OHN

EASEY
Gateway to Escape
John Creasey
GATEWAY TO
ESCAPE
This successor to Return to Adven­
ture firmly stamped John Creasey.
then using Norman Deane as one
of his pseudonyms, as a writer of
exceptional ability. It is a story,
told with corrvincing realism, of
the adventures of Cris St Clare
(the Liberato�') and his friends
Ned and Anton in France and Italy
in the tense <ilays preceding the
Allied landings during the Second
World War, and shows how the
path to success was paved.
It is not surprising that th is novel
is still being read nearly forty
years after it was written, for,
like its forerunner, it never flags
in its suspense and excitement.

£1 ·85 net
IN UK ONLY
GATEWAY TO ESCAPE

John Creasey

00]�[§]
HUTCHINSON LIBRARY SERVICES /JOHN LONG
Hutchinson Library Services Ltd
3 Fitzroy Square, London W1
London Melbourne Sydney Auckland
Wellington Johannesburg Cape Town
and agencies throughout the world
First published under John Creasey's pen-name of
Norman Deane 1943
This revised edition 1974

© John Creasey 1944 and 1973

Printed in Great Britain by Anchor Press,
and bound by Wm. Brendon,
both of Tiptree, Essex
ISBN O 09 118490 8
 Contents
I Talk of the Newcomer 7
2 A New Arrival 16
3 Le Comte du Chesne 23
4 Was du Chesne Robbed? 30
5 We Move from Aeon 41
The Mystery of a Name 47
7 The Case of de Brinnon 52
8 The Ruthless Italian 63
9 The Nature of Count Bellini 71
IO A Message from 'Lucille' 80
II A Child is Born 88
12 Adventures in a Bathroom 93
13 Le Chat de Nuit 100
14 M'sieu Maurice Rivere 107
15 So Near to Success 114
16 The Dark Months 118
17 Colette-and New Hupe 123
18 A Set of Photographs 132
19 New Vistas 137
20 An Adventure at Sea 144
21 Signor Bianchi is Helpful 154
22 Viva Diano! 162
23 We Hear Bad News of Lucille 169
24 I Fail to Persuade Lucille 177
25 We Make the Great Attempt 185
•
 I

Talk of the Newcomer

I had been talking for ten minutes, with conviction
although without heat, aware of the cold, unanswerable
logic with which I built up my case, when Cris turned
from the contemplation of a faded print on the stone wall
of the farmhouse parlour.
'I'm sorry, Ned, I wasn't listening.'
_ There are moments when the closest ties of friendship
are liable to snap, when the most even-tempered individual
will be exasperated to a point of anger·; that was such an
occasion. I jumped to my feet, possessed by a sharp, un­
thinking anger, the culminating point of a long series of
exasperating i.pcid@ts. I had, however, completely forgot­
ten that I was sitting in a rocking-chair.
Even when you are used to it, a rocking-chair dis­
courages abrupt movement. I slipped. The fall jarred my
wrists, flung out to save my head from striking the opposite
wall, for l had not yet recovered fro1!1,·.� ���_11d �yse_d by a
German sen�y's lu1llet.:_bJ; leas! l s½�\�te-ded iri, tlj�_t. Bllt
my, anger could not su1y.7ive such �n. 3:P..� s�_!�ation.
'You,..d better try this one,' said dos, pullmg another
chair forward.
I sat down gingerly; the pain was wearing off and I was
glad that the mi�hap had saved me from mak,ing a bigger
fool of myself.
7
 'What were you saying?' he asked, taking out his cigar­
ette case.
I grinned, in spite of myself. We lit up, and Cris tucked
his case and lighter into a pocket of his woollen jersey. We
both wore the rough clothes of French peasants, with
sailors' jerseys beneath thick coats. It was very cold, but
we could not light a fire by day, for the farmhouse was
supposed to be unoccupied and we knew that it was being
watched.
'I was saying,' I told him, with some feeling, 'that I can
think of a dozen reasons why we should not receive a
stranger, but no single advantage in having one here.'
Cris grinned. 'Admirably expressed. I'm an exasperating
beggar, aren't I?'
'At times, exasperating is hardly the word,' I assured
him. 'But seriously-you won't let them send anyone, will
you?' When he did not answer, I went on more warmly :
'Confound it, things are difficult enough as it is ! You and I
and Anton know the district inside out, even the Huns are
used to seeing us. If a stranger arrives on the scene we shall
probably be rounded-up and put into a camp. We may not
be doing much at the moment, but at least we're well dug­
in, and later .. .'
Cris interrupted.
'I don't think London is trying to prod us into doing
anything more, Ned. It's just that .. .'
'It's just that they're not satisfied with what we're doing
and they think a new broom might sweep more efficiently,'
I snapped, rising again at the thought. I felt that it implied
a lack of trust, not so much in myself but in Cris and
Anton, both of whom had performed miracles in the past
six months. I suppose, at the time, they had been instrumen­
tal in smuggling more than fifty influential men and women
out of France, people who were needed to prepare the
8
framework of the new order which would follow the
expulsion of the Hun.
We did not work entirely alone, of course. In seven
different districts there were guerilla bands ready to act on
the orders which Cris might give them. They had
christened him le Liberateur and no soubriquet was ever
better earned, for he had liberated hundreds of men and
women-with the help of Anton, the guerillas, and myself
-while many guerilla bands owed their food and ammuni­
tion to Cris.
