agreed again. "We have never had the slightest trouble here
before. Why should we have any now?"

"Exactly," said Goebbels, and drove away, leaving the undermanager
muttering to himself.

There was a large open space in front of the bays. On the far side of
this, away from any other building and enclosed by a bank of earth all
to itself, was the experimental laboratory attached to the factory. Here
were three painstaking gentlemen in white overalls working diligently
upon a new formula which had been presented to them. This formula had
been carefully and accurately copied from a piece of paper which Eckhoff
had found under a bench in the Ulseth laboratory. The three gentlemen
were not fools, and they did not like the formula at all. They said so
to Kallenbach.

"It is not safe," said one.

The second agreed with him. "There is nothing in it to provide the
not-to-be-dispensed-with stability," he said.

"It cannot be Ulsenite," said the third. "There is nothing in it to
cause a green flash such as the Herr described."

Kallenbach was a factory manager, not a chemist. He hesitated before
this unfavorable expert opinion and said he'd think it over. The next
morning, however, Goebbels rang up asking for a report on the formula,
and Kallenbach was considerably more afraid of Goebbels than of any
explosive, however unstable. Moreover, his own office was a long way
from the experimental laboratory, which had a good bank of earth round
it anyway, and in any case there are plenty more chemists in Germany.

"Get on with the job," he said. "How can you tell what it's like till
you've made it? Take all necessary precautions, but get on with it."

The chemists shrugged their shoulders, looked resignedly at each other,
and got on with it. They took so many precautions, however, that
progress was extremely slow, and in the agitation caused by the sabotage
discovery Kallenbach forgot all about them and their protests.

The big open space between the bays and the laboratory filled rapidly
with boxes of shells as lines of men, busy as ants on moving day,
carried them out of the bays, dumped them down on the ground, and went
back for more. The three chemists, returning from the canteen after
lunch, observed this with mistrust.

"What's our intelligent management playing at now?"

"Heaven knows. It is entirely contrary to safety regulations."

"Never mind. It won't make any real difference to us. We can't be more
than blown to pieces."

They returned gloomily to work.

Later that afternoon Hambledon and Grautz were startled by the violent
and sudden rattling of the laboratory windows, which leaped in their
frames as though kicked by a bad-tempered giant. The two men rushed
outside in time to hear a loud, uneven roar which lasted for several
seconds. The guards and Frau Bernstein came hastily out of the lodge by
the gate to hear it, pointing excitedly toward the west, where a bulbous
toadstool of smoke appeared suddenly in the sunset sky.

"What lies over there?" asked Grautz.

"Difficult to tell how far off it is," said Hambledon, "but Spandau is
in that direction."

"Oh, it is, is it?"

"But it's an unexpectedly big explosion," said Hambledon thoughtfully.

"Yes. Well, no doubt we shall hear in time," said Grautz placidly.

As for Kallenbach, the three chemists, and most of the factory hands,
they found that there are, after all, some things even more fatal than
Goebbels.

The Minister of Propaganda was very seriously annoyed indeed, and his
annoyance rose to fury during the inquiry, which was held in private,
into the disaster at the Kallenbach works. One of the few survivors was
the undermanager who had protested against the Minister's order to move
all the shells out at once, and he gave evidence to that effect. Not
even Goebbels' exalted position saved him on that occasion from Hitler's
censure and the pointed remarks of his colleagues. Goering offered
consolation, of a sort.

"There's one good thing about your explosion," he said.

"And that is?"

"You are spared the trouble of an elaborate stocktaking to check
pilfering. You saw the new order?"

"Of course. I was arranging to have it carried out."

"Well, now you won't have to bother, will you?" said Goering in
unpleasantly cheerful tones. "Maybe it's a blessing in disguise, eh?"

Another point emerged at the inquiry from the evidence of eye-witnesses.
The explosion appeared to start at the experimental laboratory and to
spread from there, by detonation, to the shells. Goebbels did not give
evidence, and though the question was raised as to whether the
laboratory staff were engaged upon any work more precarious than usual,
no answer was returned.

The late Herr Kallenbach, recently transmuted into a faintly pink cloud
in the sunset sky, had not told his employer what his chemists had said
about the Ulseth formula. Nonetheless, Goebbels knew what they were
about and where their formula came from, and he thought it over night
and day. This fellow Ulseth---- Of course accidents will occur sometimes
in such a dangerous trade, and probably this was just one of those
things which happen. Still, Ulseth--who was he? Have him looked up. No,
that would be a waste of time. The fellow was certainly genuine; for one
thing, he had not attempted to plant himself on Germany, quite the
contrary. Goebbels knew all about Hambledon's abortive efforts to get
back to Switzerland instead of coming to Berlin. Besides, there was the
Ulsenite demonstration. Most convincing.

All the same, there was something faintly familiar about the situation
which irked him. He had stolen the formula, and the result had come back
and slapped him where it hurt. Sometime, somewhere, there was somebody
else with whom it did not pay to meddle; unpleasant consequences always
ensued. Who it was he could not recall, beyond a vague idea that the
fellow was dead. Probably some absurd subliminal association of ideas
without any logical foundation, like the way he always thought of cats
whenever anyone spilt hot water, because of meddlesome Matty in the
Struwelpeter picture book in his nursery. Better have Ulseth looked up.
"No," said his subconscious mind, "better not."

Nevertheless, curiosity was too much for him, though he tempered it with
caution. He did not apply to the police for information; he preferred
not to foregather too closely with the police till the echoes of the
Spandau explosion had died away into a further distance. He knew very
well that if anyone but himself had given the order about the shells,
that person would have gone straight into a concentration camp and found
it only a gateway to the Hereafter.

There is a very comprehensive information bureau attached to the
Ministry of Propaganda. Goebbels applied to it for any information
available about the past, present, and probable future of the Herr
Professor Ulseth. The intelligent young man who was given the job
remembered the Ulsenite demonstration at once and all the favorable
publicity it had received. Doubtless the Herr Minister of Propaganda
wanted the facts laid freshly before him for an article in _Das Reich_.
Accordingly, all Goebbels got was a well-arranged bouquet of testimony
to the virtues of the Herr Professor. In Switzerland he had a great
reputation as a fearless and untiring research worker; his life was
spared in an explosion which took place at Servatsch on the night of the
3rd/4th October last. He arrived in Berlin on October eleventh and
started work some three weeks later--laboratory in the Jungfern
Heide--demonstration November twenty-fifth attended by
Fuehrer--Ulsenite--green flash--old friend of Der Fuehrer--assistant,
Hugo Grautz of Leyden----

Goebbels skimmed through it and hurled it, with a gesture of disgust,
into the tray labeled "Out." Even to his own department he could hardly
explain that what he wanted to find was a purple patch or two in the
career of the Herr Professor, the purpler the better. He took up his hat
and strolled along to the Adlon; some better line of inquiry might
present itself.

However, when he entered the crowded bar that infernal professor was
already there, talking to Goering. It occurred to Goebbels that the
obnoxious Ulseth was rather frequently to be seen talking to Goering.

"Here's Little Josef," said Goering in a low tone.

Hambledon turned round and said, "Good evening, Herr Minister of
Propaganda."

Goebbels greeted them both rather sourly, and Goering offered him a
drink. "You look as though you want a little soul-brightener, for some
reason."

"The Herr Minister has been overworking, perhaps," suggested Hambledon
in a kind voice.

"How's your stuff getting on?" asked Goebbels. "Got through its teething
troubles yet?"

"Not quite. It is a matter in which mistakes----"

"It's taking you some time, isn't it?" said Goebbels. "Your
demonstration was on November the twenty-fifth, wasn't it? And it is now
March."

Conversation in the bar dropped appreciably. Goering glanced at
Hambledon with a faintly amused expression, but the Herr Professor only
looked even more earnest than usual.

"I dare not let there be any possibility of error," he said. "The
consequences are too fatal--as, I fear, you know to your cost. Accept my
sincere condolences on the unfortunate fatality at your Spandau works
the other day. It must have distressed you beyond measure."

Goebbels glanced round to see how many people were listening. There
seemed to be at least a dozen carefully looking the other way.

"That--oh, the Kallenbach works," he said. "Why do you refer to them as
mine?"

"Forgive me if I am mistaken. My assistant understood from Herr
Kallenbach that you were the presiding genius in his affairs," said
Hambledon blandly. "Some misunderstanding, no doubt."

At this point the voice of a page boy was heard chanting,
"Herr--Professor--Ulseth, Herr--Professor--Ulseth, Herr----"

"What is it?" asked Hambledon, and the boy said that one desired speech
with him on the telephone. Hambledon excused himself and left hastily.
As a matter of fact, he had arranged to be called away if at any time he
were involved in a conversation with Goebbels. Discretion suggested it
and wisdom endorsed it. There would have been a row in another minute.

"Nice fellow, Ulseth," said Goering casually. "Very able. Painstaking."

"Friend of yours?" said Goebbels.

"Oh, quite. A coming man, my dear Goebbels. A rising star. He's got
something there, with that explosive of his, you know. Only the other
day," said Goering, dropping his voice not quite enough, "Adolf Hitler
told me how highly he esteemed him. Going away all these years and
working like a beaver on purpose to present Germany with a discovery
like this--rather fine, what? Hitler said----"

"He doesn't seem to have quite pulled it off, does he? Ulseth, I mean."

"He didn't mean to come here till he finished it. He told me so himself.
We practically abducted him from Switzerland, you know. Apparently we
were a bit previous."

Goebbels emptied his glass and put it down. This was not getting him
anywhere except in the wrong direction.

"Have another?" said Goering.

"No, thanks. I've got a headache coming on, I think."

"Yet he's not one of your dull dogs, our professor," said Goering with a
laugh. "Quite a lad, actually."

"Really?"

"I can't think why, whenever I see him, I should be reminded of Amalie
Rielander. He's a nice fellow, but heaven knows he's no Adonis. His
beard looks as though it had had the moth in it. Are you sure you won't
have another?"

"No, thank you. I----"

"You do look a bit green. Still worrying over the Spandau affair."

"I have got one of my sick headaches," said Goebbels, "that's all. It's
no use struggling with it; I shall go home."

Information concerning Ulseth must be sought elsewhere, evidently. There
must be something worth knowing. Nobody could be so impeccable as this
fellow appeared to be....




CHAPTER XV
THE CASE OF THE GOLDEN-HAIRED TYPIST


There was a little typist, aged nineteen, who worked at the War
Ministry. She was golden-haired, blue-eyed, fluffy, and more than a
little silly, but she did love her Stephan. He was one of the nation's
darlings of the Luftwaffe, and he was due for leave. He had written to
tell her so; he was coming to Berlin mainly to see her, since his home
was in Mainz. He had ten days' leave; could she not get a holiday also
at that time? They could go about together here and there; they might
even run down to Mainz and see his people.

This was exciting, this was marvellous, this was
beyond-all-previous-experience soul-uplifting. Sun, moon, and stars
shone together for the little typist, and birds sang in the corridors of
the War Ministry. This looked like business; he would hardly take her
all that way to see his family unless he wanted to be really and truly
betrothed. Betrothed to Stephan! O sweet mystery of life, _du meine
Seele, du mein Herz_. A lovely dream enfolded her mind, and she made
seven mistakes in one page of indents for clothing, warm, winter,
soldiers, for the use of.

Then she looked at her wardrobe and her face fell. Shabby.
Old-fashioned. Faded. Fancy greeting Stephan's family in clothes like
these. "Who," they would say, "is this walking rag bag our Stephan's
brought home?" Tears filled her eyes and overflowed down her thin serge
frock.

The girl who shared her boardinghouse bedroom came in at this point and
said, "Why, Lottchen! What on earth's the matter? Stephan not coming?"

Lottchen explained her troubles between sobs. He was indeed coming, but
it was all going to be spoiled; look at those horrid old things hanging
up there. Only fit for a jumble sale, and Stephan always so smart.
Perhaps it would be better if he didn't come at all or if she refused to
go to Mainz. His people---- Sobs extinguished her voice.

"Oh, cheer up," said the other girl. "Won't they clean? If the cleaners
will take them," she added doubtfully. "They don't take in much work
these days."

"He's coming next week; they'd never be done in time. Besides, they're
so old," wailed Lottchen.

"Haven't you got any clothing coupons?"

"Hardly any. I gave them to my sister Liese for the new baby."

"Oh, blow the baby."

"He can't help it," said Lottchen indignantly. "He's a dear little baby.
Nobody can help it--oh, oh!"

"Let me think," said her friend, and sat down on the bed, considering.
"Who was that lady who gave Karen that lovely coat with the fur collar?
Perhaps she'd give you something. She's got cupboards full of things she
never wears, Karen says."

"I can't ask a lady I don't know to give me things," said Lottchen.
"What a cheek--I wouldn't dare!"

"Offer to pay for them, then. You can do that; it's only the coupons."

"D'you think she would?"

"I'll ask Karen tomorrow morning. Do cheer up. We'll manage somehow.
I'll lend you my silk scarf Mother gave me for Christmas----"

Two days later Lottchen was introduced to a dark, rather haggard-looking
woman whose name, it appeared, was Schneider, Frau Schneider. She was
very kind and understanding. Of course Lottchen must have a new frock;
two would be better still. That was quite a nice coat she was wearing;
if it had a new fur collar it would look very well indeed. Frau
Schneider thought she had a fur collar she bought somewhere and had
never used. Lottchen had better come along to her flat and see what
could be done. Normally Lottchen would have hesitated to go to the house
of a stranger; it was just the sort of thing Mother warned her against
when she left home. But she would have entered a lion's den to obtain
new clothes to wear for Stephan, and this lady seemed so nice--not that
sort, you know----

"Oh, she's ever so nice," said Karen. "No nonsense like that. You go;
you'll be all right."

Karen was quite right--there was nothing about Frau Schneider to which
anyone's mother could object. She talked away cheerfully while Lottchen
tried on frocks and stockings and even, by a stroke of luck, the right
size in shoes. So Lottchen worked at the War Ministry. Very interesting.

"Not very," said Lottchen. "Only typing out lists of things for the
soldiers."

"Rifles and bayonets and things," said Alexia Schneider. "I think that
blue frock is the one for you; it exactly matches your eyes."

"Oh, are you sure you can spare it? It's so lovely; it's real silk,"
said Lottchen in awed tones.

"Of course I can. Blue's not my color at all. I can't think what
possessed me to buy it. You must have to be very careful and accurate in
your work, dealing with all those weapons. So important."

"Our branch doesn't deal with weapons," said Lottchen. "Boots and vests
and pants and things."

"You might as well be in a gentleman's clothing store," laughed the
lady. "Let me help you get this over your head. Nice thin vests and
shirts, I suppose, for the African campaign."

"No," said Lottchen in a slightly puzzled voice. "Thick warm ones, with
long sleeves. I can't reach this hook; could you---- Oh, thank you so
much. And fleece-lined leather jerkins. I can't think what they want so
many for, because the Russians are really defeated, aren't they?"

"I expect they'll have to keep garrisons in Russia to make them work for
us, you know," said Frau Schneider. "Though you'd think they would make
the Russians supply them, wouldn't you?"

"There's more than enough for a few garrisons," said Lottchen frankly.
"I've worked there long enough to know that."

"I belong to a Guild of Ladies who make comforts for the soldiers," said
Frau Schneider. "In fact, I'm the secretary."

"How good and clever you are," said Lottchen with shining eyes. "You
seem to spend your life doing kind things for people."

Frau Schneider laughingly disclaimed any special virtue. "And, after
all, what are we put into this world for? What I was going to say was if
you could give me some idea of how many soldiers they are ordering warm
clothing for, I could start my ladies working in good time."

"Oh, I don't know how many soldiers," said Lottchen doubtfully.

"How many fleece-lined jerkins, then? You see, that would give me an
idea, wouldn't it?"

"I ought not to tell you, but since it's only so's you can knit enough
socks and things, I'm sure it won't matter. Four and a half million,"
said Lottchen.

"Oh, really? Thank you so much. Of course I won't repeat it, but the
Guild must evidently start working at once. Returning to something more
important, you'll have the blue frock, won't you? And the warm brown one
and that fur collar for your coat. Three--yes, three pairs of stockings
and those shoes. Now I hope you'll have a very happy holiday. Look, I'd
like to give you this handbag too, it goes so well with your coat, and
Stephan's family will admire your good taste. Please."

"But I couldn't--how much do I owe--you must let me----" stammered
Lottchen.

"Nothing at all," said the lady firmly. "No, nothing. Please, I insist.
Once, Lottchen, I had a daughter who died. You remind me strongly of
her. How old are you? Nineteen. She was nineteen when she--she went away
from me. I love giving things to girls; it reminds me of the happy days
when I had a girl to give things to. I'm sure you won't hurt me by
refusing. Good-by, dear, have a happy holiday with your Stephan. Come
and tell me all about it when you return."

Lottchen ran home, almost too happy to breathe. The lady smiled benignly
after her and took immediate steps to inform an interested party that
Hitler did not expect to finish the Russian campaign that summer of 1942
whatever he said, since he was already ordering winter supplies in large
quantities. Four and a half million leather jerkins lined with
fleece....

Lottchen and her Stephan had a wonderful leave. They went to Mainz and
were formally betrothed, exchanging rings. Stephan's family were
charming to her, especially his mother. One felt terribly shy, of
course, being introduced to one's future in-laws, but being nicely
dressed was a great help. It gave one confidence. When Stephan's mother
said, with a faint reserve in her voice, that the blue silk dress must
have cost a lot of money, Lottchen admitted frankly that a lady had
given it to her. One could not be thought extravagant. Only one minor
disaster occurred to mar her otherwise incredible bliss: she lost her
handbag in Berlin. She went to the police and gave a description of it,
but they had no such bag among their treasure-trove. They would make a
note of it and let her know if it was brought in to them.

                 *        *        *        *        *

Hambledon went one evening to a performance of Wagner's _Flying
Dutchman_ at the State Opera House. That is, Eckhoff drove him as near
as possible to the principal entrance, but there was quite a long line
of cars waiting to deposit music lovers, and Hambledon became impatient.

"I'll get out here and walk along the pavement," he said through the
speaking tube. "You know what time the show is over? Pick me up then. We
are only wasting petrol, dawdling like this."

Eckhoff agreed. Hambledon slipped out of the car and was immediately
lost to sight in the crowd. He crossed the road and walked rapidly away
in the darkness over the Long Bridge and up the Konigs Strasse. Ten
minutes of brisk walking brought him to Weber's, where Gibson was
waiting for him.

"Glad to see you," said Gibson. "Managed to evade your keepers for
once?"

"I am at Goering's Opera House listening to one of Wagner's operas,
believe it or not," said Hambledon. "I didn't tell anybody I was coming,
so I shan't be missed. I came to say that I'm going to get out as soon
as I can think up some means of doing so without leaving my body in a
dishonored grave. I haven't found out how to do so yet, but doubtless
some method will present itself."

"Things getting a bit sticky?"

"Goebbels is after me. Amalie Rielander told me that he is digging into
my past wherever he thinks he can get a spade in. One of these days
he'll succeed. My identity isn't so cast iron as it might be if I was
really Ulseth, if you see what I mean. Besides, Grautz and I can't keep
on playing with chemicals indefinitely."

"Assassinate Goebbels," suggested Gibson.

"I have that under consideration, but even that wouldn't produce
Ulsenite. Though if anything would burn with an unquenchable green
flame, I should think it would be Goebbels' immortal soul--if he's got
one."

"It's a pity," said Gibson. "The stuff you're getting through from
Switzerland for us is most useful."

"If I were to get in a really large consignment, a whole trainload of
it, could you remove it and store it away?"

"I could, I suppose. Yes, I could, but it would take some weeks to
arrange. The main difficulty will be in finding storage space. I shall
have to hunt round. Empty cellars of bombed houses, and so forth. A bit
here and a bit there."

Hambledon nodded. "We are having a big delivery of full-size railway
wagons--closed trucks--before long. I got that from the Heroas people,
so I know it's true."

"It must be put off for at least four weeks," said Gibson.

"That can be arranged. I think you'd better find out how much you can
deal with for a start, then we'll see about getting it sent through. It
all has to be flown to Switzerland to begin with, you remember, and one
can't bring too much at once or the Swiss authorities will notice
something and be seriously annoyed."

"I don't see why they should be, really," said Gibson. "The Germans send
stuff through Switzerland to Italy by train, and troops too."

"I know, but tact is necessary. Well, you work it out and let me know,
will you? How are things going with you--seen your lady friend Schneider
again?"

"Several times. We talk music. In fact, I was taking her to the _Flying
Dutchman_ tonight, only you wanted to see me. I am in bed with a bilious
attack," said Gibson.

"I think I'd as soon have a bilious attack as listen to Wagner all the
evening."

"You're not musical, then? Or do you just not like Wagner?"