I had been with the party from its beginning, and was
chiefly useful for my knowledge of languages.
The previous night, when we had listened-in to the news
from F2 (the B.B.C. Foreign Service which worked with
us) we had received a carefully coded message-neces­
sitating an hour's work before its import could be under­
stood-saying that London proposed to send someone else
to join us. That was all I knew at the time. London had
given no clue to the identity of the promised newcomer,
but as we had been quiet for some weeks, chiefly because
things had become very hot for us in two or three districts
of the Hautes Alpes, I took it to mean that some interfer­
ing prodnose had decided that we needed inspection. Cris,
who always took the charitable view, disagreed.
I think he knew how deeply I felt, however, that, what­
ever the motive, it was a mistake to send anyone from
England at that juncture. We were waiting for the invasion
of France, and the eagerness of the guerillas could hardly
be restrained. Three of them had gone out on unnecessary
foraging expeditions without orders only two days before;
all three had been shot.
Cris is not tall, _but although we are both almost exactly
five feet ten, he always looks taller than I. He is finely
built, narrow at the hips but with wide shoulders; no mat-
9
ter how roughly he dresses, a discriminating observer can
see that he is outstanding. He was in France with me
during the closing days of the first Battle of France and to­
gether we have been through many hairbreadth experi­
ences.
Over two years had passed since the time when we first
met to the day when we sat in the stone-walled farm­
house, some ten miles from Gap and sixty from the
Italian border. In those two years I had learned that
although in so many ways Cris was gentle, beneath his
gentleness and good temper, his genius for improvisation,
lay a hard core of hatred towards the Germans.
'So you really think they're sending a new broom?' he
mused.
'I think they will, if we don't stop them,' I said sharply.
'Surely you can see that . . .'
Cris said: 'Ned, I don't want a stranger any more than
you or Anton do. I agree with all you've said but . . .'
'Well then, send them word that they're not to wish him
on to us,' I said, more relieved than I showed. 'Why have
you wasted half the day? One of us can get over to the
shed and send word. Shall I . . . ?'
I moved towards the door.
The 'shed' was two miles across country, a charcoal­
burner's hut beneath which we had installed a transmitter
that kept us in touch with England.
'No, it's no use.'
'But you said . . .' I began, then tailed off as I faced the
intentness with which he was looking at me. 'What the
devil is the matter with you?' I added, gruffly. 'If there's a
single wrong step now, what we have done won't be worth
a tinker's cuss.'
'That may be. But it's too late to do anything about it,
Ned. He's on his way.'
IO
 I stood stock still, gaping at him.
'On-on his way?'
'Yes. He should be here after sunset. We had word while
you were asleep.' (I had been on duty for the latter part of
the night and had slept most of the morning.) 'So what we
think wise won't cut much ice,' went on Cris. 'I've an idea
that they knew what we would think about it and deliber­
ately presented us with a fait ac.compli.' He shrugged.
'We'll have to make the best of it.'
I gulped, and then exploded : 'No, this is the limit!
What the devil do they take us for? I won't stand for it!
It's time they were told exactly what .. .'
'Not so loud!' exclaimed Cris urgently.
He was nearer the window than I, and looked out. As he
did so I heard a faint movement and realised that I had
committed a cardinal crime by raising my voice while talk­
ing in English. I knew that I might have undone all the
good which months of laborious spade-work had created. If
a Nazi, an Italian-they intermingled at that time in the
Hautes Alpes-or even a renegade Frenchman had heard
a single word, it would cause an immediate rush for safety;
the farmhouse would be useless as headquarters. One, or
all, of us might be caught. I cursed myself as I waited with
baited breath while Cris peered outside.
'I can't see who it is,' he whispered.
There were footsteps, stealthy and ominous. My hand
dropped to the pocket of my coat and my fingers closed
about the small automatic there; Cris put a hand to his
pocket, also.The footsteps drew nearer, then stopped-and
were followed by two sharp taps at the door, a pause, two
more taps and, after a longer pause, a final tap.
Relief surged through me as I stepped to the door and
pulled back the bolts. A moment -later, Anton stepped
II
over the threshold, his handsome face set in a scowl directed
towards me.
'You complete imbecile !' he snapped, in a whisper.
'What do you think you are doing? Old Louis is at the end
of the lane, I was only halfway along when I heard you!'
'Louis is all right,' said Cris, reassuringly.
'There might be someone in the barn,' snapped Anton.
Obviously I had scared him. 'I could not believe my ears!
Has he gone mad? I said to myself-always he has been
close to it, but now he has gone stark raving ! What is it,
Ned? ls your head worse?'
I hadn't the heart to retort in kind.
'So!' he grunted. 'You begin to realise what you did.'
'Well,' said Cris, amiably, 'you yourself are talking in
English, and certainly not in a whisper.' He pulled a chair
from the table and sat down. Anton followed his example.
He needed a shave, but that hardly detracted from his good
looks, his clear-cut features and wide-set, dark blue eyes. I
had known him only a few hours less than I had known
Cris, and we were, on the whole, very good friends.
'It is a bad sign,' he said, lighting a cigarette, 'to speak
in English. It means that we are worried enough to be
careless.' He lapsed into French and we kept to that lan­
guage for the rest of the day. 'Ned is, of course, angry with
London. Well'-he shrugged-'so am I! A stranger just
now might prove disastrous.'