"I only know two tunes really well," said Tommy. "One of them is 'God
Save the King,' but I'm not sure which."

"The Schneider woman is on to something," said Gibson. "I'm going to
have a private look round her flat one day when occasion offers. I'd
like to know who and what she is. Besides, if she's picked up any bits
of news, we might as well have them too."

"Why not? We have scriptural authority for the doctrine that one soweth
and another reapeth. I hope you will have a plenteous harvest. By the
way, I meant to have asked you before--what on earth did you want kegs
of molasses for?"

Gibson began to laugh. "Did you see the parade of tanks through the city
the other day?"

"Not see them, no; I heard about it. Didn't some of them break down and
have to be borne away in tank carriers?"

"Yes. Molasses looks very like thick lubricating oil and works all right
till the engines have been comfortably hot for a little while. Then they
cease to be tanks and become toffee-making machines, after which
everything stops. We thought a public demonstration in Berlin would be
good for morale."

"What an excellent idea. But wouldn't it be better applied on the
Russian front--or in the desert?"

"So we thought. We couldn't get at the tanks going to North Africa, as
they're finally serviced in Italy or France. But those going to Russia
are tested in Germany--with real oil--and then have the oil changed at
the last moment before being put on the train for the Eastern Front. We
attended to as many of those as we had molasses for. I hope the Russians
like toffee."

"What a frightful job," said Hambledon cheerfully, "cleaning the toffee
out of the engines."

"Not even so simple as that. I hope the engines themselves are damaged.
I am not a motor mechanic, but I think they ought to be. In any case,
they will have to be dissected into their component parts and boiled.
Have you heard any complaints from your Nazi friends about the wholesale
theft of sugar from storage depots?"

"No. Why? Where has it gone?"

"Into the petrol," said Gibson. "Aviation spirit, for choice. It renders
it practically harmless."

"You know," said Hambledon, laughing, "if I didn't dislike the Nazis so
much I could almost be sorry for them. Fancy Goering wrestling with
non-inflammable petrol."

"You get on pretty well with Goering, don't you?"

"I don't like him, if that's what you suggest. He has one thing the
others haven't got, and that's a sense of humor, if of rather a crude
description. If somebody sits down on a chair that isn't there he laughs
till the pictures fall off the walls, and if they really hurt themselves
he laughs louder still. He's a cruel brute, you know. I don't suppose he
lost a moment's sleep over Rotterdam, Warsaw, and Belgrade all put
together."

"The 'blond beast,'" said Gibson.

"Oh, quite. No, what Goering and I have in common is a loathing of
Goebbels. It's certainly a bond. I must go back," said Hambledon. "I
should think the _Flying Dutchman_ is preparing to return to base by
now. Good night, and good luck with your girl friend."

                 *        *        *        *        *

Three weeks later there was a British bombing raid on Berlin and
considerable damage was done.

After the rain the gnats come forth and sting; after the bombers leave,
the looters creep out and steal. It happens in every bombed city to a
greater or less extent, and Berlin was no exception. It is difficult to
check, because as a rule people just grab some object they want and use
it up in the privacy of their homes, but sometimes operations are upon a
larger scale, properly organized by thieves and receivers of stolen
goods. In these cases the produce goes to the Black Market. The Berlin
police were rewarded at this time for much patient work: they fell upon
a receiver with his cupboards full. The receiver came to a bad end, and
his unlawful collection was spread out upon tables for identification.

"This is not entirely the result of looting," said the superintendent.
"Some of it's the proceeds of robbery. Here's the diamond bracelet
stolen from the Bristol last month, if I'm not mistaken. Go carefully
through the lists of everything reported missing for the last three
months. Make a note of anything which you think you can identify, and
we'll get the alleged owners in to have a look at them."

Among the items were several handbags, and two were almost exactly
alike. The description tallied with that of a handbag which the wife of
the deputy chief of police had lost in a restaurant some time before.
The superintendent was naturally delighted.

"I'll notify him at once," he said. "He will be pleased. She's been
worrying him bald over that for weeks, and he can't get another like it.
He'll know which is hers."

The deputy chief of police and his lady arrived together, and the Frau
Deputy picked out her bag without hesitation.

"This is mine," she said. "There is a mark on the lining where my
lipstick slipped out of its case one day. I could not entirely remove
the stain."

"I thought lipstick was not permissible for good German wives," began
her husband, but she curtailed him without hesitation.

"If anyone supposes I am going about with a mouth like a door scraper
every time the wind's in the east, they're wrong, that's all."

"Try petrol," said her husband. "That might get the stain off."

"Besides, here's my handkerchief in the pocket; that settles it. I
wonder who the other one belongs to; let me look. A nice bag; it's newer
than mine. It's got a flapjack in it--a nasty cheap thing." She opened
it. "Horrid cheap powder, too. And a funny cotton handkerchief. One
would think it belonged to a shopgirl."

"The shopgirl's got a wealthy boy friend, then, judging by what I paid
for yours, my dear," said the deputy chief. "It would be interesting to
know who is the owner of the other bag."

"Yes sir," said the superintendent. "I will make further inquiries
personally."

A day or two later Lottchen received a card telling her that a bag which
answered the description of the one she had lost was now in the
possession of the police. It was desirable that she should come to the
police station as soon as possible to identify it. She went, and
recognized it with joy.

"Oh yes, that's mine! Look, that's my flapjack my sister gave me for
Christmas, and my handkerchief with L in the corner."

"It's a very expensive bag," said the superintendent. "Where do you
work?"

"At the War Ministry. Why?"

"I am asking the questions, not you. Who gave it to you?"

"A friend," said Lottchen, a little frightened at his tone.

"A man?"

"Oh no. A lady. She's a very kind lady."

"Why did she give you this bag?"

"I don't understand," faltered Lottchen. "There's nothing wrong in
accepting presents from a lady, is there?"

"Have you known her long?"

"No. I only met her once."

"Why did she give you this bag?"

"B-because Stephan was coming home----"

"Did she give you anything else?"

"Two frocks and some stockings," said Lottchen, beginning to cry.

"Don't blubber! What is her name?"

"What are you so cross about?" sobbed Lottchen. "I haven't done anything
wrong."

"That's for me to say. What's her name?"

"I--I forget," said Lottchen, anxious not to get her kind friend into
this incomprehensible trouble.

"What's her name?"

"I tell you, I----"

"What's her name?" roared the superintendent, and poor Lottchen
collapsed.

"Frulein Schneider."

"Schneider. Address?"

Lottchen gave it.

"Tell me the truth or you'll regret it. Did she ask you any questions?"

"She--she asked me how old I was----"

"About your work, you little fool. Did she ask you any questions about
your work."

"I don't think so. Oh, only how many jerkins we were ordering for the
troops in Russia."

"Did you tell her?"

"Well, you see, she's the secretary of a Guild of Ladies who make
comforts for the troops and--and of course she wanted to know how many
things to knit----"

"Did you tell her?" Lottchen nodded miserably. "You wretched little
half-wit! You, at the War Ministry! You'll be scrubbing floors in a
concentration camp tomorrow, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh, please! I didn't mean it. Please, can I go home?"

"No. You'll stay here while I look up the Schneider woman. If she's
really only knitting for the troops, you'll both be punished for
talking. If she's not, you'd better say your prayers--you'll need 'em."




CHAPTER XVI
QUICK WORKER


Gibson had to choose carefully his time for looking through Frau Alexia
Schneider's flat. He cultivated her acquaintance and took her to a
Brahms recital instead of the performance of the _Flying Dutchman_ of
which they were disappointed by his unfortunate bilious attack. There
came an afternoon when he knew she would be away from home for some
hours. He went to the block of flats where she lived, walked up the
stairs, and rang the bell.

There was no answer, which did not surprise him. The door was locked,
but he knew how to deal with that. He walked in and closed the door
behind him without locking it. There was a sitting room, a couple of
bedrooms, bathroom, and kitchen; he started with the sitting room and
worked methodically through the flat. The furniture was good if a trifle
old-fashioned; drawers slid open easily; doors had solid but simple
locks. He looked between and underneath everything, even beneath the
white paper lining the drawers, putting everything back exactly as he
found it, not a crease where no crease should be, papers in precisely
the same order, stockings apparently undisturbed. He worked quickly and
thoroughly for half an hour and found absolutely nothing.

"She carries the stuff about with her," he said, standing in the sitting
room and looking round it, "either on her person or, more probably and
wisely, in her head. I have wasted my time. I think I'll go home."

He dropped into an armchair for a moment to consider whether there was
any probable place he had left unsearched. Books in the bookcase, yes,
he'd looked into all those----

There came a thunderous knock at the door, the knock of authority,
official authority. Gibson's eyes widened for a moment, but he knew
there was no other exit. He lit a cigarette and shouted, "Come in!"

The door opened and there entered four men of the Gestapo. They looked
quickly about them, but there was no one in sight but a bored-looking
gentleman lounging in an armchair with his legs crossed.

"This is the flat of the Frau Alexia Schneider," said the first man. It
sounded like a statement, not a question, but Gibson agreed that it was,
indeed, her flat.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for her," said Gibson.

"Your name and address?"

Gibson gave the name under which he passed and showed his papers. One
does not argue with the Gestapo.

"Get on with it," said the man to his companions, and they began to
search the flat as thoroughly as Gibson had, but, he noticed, not nearly
so tidily. Things were thrown about or bundled up anyhow to be out of
their way.

"Where is the Frau Schneider?"

"I wish I knew," said Gibson. "I've been waiting for her for half an
hour or more." They might have been watching the place and have seen him
arrive. He rose to his feet as one preparing to go, but the Gestapo man
told him to sit down again and wait. Gibson sighed patiently and lit
another cigarette from the end of the first. Matches were, after all,
scarce.

"You smoke a good deal, do you?"

"I do, yes," admitted Gibson.

"Yet you've been waiting here half an hour and the ash tray is
practically clean."

"That was a bad break," said Gibson to himself. "I must be a lot more
careful than that; this man's intelligent." Aloud he murmured, "Lady's
flat, you know. Didn't like to smoke without permission. I just felt I
couldn't go without any longer."

"You know Frau Schneider well, do you?"

"Not well, really. I've known her some time. We are both interested in
music."

"You have been here before--how many times?"

"Two or three," answered Gibson, speaking the truth, since they would
probably ask the concierge of the flats to confirm it. "Three times.
Twice just calling for her when we were going out together."

"Have you ever met anyone else here?"

"No."

At this moment the Frau Schneider turned the corner from the Kaiser
Friedrich Strasse into her own street and saw the official car standing
outside the block of flats in which she lived. There was a man in
uniform standing beside the car. Fortunately he was looking the other
way. She did not hesitate or even change her pace. She turned almost at
once into an alley which admitted tradesmen to the back doors, turned
left again and regained the Kaiser Friedrich Strasse, having merely
walked round a block of houses. She went, without hesitation or undue
haste, to the Stettiner Station and took a ticket for Eberswalde. Even
when she had three quarters of an hour to wait for the train she
remained outwardly perfectly calm, though it is possible that the time
seemed to pass rather slowly. However, the train started at last with
the Frau Schneider in it, unmolested. Perhaps she had friends at
Eberswalde or perhaps she never went there at all. However she managed
it, the Gestapo never saw her again. It was very unfortunate for
Lottchen, but Frau Schneider was not thinking of Lottchen. She could not
have helped her, if she had. Stephan, unfortunately, was killed on his
first operational flight after he returned from leave, so he could not
inquire after Lottchen either. His mother wrote to her once or twice,
got no answer, and let the matter drop. Lottchen never returned to the
War Ministry or to the shabby boardinghouse bedroom she shared with
another girl. Nobody asked why; it is better not to ask questions in
these cases.

To return to Gibson. He waited patiently till the Gestapo had finished
their investigations and then said that if he could be of no further
assistance to the police he would be glad to be allowed to return home.
He had business which required his attention.

"I regret," said the leader of the party, "it is at the moment
impossible to permit the Herr to return home. There are some questions
which must be asked."

"Then surely they can be asked at my house. I am a Berlin businessman of
some years' standing. I shall not run away. I have my living to earn."

"All that is undoubtedly true. Nonetheless, the Herr will accompany us
to the police headquarters. It is probable that the delay will not be
serious."

Gibson could have torn his hair, for the trainload of explosives, which
Hambledon was providing, was due in five days' time and no one but
himself knew what arrangements had been made to deal with it. The mere
fact that the man was so polite--for the Gestapo--showed that they had
nothing against him at present except his acquaintance with Alexia
Schneider, and he could explain away that in a manner guaranteed to
convince Himmler himself. All the same, "detained for inquiry" might
mean detention for hours or days or weeks; perhaps being questioned
daily, perhaps not being questioned at all, just dumbly held till one
day the cell door opens and one is simply told to go. Or perhaps one is
never seen again.

However, it was no use fussing. Gibson merely pushed up his eyebrows,
assumed an expression of bored annoyance, and said that in that case he
was at the Herr's disposal. The Gestapo leader thanked him civilly, and
that was that.

The concierge was called in and questioned. When did she expect the Frau
Schneider to return? She did not know. Where had the Frau gone that
afternoon? She did not know; the Frau often went out in the afternoon.
The Frau did not confide in the concierge; why should she?

"You will find it pays to be civil to the police, woman!"

"Yes sir," said the concierge.

Gibson was taken down to the police car while the woman was further
interrogated. No doubt she was being asked about him, how often he had
been there before, and so on. He congratulated himself on having told
the truth. He sat in the car looking along the street. Frau Schneider
should be here at any moment. Perhaps she'd been run over. It would
probably be better for all concerned if she had. She did not come. The
Gestapo leader left a man on guard at the flat and himself came out;
they all drove away together. The car slowed down at the main road, and
a man selling newspapers glanced uninterestedly in at the window. Gibson
did not even look at him.

Hambledon received an apparently harmless message from Weber about a
supply of fuel for his cigarette lighter, but the wording of it was a
prearranged signal meaning "Come at once; urgent news." Hambledon wasted
no time in obeying.

"What's the trouble?" he asked as soon as they had the shop to
themselves, Eckhoff being outside in the car. "Something gone wrong?"

"Very wrong indeed. Gibson has been arrested by the Gestapo."

Hambledon looked at him in silence.

"At Alexia Schneider's flat yesterday evening," Weber went on. "He has
been taken to that new detention camp out at Schneberg, not far from
the Tempelhof airport."

"You don't know what he's charged with?"

"Not yet. I have made arrangements with a man who goes in there with the
rations every day, to get a message to Gibson. This is only a place
where people are detained for inquiries, you know; it's not what you'd
call a really serious prison. It is possible to talk to the inmates
through the wire fence in places with ordinary care and, if necessary, a
bribe to the nearest sentry to look the other way. I have told Gibson to
be at that spot at fourteen-thirty today. I thought you would wish to
speak to him yourself. I will show you where the place is and how you
get to it."

"This is frightfully inconvenient," said Hambledon. "Today's Tuesday.
That stuff ought to arrive on Saturday or Sunday, and I've no more idea
than Goering's lion cub what arrangements he's made to deal with it."

"They will have gone through his flat," said Weber.

"They won't find anything if they have. Gibson never wrote down
anything; he has a marvelous memory. He must be got out, Weber."

"They may not keep him long," said Weber without much conviction.

"He may be able to tell me how to deal with this consignment. If not, he
must be out on Thursday night at latest. Tomorrow night better still,
but I can't make any plans till I've seen him and the place. Have you
got any ideas for covering him up if I do get him out?"

"I've got a nice set of papers here, and the luggage belonging to them.
They were the property of a Spaniard who has now no further use for any
of them. But----"

"I know. The position is as full of 'buts' as a goat. I wonder why the
Gestapo pitched on the Schneider woman; at least I suppose that's what
they did. Looked for her and found him, I mean. Have they got her too,
d'you know?" Weber shook his head. "Not that it matters," went on
Hambledon. "They must have been after her. If they merely wanted Gibson
they wouldn't have gone to her flat for him."

"I expect she was careless," said Weber. "Gibson had noticed something
unusual about her, and the Gestapo are good at noticing, too."

"I mustn't stop," said Hambledon. "I don't want to arouse Eckhoff's
curiosity. How do I find the place you spoke of?"

"Here's a street map. Here's the camp. Look, the entrance is there. If
you turn off here, go behind those houses--there's a path behind
them--and across those allotments; there's a hut near the wire. Wait
there and he'll come. The hut nearest to the wire. I don't think you'll
have any trouble. If the sentry does turn up, give him twenty-five marks
and he'll go away again."

At half-past two that afternoon Hambledon crossed the allotments toward
the wire fence at the appointed spot and leaned against the wall of
somebody's tool shed, waiting. The detention camp consisted of a large
area of neglected grass with small bushes here and there and a number of
ugly wooden huts; all surrounded by an eight-foot fence of barbed wire
on iron stanchions. In the distance he could see men moving listlessly
about or standing in groups, talking. Presently Gibson came, strolling
casually along as though on a tour of inspection.

"Good afternoon," said Hambledon. "This is a nice mess, what?"

"Yes, isn't it? Of all the awkward times to arrest a bloke----"

"Any idea how long they'll keep you?"

"Absolutely none. Over the week end, anyway. I do know a little more
than I did last night. They are quite civil to me, even pleasant,
because there is nothing against me except knowing Frau Schneider. The
man in charge here is an acquaintance of mine, as it happens, so when I
was taken before him I adopted the 'look here, old man, what is all this
nonsense' attitude. He was apologetic but firm. It appears that Frau
Alexia was a Pole--I thought so myself, if you remember--and rather a
kingpin in Polish espionage. Or should it be queenpin? I am held for
questioning because even the smallest piece of information might be of a
value unsuspected by the innocent me. I asked why I should be kept
locked up, as I was perfectly willing to come along and answer anybody's
questions at any time. He humped his shoulders and merely said 'It is
the rule.' I argued, but it was no good. You know what these Germans are
when they've got a rule."

Hambledon nodded. "Mustn't complain, really. It's a great help
sometimes, knowing beforehand exactly what they'll do. Look, here's a
sentry coming."

"Oh, that's all right. You have come to see what I want in the way of
shirts and shaving tackle. It's the done thing, here. No prisoner is
allowed to receive visitors officially, but unofficially they realize
that a man wants clean collars now and again. So practically every new
prisoner has one interview with his friends through the wire, and they
don't report it. There'd be a row if it was repeated. This man isn't a
bad fellow. Give him twenty-five marks and a few cigarettes if you have
them. Not all you've got; I want some myself. Good evening, Schultze.
This is a neighbor of mine who's come to see me about collars and vests
and things."

"Not allowed, you know," said the sentry perfunctorily, "talking through
the wire. Don't be long about it or I shall have to report you."

"It is very kind of you," said Hambledon, "to allow us to talk at all.
Please permit me--a few cigarettes----"

"Thank you," said the sentry. "Very 'andy. I was almost out of 'em, and
I can't get leave tonight." The cigarettes were handed through the wire
with a twenty-five mark note wrapped round the packet. The sentry
glanced at it, grinned, and dropped it in his pocket. "Don't you be
still 'ere when I come back, that's all," he said, and walked on.

"As easy as that," said Hambledon.

"Yes. But I shall be searched for wire cutters the moment you turn your
back; they've thought of that one. Look, Schultze is watching us."

"About this consignment," said Hambledon hastily. "Can you tell me what
arrangements you've made and I will see that they are carried out?"

"Impossible," said Gibson. "For one thing, it'll take far too long; for
another, you'd have to write it down, and I won't have my people's names
written down on any account, and finally, they wouldn't believe you.
They'd just look blank and decline to play. I must get out, Hambledon."

"When are you to be interrogated, d'you know that?"

"Not till next week. Himmler's coming himself--it's as important as
that--and at the moment he's enjoying himself after his fashion in
Poland. You've got to get me out. Any ideas?"

"I wandered round and had a look at the place on my way here," said
Hambledon. "What do they do with you during air raids? Any shelters
here?"

"Lord no. The prisoners just lie flat on the floors and pray. We're
rather too near the Templehof airdrome to be healthy."

"The guards at the gate?"

"I don't know. I expect they've got something, if only a slit trench.
I've only been here one night, you know," said Gibson.

"Lights?"

"During raids? All out except the one which illuminates the gate. They
used to put that out too, they tell me, only they lost some prisoners
once, so now they leave that one on. It's hooded."

"Can you get out of the huts at night?"

"Only by permission. One goes to the sentry on the door and says 'Please
may I be excused?' or words to that effect, and he lets one out. We can
only go along the one path and back; if we wander off it we're liable to
be shot at."

"Where's the path?"

"From my hut, near the gatehouse. My hut's the first one east of the
gate, and my destination would be that row of sheds just west of the
gate. So I should cross behind the gatehouse about twenty yards back."