Cris said mildly enough: 'Well, we'll have to put up with
it.'
'Nom d'·un nom!' cried Anton, raising his hands high.
'What a man you are! We shall have to suffer it, that is
all that can be said! Perhaps we shall have to leave the
Gap district. Perhaps half of our friends will be arrested.
Perhaps ...'
12
 'Perhaps we'll be glad that he's with us,' said Cris drily.
'Why condemn the fellow without a hearing?'
'C'est incroyable!' Anton kept his voice low yet made
the words sound like a despairing appeal to the Fates. 'Each
day I say to myself that all is well. I now understand at
least two Englishmen. Madness!' He rose from his chair
and strode across the room, lithe and swift, as in all his
movements. 'Perhaps-perhaps !-we shall be glad that he
is coming!'
Cris gave a tolerant shrug and stubbed his cigarette out
on a chipped saucer.
'For God's sake, let us wait.We should see enough of him
tonight to decide whether he will be useful or an encum­
brance.'
'I shall remember that word,' decided Anton ominously.
'All right, all right, I will wait and so will Ned!' He bowed
ironically. 'It would, it is true, have been of assistance if
our good friends in London had taken the trouble to advise
us .how the encumbrance'-he rolled the word out with
relish-'is to find us. But no, they allow that to remain a
mystery. We go out after dark, perhaps, and a shadow
appears out of the side of the road. "M'sieu", says the
shadow, "I look for le Liberateur". "M'sieu", says the
German sentry whom he addresses, "I too look for le
Liberateur. We will journey together to the headquarters
of the Kommandant, who will perhaps be able to assist
you." So!'
Cris smiled, and I asked : 'Isn't he coming by air?'
'We have not been told,' Cris admitted. 'There was a brief
message over the radio this morning to say that he would
join us after sunset. We've no name and no description,
but of course he will have the usual credentials, there'll
be no difficulty in recognising him.'
 'All the same,' I said, disgruntled, 'It's pretty high-hand­
ded. London must have . . .'
'London has gone what the Americans call haywire,'
declared Anton. 'Let us finish with the subject, Ned, I am
already tired of it. I have seen Garat and . . .'
He went on to report a conversation he had had with one
of the guerilla leaders, but I could not concentrate on what
he said. There was nothing of great importance-except,
of course, that he had further evidence of the excessive zeal
of the Frenchrna.u in the Alps. The attack on Europe had
been hanging fire far too long for those guerillas; they had
lived through the agony of France's fall, through all the
period of German occupation. They had believed that the
onslaught would start in France and were disappointed be­
cause it had begun in Africa. Delays, natural enough and
even wise, made them fret. Cris had not found it easy to
restrain their eagerness.
The occupying authorities knew of the existence of these
guerilla forces and on three occasions powerful units of
German and Italian troops had been flung against them.
Their eyries in the Alps had been bombed time after time,
villages had been subjected to merciless attack, all able­
bodied men had been rounded up. Many were sent to
Germany, others to French jails or Laval's internment
camps. Their existence was admitted in the German-con­
trolled French Press and occasionally they were given a few
inches in the British and American papers, but their
strength-several thousands all told-and their ordeals were
not told to the world. If one were found, he was shut; no
quarter was expected, and certainly none was given.
The Alps was a perfect place for their activities. By night
they would descend from their hiding-places and assault a
German unit, answering terror with terror. The Germans
and Italians knew that the peasant folk assisted them, but
reprisals simply ensured the death of those who had t'.lken
part in them, for others immediately took their place.
The middle slopes of the mountains were a kind of no­
man's-land, now controlled by the guerillas, now by their
enemies. There was sabotage, although not on a large scale
-it was not a district where sabotage was possible except in
isolated incidents. True, some of the tunnels through which
the railways ran, and some of the mountain roads, had been
blown up and blocked, but the incidents were mere pin­
pricks to the guerillas, who were anxious to do much more.
When at last the drive into France began there was no
doubt that they would be called on to play an important
part, but I was worried-as were Cris and Anton-by the
continued inaction. If they decided to ignore Cris's advice
and made a large-scale attack on the occupying forces in the
district, they might be wiped out by the superior forces
which would be deployed against them; thus their useful­
ness wuuld be denied the invading troops at the crucial
moment.
The guerillas had been built up around Cris-as le
l.iberateur-but I, for one, wished it were not so. I thought
that there were others capable of organising such bands
and was sorry that circumstances had prevented Cris from
continuing the work which he did superlatively well, that
is, getting key-men out of Axis control and smuggling them
to England. If ever a man was born to be a lone wolf-or,
if you prefer it, a modern Sir Percy Blakeney-that man
was Cris. He chafed under the added responsibility which
the guerillas forced him to accept. Now, I thought, London
was adding to his burdens; it looked as if he were to be­
come a commander in the field. If that were so, I would be
surprised and disappointed in Sir Alan Clyde, our im­
mediate superior, for there could never be a greater waste
of talent.
 In that mood I waited impatiently for the night and the
arrival of the newcomer.

A New Arrival
The day had been cold, with a heavy fall of snow, for it
was early February. As soon as darkness fell we lit a fire
and fed it with wood gathered from the nearby forest. We
had rigged up a light-trap at the door and blacked out the
windows so that there was no chance of a glimmer of fire­
light being seen from outside. The flame served as our only
illumination, for there was no lamp and we were
economical with candles.