"Thank heaven for its first mercy," said Hambledon. "If you'd been
parked in the middle, I don't know what I'd have done. Listen, if there
was a handcart standing close to the gate, could you see it by the light
on the gate?"

"I should think so," said Gibson doubtfully. "I noticed last night that
one could see the pavement and a bit of the road---- Hurry up; here's
Schultze coming back."

"If there's a raid on, get out of your hut. Got your watch? Good. Get as
close to the gatehouse as you can when you see the handcart arrive. When
the men pushing it let go of it and run, throw yourself flat," said
Hambledon, talking faster and faster as the sentry drew near. "After the
explosion get up instantly and dash out over the wreck of the gate. I
expect the light will go out; anyway, there will be clouds of dust. Go
to Weber's. When you get your soft collars, wash them. All right, I'll
see to it," he added for Schultze's benefit, and drew back from the wire
as in the act of departure.

"And the soap," said Gibson anxiously. "Don't forget the soap."

"On no account will I forget the soap. Good-by, and keep your heart up.
You will be at home again soon, I'm sure," said Hambledon, and departed
with a friendly nod to the sentry. He had managed to be out, for once,
without Eckhoff and the car; he returned to Weber's thinking deeply.

"Get this message off tonight," he said. "'Please arrange small nuisance
raid on Tempelhof district as near as possible Tempelhof detention camp
without hitting it next Thursday twenty-three forty-five acknowledge.'"

"I'll see to it," said Weber. "What are you going to do, if I may ask?"

"Wait till the raid begins and then blow in the main gate. Gibson will,
I trust, be lurking in the offing and will dash out before the dust
settles. I want a handcart, Weber. A very shabby one with wobbly wheels,
but not so wobbly as to fall off."

"I think I can manage that," said Weber.

"It will have a false bottom, Weber. Can you do that, or get it done?
All that's necessary is four blocks, one in each corner, about six
inches high. Four small firewood logs will do. The handcart should have
rather high sides. An old door, or some rough planks nailed together,
will drop into the cart and rest on the four blocks, thus leaving a
space underneath."

Weber nodded. "I had better do it myself, I think. There is a man who
comes round here with such a cart as you describe; he sells firewood. I
will hire it from him tomorrow morning for a couple of days. I will say
that I want it to help an old servant of mine to move his
furniture--what's left of it. My old servant has been bombed out, I
think. It is a fact that it's nearly impossible to get any carting done
now."

"And yet some people say there's no such thing as thought transference,"
said Hambledon. "That is exactly what's going to happen. A poor shabby
old man--that's me--assisted by a dilapidated nephew--that's Grautz--is
going to move his broken home on a handcart. Their way will take them
past the gate of the detention camp. They lived, I think, in the Neukoln
district. There has been some bomb damage there, I believe, Weber?"

"Oh yes. It's near the Tempelhof. They get the 'overs.'"

"The false bottom of the truck will be filled with explosives. Can you
manage that, or shall I--I don't quite know how I could manage to convey
it----"

"Leave it to me," said Weber. "I can lay my hand on a few slabs of
guncotton, if that will do."

"I don't care what it is," said Hambledon, "so long as it doesn't give
off a green flash. Detonate them in the usual way. Grautz and I will
provide the exploding apparatus. At least, Grautz will while I stand
well back and admire him. Something that will give us about fifteen
seconds to get clear in, and I hope neither of us steps on a bit of
orange peel while in the act of departing. Do not stint the guncotton,
Weber."

"No, I won't. Will you want identity papers?"

"No, I don't think so. They were destroyed in the wreck of our poor but
honest home, and we are going to the police about it next morning--I
don't think. On the top of the truck, over the false bottom, is piled a
selection of the sort of salvage one sees being rescued from bombed
homes. Dirty bedding, a few bits of carpet, a damaged chair or two, a
fender--you know the sort of thing."

"Leave it to me," said Weber again.

"You are a tower of strength. Will you do all that in the time?"

"I can do a lot tonight, and there's all tomorrow and Thursday not
touched yet. Besides, the later it's done the better, so long as it's in
time. We don't want that handcart standing about for some inquisitive
body to investigate. I will meet you with it myself, I'll show you
where, I know the Neukoln district well. Anything else you want?"

"A couple of shabby overcoats and two disreputable hats?"

"I have those here. I'll make them into a parcel. Will you take them
back to the laboratory with you now?"

"Please. By heaven, Weber, if this comes off I'll get you out of this
filthy city and back to England, home, and grandchild. You deserve it."

"Thank you," said Weber, "but I'm not going home yet. The grandchild
will keep, God bless him, till I've seen the Allied Armies marching down
the Unter den Linden."

"With the bands playing 'Oh, I do like to be beside the Spreeside'?"
suggested Hambledon. "God send it soon. Well, I think that's all for the
present. Gibson will come to you here if and when he gets clear away."

"'When,'" said Weber. "Not 'if.'"

"Beat on, stout heart," said Hambledon appreciatively.

Early next morning Hambledon was rung up on the telephone by Weber.

"The gracious Herr Professor will forgive my presuming to interrupt his
labors," said the tobacconist humbly. "The fresh supply of cigarettes
will be here tomorrow, Thursday, evening definitely. The Herr Professor
wished to be informed as soon as----"

"Thank you, Herr Shopkeeper, thank you," said Hambledon loftily. "I will
call for them when I am next in your district."

"Whenever the Herr Professor pleases," said Weber, and Hambledon cut him
off.

Gibson received a brown paper parcel containing toilet necessaries but
no shaving tackle and a change of linen which included some soft
collars. It would appear that he did not think them clean enough, for he
took them into the washroom at a moment when it was empty and washed
them himself. Brown letters came up on one of them; they read, "Thursday
night twenty-three forty-five."

"Quarter to twelve tomorrow night," said Gibson to himself. "I always
heard Hambledon was a quick worker."




CHAPTER XVII
THE GENTLEMAN FROM SPAIN


Shortly after eleven on that Thursday night two shabby men with an
ancient handcart took leave of a friend near some bombed houses in the
Neukoln district of Berlin and proceeded through the dark and silent
streets in the direction of the Tempelhof detention camp. One was an
elderly man with a ragged beard which looked as though it had not been
combed for weeks; it also contained cobwebs. The other man was younger
but no smarter; both were as dusty and dirty as is natural when one has
been grubbing for salvage among the debris of ruined houses.

"How far is it?" asked Grautz.

"About a mile," answered Hambledon. "This is really very awkward. I
didn't want to leave it any later, in case we are stopped on the road,
on the other hand, we ought not to be too early. It would be unwise, one
feels, to trundle this horrible contraption up and down in front of the
camp gate waiting for the raid to begin."

"I don't think half an hour is any too long to push this cart a whole
mile. It never runs straight for two minutes together."

"That's because the tires are flat. Two motorcycle wheels, I fancy,"
said Hambledon. "Come up, you cow! It's the camber of the road which
makes it so bad just here."

"What did you tell Eckhoff?" asked Grautz.

"I told him that we were engaged upon a most delicate and crucial stage
in our experiments and were not to be disturbed on any account whatever.
I said it wouldn't be any use ringing us up on our telephone from the
gate, either, because I was going to take the receiver off. I also rang
the girl at the telephone exchange and told her not to put any calls
through before morning. The Herr Professor Ulseth is engaged upon work
of national importance tonight. How excessively true. You made sure
there were a few chinks showing light round the blackout, did you?"

"I did. Not enough to get us into trouble. You can just see that there
are lights on inside."

"Yes. We don't want to be investigated by air-raid wardens. Eleven
thirty-five. Ten minutes from now the raid should begin. D'you think
this thing would run any better if we pulled it instead of pushing?"

"Sh-sh!" said Grautz. "Somebody coming behind."

"Two somebodies with official tread," said Hambledon. "Probably police.
Look miserable, you worm."

The footsteps drew nearer, overtaking them, and a torch was switched on.

"Halt," said the newcomers, who were policemen. "Who are you?"

Hambledon supplied names for himself and nephew.

"What are you doing?"

"Moving our things, Herr Polizei, just moving our things."

"So I see. Why, and where to?"

"Because we were bombed out. We had nowhere to go. Then we heard of
a----"

"Show your papers."

"We haven't got any, Herr Polizei. They were destroyed. We are going to
the police station about them tomorrow."

"Oh. Where are you going now?"

"We've found a hut on some allotments the man it belongs to doesn't
want. He's going to let us live there."

"Sounds pretty miserable," said the policeman who had not previously
spoken. "Can't you get anything better than that?"

"Presently, Herr Polizei, with luck. The shed's better than nothing."

"You are moving very late," said the first policeman. "Better get on or
you won't get to bed tonight." He laughed not unkindly. Hambledon and
Grautz put the truck into motion again, and the police strolled along
beside it.

"I was looking for my money," said Hambledon in a tearful voice. "It was
in a tin."

"Didn't you find it?"

"No."

"Now don't you go upsetting yourself over that again, Uncle," said
Grautz. "There wasn't much in it, anyway."

"You save your breath for pushing," said Hambledon fiercely. "You don't
know what was in it."

"Poor old buffer," said the second policeman, and gave him fifty
pfennigs--about sixpence. Hambledon took it gratefully and said he was a
real gentleman and probably a baron.

"You'll have to find another tin and start again," began the first
policeman, but his voice was drowned in an inhuman howl which rose and
fell and rose again--the air-raid warning. Hambledon sighed with relief;
the detention camp was almost in sight. Searchlights flashed up; the
road became almost light.

"You'll have to leave that thing and go to shelter," said the policeman,
and they all began to hurry.

"What?" said Hambledon. "Lose the little I've got left? Not likely! It's
not far now. Come on, Hans," he added to Grautz. They bent over the
truck's handle, and the crazy thing yawed from left to right. There came
the sound of aircraft overhead and a whistling followed by a crash as
the first bomb fell. The policeman broke into a run and disappeared down
a side turning.

"Thank goodness," said Hambledon from the bottom of his heart. "I
thought they were never going. Now for it."

Three more bombs fell as they struggled along the last hundred yards to
the camp gate, and flashes helped the searchlights to illuminate the
scene. The gatehouse was a small brick lodge with a slate roof; two or
three men could be seen running toward it and diving inside. Another man
came from a row of sheds beyond the gate and stood at their corner,
hesitating. He saw the truck coming and broke into a run toward the
gate.

"That's Gibson, I hope," said Hambledon. "As near the gate as we can get
it, Grautz." The truck gave a violent swerve and ran on the pavement as
another rising whistle began. Grautz fumbled at the truck for an instant
and jerked a string as Hambledon turned away; both men ran at top speed
across the rather wide road, round the corner of a building, and threw
themselves flat. Neither heard the bomb fall, for the noise it made was
drowned in the deafening roar from the gate as Weber's slabs of
guncotton blew up. Debris flew up in the air and fell all around,
together with slates from neighboring houses and glass out of adjacent
windows. The two men picked themselves up and leaned again the wall.
Hambledon started to speak but realized he was stone-deaf for the
moment. Grautz saw his lips move and gestured toward his own ears. In
the complete silence that held them there was a ghostlike quality in the
sight of a man who passed within a few inches of them, running like a
stag, with soundless steps. Hambledon nudged Grautz, indicated the
runner, and gestured with both thumbs upward.

Then they put their hands in their pockets, humped their shoulders, and
started the ten-mile walk back to the laboratory in the Jungfern Heide.

The two policemen who had stopped them ten minutes earlier came upon the
scene and looked unhappily about. The gatehouse was in ruins; the gate
had disappeared, and there was a gap in the wire, but one of the guards
had come unhurt from the reinforced cellar where they had been
sheltering and was already patrolling the gap. Nothing was left of the
truck but one crazy wheel lying in the roadway with its tire burning.
The younger policeman pointed it out.

"Poor old buffer," he said again. "Fancy bein' killed for that pile of
rubbish. Must have come right down on 'em."

"You might have saved your fifty pfennigs," said the other.

When the raid was over, the guard on Gibson's hut reported that he had
given one prisoner leave to go out of it and that said prisoner had not
returned. The roll was called and the missing man identified. Another
warder testified to having seen one prisoner, presumably the missing
one, come out of the sheds and run toward the gate just before the bomb
fell. No, he did not see what happened to the man; he himself was flat
on his face, hoping for the best. He could not see anything directly
afterward on account of the dust, which rose in a thick cloud and hung
about for several minutes. The sentry who took up his post in the gap
where the gate used to be said that no one could possibly have escaped
before he got there. The explosion, he said, was not really over before
he, realizing that there would be a breach, sprang into it. The camp
commandant may have thought the man was exaggerating a trifle here, but
he did appear to have acted very promptly. Considering the scale of the
explosion and the fact that Gibson was last seen running toward it, the
commandant had no doubt as to what had happened to the missing prisoner.
He reported accordingly, and Gibson was eventually written off.

Gibson threw himself flat as soon as he saw Hambledon and Grautz run
across the road; even so, he thought the explosion had killed him. He
had run nearly a quarter of a mile before he was quite sure he was still
alive and really running. He stopped and leaned panting against a well,
trembling from head to foot, deafened and shaken, and with a violent
headache. Somebody came up to him and said something Gibson did not
catch. The man was an air-raid warden, not a policeman, thank goodness.

"Eh?" said Gibson. "I can't hear very well."

"You ought to be in a shelter," said the warden loudly.

"I was making for one," said Gibson, "when that happened. Where am
I--where's the nearest shelter?"

"You've been shook up, I can see," said the warden, and took his arm.
"Come and have a sit-down and I'll get you a drink of water."

"I'm all right," said Gibson, but the warden persisted in leading him
away. He took him down some steps into an underground shelter full of
people and made room for him on a bench.

"You sit quiet," he said. "You'll be all right. I'll be back in a
minute."

"What's happened?" asked the people round Gibson. "Are you hurt?"

"No, thank you," said Gibson feebly. "Only blown over by blast. Let me
just stay quiet a minute. I'll be all right."

He leaned back, closing his eyes, and kindly people left him alone.
Before the warden returned the all-clear sounded, and people began to
stream out of the shelter to return to their homes. In the confusion
Gibson managed to give his kind friend the slip and walk away, lost in
the crowd in the dark.

"That was a short raid," said one.

"I hope they don't come back again later on," said a woman's voice.

"We drove them off, that's what," said a man.

"'Ear that big bang?" said another. "That was a bomber blowing up. I've
heard that before; you can always tell."

By the time Gibson reached Weber's house in Spandauer Strasse he was
recovering. His hearing had returned, and the walk in the night air had
cured his headache. Weber had the door ajar and was standing just
inside, waiting for him.

"Thank goodness," said the tobacconist. "I was getting horribly anxious
about you."

"Not half so anxious as I was," said Gibson. "Give you my word I thought
I was dead and it was my ghost running away. Let nobody say Hambledon
isn't thorough. I'm sure he broke every window for miles around. Next
time I have to be rescued, let it be by a company of commandos. I think
they'd be much less violent."

"Come and sit down," said Weber. "There is time for a glass of wine and
a cigarette before I start operations on you."

"Sounds alarming," said Gibson. "What are you going to do--remove my
appendix?"

Weber laughed. "You speak Spanish, don't you? Of course, you were in
Madrid for some years. You are the Seor Rodrigo de' Arueta. You haven't
shaved since you were arrested, I notice."

"No," said Gibson. "There were no facilities for shaving in the parcel I
received, so I took it I wasn't meant to. Who is the blighter and why
doesn't he shave?"

"Seor de' Arueta wore sideburns," said Weber, sketching with a gesture
a strip of hair running down in front of his ears. "I didn't mean you to
shave; that's why there wasn't a razor in the parcel. I packed it
myself. I think you've got enough hair there now to look convincing when
the rest of your face is shaven. It's very fortunate you are fairly
dark."

"I'm not so dark as a Spaniard."

"You will be by the time I've done with you. I shall stain your skin and
dye your hair black instead of brown."

"Sideburns," said Gibson with distaste. "Well, well. What do I do when
the dye begins to grow out of my hair?"

"Leave Berlin," said Weber simply.

"Just like that. Who was our Rodrigo--I notice you used the past
tense--and what is he supposed to be doing in Berlin?"

"Having a holiday. I think I'd better start work on you now; then I'll
find you something to eat and you can lie down for a few hours before
going to your hotel. I'm afraid I must stain you all over to start with
and apply a second coat to the sunburned parts. This is very good stuff;
it won't wash off. I'll switch the fire on while you undress."

"This is just like the spy thrillers," said Gibson, removing collar and
tie. "But about Rodrigo----"

"De' Arueta was one of Franco's men and commandant of a camp where a
number of the International Brigade were imprisoned. I fear he was not
very tender with his prisoners. Apart from that, he had no very strict
views about sanitation and facilities for washing. He also economized on
their food if all I've heard is true. The death rate in that camp was
rather high, and when the Civil War came to an end the survivors
remembered Seor de' Arueta. They returned to their homes, still
remembering; quite a number of them live in Paris. Last week De' Arueta
went to Paris on the first stage of his journey to Berlin. He
was--sorry! This stuff is cold. I ought to have warmed it."

"Never mind," said Gibson. "It was only the first dab that startled me.
Carry on."

"De' Arueta was much in favor with the Nazis. I think he has been very
helpful to them lately. He was boasting in Paris about what a wonderful
time he was going to have in Berlin. He was great on night life, hitting
the high spots as they say, and all that sort of thing."

"Oh, look here," said Gibson. "Did he chase the ladies too?"

"I fear so."

"D'you mean to say that in addition to wearing sideburns like a blasted
Dago I've got to chase skirts round Berlin in the small hours? Look
here, Weber----"

"Cheer up," said Weber. "Your reputation may have been exaggerated, and
surely you can manage a few mild indiscretions."

"Go on," said Gibson gloomily.

"De' Arueta was supposed to spend a night or two in Paris; in point of
fact he stayed there for a week. I shouldn't enjoy Paris under the Nazis
myself, but he apparently found it to his taste. He was coming to Berlin
by the night train on Tuesday, and his heavy luggage actually did so.
De' Arueta himself was just having a last look round, I suppose, when he
met some of the ex-International Brigade men from his old camp. I'm not
clear what happened, but he's at the bottom of the Seine and unlikely to
rise again in our time. One of our men was more or less involved in the
affair--he says it was an execution, not a murder. He collected all De'
Arueta's papers and hand luggage. They were sent to me here on the
chance they might be useful; there are even the tickets for the heavy
luggage now waiting at the station to be called for. Well, I think
that's all right for the first coat. You can get half dressed again now,
and I'll shave you and put the second coat on your arms and legs. And
manicure your hands, too. He had highly polished nails."

Gibson moaned fluently, but Weber pointed out that De' Arueta's alias
was undoubtedly sent by Providence and it would be ungrateful not to use
it. De' Arueta had apparently gone into the Seine in his birthday suit,
for a complete set of clothes was there, even to a hat. Gibson objected
violently to the hat. "I've never seen such a thing. Even in Madrid they
don't wear hats like this."

"It is rather distinctive, certainly," said Weber, looking inside the
hat. "Made in Buenos Aires. A favorite hat. He was well known in it."

"I wish he'd been--something--well drowned in it. Good heart alive,"
said Gibson, studying himself in the looking glass, "I don't recognize
myself. What a frightful-looking---- Oh well. What we do suffer for an
ungrateful country. Did this fellow know anybody in Berlin, d'you know?"

"Don't think so--nobody who matters. A few fellows in the Luftwaffe,
possibly."

"Some of the Guernica boys? I will shun the Luftwaffe. I shall get
through my business as quickly as possible, Weber, and then get out. I
don't approve of my new personality. I shall be recalled to Madrid by
the serious illness of a relative from whom I have expectations. You
will arrange about that, won't you? I mean the telegram, not the
relation. I don't think I want to adopt the De' Arueta family. This coat
is too big round the middle and so are the trousers. Rodrigo was running
to fat in certain well-defined zones. Also the sleeves are a trifle
short."

"I can alter that a little while you lie down," said Weber. "You must
want some sleep. If the suit is a little loose, you lost weight in
Paris, that's all."

"All this dual-identity stuff may be very well for Hambledon," said
Gibson, "but it doesn't suit my style at all. I'm not used to it.
'Lawk-a-mussy on us, this be none of I.' Well, lead me to bed, and I
hope I wake up and find I'm in Somerset and all this is an evil dream."

Gibson went in the morning to the hotel at which De' Arueta had booked
rooms, and from there to the police station to obtain his _permis de
sjour_. Here he was cooed over and given to understand that Berlin was
his to play with.

"I meant to have been here some days ago," said the Spanish gentleman
nonchalantly, "but I was delayed in Paris." He spoke German with a
Spanish accent, a mixture which he regarded as a simply horrible noise.

"Yes, yes," said the police. "Quite so. We quite understand. It is of no
consequence, the delay. We hope the Seor will enjoy his visit to our
beautiful capital."