The howling of the wind made it difficult to catch the
sound for which all of us were waiting. At last I jumped to
my feet, more edgy even than during the day. Anton was
nearly as touchy. It was a little after eight o'clock, and we
would not get our nightly message over the ether until
twelve.
Cris looked up from a book he was struggling to read, a
faint smile on his lips.
'Why don't you two look round outside?' he asked.
Anton and I leapt to our feet, pleased at the thought of
movement.
We huddled into our overcoats and cautiously moved
aside the cloth of the light-trap. Once outside, we stood
silently in the darkness, feeling a light fall of snow on our
faces.
I should, I think, explain a little more about the three of
us.
16
 Crispian St. Clare is the only heir to one of England's
oldest baronetcies. In the R.A.F. at the outbreak of war he
had started a series of deathless adventures after he had
brought me out of France when I had expected to go only
as far as a Nazi firing squad. We had managed to get away
in his aeroplane, taking with us several Frenchmen, the
leader of whom was Anton Duval. For some months there­
after, Cris, Anton and other pilots had run a 'ferry-service'
to and from France, bringing Frenchmen from their
motherland to join de Gaulle. That, of course, had been
the beginning of the legends which had built themselves up
about le Liberateur.
I had been at the Foreign Office for some years ; a some­
what hidebound and pedantic individual with one saving
grace-my knowledge of languages and of Europe. Had
Cris been free to choose his helpers I am quite sure he
would never have chosen me. It so happened that I had
been with him from the beginning and what had started
by chance had grown into a durable alliance. For a while,
I had broadcast in French to France and had earned some
distinction as the Voice, afterwards broadcasting from
France itself, from the many underground transmitting
stations which had been built up through the length and
breadth of that unhappy land.
Although three more different types could hardly have
worked together on such dangerous ventures, it is a fact
that we worked in amity ; the measure of our success was
that we had been operating now for over eighteen months.
I have said enough, I think, about the circumstances at
the time when Anton and I stood peering into the darkness
on that bitter February night.
Neither of us spoke, but, mutually inspired, began to
walk across the cobbled yard. I was thinking that it would
be impossible for anyone to travel that night and if, as I
17
suspected, the newcomer was to descend by parachute be­
hind the farmhouse, he stood a good chance of being lost.
I felt more than ever sure that it was a most unsatisfactory
situation when, in a lull in the wind, I heard faint noises.
I stopped still. 'What's that ?' My voice hardly carried to
my own ears.
'A motorist ?' Anton suggested, doubtfully.
'On a night like this ? Nonsense ! '
It came again.
'We'd better tell Cris,' I said.
'Wait a moment ! ' exhorted Anton, with a hand on my
arm.
We waited, tensely, until in another lull I heard the un­
mistakable sound of a car engine.
But now I no longer hesitated, but hurried back to the
house to tell Cris. It might be necessary to hide nearby, but
if the farmhouse were raided the fire would betray the fact
that it had been occupied. For a second time that day I
had visions of having to leave it in a hurry.
Cris came out and stood with us. Looking down to
Aeon, we were suddenly able to see the headlights of a car,
and Cris, as always, offered a reasonable explanation of
what had seemed a phenomenon.
'The wind's coming from the village,' he said, 'and we
couldn't see the lights before because of the hills. Someone
went into the estaminet.'
Anton grunted. ' But who would come to Aeon in a car on
a night like this ?'
'Our visitor, perhaps.'
'Only officials or the military can use cars,' I pointed out.
'As London didn't tell us that he was coming by air, it's
reasonable to think he'll come by road,' Cris pointed out.
'I like it less than ever,' I growled. ' Brrh ! It's devilish
cold. Let's go in.'
18
 Anton volunteered to stay on guard, while Cris and I
moved back to the farmhouse.
At the thought that outside, perhaps already on his way
up the steep hillside, was a man who might completely alter
all our plans and hopes, my anger with London grew apace.
That my nerves were stretched to screaming point by the
waiting and uncertainty did not help matters.
Cris went out again after twenty minutes, and Anton
came in. After another twenty minutes I went to give Cris
a breather, but he would not go in. The snow was now
coming down more heavily, muffling every sound we made.
The only other habitation between us and the village
was a peasant's cottage, where Louis Santot, an old man,
lived alone. Though reputed to be nearer ninety than
eighty, he was one of our staunchest supporters, often carry­
ing messages from us to Carat or one of the other guerilla
leaders.
A faint pinpoint of light now sprang up some half a mile
away. As the light drew nearer Anton joined us. Occasion­
ally it wavered, but soon steadied again. It seemed fairly
obvious to us that its bearer was plodding unsteadily up the
hill to our farmhouse. The uncertainty was unbearable. I
wanted to shout to the man to hurry.
'Come on ! ' muttered Anton. 'Cris, why should it take
him so long? He should have been at Louis' cottage by
now.'
'It's hard going,' Cris pointed out. He paused. 'He's near
the bridge, isn't he?'
'Yes,' said Anton, briefly.
The summer stream, now grown into a winter torrent,
swept through a narrow ravine about two hundred yards
from the farmhouse-Louis's cottage was halfway between
the bridge and the house-and over it ran a narrow stone
bridge.
19
 From the time Cris had first seen the light about quarter
of an hour had passed ; in that time whoever carried the
torch had progressed no more than two hundred yards, as
far as I could judge. Even on such a night he should have
done much better. I found anxiety added to suspense and
was glad when Cris said
'Anton, will you wait here ? Ned, come on ! '
As I hurried forward with Cris, the light, wavering again,
abruptly went out.
The darkness which followed held an eerie quality.
We passed Louis' cottage and went cautiously down the
steep, slippery gradient towards the bridge. I had expected
the light to come on again, but it did not ; there was only
the padding noise of our footsteps in the snow, the soft
flutter of the snow itself and an occasional howling gust of
wind, to break the silence. I suppose we were over five
minutes getting to the bridge, but they were agonising
minutes because of the mystery of that wavering light, of
its sudden disappearance.
'Steady,' Cris cautioned, as I slipped forward.
I was near enough to the end of the bridge to grab at it
and keep my balance. Cris went on more steadily, casting
his torchlight from side to side. I expected it to shine on
whoever was there ; I had visions of the man who had come
to join us prone and in need of medical attention. Inwardly
I was incensed ; it was exactly what might have been expec­
ted. If they had to send someone, surely they should have
made sure that the fool could walk at a normal rate.
Then, as I had feared, Cris's light shone upon someone
lying at the side of the bridge.
One arm was flung outwards and near it was the torch,
still gripped in stiff fingers. I was filled with sudden alarm,
my worst fears realised, but I had the grace to be sorry for
whoever had tried to walk up the hill. I even pictured what
20
 would have happened had we not been on the look-out.
One night on that road, in such cold, would have been
fatal. The snow might be a foot deep in the morning and
this man might have remained buried until the thaw.
Cris thrust his torch into my hand.
'Catch hold,' he said, briefly. As I obeyed he went on
one knee beside the other. I saw him lift the man's head.
He said sharply : 'He's wounded.'
I no longer wondered why the man had been so long,
why his progress had been so unsteady. Suddenly I pic­
tured him badly wounded, attempting to climb up the hill ;
I was filled with admiration ; nevertheless there was more
than room for alarm-for what could we do with a badly
wounded man? Tight-lipped, I went to Cris's help.
'Had I better call Anton ?' I asked.
'I '11 manage him, if you'll get him on my shoulders.'
'But you can't . . .'I began.
'Don't lose time,' said Cris sharply, 'heave him up, and
then hurry for Anton.'
I was tempted to tell him not to talk nonsense and to
carry the man myself, but I knew that I was still below
par because of the wound in my head ; it would not help
the situation if I collapsed. I thought grimly of the irony
of this visitation ; it was not the wounded man's fault, it
simply proved that London had been wrong. As I hurried
ahead I had visions of the men who had shot this fellow
lurking nearby but waiting until we reached our hide-out
before swooping down on us. Twice I touched the gun in
my pocket, easing it into position.
Anton was near the gateway of the yard. He joined me,
and together we skidded and slipped down the road to the
spot where Cris was making slow but steady progress.
Anton immediately took the wounded man's shoulders,
Cris his ankles; together they carried him to the farmhouse,
21
guided by my torch as I walked a few yards ahead.
There was an old-fashioned drop-head sofa beneath the
window, and we lowered the wounded man on to this.
None of us spoke.
I was fresher than the others and, motioning them aside,
went to the sofa to examine him. I had served a year as a
medical student before entering the Foreign Office and the
smattering of knowledge gained thus was often helpful. It
was not long before I realised that the bleeding was coming
from a wound beneath the left breast. As gently as I could
I removed the man's coat and shirt, noticing as I did so
their extremely good, even foppish, quality. Though
almost frozen, he was breathing evenly, and I thought the
wound much too low to have touched the heart ; I told the
others so.
My mind was in turmoil.
It seemed probable that whoever had attacked him had
wanted to prevent him getting to the farmhouse. Was he
known as a collaborator? Had he been knifed by a patriot?
I could not stop the thoughts teeming through my mind.
The injured man was slim and slight of build, and he
did not give me the impression that he was undernourished.
His shirt and underwear were of silk-a foolish fancy for a
visit to the Hautes Alpes in dead of winter. I cleaned the
wound and bandaged him as best I could, and then, tuck­
ing a blanket about him, I gave myself an opportunity to
study his features for the first time.
They were regular and well proportioned, if slightly
effeminate. It was that faint hint of effeminacy which
worried me more than anything else-as, indeed, it worried
Cris.
'Well, well,' I said, a little absurdly. 'Madame is for­
tunate to be in such good hands ! '
'Madame?' asked Anton, sharply.
22
 'That was a joke,' said Cris, with a faint smile. 'Not in
the best of taste, but I agree that he's hardly what we
expected.'
'This can't be the man who was sent to us,' I said.
'Why not?'
'But confound it, even London wouldn't send a dandy
like this here.'
'Where else could he have been going?' demanded Cris.
'He was brought to the village by car,' said Anton. 'He
went into the estaminet, I think we can be sure of that. He
must have spoken to LeBrun (LeBrun, who kept the
estaminet in Aeon, was a whole-hearted supporter of the
guerillas and knew about the farmhouse) who directed him
here.'
'If LeBrun knew that he was wounded he would have
sent someone with him,' I said.