"Oh, I expect so. There is fun to be had in most places if one knows how
to look for it. By the way, my hotel manager tells me there is a
difficulty about getting my baggage from the station."

"A permit to engage a taxi. Certainly, I will make out one. There is a
labor shortage, seor, which is an inconvenience to us all."

"The war," said Gibson carelessly, "the war. In Spain we are accustomed
to war. Thank you, gentlemen. I have the honor to salute you." He
strolled out.

"Bit of a lad, eh?" said one policeman. "He'll make the sparks fly
before he goes home. I'm sure of it."

"Nasty piece of work, in my opinion," said the other. "Yet, unless he
does anything too outrageous, we are to look the other way. It is an
order. He's got a pull somewhere. No business of ours. Next applicant,
please."

Gibson spent the following week working harder than he had ever worked
in all his life before. There was a certain porter in the Anhalter goods
yards who had an attractive daughter, blue-eyed and flaxen-haired like
the typical Gretchen of German folk tales. Since opposites attract, she
caught the roving eye of the gallant Seor de' Arueta. He made an
opportunity to enter into conversation with her, and when she walked
away he followed her. The policeman on point duty near by observed with
disapproval.

"That Spaniard," he said when he returned to the section house. "De'
Aroota or whatever his abominable name is. He is running after that
little Annchen Muller. If I was her father I'd knock his face out
through the back of his head and give her a good hiding. Several
hidings. Bread and water for a week."

"Money," said his cynical friend. "The dear Seor has money. Muller's
only a goods porter, and they're not very well paid."

"Which of us is? Before I'd let a girl of mine run about with a skunk
like that I'd--I'd drown her."

Annchen Muller hurried nervously through the streets toward her home,
followed by the self-conscious De' Arueta. She reached her own door and
scuttled inside; the Seor calmly reopened the door and followed her in.
The neighbors stared and nudged each other.

"It is too bad," one said. "She was always respectable."

"Her father is at home," said another. "You wait. Next time that door
opens that man'll come flying out and not touch the ground till his head
hits the house opposite."

But the door did not open for some time, and when it did the parent
Muller was seen parting from the stranger with obvious cordiality. He
explained to his neighbors that the Spaniard had known Annchen's brother
who was killed in Spain, fighting with the Falangists. He recognized her
from a photograph her brother used to carry.

"Is that indeed so?" said the unbelieving neighbors. "She did not behave
as though he was one with a right to speak to her."

"My daughter has been well brought up," said Muller. "When he spoke to
her, saying, 'You must be Annchen Muller,' she told him he must speak to
me and not to her. He came here in order to do so. His behavior was most
correct."

"You think so," said the neighbors. "You be careful. One never knows
with these foreigners."

"He was my son's friend," said Muller obstinately, and the neighbors
gave it up. In point of fact they need not have worried. Once inside the
house, Annchen was banished to the kitchen while Gibson and her father
sat in the stuffy parlor, going through lists of names, places, and
amounts.

"I don't like throwing all this upon you, Muller," said Gibson. "I think
I'd better put on overalls, dirty my face, and come to the yard for a
job this week. Or, better still, drive one of the vans."

"Your face would have to be very dirty indeed to disguise those
fascinating little side whiskers," objected Muller. "There is not their
like in Berlin. If you were once recognized----" He threw up his hands.

"I suppose you're right," said Gibson unwillingly. "We must manage
without. Let's have the map again. You see this narrow street here, it
has been completely wrecked by bombing, and evacuated. The four last
houses have cellars under them----"

Seor de' Arueta paid several visits to the Muller household during the
week that followed, and at night he displayed himself in various places
of amusement such as might be expected to appeal to a broadminded
foreigner. Gibson hated the whole performance so violently that one
night he gave himself a holiday from more raffish entertainments and had
dinner early in his own hotel, intending to go to the opera afterward.
In a corner of the dining room there was a dinner party in progress; one
of Gibson's fellow guests was entertaining friends. Gibson bowed
politely in passing, saying "_Bue' noche_" to the company at large, and
went on to his own table. He became at once aware that he was the
subject of comment at the dinner party; he could not hear what was said,
but he thought he heard his name, and there was no mistaking the
interested glances thrown at him. One lady in particular fixed a stern,
unwavering gaze upon him, and it was not the gaze of admiration. She was
a large, muscular young lady, definitely a Brnnehilde with a strong
dash of schoolmistress. She was, in fact, a leader in athletics among
the Hitler Maidens, and looked it. Gibson quailed inwardly, but preened
himself and returned the glances with discretion.

Presently she arose with grandeur and stalked across to his table, and
Gibson rose politely.

"Seor Rodrigo de' Arueta?"

"At your service, most charming Frulein."

"From Madrid?"

"The same, most excellent----"

"Stop that. How long have you been in Berlin?"

"I am flattered," began Gibson, "that my unimportant affairs----"

"You have been here several days; my friend tells me so," said the lady.
"How is it you have not yet been to see my sister?"

"I was not aware that--I have not the honor of knowing your
distinguished name?"

"You know my sister's well enough; she is Brigitte von Eisenbaum."

"Ah yes," said Gibson. "Yes, of course. I should have known. The
likeness----"

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Brigitte's sister. "We are not in the
least alike. You are coming to call upon her tomorrow morning at
eleven-thirty."

"I regret----" began Gibson.

"Regret, nonsense. You are going to marry her."

"Impossible, gracious Frulein. I have the misfortune to be already
married," said Gibson untruthfully, but with considerable presence of
mind.

"You were, you mean. Your wife is dead. Do not deny it; we still have
news from Madrid."

"Ah, but since that unhappy event I am married again," urged Gibson.
"Last week, in Paris," he added.

"You liar!"

"Most entrancing seorita----"

"You are either a liar or a worm."

"I am a very worm at the feet of the charming Seorita and her
delightful sister, but----"

"You centipede!"

"I beg a thousand pardons----"

"You crawling thing! You louse. Are you coming tomorrow morning?"

"It is wiser not to reopen old wounds," said Gibson thoughtfully. "The
heart is----"

She dealt him a slap on the cheek which rang like a pistol shot, and the
unfortunate Gibson staggered and clutched at his chair. He became aware
that the whole room, including the waiters clustered round the service
door, were watching, entranced.

"I am unworthy to approach your sister----"

"That's the first true thing you've said!"

"And I'm leaving Berlin tomorrow morning, and that's the second," said
Gibson desperately. An immediate retreat was indicated; this couldn't go
on. She was quite capable of putting him across a chair and spanking
him. He bowed low and took a step back. "I kiss your hands and feet," he
murmured, in the formal Spanish leave-taking.

"If you kissed my boots I'd burn them," she retorted. "Get out of my
sight!"

Gibson fled.




CHAPTER XVIII
ONE HUNDRED CIGARS


There was a meeting in Stockholm of the directors of that firm of
armament manufacturers who had unwisely financed Ulseth at Servatsch and
whose delegates had been so unceremoniously deported after their attempt
to interview the Herr Professor at the Adlon. After this failure they
had let the matter slide for some months, but it had not been forgotten.
On the contrary, it rankled. At every directors' meeting since then,
somebody was sure to bring up the subject, but nothing was done about
it. Indeed, it was not clear that there was anything effectual to do,
and the matter was dropped. At this meeting it cropped up again.

"That fellow Ulseth----"

"I have here," said the chairman, "a cutting from a Berlin paper about
Ulseth. I will read it. It is headed 'Green Flash Soon? Inventor Dines
with Goering,' and goes on: 'Considerable interest was occasioned last
night when the Herr Professor Sigmund Ulseth, the inventor of Ulsenite,
the new explosive, was seen at the Adlon dining with the
Reichsmarschall. They were in obviously good spirits. The Herr
Professor, approached after dinner by our representative, said he hoped
before long to be able to make a pronouncement on the subject of
Ulsenite. He has spent the whole winter in his laboratory in the
Jungfern Heide wrestling with the outstanding problems involved, and is
now in hopes of reaching a satisfactory solution at an early date.'"

"It is perfectly useless," said another director, "to attempt to obtain
the formula, and we deceive ourselves if we retain any such hope.
Germany will never release it."

"I think that has been obvious for some time," said the chairman, and
there was general agreement.

"I was no longer considering the formula," said the director who had
first spoken. "I was thinking about our money. This fellow Ulseth is
doubtless well paid by the German Government. In common honesty he
should return us our two hundred and fifty thousand kroner."

"Any sort of honesty," said the chairman, "is very uncommon indeed in
Germany today."

"I think another attempt should be made to obtain it," said the last
speaker obstinately. "In view of the deliberate rudeness with which we
were treated, I am not disposed to let the matter drop. We know where to
find him now, at this laboratory of his."

"I think it is a waste of time and money to pursue the matter further,"
said another director. "We shall only be insulted again. The firm can
stand the loss; let it go."

"No," said the other man. "It is a matter of principle." He banged the
table.

"Any other views on this question?" asked the chairman, and a discussion
followed. Eventually the first speaker proposed a motion, "That two
representatives be sent to interview Herr Ulseth and make a last attempt
to induce him to repay us the loan we made him." It was seconded and
carried by a majority of eight to seven.

"It shall be as you wish, of course," said the chairman, "though I admit
frankly that I have little confidence in the outcome."

Accordingly, there came a day when the bell rang at Hambledon's gate and
he looked out of the window as usual to see who was there.

"Strangers," he said to Grautz. "Not lordly strangers, either, since
they came on foot. Square, stocky men. I wonder what they want?"

"No vacuum cleaners being sold in Germany these days," said Grautz.
"Perhaps they want to insure our lives."

"I think they'd do better by telling our fortunes," said Tommy. "'Danger
surrounds you. Beware of a dark man with a clubfoot. Nevertheless I
think I see you rising suddenly to great heights. A green light is all
about you.'"

The bell of their private telephone rang from the gate; Eckhoff, at the
other end, said that two gentlemen wished to speak to the Herr Professor
on business.

"Their names?" said Hambledon.

The gentlemen had said that their names would convey nothing to the Herr
Professor.

"Their business, then?" asked Hambledon, but Eckhoff replied that they
would not tell him that either. They would themselves disclose it to the
Herr Professor.

"Oh no, they won't. I don't allow people to come barging in here when
they won't tell either their names or their business. It's ridiculous.
I'm surprised at your ringing me up with such a tale, Eckhoff. Either
they'll say who they are and what they want or they can make a noise
like a Heinkel and dive away. Tell 'em so." Hambledon put down the
telephone and returned to the window. An argument was obviously in
progress through the bars of the gate; even at a range of a hundred
yards he could see Eckhoff obstinately shaking his head while the two
gentlemen outside continued to talk. Eventually the guard left the gate
and returned to the lodge; the telephone rang again.

"Well?" said Hambledon, lifting the receiver.

"They want to see you about some money," said Eckhoff. "I couldn't get
out of them whether they want to pay it to you or get it out of you. I'm
sorry, sir."

"Are they Germans?" asked Hambledon. "Or, if not, what are they?"

"They're Swedes, sir, I'm sure. They speak to each other in that, and
though I don't know it well enough to understand what they say, I know
what it is when I hear it, if you understand me, sir."

"Swedes, eh?" said Hambledon, and paused for thought with a glance at
Grautz. "Listen, Eckhoff. There's a lock on the door of the dining room
at the lodge, isn't there? Yes; well, show them in there and tell them
I'll see them in half an hour's time. Then lock the door."

"_Jawohl_, Herr Professor."

Hambledon turned to the public telephone and rang up the Armaments
Ministry.

"Please put me through to the Obersatz Erich Landahl. Professor Sigmund
Ulseth speaking.... Oh, good morning, Landahl. Heil Hitler! Ulseth
here. The pleasure is mine, or it would be if I wasn't being pestered by
two tiresome men.... I was sure of it; that's why I rang you up. You
remember that Swedish firm of armament makers I told you about, with
whom I had some dealings before I came to Berlin.... Yes, yes, they
came to the Adlon, and you kindly removed them. Unless I am much
mistaken, these are two more of them.... No, not actually in the
laboratory; the guards are holding them at the gate. I told them to lock
them up in the lodge.... I am very busy this morning, and I don't
want to be---- Quite so. Neither now nor at any other time."

"They shall be instantly removed," said Landahl. "What is more, I will
arrange for stringent instructions to be issued to the police that any
Swedes inquiring for you or about you or making any attempt whatever to
come into contact with you shall be deported forthwith. It is
intolerable that you should be pestered--Germany will not tolerate----"

"I am greatly obliged to you," said Hambledon. "You will act at once,
then? It is inconvenient to have them here a moment longer than is
unavoidable. Besides, they are occupying our dining room."

"A quarter of an hour," said Landahl. "Twenty minutes at the outside.
And I will undertake that the annoyance shall not recur----"

Hambledon rang up the lodge, and Eckhoff said the men were sitting
patiently waiting; at least he supposed they were waiting patiently;
there was no disturbance arising from the room.

"They will be removed before the half hour is up," said Hambledon. "The
police are coming for them. Let them have them."

"_Jawohl_, Herr Professor."

"Well, that's that," said Hambledon, putting down the receiver. "I
can't, at that range, actually identify either of those two as being any
of those I met at Servatsch, but I can't risk it. They are the only
people who could say 'This ain't Ulseth' and be believed."

"Except Ulseth himself," said Grautz.

"Not even except Ulseth, for if he did say it nobody would believe him."

"It would be a bit rough, wouldn't it," said Grautz, "on any innocent
visiting Swede who happened to mention Ulsenite in the course of
conversation? He would find himself immediately collared, I suppose,
hurled into the first available transport plane, and thrust out of the
country. These Germans are so thorough. He would be surprised, wouldn't
he, if he was only selling scrubbing brushes or arranging tours for
variety---- What's the matter?"

"What a perfectly marvelous idea," said Hambledon slowly.

"What for?"

"For getting out of the country, of course. I have been racking my
brains for a means of escape. I am a fool. Don't attempt to escape from
Germany, Grautz. Get yourself thrown out. A far better scheme."

Hambledon made an opportunity to visit the useful Weber. "Would it be
possible to get Swedish papers for Grautz and myself, d'you think?"

"I've no doubt I could. It would take some little time, probably. How
soon will you need them, do you know?"

"No definite date. The scheme is this. Any Swedes asking for us are to
be thrown out of the country instantly without argument. So if Grautz
and I can pose as Swedes for a few hours and demand to see me, I hope we
shall be assisted to depart. What?"

"The plan is simple, anyway," said Weber. "You will have to alter your
appearance a little, both of you."

"Yes, but only for a few hours, and with luck we ought to be able to
avoid meeting anyone who knows us well. I have made a point of not
coming into contact with the police any more than could possibly be
avoided. I was afraid of meeting someone who knew me before. Well, if I
shave off my beard, retaining a flowing mustache, and wear a monocle,
that should alter my face a good deal; enough to pass, I think. It's
wonderful what a monocle does to your face besides making it ache. That
with different clothes and a different walk, should do me, I think.
Grautz, now----"

"I haven't seen Grautz," said Weber.

"He appeared in that Ulsenite film, of course. Apart from that, not many
people have seen him to know who he is."

"I'd forgotten the film," said Weber. "I saw him in that, of course. A
thin young man in glasses, isn't he?"

Hambledon nodded. "Nothing very noticeable about him. He's very
fair-haired, almost flaxen. Colorless eyebrows and eyelashes."

"Simple make-up," said Weber. "We darken his hair and his eyebrows too.
Are they strong glasses he wears?"

"Yes. Thick lenses; he's very shortsighted. Gold rims."

"He'd better have horn-rimmed ones, then. If he goes without any, he
might fall over things; besides, there's usually a mark on the nose. Got
any passport photographs?"

"I have," said Hambledon. "I think Grautz has too. Of us as we are, of
course."

"Let me have them. They will be enlarged, your beard painted out, and
Grautz's hair darkened and horn-rims put in, then rephotographed and
reduced to passport size. Any particular names?"

"No prejudice about names; anything you like. It won't be for long, and
probably in the dark, too, if I can manage it. Not that names matter in
the dark; I was thinking of our looks. Well, that's fine. I shall have a
lot to tell the department about you when I get back to London, Weber.
Any other news? How's Gibson getting on?"

"He's gone," said Weber with one of his rare chuckles, for life
presented the tobacconist with few occasions for laughter. "He left
Berlin two days ago. I expect he is now passing through Spain on his way
to Lisbon and England."

"Gone already," said Hambledon. "Rather sudden, wasn't it? What's the
joke?"

"He came across the sister of one of the late Rodrigo's love affairs, a
large, athletic woman--the sister, not the affair. She told Gibson he
was going to marry her sister at eleven-thirty the following morning,
and when Gibson demurred she clouted him in a restaurant full of people.
Gibson said he never knew a slap could sound so loud or hurt so much. He
left early the following morning."

"Don't blame him," said Hambledon. "I only hope he doesn't come across
any more sticky bits of Rodrigo's past on his way through Spain. He made
all the arrangements about those explosives before he left, I hope."

"Yes, that was all settled up. They've got enough stuff now to keep them
going for a couple of years, if the war lasts so long. It will, in my
opinion."

"I'm sure it will. There's no particular object in my remaining after
this, and I can't stall off the government much longer over this
Ulsenite business. Even Goering's getting restive about it. It's time I
went home, Weber."

Weber nodded. "I'll get those papers through as soon as possible. You'll
want Swedish clothes, too. Let me have Grautz's measurements, please.
You must have some luggage too."

"Only hand luggage, Gladstone bags or whatever they use in Sweden. I'd
like to do one more little job before I go."

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing definite. I mean, I've no definite idea yet. I only feel
that some parting gesture would be fitting. I'll think up something. Do
what I will," said Hambledon earnestly. "I never feel I've annoyed
Goebbels enough."

"He is a loathsome little beast," said Weber thoughtfully. "How women
put up with him I don't know."

"He is morally verminous," said Hambledon. "Why did you say that about
women--any particular reason?"

"I heard that he was running after that little friend of yours, Amalie
Rielander. I don't know if it's true."

"He was taking a certain amount of interest in her some time ago," said
Hambledon rather anxiously. "I hadn't heard that the siege had been
intensified; I haven't seen her for some time. In fact, I have not seen
much of anyone lately. I thought a period of seclusion was advisable."

"I am always in favor of caution," said Weber firmly.

"Are you picturing me rushing to Amalie's rescue? I'm afraid she'll have
to look after herself; knight-errantry of that sort doesn't fit in with
the job. All the same, it's an additional reason for bumping him off, if
only I could find a way. Perhaps some scheme will present itself. If
only I could hypnotize Ulseth and send him in a state of trance to
assassinate Goebbels, two birds would be killed with the same stone in a
most literal manner. I still owe him one for blowing me up at Servatsch.
How is Ulseth these days? I haven't heard anything of him for a long
time."

"He is leading an industrious and upright life selling railway wagons
and courting a widow. Her name is Clausen, Gerda Clausen. She lives in
the same block of flats as he does, and works at the Admiralty."

"Oh. Sounds a thoroughly admirable and rather dull life for an
international crook. Middle age must be creeping over Ulseth. What a
pity we can't induce Goebbels to run after Frau--what's her name?
Clausen, and then Ulseth could shoot him for us with an automatic
disguised as a box of cigars. Disguised as a box of cigars," repeated
Hambledon dreamily, and looked out through the tobacconist's dusty back
window with eyes which evidently did not see what they rested upon.
Weber watched him with interest, and there was a pause.

"The idea," said Weber, "has it come?"

"I can see a distant possibility in faint outline. I think I'll go home
and have a chat with Grautz. He is getting most horribly bored. He says
he is a chemist, not an intelligence agent. He wants to get to England
and find a job in a real laboratory where men are men and flasks are
full of genuine chemicals and not ersatz crme de menthe with gold paint
stirred in. Well, I must go. I'll see you have those photographs and
Grautz's measurements. On second thoughts, I'll send Grautz, and you can
measure him yourself. He still doesn't know that you are other than you
seem. I am a firm believer in keeping separate things apart."

"That's why you're still alive," said Weber.

"Incontrovertibly," said Hambledon.

He went home and repeated to Grautz the substance of his talk with
Weber, and the Dutchman was very interested.

"Weber, eh?" said Grautz. "You know, I have sometimes wondered whether
there was more in Weber than cigarettes."

"You have, have you? I hope I haven't been indiscreet. I should never
forgive myself if I brought suspicion on the excellent and useful
Weber."

"Oh no, I don't think so," said Grautz simply. "Even I, knowing who you
are, hadn't thought of that."

"What had you thought about him, then?"

"If I may be forgiven. I wondered whether he had, perhaps, a daughter."

"Grautz!"

"Or a niece."

"At my age----" began Hambledon.

"Your age, my foot," said the Dutchman cheerfully. "Look at Amalie
Rielander."

"I haven't done so for a long time. Weber tells me she is having a
little trouble with Goebbels."

"I heard that too," said Grautz. "I met Schafer the other night,
remember, the fellow from the Ufa Studios who made the Ulsenite film. We
met in the Underground, actually, and went and had a drink together. He
says Amalie is engaged to a young officer in the 71st Panzer Division,
at present somewhere near Stalingrad."

"Bless their young romance," murmured Hambledon.

"But Goebbels doesn't approve of his rising stars becoming engaged. He
says it takes their minds off their work."

"Off Goebbels, he means."

"Same thing," said Grautz. "Goebbels has practically got the Berlin film
industry in his pocket."

"I gather they kick and struggle a bit," said Hambledon. "Like a bag of
ferrets."

"I've never seen a bag of ferrets, but no doubt you're right. Anyway,
Goebbels does not bless the young romance."

"Perhaps the Panzer officer will clout him," said Hambledon hopefully.
"There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you. It is this. I
dislike Goebbels, as you may have noticed. I also owe Ulseth for the
Servatsch affair, and I'd like to settle up my accounts before I go. I
was considering a scheme for using Ulseth to destroy Goebbels, then the
Nazis can destroy Ulseth, and everybody will be happy."

"Your mind is full of beautiful ideas," said Grautz. "How did you
propose to carry it out?"

"Could one, d'you think, make up a cigar box containing a bomb? If it
would burst on being opened, it would be rather nice, don't you think? I
don't know whether Ulseth supplies Goebbels with cigars, but even if he
doesn't he might send him one, mightn't he? A sample, you know. Touting
for custom."

"You mean to exchange boxes somewhere, don't you? It means finding out
exactly when and how Ulseth sends out his boxes."

"We know how. He sends 'em round by an old fellow with a horse and
cart--a sort of Berlin Carter Paterson."

"You would get hold of the one addressed to Goebbels--if there was one
at all--and exchange it after it was on the cart," said Grautz in a
rather doubtful voice.

"If there wasn't one addressed to Goebbels, it would be only courteous
to remedy the omission, don't you think?"

"Why confine it to Goebbels? There are also the Admiralty, the War
Ministry, Air, Supply, Transport, and the rest," said Grautz placidly.
"Besides, one only might fail to act, or go astray. It would be much
safer to send eight or ten to different places."

"I do like the calm voice in which you suggest all this," said Hambledon
admiringly. "To hear you, one would think you were merely planning to
issue chocolates all round. Except that if you did they would probably
be poisoned."

"What is there to get excited about? They are only Germans. In any case,
it's no good sending poisoned chocolates; it's the men we want to get
at, not their wives. There is this to remember--cigars are very light.
You wouldn't get enough explosive into them to do more than kill the
nearest people and damage a few others."

"About as much effect as a Mills bomb."

"Or a little less. You could pack some incendiary material round the
explosive; then, when the bomb went off, the stuff would blow all over
the room and start fires. Some incendiary stuff is very light in
weight."

"Blazing curtains ought to help a lot," said Hambledon. "Most
disconcerting. Besides, they might be prosecuted for infringing blackout
regulations if it happened after dark. That would be really funny."

"Another idea which might be good," continued Grautz, "would be to
include a simple form of time detonator. I gather that you are thinking
of boxes that would detonate by opening the lid. Cigar-box lids are
usually fastened down with one small nail in addition to any labels
which may overlap the edges. One runs a knife through the labels and
then slips the blade under the lid, forcing it up? I am not myself a
cigar smoker."

Hambledon nodded. "That's the usual method, though occasionally one
finds boxes with a metal catch."

"It doesn't matter how they're fastened; opening the lid will set it
off. That can be arranged quite simply. I was only thinking that it
might be useful if unopened boxes would also go off after a short lapse
of time, possibly in cupboards and, with luck, at a moment when nobody
was about. A small detonator of the acid type would do; one has to
consider keeping down the weight."

"You'd better talk to Weber when you go to be measured for your suit.
Gibson introduced him to one or two useful men who make up the explosive
parcels which are left about in trains and so on. Weber will have plenty
of empty cigar boxes too, no doubt."

"They would probably be able to do the whole job, though I could help by
making up some of the detonators if necessary," said Grautz. "I shall
take pleasure in talking to Herr Weber. You will choose a moment when a
consignment of cigars has just arrived, I suppose."

"Yes. Ulseth makes a practice now of ringing up his customers and
telling them the goods are coming. He lost rather a lot, I hear, in
transit. I expect they went into the Black Market. With regard to the
Propaganda Ministry, however," went on Hambledon, "I think we want
something a little more drastic than a cigar box. They will be
pleasingly annoying, but when I think of Goebbels I feel positively
destructive."

"A parcel of some kind?" suggested Grautz.

"Yes. Looking like papers or books, perhaps. With a suitable label on
it. They must have lots of such parcels arriving at that office."

Grautz nodded, "About the cigar boxes--how will you arrange the
exchange? Distract the attention of the old man with the horse and
cart?"

"Weber and his friends will see to that. If I were doing it I should
have a cart that looked like his and take his place. 'Poor old Hans is
ill today, so I'm drivin' for 'im.' There are several ways it could be
done; leave it to them."

"And they will, of course, dispose of the real cigars?"

Hambledon laughed. "I imagine the underground movement appreciate good
cigars as much as anybody, and don't get many of them."

"'The laborer is worthy of his hire,'" quoted Grautz. "So long as they
aren't smelt smoking them."

"Oh, they won't be. It is also written," said Hambledon solemnly, "'Thou
shall not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn.'"




CHAPTER XIX
OSBERG THE CARRIER


"They will be ready by the end of the week," said Weber.

"My friends are working on them now. Except that one parcel, they won't,
of course, cause a very big explosion because of the small amount of
ammonal inside the boxes; we can't put more on account of the weight.
But the blast effect of even a small quantity is surprising if it's
effectively detonated, as I am assured these will be. Grautz's time
fuses are, I am told, jewels of their kind; small, light, and
efficient."

"He has been happier than for months past," said Hambledon, "working
over them with the loving care of a medieval craftsman producing a
masterpiece. I am glad your friends like them. What I really came to
tell you about was a conversation I had with Goering last night. It all
started because he was out of cigars; he said he hoped that a further
supply would come in shortly on account of some conferences arranged for
next week. Early next week; they start on Monday."

"Conferences?" said Weber.

Hambledon nodded. "He told me that I might be asked to attend one or two
of the meetings to testify to the virtues of Ulsenite. I said I was, of
course, entirely at their disposal and no doubt the cigars would help to
dispel the tedium of my remarks. To cut a long conversation short, I did
a little pumping, and it transpired that the Russian war is going to be
gingered up. A new scheme has been outlined, and the various ministries
involved are to fill in the outlines--War, Air, Supply, and Transport
principally. They are to work out their separate plans for meeting the
demands on them; then there will be a grand general meeting of the
various heads with Hitler in the Chair, to collate all the reports and
make the final arrangements. The Russians are going to be finally
squashed this time--maybe."

"I seem to have heard that before," said Weber thoughtfully. "Some
months ago their final liquidation was imminent, wasn't it?"

"Last October, when I first came to Berlin," agreed Hambledon. "I was
scared stiff; I really believed it. It's turned out to be a much more
serious matter than Germany expected."

"The Russians are fighting with their souls," said Weber. "These warring
ideologies----"

"Ideologies are all very well if kept in their place," said Hambledon
sententiously. "It's when they become ideolatries that the trouble
begins. However, to return to these conferences. Ulseth has no doubt got
a supply of cigars on order, probably en route. If they haven't already
arrived, Weber, I want them held up till early next week. We know there
are none about at the moment. I am hoping that if they're delivered to
the right place at the right moment, they will be taken straight into
the conference rooms and opened there. It would be the natural thing to
do. One can't imagine conferences without cigars."

"Except the one Hitler attends. I don't think he'll permit smoking,
especially if he is going to speak. His throat, you know."

"I suppose not," said Hambledon regretfully, "but one can't have
everything."

"Suppose they open one in your presence? You said you might have to
attend, didn't you?"

"At the slightest sign of any intention to open a cigar box I shall drop
my fountain pen under the table and go on my hands and knees to look for
it. If there's a footstool handy, I shall hold it over my head. In any
case, I shan't attend whole sittings, you know. I shall only be called
in to give evidence and answer questions and then be politely dismissed
again. It's a slight risk, not worth considering."

"It is for you to decide," said Weber. "I will pass the word for the
real cigars to be held up till early next week. They will then be
delivered to Ulseth to address, and he can notify his clients, as usual,
that they are coming. Then the carrier will call for them at Ulseth's
office, again as usual, and take them round to the various addresses.
There will only be about a dozen explosive ones; the rest will be
perfectly normal cigars. We can't fix up more than a dozen or so in the
time. Our principal difficulty is not the explosives or the detonators,
but unbroken labels; they are put on in South America by the
manufacturers. When I think of the thousands of labels I have
lightheartedly slit open, I could cry."

"Never mind," said Hambledon cheerfully. "A dozen or so will create
sufficient distraction to take people's minds off Russia for a few days,
I hope. Put as much incendiary stuff in as you can; there will be papers
at these meetings which would look pretty all in flames, to my mind. How
does Ulseth address his parcels? In his own handwriting?"

"No. Wrapped in brown paper with a typewritten label stuck on. Give me a
list of people you want them sent to, will you?"

"I've got it here," said Hambledon, and gave him a half sheet of paper.
"About our Swedish passports and so on----"

"About another fortnight, if that will do. There are a good many things
to arrange, clothes and luggage included. I like Herr Grautz," added
Weber. "Not easily upset, I imagine."

"Good chap, isn't he, though I find that placid manner rather terrifying
sometimes. I know 'the only good German is a dead German,' but he enjoys
killing them; I don't. What's a duty to me is a pleasure to him. Those
poor devils of cameramen with their lungs burst at the Ulsenite
demonstration--ugh! He merely smiled calmly and said it was a great
success. He's not quite human."

"The answer to that problem," said Weber, "is Rotterdam. When Germany
begins to break and the garrisons in Holland begin to withdraw, we shall
see something nasty, I think. I wouldn't like to be a German straggler
cut off in Holland then."

"Well, they didn't ought to have done it, as my old nurse used to say,"
remarked Hambledon cheerfully. "'For all these things there cometh a
judgment.'"

                 *        *        *        *        *

The real Ulseth, known to Berlin as Hartzer, sat in his office in
Schnebuerger Strasse typing addresses on adhesive labels. On the
opposite side of the table Gerda Clausen, no longer dressed in black,
was deftly wrapping up cigar boxes in brown paper. There was a faint
color in her face and laughter in her voice; her eyes no longer mourned.
Ulseth had promised himself to cheer her up and had succeeded, though
her dignity still overawed him. He had never yet called her "little
woman" to her face, but he had broken through the hedge of her reserve
and cheerfulness had crept in through the gap. They were very good
friends; he told himself that soon they would be more than that. This
was the sort of woman a man could marry and not regret it, nor hanker
after the exciting, unsettled life of an adventurer. Gerda Clausen never
took the smallest step toward a closer fellowship, but her eyes were
kind when she looked at him.

"Am I doing these well enough?" she asked.

"Very nicely indeed. Very neat."

"This paper is so bad it's difficult to do it as well as I could wish.
It's soft in places and stiff in others."

"You are doing it much better than I should," he said. "As for the
paper, it's all we can get. It is uneven like that because the rollers
are worn at the paper mills."

"How do you know that? Do you know all about paper-making too?"

"I know a little."

"You know so many different things, it must make life very interesting."

"There is one thing I wish I knew, that I haven't found out yet," he
said with a sudden rush of courage.

"What is that?"

"How to make you happy," he said, and pushed the typewriter away.

"But you have made me happier than I have been for a long time, Herr
Hartzer," she said, reaching for another sheet of paper.

"Herr Hartzer," he repeated. "Don't you think--couldn't you manage to
call me Sigmund?"

"Sigmund?" she said in a surprised tone. "I thought your name was
Theophilus."

"So it is," he said hastily, and could have kicked himself. "Only--my
mother used to call me Sigmund to distinguish me from my father; his
name was Theophilus too," he went on readily. "It was a sort of pet
name. I think she wanted me to be called that, only for some reason I
wasn't."

"It is a nice name," she said calmly. "There, I think that is the last
box. Shall we stick the labels on now?"

"I have one or two more to type out," he said, and returned to the
typewriter. "Must be more careful," he said to himself. "I shall let the
cat out of the bag one of these days. She's evaded me again; she always
does. I wonder why. I'm not her class, I know, but----"

"When will these arrive?" she asked. "I see there's one for my chief at
the Marinamt."

"Sometime tomorrow," he answered. "The carrier is calling for them
tomorrow morning, and I suppose he takes them round at once."

"I asked because there is an important conference tomorrow and I'm sure
they will like to have them. I will tell the commissionaire to bring the
box to me as soon as it comes, and I will take it in myself. I'll remind
the admiral that they come from you," she added with a smile.

"That will be very kind of you. It will be good for business, no doubt.
Don't lick the labels! Heaven knows what the gum is made of. Here's the
roller thing to wet them with."

"They taste sweet," she said, laughing at his horrified face. "They will
help out the sugar ration."

"Please don't. I'll get you some more sugar, or some chocolate--anything
you want you've only got to tell me. You know that, don't you?"

"You do far too much for me already. That is really all now, isn't it?"

"Yes. Don't go. You aren't going, are you?"

"I must," she said, looking at her watch. "I've promised to go and see a
friend this evening, and the time's getting on."

"I was hoping you'd stay a little while and talk to me," said Ulseth in
a disappointed voice. "Wouldn't some other time do to see your friend?"

"I'm afraid not. She's just lost her husband; he was killed in Russia.
I've known her for years. We were at school together, and she was very
good to me two years ago. I must go; she is expecting me."

"Tomorrow evening, if you will," said Ulseth, detaining her, "we might
perhaps dine somewhere?"

"Thank you, I should enjoy it. Till tomorrow, then, Herr Hartzer."

"Sigmund," he said, unwillingly releasing her hand.

"Sigmund, then," she answered, and the door closed behind her.

"Well, that's something," he said, watching through the window to see
her cross the street. "How beautifully she walks. Damn silly, but I
couldn't have her calling me Theophilus. What a name, Theophilus. It
won't matter if she does call me Sigmund; a hundred men can have the
same Christian name. I got out of that rather neatly, must be careful
not to slip up again. Queer how I hate telling lies to her. I never
minded lying to anyone before. Gerda. Wasn't Gerda the Snow Maiden in
the fairy story? Must get her some sugar." He took a notepad from the
drawer of his desk, wrote on it, "Sugar for G," and looked at it with a
smile. "Very suitable," he said. "Sugar for G. We're getting on."

He locked up the office and walked home, whistling cheerfully.

                 *        *        *        *        *

Nearly forty years ago Franz Osberg started a carrier's business in
Berlin with one horse and one cart. He prospered; his horses increased
in numbers and his carts in size. He married and had four sons who came
into the business when they were old enough and changed their
horse-drawn vehicles for motor lorries. The eldest son was killed in the
earlier Great War, and the slump hit them hard. Together with the rest
of Germany they struggled slowly out of the mire and were nearly as
prosperous as before when war came again in 1939. The three remaining
sons were called to the colors, and the old man, now more than sixty
years of age, did all he could to keep going. His best lorries were
commandeered for national service; the one old wreck left to him kept on
breaking down, while spares became more difficult to get. Eventually he
was told that, owing to the services' need for petrol, no more could be
issued to him.

"It doesn't matter much," he said to his wife. "The old bus is done for
anyway, and I can't get another. I'll go back to horses."

In a disused shed at the back of his empty yard, once full of lorries,
still stood the last of the horse-drawn vans which used to be his pride.
He dragged it out with the help of his wife.

"Not too bad, really. There's dry rot in some of the spokes, but they
can be replaced. Clean up and grease and a coat of paint, that's all it
wants."

He bought a white horse and started all over again where he began forty
years before, finding plenty of errands in a Berlin starved of transport
facilities. He fetched luggage from stations, carted coal and wood,
removed furniture, and delivered goods of all kinds. He engaged a boy to
help him and bought another horse.

"You can tell the lads when you write," he said to his wife, "that their
old dad's not done for yet. There'll still be a business going when they
come home. Osberg and Sons aren't dead yet."

Ulseth rang him up on the afternoon when Gerda Clausen packed up the
cigars and told him to call the following morning. Osberg promised he
would, but much later that night there came a heavy knock at his door.
He opened it to two men who stood impatiently on the doorstep. By the
light of an electric torch he saw that they wore the uniform of the S.S.

"Franz Osberg, carrier?" said one.

"At your service, gentlemen," said the old man politely.

"Get your horse and cart out and come with us at once. There is a job
for you."

"I have shut up everything and the horses are stabled for the night," he
began. "Tomorrow early----"

"At once," they insisted, and since one does not argue with the S.S., he
agreed. He went and told his wife, who was already in bed.

"Merciful heavens," she said, sitting up, "are they going to arrest
you?"

"Calm yourself, Hanna," he said, struggling into his coat. "They would
not arrest Snowball and the cart also. Don't be foolish."

"No. No, I won't. But the S.S.----"

"Want luggage or furniture removed just like other people. Sleep well.
I'll be back soon, no doubt."

But he did not return until nearly midnight the following night, by
which time she was nearly frantic with anxiety. "Where have you
been--what happened to you? Couldn't you let me know?"

"I have been nowhere except to a house behind a yard I never noticed
before. Nothing happened except that I was locked in a room all the
time. I couldn't see out because the window wouldn't open and the panes
were whitewashed. A man brought me food and drink but wouldn't talk. An
hour ago one of the same men who came last night walked in and said
they'd changed their minds and wouldn't want me after all. They took me
down passages and into this yard, and there was Snowball already
harnessed. I asked if she had been fed and the man said yes, well fed.
He told me to drive home and not hang about. He warned me not to talk
about the affair or it would be the worse for me. So we will not mention
it again, Hanna. Such things are best forgotten."

"Yes, yes. But where did they take you to?"

"I have already forgotten," he said, shaking his head, "and if I
remembered I wouldn't tell you. Better not, with the S.S."

"Better not," she echoed.

"The customers I was to have called on today will be annoyed. I will
tell them I was ill. It is true I don't feel at all well. I'll go to
bed, Hanna."

"Lean on me," she said, seeing that he was shaking. "It will be all
right; we will never mention it again."

"No. I'm getting old. The war, and then this. I wish the lads were home
again. Things worry me. I didn't argue, Hanna, I just sat there and
waited."

"Come to bed," she said, "and I'll warm up some soup. Don't shake like
that----"

The next morning he went round to the various clients upon whom he ought
to have called the day before and apologized for having failed them. He
felt so unwell when he got up, he said, that his wife persuaded him to
have a day in bed. His clients were kind to him, naturally, since there
were few carriers available. "It is the weather," said one. "It is the
food," said another. "It is the war--the anxiety--the overwork. You must
be careful at your age." Only at the Heroas Company's office in
Schnebuerger Strasse was there no response. Herr Hartzer was out and
the place was shut. Old Osberg waited about for some minutes, but he was
busy and had to leave without seeing Ulseth. "Can't be helped," said the
carrier. "If he wants me he must ring up, that's all. I'll tell him how
it happened, next time. Probably got someone else to take his boxes." He
drove off on his next errand.

Ulseth had not, however, been disappointed. At about noon on the
previous day, while Osberg was sitting unhappily in the room with the
whitewashed windows, the familiar cart drew up at the office in the
Schnebuerger Strasse and a man came in and said he had come to call for
the parcels.

Ulseth looked up and saw a stranger. "Hullo, where's old Osberg today?"

"He's bad abed," said the man. "I'm doin' his round for him."

"Poor old chap," said Ulseth carelessly. "Well, be careful with these
boxes. Mind you take them all to the right places. The addressees know
they are coming."

"The who?"

"The addr--the people they are addressed to."

"Oh. Well, they'll get 'em all right."

"This afternoon?"

"Sure. I don't want to keep 'em hangin' about. I've got too much to do
as 'tis."

"Oh. Well, here's the money," said Ulseth, and paid him. It would be
nice when old Osberg came again; this fellow was grumpy.

The man piled up the boxes and carried them out, steadying the top one
with his chin. He put them into the cart and drove away. The same
afternoon all the parcels were delivered; if they were not all quite the
same parcels, at least they looked the same.

The commissionaire at the Marinamt took in the parcel addressed to Frau
Clausen's admiral and remembered the instructions she had given him
about it. He called one of the messengers.

"Here! Take this box to Frau Clausen in room seventy-five, first floor,
and give it to her personally. If she isn't there, go and find her. If
she's in the conference room, wait till she comes out and give it to her
then."