'He couldn't have known,' said Cris. 'This fellow had his
coat buttoned about him and didn't let anyone see that he
was hurt. He wanted to get up here in a hurry, which means
that he probably had an urgent message for us. Effeminate
or not, he did a damned plucky thing in trying to get up
here alone, but that's not so important as-why was he so
anxious to come? He must have known that LeBrun was in
our confidence, so why didn't he send a message through
LeBrun? How long do you think it will be before he comes
round, Ned?'

3
Le Comte du Chesne
I said that I had no idea whether he would come round in
five minutes or in five hours ; I did not know enough about
the effects of exposure and shock and loss of blood to
hazard an accurate guess. He lay there, his eyes closed and
deeply shadowed, looking like a corpse, except for the faint
rise and fall of his breast.
'We must learn something about him! ' snapped Anton.
'He might have been followed . . .'
Cris said : 'They brought him so far in a car and left him,
and we saw the car go back. I don't think it's likely that he
was followed, although he may be a wanted man. If there
were anything to be alarmed about, LeBrun would send us
word, and he wouldn't have let this fellow come up with­
out making quite sure that no one was lurking near. There's
no immediate danger, although whether he's the man
London's told us about is a different kettle of fish.'
'No, no! ' exclaimed Anton. 'Who else could he be?'
'He might have wanted help from us,' said Cris, and went
on more abruptly than usual : 'Speculating like this won't
get us anywhere. I think I'll put through a message to
London and find out whether they know anything about
him.'
'Shall I come with you?' I asked. I know more about the
technical side of radio transmission than either of the
others, although my knowledge is limited enough.
'No, Ned,' said Cris, 'you're our doctor. Anton had bet­
ter come.' He put on his wet coat again and went out, with
Anton close on his heels.
I knew the shed was nearly two miles away and I felt
very much alone in the large, stone room, with the flicker­
ing flames casting eerie shadows over the face of the new­
comer. There seemed something menacing about his pallor
and silence-I had an absurd idea that he might be foxing.
I put some more logs on the fire and they caught at once,
sending a brighter light about the room.
I could think of nothing more unsatisfactory than this
24
visitation, with the unanswered questions which it forced
into my mind. I jumped when a log cracked with a sharper
noise than usual. Impatient with myself and the situation,
I looked at my watch.
The others had been gone no more than twenty minutes ;
they would be away for two hours at least.
Then the man's lips moved for the first time, and he
uttered a single word which seemed to convey a message of
alarm and urgency ; it was a despairing cry, and I had never
heard so much put into one word-or name.
'Lucille!' he cried.
He muttered something, but I could not understand
what he said ; then he lapsed into silence again, as corpse­
like and unmoving as he had been before. But he had given
me something to think about, made me ask aimless
questions, forced me to harass myself until I felt worse than
before he had spoken.
Then I thought that we had not looked in his pockets.
Angry with myself, I turned to his clothes, spread out in
front of the fire to dry. Lucille, I thought. Does he mean
his wife or his daughter?
Slowly I piled the contents of the man's pockets on the
rough-hewn table. There were French coins and notes, a
watch, a penknife and other odds and ends, all of them of
good quality ; but there was nothing which might give a
clue to his identity. I looked for the name-tabs on his
clothes, but, as I expected, they had been cut off.
I grew even more apprehensive.
The man had been afraid of recognition ; I came round
to the opinion that he was on the run. I began to wonder
whether he had been in the councils of Laval and the other
collaborators and, eyeing him narrowly, tried to remember
whether I had seen his face, or a photograph of it, before.
I tried to imagine what he looked like with a beard and
moustache and, carrying the result in my mind, closed my
eyes and endeavoured to recall it, but it was a futile
occupation and I turned to contemplate the fire again.
Suddenly he spoke for the second time.
'Lu,cille!' he gasped. 'You will never ...'
Then he opened his eyes.
I had seen Cris and Anton do it in the same way ; one
moment fast asleep, the next wide awake. Each had the
trick of instant wakefulness, although I had not yet learned
it.
His eyes were large and brown, fringed with dark lashes.
He stared towards the ceiling and I saw his body go tense.
He seemed to be trying to guess where he was ; I have never
seen fear more naked in a man's eyes.
I was standing a little behind him and he did not im­
mediately see me. Unconscious, he had seemed both insig­
nificant and womanish ; conscious he was a different man
and I was suddenly aware of a power and authority in him.
To awake amid unrecognisable surroundings must have
been a shock, nor could he on the instant have remembered
what had happened to him before he had reached this
place. I watched closely, as he looked down at the rough
blanket, pushed it aside and saw the bandage about his
chest. It was at that moment I chose to speak. Before, I
had been apprehensive, wondering what ill-tidings this
man might carry, fearful of a hunt which would bring the
enemy at our heels. I no longer felt either of these things.
'You are with friends,' I said softly.
I stepped forward, to be more easily visible, and smiled
down at him. He stared for an appreciable time, then spoke
in a normal voice, hoarsely perhaps, but without any hint
of the fear which had been carried in the name 'Lucille'.
'Who are you?'
'Who did you come to see?' I countered.
 'Le Liberateur.'
'You will, soon,' I assured him.
Until then, in spite of his self-possession, he had been
keyed up; now I saw his body relax.
'You are Deane, of course?'
'Yes,' I said, but my heart began to beat fast. By now I
had given up all idea that he was the man sent to us from
London, but surely one who had taken flight from Nazi
persecution would know only of le Liberateur, and have no
knowledge of the names of his lieutenants. I said bluntly :
'How did you know?'