The messenger found Frau Clausen in her own room waiting, with a
notebook and several sharpened pencils, to be called to the conference
room to take notes. She put the box on the desk in front of her and
looked at it. The admiral wouldn't want to be bothered to undo the
wrapping; she unpacked it herself. It would save time if she opened it
too. She took a penknife from the drawer, inserted the blade under the
lid, and then stopped. No, on second thoughts, better leave it; men
liked to open cigar boxes themselves. She would put the box before the
admiral, telling him that they came from Herr Hartzer. Herr Hartzer.
Sigmund. If she called him Sigmund she must allow him to call her Gerda;
it would be only fair. He was so kind, so thoughtful, if only he didn't
bore her so. There was no one else at once so kind and so deferential,
but she knew perfectly well that he did not want to remain at arm's
length much longer. It was foolish to throw away a good chance like this
in the middle of this awful war. So few men, so many widows. "If only he
wasn't so--so doglike," said Gerda Clausen irritably, "I should like him
so much better. Oh dear!... I wonder whether I'd better open this
box. The admiral will be busy talking to people and not want to be
bothered with it."

She picked up the penknife again but at that moment a messenger came to
the door and said, "Frau Clausen wanted in the conference room, please."
She slipped the knife in her pocket and went quickly along the passage.

The conference room was an imposing apartment with paneled walls
decorated with large oil paintings of Germany's naval heroes for several
generations. Holding telescopes, or with a background of naval glory,
they stared down from the walls or gazed capably into the distance.
Below them their successors, seated round a very large table, were
discussing in low tones the decisions which had just been made. Gerda
Clausen entered the room and walked up the whole length of it to her own
small table against the wall; the eyes of several of the officers
present followed her. Before she sat down she laid the cigar box before
one of the admirals present.

"The cigars from Herr Hartzer."

"Eh? What--who? Oh, I know, the cigar chap. Good. Have you opened it?"

"No sir. I thought you would prefer----"

"Thanks. Just slit it open, will you? Do it here, there's more room."

She took out her knife again and ran the thin blade through the labels
which sealed the box, then pushed it in at the middle where the nail was
placed and gently levered up the lid.

It did not appear to the officers present, all accustomed to gunfire in
enclosed spaces, that the resultant explosion was so very loud. "A sharp
crack," was how one of the survivors described it. It was the blast
which killed those nearest to it, and, worse than the blast, was the
immediate flame which filled the room, as though fire were squirted over
all parts of it at once. The curtains were instantly alight; the papers
blown off the table were flaming while they were still in the air, and
men were tearing off burning coats and beating out flecks of fire which
had caught their hair. As for Gerda Clausen, who had been bending over
the box, it was well she was the only woman in the room, for when the
fire was extinguished no one could have said that what remained was this
woman or that, or if she had ever been graceful and pleasant to the eye.
Her admiral had presumably no more need of a capable secretary, since he
also had passed at once beyond the enterprise of war.




CHAPTER XX
MEIN KAMPF--JAPANESE EDITION


Actually, the explosion at the German Admiralty was not the first in
point of time, and several others occurred upon the same afternoon. At
the Air Ministry the box was opened by a junior clerk in an outer
office, who had no knowledge of the way of a man with a box of cigars.
He thought only of attracting the attention of the great Goering, who
was to him only a little lower than the Archangel Michael, if indeed he
was lower at all. The clerk's idea was that he would have the box all
opened ready and take some opportunity to slip into the conference room
with it. He would lay it, swiftly and deferentially, at Goering's elbow,
murmuring, "Your cigars, Excellency," or "I understand Your Excellency
wished for cigars." No, better leave out "I." "Your Excellency wished
for cigars?" with a faint suggestion of a question in the intonation, as
though if Goering wished for the moon an enterprising junior clerk would
get it for him. Then the great Reichsmarschall would look up and say to
somebody, "Smart fellow, that. What's his name?" and remember him in
future. So the clerk waited till he was alone in his little office with
the door shut, for fear some blighter slightly senior to himself should
rob him of his glory, and then took up a knife and opened the box.

It so happened that there was a parade of tanks going by at the time,
and in the uproar of their passing the sound of the explosion in a
closed room was unnoticed. It was not until a messenger, hurrying along
the passage, smelt the more than distasteful smell of burning carpets
that the affair was discovered. The messenger looked in and saw the room
was on fire. He shut the door quickly again and ran shouting for fire
extinguishers, which were used to such good effect that the flames had
no time to spread beyond the room. When the blaze was quite out and the
smoke had cleared, they found an unrecognizable body lying in a corner.
Goering was, of course, informed, but no one knew what had caused the
explosion, how it had happened, or why. The commissionaire who took the
cigars from the carrier never knew they had not reached the
Reichsmarschall and completely forgot about them when questioned;
Goering never knew that the box had ever arrived; the junior clerk, of
course, had no business to have had it at all. The affair remained a
complete mystery.

"By the way," said Goering, "the fellow who was killed--who was he?"

"It is not yet definitely established, Herr Reichsmarschall. It can only
be one of the junior clerks--a roll is being taken----"

"So long as it wasn't anybody important," said Goering, and turned again
to matters of more consequence. This incident, therefore, was a failure
in every respect. No damage worth mentioning was done at the Air
Ministry at that time, and Goering never heard the junior clerk's name
after all.

At the War Ministry things went better from Hambledon's point of view.
Several generals were literally removed in a flash from the active list
to the Roll of Honor. Even more serious was the destruction of important
papers impossible to replace without much delay. One bright consolation
there was for Germany: the hero Rommel, home from Gazala to detail his
plans for the imminent push toward Egypt, had just left the room when
the explosion took place.

The Armaments Ministry lost papers and also some civil servants, but
what are civil servants? Landahl escaped without serious injury, though
he was in the room at the time. News that the latest consignment of
cigars was not all it should be reached the Transport Ministry in time
to prevent a disaster there. The box delivered to them was taken away by
soldiers to a piece of waste ground and detonated by rifle fire.
Herr Andreas Adler of Department D.23 had a box of his own which he
distrusted so much that he sent it to be detonated with the other. The
soldiers duly shot it to pieces, and Adler nearly wept when they
returned him the shattered remnants of one hundred entirely innocent
Henry Clays.

But the occurrence which mystified the police most of all took place in
the coding room of the Air Ministry in the middle of the night. It will
be remembered that the Air Ministry did not know why their junior clerk
had been so unaccountably destroyed, and when the chief coding officer,
a civilian named Renzow, received the box he was expecting to receive,
he did not suspect it. Why should he? That fellow Hartzer had telephoned
to say it was coming, and here it was. He did not want to take it home
with him. Frau Renzow made such ridiculous fusses about the smell of
cigar smoke hanging about the curtains. He was certainly not going to
leave it about to be stolen. He put it in the safe where the code books
were kept and locked it up. He also locked the steel fireproof doors of
the coding room when the day's work was done and went home with the keys
in his pocket.

Between 2 and 3 A.M. one of the night watchmen on his rounds at the Air
Ministry heard a really resounding bang from the coding room. He rushed
along the passage and knocked foolishly at the door; there was,
naturally, no reply. He reported the matter at once, and since there was
no means of seeing through the doors--Yale-lock keyholes are no
good--the staff went outside and looked up at the windows. They were
filled with flame. It is all very well to make a room completely
burglarproof, but it does tend to hamper the fire brigade. Even the
windows were covered inside with a close steel grille which could not be
removed....

By the time Herr Renzow was brought in haste and pajamas from his house
everything inflammable was burned. In fact, the coding room resembled
the inside of the garden incinerator when it has been going well. It is
filled with the ashes of mainly organic matter, but which is tea leaves
and old newspapers, and which is dandelions from off the lawn, who can
tell? In the coding room there was wood ash where the desk and chairs
had stood, and paper ash all over the room, but to no part of it could
Renzow point and say, "Ha! These were the code books."

All these different events were, however, in the nature of side lines
compared with the attempt Hambledon made upon the Propaganda Ministry.
Adolf Hitler, anxious to pay every possible courtesy to his allies the
Japanese, had _Mein Kampf_ translated into that language. Goering, when
he heard of it, murmured something about school prizes, but even he was
careful not to let the Fuehrer hear him; the joke, however, went round
Berlin and reached Hambledon. When he found out that the Japanese
translations would be ready at about this date he could not forbear to
improve the occasion.

A parcel arrived at the Ministry of Propaganda, a heavy square cardboard
box such as authors receive whenever they are lucky enough to have a
book published, for such parcels contain the Presentation Copies, Not
For Sale at Less Than the Published Retail Price. This parcel carried
the label of a well-known firm of Berlin publishers who worked for the
Propaganda Ministry, and across the top of the label was typed, "_Mein
Kampf._ Japanese Edition."

Nobody hurried to open it, for _Mein Kampf_ is no novelty to anyone in
that Ministry even if he could read Japanese. It lay on a cupboard in
the outer office until the late afternoon, when Hitler came to discuss
with Goebbels the exact amount of publicity to be given to the
conferences. When he had finished his business he looked about the
office and said jerkily, "Is that all? Nothing else for me to decide?"

Goebbels said there was nothing else with which it was necessary to
burden the mind of his Fuehrer and added, as an afterthought, that the
sample copies of the Japanese _Mein Kampf_ had come, if Adolf Hitler
would care to look at them.

Hitler relaxed somewhat from the pressure of great affairs and said he
would like to see a copy. It was an amusing idea to be unable to read a
word of one's own work. Goebbels agreed and ordered the parcel to be
opened and a copy to be brought in.

Two minutes later it seemed as though the entire building got up and sat
down again amid a blast of sound such as stuns the mind which suffers
it. In Goebbels' own room the windows were snatched out bodily and the
ceiling split like starred ice and fell dustily upon their heads.
Plaster falling seldom kills anyone, but it can be painful; also it is
suffocating. The Fuehrer and his Minister rushed gasping from the room
down the nearest stairs into the courtyard at the back, where the S.S.
guards on duty disgraced themselves by failing to recognize their
masters coated and caked with plaster. Hitler was furiously angry and
seemed to Goebbels unreasonably to think that he should have prevented
it.

Late in the day when these explosions took place two members of the
Gestapo came to Gerda Clausen's flat in Uhland Strasse on a formal
investigation of her effects. Formal because she was naturally not
suspected of any complicity in the affair, since she had been killed;
but there might be some trace among her letters which would help in
discovering the guilty persons. It was unlikely, but had to be pursued.
They had orders also to bring in for questioning Theophilus Hartzer, who
had supplied the cigars. They found nothing helpful in Gerda's flat and
were in the act of leaving when Ulseth knocked at the door. He had been
in his office all day and had heard nothing of what had happened.

One of the Gestapo opened the door, and Ulseth, expecting to see Gerda
Clausen, merely gaped at him.

"Well?" said the man sharply. "Who are you?"

"Theophilus Hartzer of Zurich, importer," said Ulseth, getting out his
identity papers.

"Oh, are you? That's fortunate; we were just coming to call on you."

"What--what for?" stammered Ulseth. Had this terrible organization found
out that he wasn't really Hartzer?

"You've got to come to headquarters for questioning."

"What about?"

"Cigars," said the Gestapo man grimly.

Ulseth cheered up. A small misunderstanding about smuggling, tiresome
but not serious. A few well-placed donations and a little help from his
influential customers, and the affair would be settled.

"Oh, is that all?" he said unwisely.

"All!" said the man, and paused impressively. "What did you come here
for?"

"To see Frau Clausen."

"What about?"

"Merely to take her out to dinner," said Ulseth mildly. "May I leave her
a note? She will wonder what has become of me--she is expecting me."

"Oh no, she isn't."

"What?" said Ulseth, suddenly frightened. "Why not?"

"Because she's dead."

Ulseth staggered and turned so white that the man caught him by the arm,
thinking he was going to fall. "Here, you can sit down if you like.
We've got nothing against you--not yet." Ulseth fell into a chair and
covered his face. "What happened?" he said thickly. "Was there an
accident?"

"No accident. There was a bomb went off."

"Bomb? Where?"

"In a cigar box. At the Marinamt. She opened it, and it exploded and
killed her."

"_Lieb Gott_," said Ulseth softly, "and tonight I was going to ask her
to marry me."

He fell back in the chair. One of the Gestapo agents turned to the other
and said in a low voice. "This fellow's innocent, anyway."

The other agreed, but added, "He's got to come along for questioning,
all the same. Here," he said, addressing Ulseth, "pull yourself
together. You've got to come with us; we can't wait all night. Got to
get to the bottom of this, you know."

Ulseth got up, and his face was so changed that the men stared at him.
It looked at once much younger and much less reasonable, as though masks
had been torn off and exposed something naked and elemental. The fact
was that for possibly the first time in his life Ulseth was not
pretending.

"Damn you all," he said slowly, "you've killed her with your filthy
wars. If there wasn't a war she wouldn't have died. Curse Hitler, the
blasted little paper hanger who thinks he's an emperor; curse the
Admiralty and the War Ministry and everybody who made the war; curse
this rotten country----"

"Here," said one of the men weakly, "you can't----"

"Why did I ever come back here to have my life smashed for me--I, a
German----"

"What?" said the quicker-witted of the two. "I thought you were a
Swiss."

Ulseth laughed, and it was an unpleasant noise.

"Stop that at once," said the Gestapo man authoritatively. "You are
coming with us, now. Franz, you go first. Now then, Hartzer, down the
stairs. March!"

Ulseth subsided at once and walked meekly away between them. They had no
car, and it did not seem worth while getting one; it was not so far, and
perhaps the walk would cool the prisoner's head; it seemed to need
cooling. Ulseth was barely conscious of what he was doing; he was
thinking too deeply to notice. Someone had worked this trick, someone
who knew that he traded in cigars. None of his customers would attack
that conference at the Admiralty.

His brain clicked suddenly into clearness. There was someone else, of
course there was, an outsider, a mystery, his other self, the Herr
Professor who called himself Ulseth. He had ordered cigars too, but were
they cigars or something else? He knew a lot about explosives, the Herr
Professor Ulseth--the Herr Professor Ulseth----

"What's that you're muttering?" said one of his guards sharply, and the
prisoner realized he had spoken aloud.

"He did it!" he shouted. "I see it now. God, I'll kill him!"

He broke away from them and started to run.

"Here, come back! Halt! _Sakrament_, he'll get away!" The Gestapo man
pulled out his automatic and fired. Ulseth gave a sort of leap and fell.

They rushed to him and found him gasping for breath.

"The Herr Professor," he said, rolled over on his face, and died.

"You've done it," said the man who had not fired. "He can't talk now
he's dead. There'll be trouble over this."

"I fired at his legs," said the other agitatedly. "Can I help it if he
puts his spine in the way? We can but report it and hope for the best."

They accordingly reported it to their immediate superior, who said,
"Accused the Herr Professor? He was raving mad." All the same, he passed
on the report to the chief of police, who in his turn handed it on, with
the rest of the evidence such as it was, to Goebbels in his capacity as
gauleiter of Berlin.

"The Herr Professor Ulseth, eh?" said Goebbels. "That's interesting.
Very interesting."

                 *        *        *        *        *

Hambledon spent the afternoon and evening fidgeting about the laboratory
till even Grautz got tired of him. "It's not knowing what's happened
that's so trying," said Tommy.

"Go out and see, then."

"Most unwise. I never go out in the afternoons, and I don't think I'd
better go tonight either. I am working, as a rule. Aren't I?"

"Well--anyway, you seldom go out," conceded Grautz. "Look here, what are
you going to do with this place when we leave?"

"I don't mind," said Hambledon. "Just leave it, or blow it up if you
like. You know, I'm becoming a man of one idea--blow it up. Let's burn
it down for a change."

"I've got quite a lot of stuff accumulated here," said Grautz. "It would
be a pity to let the Germans have it back. I think we might set a booby
trap of some simple kind; at least making it will give me something to
do. Plenty of colloidal copper for a nice green flash. The great
Ulsenite--positively its last appearance----"

"Do anything you like. We might try and insure that we don't catch
Eckhoff; not that it really matters, but I like Eckhoff. Otherwise, the
more the merrier."

By the next evening Hambledon could not bear it any longer. He went out
in the Mercedes, called on Weber, and heard some of the news; Weber had
his own means of collecting information. Disappointing not to have
liquidated Goebbels; on the other hand, it was an unexpected piece of
luck to have shaken up Hitler. Weber added that the most severe
disturbance was that occasioned in the minds of the Berlin police,
secret and otherwise. According to him they were rushing round like a
bunch of heifers before a storm, headed by the chief of police in
person. On the whole, not a bad day. Hambledon decided to go out and
celebrate and try to pick up a few more details. He went to the Adlon
and found Goering already there, looking anxious and perplexed.
Hambledon greeted him, adding, "You seem worried tonight."

"I am. Haven't you heard the news?"

"I heard that there was an explosion of gas or something at the
Admiralty yesterday and several people were killed. Surely it's not
true?"

"It wasn't gas; otherwise it's true enough. That wasn't the only one,
either," said Goering, and gave him a brief summary of the previous
afternoon's events. "This is a score for British Intelligence, blast
'em."

Hambledon's spirits rose; it is not often that one is personally
congratulated by the opposition. His face assumed an expression of
sympathetic exasperation; he took Goering by the elbow and said, "Come
over here." He led the Reichsmarschall to a small table against the
wall, produced a flask from his pocket, and poured into glasses a
generous portion of real scotch whisky.

At that moment there was a stir near the entrance and people looked
round. Amalie Reilander walked in accompanied by Goebbels. He looked
much as usual except for a strip of sticking plaster across one side of
his forehead, but her face was clouded by a look which suggested
unsuccessful defiance. She waved to Hambledon and Goering when she saw
them, and Goebbels nodded. He appeared to be offering her a drink, with
a gesture toward the bar, but she shook her head and led the way into
the dining room.

"Frulein Amalie doesn't look as happy as usual," said Hambledon.

"She looks as though she didn't want to come," said Goering bluntly, and
reached for the water jug.

"Not too much," warned Hambledon. "It'll do you more good if you don't
drown it."

Goering tasted it and said, "_Herrgott!_ Where did you get this?"

"Ah," said Hambledon mysteriously. "It wasn't made in my laboratory,
anyway."

"I believe you. Do you think if I drink enough of this it would dawn on
me how the trick was worked?"

"I thought you said," said Hambledon with a puzzled frown, "that the
bombs were disguised as boxes of cigars. Where did they come from?"

"Ostensibly from a man named Hartzer, a Swiss importer. He'll have to
answer a few questions, of course, but we don't suspect him. He's all
right. There was an exchange made somewhere; the Gestapo are working on
it. That's fairly simple." He returned gloomily to his glass.

"Simple, you call it," said the unsophisticated professor of chemistry.
"To me it sounds like black magic."

"Oh no. That sort of thing's been done before and will be again. It's
what happened at my place--the Air Ministry, not my house--last night
that's worrying me."

"Tell me," said Hambledon with the keenest interest, for Weber had heard
nothing of this one.

Goering explained how the coding room was locked for the night soon
after eight, and described the fireproof and burglarproof arrangements.
"Yet in the small hours of this morning a time bomb exploded inside the
safe and set the whole room alight. How did it get there, Ulseth? The
room door was locked and had not been tampered with. The safe door,
ditto. The place is watched all the time. Still, somebody got in and put
a bomb in the place and got out again, all without being seen."

"The coding officer, whoever he is----"

"Man named Renzow, a civilian."

"Herr Renzow left everything all right--nothing in the safe that
shouldn't have been?"

"Of course not," said Goering. "He assured me of that himself. Most
reliable man." In point of fact, as soon as Renzow heard how the other
disasters were caused he guessed that his own alleged Coronas were
responsible, but was much too frightened to admit it. Hambledon also
guessed correctly; he remembered the name of Renzow on a certain
list....

"You've got other copies of the codes, of course?"

"Yes," said Goering, hitting the table, "but were they burned or were
they stolen? Renzow's been raking through the ashes with a table fork
and can't find a bit of them. Now all the codes will have to be
changed." He stared unhappily at his empty glass, and Hambledon hastily
refilled it for him. What a fluke!

"Exasperating," he murmured. "I suppose that's a complicated business?"

"How did they get the keys? That's what I want to know, because what's
to stop them from doing it again?"

Better and better. Far better than slaughtering the inoffensive Renzow
and causing a mere uproar in the coding room just like the others. This
would keep them worrying for months to come. All the same, Hambledon
thought it kinder to change the subject.

"I am horrified," he said in low and earnest tones, "to hear what a
narrow escape our Fuehrer had."

Goering gave a perfectly genuine shudder, which surprised Hambledon. He
always found it difficult to believe that any normal person could really
be attached to the pasteboard Napoleon with the comic mustache.

"It is terrible to think of," said Goering, and then smiled. "Goebbels
is very upset about it. He turned quite white, they tell me." He
laughed. "All over, like a snow man. Then his guards didn't recognize
him and tried to arrest him."

Hambledon nearly choked. How blessed are the moments when Fortune lends
a helping hand. Even he would never have thought of that inspired
climax.

"It is funny, isn't it?" said the Reichsmarschall, watching him. "But
the whole business is anything but funny. Here we are in early May. The
Russians are going to attack in the south in six weeks' time. So we were
going to attack first, naturally; that's what all these conferences were
about. Now the loss of life and of still more valuable data has set the
whole scheme back three months at least. That makes it July, August,
September--at least September before we could get going, and that will
be too late. Too near the Russian winter."

A page boy passed through the room, calling in a loud, toneless voice,
"Frulein Amalie Rielander. Frulein Amalie Rielander. Frulein Ama----"
Somebody caught him by the arm, directing him toward the dining room,
and the monotonous cry passed.

"I suppose paging is the best way of finding people in a crowd," said
Hambledon, "though personally I hate being cried as though I were
cabbage for sale. Returning to what we were saying, surely the data
already assembled is still available?"

"But not the decisions based on it. Men don't make copies of notes so
important as that, you know. In fact, most of 'em wouldn't make notes at
all; they'd carry them in their heads. So when they're dead----" Goering
broke off. "I can't think why I inflict all this on you," he added.
"It's not your headache. You've got more time to perfect Ulsenite,
that's all."

"It is much more serious than I'd realized," said Hambledon with perfect
truth. "Even if the Gestapo do manage to find those responsible----"

"We can make them regret it," said Goering, with a grate in his voice
which made Tommy look at him. "But we can't undo the damage."

"The police----" began Hambledon.

"The police are nearly going mad. I am sorry for the chief of police;
he's quite an able fellow. His deputy is one of these office
wallahs--files beautifully kept, you know--but no more good in action
than a toothless Pekinese in a dogfight. Oh, well----"

Amalie Rielander came with a rush from the dining room and swept through
the crowd to their table. Goering and Hambledon rose to receive her. She
was flushed and sparkling, a very different Amalie from the sullen young
woman who had stalked through the room a quarter of an hour before.

"Isn't it lovely," she babbled, "isn't it wonderful? Rudolf's come--my
fianc, you know. He must have arrived at my flat the moment we were out
of sight. Isn't that car ever coming?" she added over her shoulder to
Goebbels, who made an impatient sign to the commissionaire at the door.
"You know, it is queer, I didn't want to come out tonight at all; I felt
it would be a mistake. I told you so, Herr Goebbels, didn't I?"

"You took a little persuading, certainly," said Goebbels sourly. "You
didn't tell me you were indulging in feminine premonitions."

"Would you have believed me if I had?" Goebbels shook his head, and she
went on, laughing, "That'll do for another time, then. You'll have to
believe it after this, won't you?"

Goebbels snarled, and Hambledon thought it wise to intervene. "Who is
the beyond-measure-to-be-envied young man, Frulein? Have I the honor of
his acquaintance?"

"Not yet, but I'll bring him to see you. Kapitn Rudolf von
Dettmann----"

"Son of my old friend Oberste Auguste Heinrich von Dettmann?" said
Goering. "I remember him as a boy. May I congratulate you, Frulein--a
charming family----"

"The car is here, I think," said Goebbels, and Amalie turned at once to
go. "I will bring him tomorrow, shall I?" she said to Hambledon, who
answered, "Do, _gn' Frulein_. I shall be more than delighted."

"Going to see the lady home, Goebbels?" said Goering.

"Naturally," snapped Goebbels. "Why not?"

"Be tactful and don't stay too long, then," said the Reichsmarschall
impishly, but the laughter died out of his face as they left and his
mind reverted to his troubles. He turned to Hambledon, saying, "Thanks
very much for the drink; it's done me good. I must go back to work, I
suppose, and see if I can clear up some of the muddle." He leaned
clumsily on the table, a huge bulk of a man. Hambledon thought suddenly
that he had never seen him look menacing before. "If I catch the fellows
responsible----"

"I trust for their sakes you won't," said Tommy, forcing a laugh. Berlin
seemed increasingly to become a good place to leave.

"I daresay you're right. Besides, it wouldn't do any good. Only relieve
my feelings. Good night, Ulseth."

"Good night," said Hambledon, "till I see you again."

Goering nodded and went away. Hambledon sent for his car and went home.

"It is time we left," he said to Grautz. "We've done something drastic
this time." He repeated what he had heard and added, "I don't like
Goering in this mood. He's as dangerous as a mad elephant. Frankly, he
terrifies me. He's such a nice companion for an evening out, as a rule;
but tonight, with the mask off--ugh!"

"I never believed in your amiable giant idea," said Grautz. "We in
Rotterdam----"

Hambledon changed the subject. It was possible, he felt, to have enough
of Grautz on Rotterdam.




CHAPTER XXI
BLACK FOR AMALIE


Rudolf von Dettmann, the fianc of Amalie Rielander, was a tall young
man almost handsome enough to be a film star himself, and theirs was no
ephemeral wartime romance; they had known each other since childhood's
days. He had never liked her being mixed up in this film business,
although he knew it could not be helped; she was the only support of the
widowed Frau Rielander, and even a well-born German maiden and her
mother cannot live on air. His marriage would not be permitted until he
attained the rank of captain. Till then he kept himself entirely in the
background of her private life; she did not bring him to the studios or
talk about him to her fellow artists; she did not even wear his
engagement ring in public. Von Dettmann disliked the publicity of her
life; he disliked most of the people with whom she had to associate, and
most of all he disliked Goebbels. Rudolf and Amalie almost quarreled on
his previous leave about the ruby-studded cigarette lighter which the
Herr Minister of Propaganda gave her.

"You should not accept valuable presents from such an ill-bred little
beast," he said. "It is putting yourself under an obligation to him."

"I don't think so," said Amalie, laughing. "It is very good of me to
take any notice of him, you know."

"It is, but I don't like it. He will think----"

"Then he'll find he's wrong. Seriously, Rudolf, I'm sorry, but if I snub
him too violently I shall lose my job, and then what will become of
Mother?"

"As soon as I'm made Kapitn," he said, "we'll get married, and then
it'll be my business to see after you and your mother."

"As soon as you're a Kapitn," she said, "we'll announce our engagement
and----"

"Announce our wedding day."

"Very well, we will. And I'll send Herr Goebbels back his lighter for a
wedding present. In the meantime, Rudi, I daren't. He's a dangerous man
to annoy. Goering warned me to be careful."

"Oh, Goering will be all right with you, he knows my father--he's one of
us. But Goebbels----"

"I know, Rudi darling. Don't worry, I'll manage Goebbels. How long do
you think it will be?"

"How long what?"

"Before you're a Kapitn."

"It just depends."

"On what?"

"Oh, various things. On the colonel's temper, for one thing. And on the
casualties, for another."

"Casualties--Rudi----"

But time passed, and Von Dettmann survived to get his promotion. Amalie
Rielander had found it increasingly difficult to stave off Goebbels,
whose reputation became steadily more notorious; by the time Von
Dettmann came on leave again she was almost at her wits' end. Rumors of
Goebbels' attentions to his fiance had reached him on the Eastern
Front; he came on leave determined that the practice should cease
forthwith, the wife of Rudolf von Dettmann would be secure from such
persecution. It was therefore very exasperating to be told by the
concierge at her flat that she had gone out only five minutes earlier
with the man in question. "Gone out to dinner," said the concierge. That
meant a hotel in all probability. Von Dettmann went to the telephone and
tried the Hotel Bristol without result; he was more fortunate at the
Adlon. The Frulein would return immediately, and the concierge, who
knew him well, let him into her flat to await her.

He walked up and down impatiently for a quarter of an hour, then there
was the sound of a key in the lock and voices at the door.

"Thank you, Herr Goebbels. I am sorry to have interrupted our dinner so
suddenly, but I'm sure you understand. Good night, and thank you again."

"May I not come in for a few moments? I should be happy to renew my
acquaintance with Von Dettmann."

Damn the fellow's impudence, pushing himself where he wasn't wanted, at
a moment like this----

Amalie Rielander could have slapped him. "Some other time--tomorrow,
perhaps----"

"Oh, come," said Goebbels obstinately. "You owe me something for
spoiling my dinner."

"Since you insist," she said, and walked in flaming with anger. What a
cad to spoil their first meeting. "Rudi--I am so delighted to see you,"
she went on awkwardly, giving him her hand. "Herr Goebbels kindly
brought me home at once. I am so sorry to have been out when you came."

"I could not let you know," said Von Dettmann. "Never mind, it couldn't
be helped." He saluted Goebbels. "Heil Hitler! I am grateful, Herr
Goebbels, for your courtesy to Frulein Rielander, my betrothed."

"It is always a pleasure," said Goebbels, "to do anything to oblige the
charming Amalie."

Von Dettmann scowled; Amalie bit her lip; Goebbels lit a cigarette
without the formality of asking permission, and there was an awkward
pause.

"How are things going on the Russian front?" asked the Minister of
Propaganda.

"Very well, thank you," said Von Dettmann stiffly.

"Indeed? I thought I understood----Amalie, may I sit down?" She could
not refuse, and Goebbels dropped into an easy chair while the two young
people stood side by side upon the hearthrug and looked daggers at him.
"I thought I heard rumors of crack German troops being pushed back by
the half-trained Bolshevik hordes. Not true, eh?"

"The Bolshevik hordes, as you call them, are very good fighting men
indeed," said Von Dettmann.

"Oh. I gather that is an admission. Were yours among the troops
who--what is the phrase--retired according to plan?"

"Have a drink, won't you?" said Amalie desperately. Anything to stop
this scene, but neither man took any notice of the suggestion. Von
Dettmann was white with anger.

"My men," he said with a violent effort at self-control, "retired when
they were told to and stopped when told to, also."

"Ah," said Goebbels, nodding. "That's what they all say when they go
back."

"Herr Goebbels," said Amalie loudly, "if you would kindly excuse us
now--we have many things to discuss." She might as well not have spoken.

"I understand on my part," said Von Dettmann angrily, "that things
aren't going too well in Berlin."

"What d'you mean?"

"You are Gauleiter of Berlin, aren't you? Yet I hear of sabotage here,
there, and everywhere. Explosions in trains, trams set on fire, bombs
even in the ministries---- Wasn't there a munition factory at Spandau
which blew up some time ago?"

Goebbels rose as though a hornet had stung him. "This impertinence----"
he began, and at that Von Dettmann hit him in the face. The Minister
reeled back across the room, snatched something from his pocket, and
there was a loud crack, followed by a scream from Amalie.

"It's all right," said Von Dettmann calmly. "He's missed me." He put his
arm round the girl. "My very dear----"

The door opened suddenly and Goebbels' two S.S. guards rushed in.
Goebbels pointed one finger at Dettmann and said, "Arrest him. Take him
away. Be careful; he is probably armed."

"You beast, you devil," shrieked Amalie, "you can't do this!"

"Oh, can't I?" said Goebbels. "Your fianc has just reminded me that I
am Gauleiter of Berlin." He dabbed his eye delicately with his
handkerchief.

"My revolver is not loaded," said Von Dettmann contemptuously. "I do not
find it necessary to go armed into the presence of ladies."

"Remove him," said Goebbels.

The guards hesitated, if only for a moment. Amalie Rielander was
clinging to Von Dettmann as one distraught, and she was the idol of
Berlin. Goebbels definitely was not, but his orders could not be
disobeyed.

"With your permission, _gndiges Frulein_," said one of them.

"It is no use, my darling," said Von Dettmann. "I must go with them--it
will not be for long." He kissed her and unclasped her hands. Goebbels
touched one of the men on the arm and gave him an order in a low tone.

"But----" began the man.

"No buts. It is an order."

Von Dettmann walked out of the room, followed by the two guards. He
turned in the doorway to smile at Amalie, and then the door was shut
behind them.

Amalie turned her eyes slowly from the door toward Goebbels and said, "I
hope you are satisfied with your evening, Herr Minister of Propaganda. A
nice home-coming for a soldier, to spend the night in jail."

"I do not think the gallant Kapitn will spend the night in jail."

"Where, then?"

"Listen," said Goebbels, and as though the word were a signal, there
came the sound of a shot from outside. "That is what happens to young
cubs who think they----"

"They have--they cannot have shot him!"

"I can hardly believe they would miss at a range of about a yard," said
Goebbels calmly. "Or possibly less. Console yourself; it is unlikely
that he suffered." Amalie stared at him with horror in her eyes, a
horror which grew and increased till she looked almost insane. She ran
her fingers through her hair, and it seemed as though even the dark
curls were quivering with hatred. Goebbels watched her with admiration
and sat down again to enjoy the scene, though his eye continued to
trouble him.

"You look quite magnificent when you are angry," he remarked. "It is
really a pity to waste this performance on an audience of one."

"You crawling thing," she began in low tones, "you cheap little upstart,
you dare to----"

"Bravo, bravo," he said, and applauded as though he were in a theater.

"Do you suppose the Herr Kapitn von Dettmann has no friends? What do
you think Goering will say when he hears you have had Von Dettmann
shot?"

"He won't. Von Dettmann got himself involved in a vulgar brawl over some
town wench and was shot by a drunken sailor. His body will be found in
appropriate circumstances in the morning. A grief to his distinguished
family, I fear--and what a horrid snub for his charming fiance! On his
first night on leave, too."

"My friends will believe me," she said with dignity. "His friends knew
him better than to believe such a story. Your credit doesn't stand so
high as you imagine."

"Do you seriously suppose," said Goebbels, "that you will be allowed to
run about Berlin telling your story to everyone you know? You must be
half-witted. You aren't Amalie Rielander, the famous film star now, you
know. You're only the Rielander woman on her way to a concentration
camp. I'm afraid you won't look so pretty or so neat in a month's time.
As for your friends--that reminds me, there's another one I must deal
with. The dear Herr Professor Ulseth, the celebrated chemist, you know.
You found him rather charming, didn't you? I seem to remember being kept
waiting on several occasions while you entertained the Herr Professor. I
don't like being kept waiting, Rielander. I've got him where I want him
now, too. So I'll just dispose of you and then attend to him." Goebbels
rose awkwardly from the deep armchair.

"You repulsive clubfooted ape," she said, and struck him with all her
strength. She was taller than he and had not played tennis for nothing.
He was caught off balance and went over, hitting his head violently
against the corner of the table. He dropped to the floor and lay still.

"And I hope I've killed you," she added. "Now they can come and kill me.
I don't care."

But he was still breathing, and it was necessary to get away before he
revived. He must not revive too soon, either, or she would be caught and
brought back. She looked hastily round the flat.

It was a very modern flat, and the sitting room was as bare of
concealment as a dinner plate. In the bedroom, however, there were roomy
built-in cupboards with doors paneled to match the paneling of the
walls. Amalie forced back the disgust she felt at touching him and
dragged him into the bedroom. She pressed an inconspicuous knob and a
cupboard door flew open. She bundled him in anyhow, doubled up and head
downward, and forced the door shut with her knee. Now to get away. She
ran a comb through her hair and made up her face again, thinking
rapidly. Goering and the Herr Professor were at the Adlon when she left;
possibly they were still there. It was imperative to find Goering and
tell him the story, and to find the professor and warn him, before
Goebbels was free again. Rudolf's name should not be blackened by
slander; Goering would see to it and protect her also. Not that life
held any charm for her now, but it still held an object--to insure that
Goebbels should pay for this.

She walked unhurriedly out of the flat, releasing the spring catch on
the outer door so that it locked behind her. Outside, Goebbels'
limousine still waited; the escort car had not yet returned from its
errand with the body of Von Dettmann. It was dark; she wondered but
could not see whether there was blood upon the pavement.

The chauffeur came quickly from his seat to open the car door and looked
past her for his master.

"The Herr is bathing his face, which was injured," said Amalie calmly.
"He wishes to remain quiet for a little while; his head aches. You are
to drive me to the Adlon, please, and then to come back here for him."

The man suspected nothing and drove her to the Adlon. She thanked him
and got out, and the car went off again at once.

Amalie entered the hotel and spoke to the commissionaire, that great man
who knows everybody.

"The Herr Reichsmarschall and the Herr Professor Ulseth, are they still
here?"

"They have gone, _gndiges Frulein_; they left soon after you did. The
Herr Reichsmarschall went first and the Herr Professor a few minutes
later."

"Tiresome," she murmured, with a finger at her lip. "I have a message
for them from the Herr Minister of Propaganda. Do you know where they
went?"

"I could not say where the Herr Reichsmarschall went, but I heard the
Herr Professor tell his man to drive straight home."

Amalie considered this. There was no knowing where Goering might be, and
she might spend half the night hunting for him. The Herr Professor's
case was the more urgent, since he was still alive and might be saved,
whereas Von Dettmann...

"Thank you very much," she said, and slipped out again into the dark
street.

                 *        *        *        *        *

"While you were out this evening" said Grautz, "I finished the booby
trap."

"Where is it?" said Hambledon, looking nervously round the laboratory.

"In that pile of boxes by the door. It's all right; it's quite safe at
the moment."

"On this trip," said Hambledon earnestly, "I have had enough of
explosives to last me the nine lives I might have had if I had been a
tomcat instead of me. If I ever get out of this mess I will never listen
to a bang again if I can help it. Even the harmless and mirthful
Christmas cracker will be bored from my festal bard."

"Eh?"

"Barred from my festal board. Sorry. That just shows you, my brain's
giving way under the strain. How do you adjust your practical joke?"

"Simple," said Grautz. "We just join these two wires here by the door.
Then the act of opening the door will ignite the two-second fuse and up
goes the lot. There is in those boxes all the high explosive I have left
or----"

"But----" began Hambledon.

Grautz was not listening. "--or have been able to make up out of the
material at my disposal. There is also----"

"But, Grautz----"

"Just a minute. There is enough colloidal copper in there to provide a
green flash that will light up Berlin. I thought we might as well go out
in a blaze of glory while we were about it. Don't you agree? What are
you laughing at?"

For Hambledon was rocking in his chair with laughter and mopping his
eyes. "Nothing," he said between gasps. "Only, how are we to get out?
There's only one door."

Grautz looked at him. "The windows----" he began doubtfully.

"Are all barred. Like my festal board. All except the bathroom, and
that's not big enough."

"It will be big enough for me," said the thin Dutchman. "It's got to be.
You'll go out by the door. I connect up the wires and join you through
the bathroom window."

"I'll go round and stand by to pull you if you stick. All right, then,
if you think you can get out through a hole a foot square."

"It's a little more than that."

"You'd better go and rehearse your act, I think. Hullo, the telephone.
Who on earth's this at this time of night?"

It was Eckhoff speaking on their private line from the gate. "A lady to
see you, sir. She says it's very urgent. She has a message for you."

"Oh," said Hambledon doubtfully. "Can't she tell me down your
telephone?"

"She says not, sir. I did suggest that."

"Who is she, Eckhoff?"

"The Frulein Amalie Rielander."

"Alone?"

"Yes sir."

"Oh. Well, you'd better bring her up, I suppose."

"_Jawohl_," said Eckhoff, and rang off. Hambledon replaced the receiver
and said, "Our Amalie to see us. All by herself on the first evening of
Rudolf's leave. Something wrong here, Grautz."

"Perhaps they've quarreled," said the stolid Grautz.

"And she's come here to get me to act as peacemaker? Possibly. Let's
hope it's only that."

A few minutes later Amalie Rielander was shown in, and one look at her
face convinced even Grautz that there was indeed something very
seriously wrong.

"What's happened?" asked Hambledon quietly.

Amalie looked at the door. "Has that man gone?" she asked in a whisper.
"Nobody can hear us?"

"Go and look, Grautz," said Hambledon.

Grautz went into an adjoining room without turning on the light, lifted
the blackout, and looked through the window.

"He's gone, all right; I can see his torch. He's nearly back at the
lodge."

"Sit down, Frulein," said Hambledon, "and tell us what's troubling
you."

"You must get out," she said bluntly. "Go at once; don't wait for
anything. Can you get out of the country? If not, go and hide
somewhere--change your names----"

"Why?"

"Goebbels is after you. He told me so himself"--she glanced at her
watch--"an hour ago."

"What did he say?"

"He said he'd got you where he wanted you and he was going to deal with
you as he'd dealt with Rudolf."

"Rudolf--Von Dettmann? What----"

"Goebbels shot him dead," she said in a hard, metallic voice.

"God above!" gasped Hambledon.

"Had him shot, rather. It's the same thing."

"My poor little girl----"

"Don't pity me, don't," she said, biting her lip. "Please don't. If I
start to cry I shall never stop, and I've got such a lot to do. I must
find Goering and tell him before they find him."

"Before who finds who?"