He gave a ghost of a shrug.
'You are all well known, all three of you, St. Clare,
Duval, and Deane. The Boche would give a million francs
for each of you and five million for you altogether.' He
spoke quite dispassionately. 'They rate you at a much
higher sum than they do me.'
'So you are on the run?' I asked.
He nodded. 'Yes, and there are few things less pleasant.'
After another pause, he asked : 'How badly am I hurt?'
'It could have been a lot worse,' I assured him. 'If the
knife had been an inch higher you wouldn't be here now.'
'I see,' he said, slowly. 'I knew that it was a near thing,
of course. I hardly know how I managed to get so far. You
saw me on the road, M'sieu Deane?' I nodded. 'I could
have told the owner of the estaminet,' he went on, 'but I
did not want to waste time and I have learned to trust no
one further than I must. M'sieu Deane-have you recog­
nised me?' He was tense again, as if that were an all­
important question.
I shook my head, wishing that Cris would return.
For the first time, he smiled faintly.
'Then allow me to introduce myself. I am le Comte du
Chesne,' he informed me.
 The name meant nothing to me.
I saw the bewilderment in his eyes change to genuine
amusement.
'I see that you have not yet heard of my notoriety,' he
said, ironically. 'I am not alone in thinking myself more
remarkable than I am ! M'sieu, I should warn you that I
was followed as far as Gap. I managed to get a car from
there and the driver was trustworthy, but I cannot be sure
that they will not trace me as far as the village. If they do
that, no habitation will be missed in the search.'
'We shall get ample warning,' I said, reassuringly. 'Now
I think you had better stop talking. It won't do you any
good, and when St. Clare comes . . .'
'He will have many questions, of course,' said du Chesne.
'Perhaps you are right, M'sieu. I owe you much, and
prompt answers to questions should be the least I can do.'
He closed his eyes, but after a moment opened them and
stared at me narrowly. 'Have I spoken before ?' he asked,
abruptly.
'You rambled a little . . .' I began.
'M'sieu, please ! '
He was not an easy man to sidetrack ; I hesitated, not
sure that I would do any good by telling the truth ; then I
submitted, weakly, telling him what he had said. His ex­
pression did not alter, but the tension, which had been so
much easier, returned ; it affected me almost as much as it
did du Chesne.
There was a pause, and then he said : 'The mind is a
curious thing, M'sieu. It is three years since I last saw
Lucille. My daughter-young and so beautiful. She was in
Sedan when the Germans broke through. I do not know
what happened to her, but I heard that she died. Some­
times I think it a good thing that I do not know just what
happened, at others I am tormented by uncertainty, and
28
perhaps hope. But-it is past! ' He spoke more briskly, even
forced a smile. 'When I heard that she was dead, M'sieu, I
set myself to take revenge. So I became a collaborator and a
trusted friend of Laval's. Does the name du Chesne mean
nothing, M'sieu ?'
'I do just remember it,' I said, cautiously.
He shrugged.
'So! I must have worked well, M'sieu, for I was anxious
that the general public should not associate me too freely
with Laval. Other friends of yours knew what I was doing,
M'sieu, and I have sent some very interesting information
to London. Two days ago, alas, I was careless. Only the
quick-wittedness of friends in Paris enabled me to get away.
I thought I had reached Gap without being followed, but
discovered that I was wrong-they had managed to find a
renegade who betrayed me, and it was from him that I
received the wound. Good friends in Gap told me that le
Liberateur was near. They gave me instructions, the car
and a trusted driver. So, I am here. Is there hope, M'sieu,
that you will be able to get me out of France?'
I said : 'I doubt if the weather will be good enough for
landing an aircraft near here for some days, but we can
get you to a place of safety.' I spoke cautiously, for I was
beginning to wonder if this could be a particularly tortuous
trick on the part of the enemy. Then I told myself that the
knife wound was genuine enough and that in any case the
story could be easily checked. It was unlikely that du
Chesne was lying.
He said drily : 'You are very cautious, M'sieu.'
'So were you,' I countered. 'We tried to learn who you
were but you had nothing in your pockets or on your clothes
to identify you.'
'My clothes, no,' he admitted, 'but my wallet, M'sieu,
would have told you all you wished to know. I was foolish
enough to think that even if I were caught I would have
time to destroy the papers. They . . .'
I said sharply : 'What papers ?'
'None of great importance,' he said, quietly, 'but enough
to tell you my name. They were all in one section of my
wallet.' His eyes strayed towards the table where the con­
tents of his pockets were laid out. I picked up the wallet
and looked through it.
I could not believe that Cris and Anton had found any­
thing to identify him without telling me.
'There was nothing here,' I said.
He snapped : 'But there was, M'sieu ! I handled the
envelope when I was in the village, before I started out for
you. There is no doubt about it, I replaced it in the wallet
when I came out of the estaminet. It must be there ! '
'It isn't,' I insisted, and for the first time began to wonder
whether, before Cris and I had reached him on the bridge,
someone else had done so.

4
Was du Chesne Robbed?
Cris had found no papers; hearing the story afresh he was
emphatic about that. Yet the count was equally emphatic
that they had been in his wallet when he le£t Aeon. He had
not been robbed on the way from the village to the bridge,
but, as we all knew, he had lain unconscious there for ten
minutes or more.