"Before the police find Rudolf." She told Hambledon what had happened as
briefly as possible. "So you must get away. Don't stand here talking;
go. It can't be long before they find Goebbels and let him out. I wish
I'd killed him, and I can't think why I didn't. I could have cut his
throat quite easily; it just didn't occur to me. How stupid." Her eyes
filled with tears of vexation.

"Of course you couldn't," said Hambledon. "Don't be silly. What are you
going to do?"

"Find Goering."

"Where is he at this moment?"

"I don't know."

"But if you're going to run round Berlin looking for him, Goebbels'
police will pick you up, and then where will you be?"

"In a concentration camp," she said simply.

Hambledon swore under his breath. "Look here," he said sharply, "you
must try to think clearly. It's no use hunting for Goering tonight.
Haven't you any friends you could go to who would hide you for a few
days?"

She thought for a minute and then nodded like a child. "There's Marianne
at Tegel. It's a big house; she could, easily. She was at school with
me; she knows Rudolf."

"You're going out there in my car. Eckhoff will take you. He won't tell
anyone about it, either, if I tell him not to. He doesn't like Herr
Goebbels either."

She rubbed her forehead and spoke more intelligently. "I'm not in much
danger really, once Goering knows. If Goebbels could have made me
disappear tonight he could have made up some story to account for it.
Once Goering has heard all about this, he wouldn't dare."

Hambledon nodded. "That's settled, then. I'll tell Eckhoff to get the
car out at once and drive you to Tegel. It's only half an hour's run."
He went to the house telephone.

"But you and Herr Grautz," she said. "You'll want the car to get away."

"No, we shan't. Between ourselves, I've been expecting this and I've
made arrangements. Don't you worry about us. You stay quiet at Tegel
till you've got in touch with Goering, then you'll be all right." He
rang up the lodge and gave Eckhoff detailed instructions.

"You can tell him where the house is when you get there, can't you?" he
said, putting down the telephone.

"He'd better not know, had he? He can put me down by the church and I'll
walk to it. I shall be all right. Thank you a thousand times for all
your kindness. I only want to live for one thing."

"What is that?" said Hambledon, though he guessed the answer.

"I want to see Goebbels die."

Hambledon looked away from her convulsed face only to see what was
almost as shocking--Grautz in the doorway smiling placidly. Oh, to be in
London where people don't hate so wholeheartedly.

"I can't begin to thank you for what you've done for us," began Tommy.
"You have certainly saved our lives; at least, it will be our own fault
if you haven't. Someday, perhaps, we shall be able to repay at least
some part of the debt we----"

But she was so obviously not listening that his voice died away. She
looked as though she were listening to something quite
different--another voice, perhaps.




CHAPTER XXII
SWEDEN FIRST STOP


Two hours later the deputy chief of police was summoned from his bed to
go at once to the Ulseth laboratory in the Jungfern Heide. There had
been a dreadful accident: the chief of police was dead; Professor Ulseth
was dead; others also. The deputy chief must go and take command
immediately.

He groaned dismally as he struggled into his clothes. "I am not the man
for these violent scenes," he said. "I am not
of-a-suitable-disposition-by-nature formed. They must find somebody else
for the post."

"Nonsense," said his wife, sitting up in bed with a pale blue sleeping
cap over hair curlers. "You are perfectly capable if you will only exert
yourself."

"No. You are wrong. Women do not understand these matters. Oh, the devil
is in these braces, they---- Ah, that's it. I am a civil servant by
training, my dear. My office work is second to none, though I say it of
myself. My files are quite impeccable---- Where is my tie?"

"On the dressing table."

"Thank you, so it is. But when it comes to giving savage orders--'Shoot
that man!' 'Fire on that crowd!'--I repeat, I am not the man."

"I shouldn't think you will be called upon to shoot anybody tonight,"
she said. "According to the message, most of them seem to be dead
already."

"I also dislike corpses," he said, and unwillingly left the room.

He arrived at the Ulseth laboratory with more police, in case they
should be wanted, and found a scene of considerable wreckage. The stone
walls still stood, but the rafters of the roof were sticking up in the
air, the windows were missing, and the doorway a ragged hole. The deputy
chief advanced cautiously and peeped inside with the help of several
electric torches held by his assistants. The wooden partitions which had
formed the private apartments were smashed to match-wood, and the
laboratory was unrecognizable as such. He drew back, muttering,
"Dreadful, dreadful."

"Careful where you step, Herr Deputy Chief," said one of his men. "There
is here----"

His torch illuminated some debris of the kind which the deputy chief
most disliked, and he shied violently.

"Cover it up, for goodness' sake. Let us go somewhere where we can sit
down--the lodge, yes, the lodge. We can do nothing more here till
daylight. In the meantime I will take statements from all witnesses.
Fully detailed statements," he continued, trotting down the path toward
the lodge. "They can then be properly collated and filed. Send in a
shorthand typist to take them down."

Eckhoff gave evidence first. He said that the Herr Professor had sent
him out on an errand with the car, and before he left----

"What was the nature of the errand?"

"Merely to take a visitor to the Stettiner railway station," said
Eckhoff untruthfully. He had a romantic admiration for Amalie Rielander,
and Hambledon had told him frankly that she was in danger and going into
hiding.

"What was his name?"

"Pardon?"

"The visitor's name."

"I do not know, Excellency," said Eckhoff without hesitation.

"Oh. Well, I daresay he can be found if necessary. Continue."

"Just as I was starting," said Eckhoff, "the Herr Professor spoke to me
at the gate. He said that he was not to be disturbed again that night
upon any account, that I was not to go to the laboratory whatever
happened, and not even to ring him up on the telephone. He said his
experiments had reached a very--a very something stage, I've forgotten
the word----"

"Crucial?"

"That was it. Even the telephone bell ringing might jar something off--I
think that's what he meant."

"Dreadful," said the hater of violence. "Continue."

"So when I came back I put the car away and just looked up the path
toward the laboratory. I didn't go near, not me! But I could see they'd
got the lights on; there's a chink always shows down the side of the
blackout. They'd got a tap running a bit too; I could hear it trickling
past the grating outside here. So I said 'Good luck to 'em' and went to
bed."

"Have you got all that?" said the deputy chief to the police shorthand
typist. "Include my questions also."

"Yes sir."

"Continue."

"I was wakened up by the gate bell ringing, so I got up, it being my
turn on duty. It was after midnight. I went to the gate, and there was
the chief of police with six men. He said, 'Open this gate.' I said,
'What for?' He said, 'Don't argue. Open it.' I asked him if he wanted to
see the Herr Professor, and he told me to mind my own business. So I
begged his pardon and told him what the Herr Professor had said."

"About its being dangerous to disturb him, you mean?"

"Yes sir. But he wouldn't have it. He said he'd heard that tale before,
and I could either open the gate at once or have a bullet through my
head, whichever I liked. He threatened me with his automatic."

The deputy chief shuddered. If this was the kind of thing expected of
him in the future, he would definitely resign.

"So I opened the gate," said Eckhoff. "They'd have forced it if not, and
it wouldn't help the Herr Professor, me being shot. The chief left two
men at the gate and walked up the path with the four others. I stayed by
the gate; I didn't want to be mixed up in it. They had torches, and I
watched them go up to the door and knock on it. Nothing happened."

"No answer from within?"

"I couldn't tell, sir. I shouldn't have heard from here if there had
been."

"No. Probably not."

"Then they knocked again, and I heard the chief shout, 'Open, in the
name of the Reich.' They waited a minute or two, and then I heard them
kicking the door in. After a bit it gave way and the light streamed out
from inside. The chief rushed in first--I know it was him because he was
the biggest--and then----"

"Well?"

Eckhoff gulped, for he was quite sincerely attached to the Herr
Professor.

"Then there was a brilliant green flash as lit up the whole place, and
an awful bang, and that's all I know, sir."

"A green flash. That is a characteristic of Ulsenite, I understand."

"Pardon?"

"Ulsenite always explodes with a green flash."

"Yes, sir. That is so."

"That proves," said the deputy chief to his shorthand typist, "that this
regrettable affair was, in fact, caused by an explosion of the materials
and--er--stock on the premises, and not by a bomb or other fulminatory
matter surreptitiously introduced upon the scene by subversive elements
engaged in sabotage."

"Yes sir," said the policeman.

"Type that last sentence on a separate sheet of the report, headed
'Conclusions Drawn.' There will doubtless be others arising in the
course of the rest of the evidence. Well, my man," to Eckhoff, "have you
anything further to add which will help to clear up this dreadful
affair?"

"No sir. Except I'd like to say I did my best to stop it, short of
gettin' shot myself. Not only 'cause this was a good job, either,
believe it or not. He was a nice old cuss--gentleman--so he was," said
Eckhoff, very red in the face.

"Your sentiments do you credit, and your actions shall be duly placed on
record. Next witness."

The next witness was the senior of the two policemen who had been left
with the car at the gate when the chief of police took his four
unfortunate comrades to meet their fate at the laboratory door. This man
said that he was on duty at headquarters that evening when, at about a
quarter to eleven, the Herr Minister of Propaganda came in demanding to
see the chief of police at once.

"The Herr Minister of Propaganda," said the deputy chief. "Oh dear. Do
not put down that involuntary exclamation," he added hastily to the
shorthand typist.

"No sir."

"If I may add something else not for the record," said the witness, "the
Herr Minister was in a state. He had a lovely black eye coming and a
bump on his head sticking out like half a duck egg, his clothes were all
rumpled up anyhow, and he was in a rage. Oh dear!"

"Most unfortunate. Most alarming. What happened then?"

"I showed him in, the chief being still there going through reports
about these cigar box outrages. Before I could shut the door after me
the Minister says, 'Take a squad of police; go at once and arrest
Professor Sigmund Ulseth. Now, at once'."

"Put that down very clearly," said the deputy chief. "It is very
important; it absolves the department from responsibility in the matter.
I will give you a further note on that later for the 'Conclusions Drawn'
memorandum. Continue."

"I didn't hear any more, sir; it wasn't my place to stay. Five minutes
later the chief came out with Herr Goebbels and saw him to his car. He
then came back and said to me, 'Get five other men and the big car;
there's an arrest to make.' When I'd given the orders and come back the
chief was locking up something in the safe. He says to me, 'I got his
order in writing, and that's it. Can't be too careful.' I don't know if
that had better be noted down, sir?"

"Omit 'can't be too careful'; the rest is important."

"Yes sir."

"On the way here," continued the witness, "the chief seemed a bit uneasy
but he didn't say anything. We arrived at the gate..." The rest of
the evidence confirmed Eckhoff's in every detail.

The deputy chief of police took statements also from the only other
witness available, these being the other policeman, Bernstein, and
Bernstein's wife. They added nothing to the story. He then contributed a
few more comments to the list of "Conclusions Drawn," rose stiffly to
his feet, and stretched himself.

"It is nearly three o'clock," he said. "I shall go home and get an hour
or two of sleep. Get those statements typed out; they can be signed in
the morning. I shall be here at seven-thirty in order to finish off this
business and be at my office by nine."

"Yes sir," said the police shorthand typist, looking ruefully at his
pages of notes. He also had a home, but it would be no use mentioning
it.

                 *        *        *        *        *

The deputy chief arrived at the laboratory gate punctually the following
morning. To outward appearance he was as businesslike as usual, but
inwardly he shrank from the unpleasant tasks awaiting him. It was,
therefore, with considerable pleasure that he found one of the highest
of his subordinates already in the lodge, a younger man, of stronger
stomach than himself when it came to untidy corpses.

"Good morning, Klopp," said the deputy chief. "I am glad to see you
here--I was going to send for you. You will take over this inquiry and
arrange for the identification of the remains, if possible. The
statements I took last night have yet to be signed by the witnesses
concerned, and----"

"Excuse me, sir," said Klopp. "I have to go into the Wedding district at
once to investigate a case of assault which took place there early this
morning. It is a serious case; the victim is a member of the S.S. I am
only here because----"

"I will go direct to headquarters and arrange for someone to take your
place there. This disaster, involving such distinguished persons, is
more important than----"

"With your permission, sir," persisted Klopp. "I know the Wedding
district better than anyone else of my rank on the staff. This case here
is, as you say, of such outstanding importance that none but you could
adequately deal with it. Particularly as the Herr Minister of Propaganda
is coming----"

"What?" said the deputy chief feebly.

"Herr Goebbels will be here very shortly. That is why I came out here so
early without awaiting your instructions, I was afraid he might arrive
and find only subordinates present."

"Why is he coming?" said the deputy chief agitatedly. "I would be
understood to say, what is he coming for? So early, too, after last
night..." His voice trailed off.

"I myself received his message on the telephone at headquarters," said
Klopp. "In fact, he spoke himself. It appears that a mistake was made
last night. It was never intended that the Herr Professor should have
been forcibly arrested. He was only----"

"But," said the deputy chief, "I have evidence that----"

"The witnesses must be mistaken. Herr Goebbels was very definite about
it, not to say annoyed."

"Oh dear!"

"He had discovered a plot to assassinate the Herr Professor with one of
these cigar box bombs. The chief of police was to rush out here before
it could be carried out, warn the Herr Professor and remove him to a
place of safety. He was too late, and the bomb exploded. That is all."

"But----"

"At least that's the story," said Klopp with something nearly
approaching a wink.

The deputy chief looked at him despairingly. "But all the statements I
took," he burst out, "prove that the explosion was that of Ulsenite and
no other."

Klopp shrugged his shoulders. "So now, sir, if you will excuse me--the
assault case I spoke of----"

"I myself," said the deputy chief desperately, "have an overwhelmingly
important appointment at the other end of Berlin."

Klopp permitted himself the ghost of an insubordinate grin. "The Wedding
district," he began, "is the most disorderly and intractable area----"

He was interrupted by the entry of one of the constables on duty at the
gate. "If you please, sir, there are two gentlemen at the gate demanding
to see the Herr Professor on urgent business. We told them they
couldn't, but they won't go away."

"Tell them again," said the deputy chief.

"We have, sir, but they still won't go."

"Who are they?"

The constable mentioned two names which conveyed nothing to his
superiors and added, "We have looked at their papers, which appear to be
all in order. They are Swedes."

"Swedes!" cried the deputy chief. "Swedes. I know what to do with Swedes
asking for Professor Ulseth. There was a special instruction on the
subject circulated to all branches. They are not to be allowed to
approach the premises, but to be instantly deported."

"But the professor is dead," said Klopp.

"All the more reason why they can't see him. They must be removed at
once, or there will be more scandal. I will see to it myself," said the
deputy chief, hurrying out of the lodge. "There has been too much
scandal in connection with this case already; more must be prevented at
all costs. If I take them away at once I shall be in time to put them on
the morning plane for Sweden." He trotted toward the gate, accompanied
by the protesting Klopp.

"But the Herr Minister----"

"You will remain here to receive the Herr Minister. Explain to him that
only the most urgent call of duty---- Start up the car, men! Two
constables as well as the driver---- Only urgent duty precludes me from
the privilege of receiving him in person. Are these the Swedes?"

Two men stood near the gate with expressions of indignant protest upon
their faces. One was a solid elderly man with a monocle and a large fair
mustache turning gray. He held himself stiffly upright and was obviously
laboring under a sense of outrage. His companion was a younger man,
dark-haired, with black eyebrows and a sallow skin uncommon among
Swedes; he wore large horn-rimmed spectacles and walked with a limp and
a stick. The deputy chief looked them over, and the older man opened his
mouth to speak.

"Silence," said the police official imperiously. "No argument is
permissible. Into the car!"

They were hustled in with a constable each to keep them in order. The
deputy chief took the seat beside the driver and gave the word. The car
drove rapidly away.

"You artful old--so-and-so!" said the disgusted Klopp, and returned to
the lodge to await with misgivings the arrival of an infuriated
Goebbels.

Inside the police car, Hambledon settled his monocle more firmly in his
eye--it persisted in trying to escape him--and leaned forward to address
the deputy chief of police with what he hoped was a strong Swedish
accent.

"May I take it we are now being conveyed to the presence of the
distinguished Herr Professor Sigmund Ulseth?"

"No. You may not."

"But I insist----"

"Within my proper sphere of influence," said the deputy chief with
dignity, "it is I who do all the insisting."

"This is an infamy," said Hambledon angrily.

"No."

"But I say it is. I demand----"

"Be quiet, prisoner," said the constable opposite to Hambledon, and
pushed him back in his seat. Tommy thought it best to relapse into
silence until the car reached the center of the city and turned south
down the Wilhelmstrasse, when he tried again.

"Where are we going, Herr Policeman?"

The deputy chief turned in his seat. "In pursuance of an order made
necessary by the tiresome pertinacity of some of your fellow nationals,
you are being taken to the Tempelhof airport for immediate deportation,"
he said sternly.

Hambledon's soul filled with glee, but no sign of it showed in his face.
"I protest," he began indignantly.

"It is useless."

"I absolutely refuse."

"It is unavailing."

"But it is a business matter of the highest importance. The Herr
Professor----"

"Silence," said the deputy chief appropriately.

The car turned into the Tempelhof airport and stopped. Hambledon and
Grautz got out and stood obstinately beside it, making no attempt to
move. The passenger plane for Sweden was standing out on the tarmac with
its engines slowly ticking over; intending travelers were climbing the
steps and disappearing inside the small doorway.

"The money for your tickets," said the deputy chief peremptorily.

"I refuse to pay," said Hambledon bluntly. "If the Reich chooses to
treat the nationals of neutral states with such unheard-of incivility,
the least it can do is to pay their fares."

The deputy chief lost patience. "Take these two men into one of the
waiting rooms and search them," he said to the police escort. "I have no
doubt you will find enough money on either or both of them to pay their
fares."

They were pushed into an adjacent waiting room and searched. In the
waistcoat pocket of each was found the return half of an air-line ticket
to Sweden.

"Look at that," said one policeman to the other. "Giving all that
trouble for nothing!" They scowled at Hambledon and Grautz and went out,
taking the tickets and locking the doors after them. Hambledon looked
out of the window.

"That air-liner looks as though it's filling up," he remarked anxiously.

"I hope they'll find room for us," said Grautz calmly. "If not, it may
be a little awkward."

The door opened again, and the deputy chief said, "Come out!"

They thought it best to obey, and were being escorted toward the machine
when an official of the air-line came running up.

"A thousand apologies, Herr Deputy Chief of Police," he said, "but the
plane is full--all the seats were taken days ago--I regret infinitely,
but----"

Hambledon's knees became unsteady, and even Grautz turned sallower than
was accounted for by his make-up.

"Room must be made," said the police chief. "Turn out two non-priority
travelers."

"There are none. They are all of the highest possible priority."

The deputy chief sighed impatiently. "Take these men back to the waiting
room," he said, and the escort removed them and locked them up again.

Hambledon and Grautz, once more alone, looked at each other. "I'm afraid
you've overdone it," said the Dutchman with less than his usual
placidity. "My complexion won't last indefinitely, and if they hold us
up for two or three days----"

"I'm sorry, Grautz," said Tommy penitently. "I overacted a bit, I'm
afraid. Try not to perspire," he added helpfully.

"They are still arguing," said Grautz, looking out of the window.

"So long as they keep that up, there's hope."

"And so long as the plane doesn't go off without us."

They waited, and the time dragged.

"They are turning toward us," said Grautz at last.

"There's the police car still waiting," said Hambledon. "We shall pass
it on our way to the air-liner--if we do pass it and are not hustled
into it again."

"Did you say something about not perspiring?" said Grautz. "I daren't
wipe my face; this stuff might come off."

"Don't. If you had different complexions in streaks, they might suspect
something. They are coming this way. My knees want starching."

The door opened once more, and again the deputy chief said, "Come out!"
They followed him across the concrete expanse toward the car; they
neared it, reached it--passed it--and walked toward the aircraft.
Hambledon drew a long breath and stepped out with more assurance.

By the steps which led up to the door in the side of the airplane were
two gentlemen protesting and one air-line official endeavoring to pacify
them.

"Most urgent and immediate business--first-class priority----"

"Tomorrow, without fail, definitely, seats shall be found."

"Today we must go, not tomorrow."

"An unheard-of infringement of contract. I shall complain to the
company."

"Gentlemen, the company regrets--only the service of the Reich
could----"

Hambledon, followed closely by Grautz, entered the aircraft without
bidding farewell to the deputy chief. Tommy offered him a haughty stare
from the window, but the anxious little man was not looking. Doors
closed and steps were removed; the engine revolutions increased and
orders and signals were given. The air-liner began to move, slowly at
first and increasingly faster, bumping on the runway. Presently the
bumps ceased; they were air-borne.

An official came down the narrow gangway between the seats, and
Hambledon stopped him.

"Does this plane touch down again in Germany?" he asked.

"No sir. We go right through to Sweden."

Hambledon and Grautz did not glance at each other. They leaned back in
their seats, stretched out their legs, and relaxed comfortably.






[End of Green Hazard, by Manning Coles]