Nothing of importance had been lost, du Chesne insisted,
the private papers being evidence of his identity only.
'That's bad enough,' Cris said gloomily, 'if it gets in the
wrong hands.'
30
 'There must be a traitor near here,' said Anton sharply.
'It could not have been a robbery, otherwise the money
would not have been left behind.'
'Who in Aeon could have known that he carried the
envelope in the wallet?' asked Cris, reasonably.
'He could have been followed from Gap. On such a night,
no one would have seen the other man-Le Brun could have
been deceived. Or someone in the estaminet may have over­
heard them talking . . .'
' But not gone straight for that envelope,' objected Cris.
'M'sieu,' said du Chesne, with dignity, 'you do not suggest
that I am lying to you? I tell you that the envelope was in
my wallet.'
Cris smiled reassuringly.
'Oh, I don't doubt that ! And it's time I told you that
we've been asked to look out for you.' He went on to say
that there had been a broadcast message from London,
naming du Chesne and asking us to help him out of the
country, or at least to a place of safety, should he reach our
particular field of activity. London, in short, corroborated
du Chesne's story about being one of the anti-Nazi members
of Laval's secretariat. That was a reassuring item, and
obviously it relieved du Chesne, but I could not understand
why Cris was so calm about the loss of the envelope. It
seemed certain that someone had reached du Chesne before
we had come upon him; that meant that he had been
closely followed from the village. True, I could not make
any sense out of it; had it been a spy, then surely he would
have taken advantage of the darkness to attack Cris and
me. Unless, of course, he had gone back to the village for
help-there were two companies of Germans and one of
Italians near the village-when a search would have been
started immediately. Although a single man might have
escaped Le Brun's watchful eye, any movement of troops
would not have done; he would have sent a warning a long
time before this.
Altogether, it was thoroughly unsatisfactory.
It seemed that Cris was more perturbed than he made
out, for he went off soon afterwards to get in touch with
Garat, the nearest guerilla leader, and to arrange for a
guard to be put round the farmhouse, a course he would
have taken only in an emergency. Obviously, the quicker
du Chesne could be sent to England the better.
Only habit forced us to go to the loft and rest. Cris, at
his own request, took the first spell of watch downstairs,
staying with du Chesne.
There is nothing worse than waiting for danger which
you know is near yet does not develop.
Perhaps the blizzard deferred it; perhaps no one had fol­
lowed du Chesne as far as the bridge; perhaps the envelope
had fallen from his wallet and was now buried deep in
snow; I envisaged all those possibilities during the next
three days, when the blizzard developed such fury that we
had no chance of moving the Frenchman to Garat's head­
quarters.
No one came to visit us, except Louis, and after the
second day the snow was so thick that even he could not
make the journey. The guerillas stayed on duty nearby,
using the outhouses for sleep and warmth. All day, for
three successive days, the snow drove across the grey sky. It
was difficult to keep the door clear, but luckily the wind
was driving from the back of the house and the drifts piled
up against those walls, burying part of the roof and making
the kitchen and dai ry pitch dark. In front, it reached the
window of the living-room, but grew no higher; on the
third day it stopped and the sun came out.
We stood in the clearing we had made between the house
and the cottage of old Louis, and looked about us. Far down
in the village smoke rose straight upwards from the chim­
neys which were invisible in the snow. The road running
through the village to the farmhouse was also invisible, so
were the narrow lanes and alleys which abounded. Even the
bridge was only recognisable by the dark waters which
roared beneath.
None of us had talked much about the man who was
coming from London. We had news of him through the
radio, although it was scanty-we could not understand
the reluctance of London to give us fuller information. At
least, we pretended that we could not, although there was
one obvious explanation. I shied from it and it was left to
Cris, as usual, to grasp the nettle.
His voice was calm, and even matter-of-fact, as he said :
'I suppose we ought to admit that London's afraid that
someone here understands the code.'
Anton scowled. 'I have been thinking that for some
time.'
'Haven't we all ?' asked Cris. ',They wouldn't be so chary
unless they were afraid that others could identify him as
well as ourselves. However, there's no need to look as if
we've reached the end of the road. They don't necessarily
know where we are ! '
'If they can learn the code, they can learn other things,'
said Anton, darkly. 'Cris, I do not like it. Du Chesne
descends upon us and then comes the mystery of the envel­
ope-either he is lying or the envelope was stolen and
someone near Aeon knows that he is in the neighbourhood.
You cannot talk your way out of it ! '
Cris chuckled. 'Who wants to ?'
Anton cried : 'N om de bon Dieu ! Listen to me, Cris !
We are, at the moment, isolated in this farmhouse. True,
others cannot get to us easily, but nor can we get away,
except through the mountains. You brought Garat's men
G.T.E.-B
33
here, yes, but there will be no chance of them getting back
to their mountain hiding-places for another week. We are
alone here, and we can neither go further into the moun­
tains nor into the valley. I would not trust myself to go as
far as the village, so deep are the drifts. When it thaws­
which may be soon, but might not be for another month­
the whole district will be a death trap because so much
water will be released. We are here-and here we shall
stay ! '
'Well, we're warm and comfortable,' Cris pointed out.
'Warm and comfortable ! ' repeated Anton scornfully.
'What good does that do us? Are we working? Or are we
taking the air? With so much going on about us, we are
unable to move more than a paltry hundred yards or so.'
He stopped, abruptly.
During the latter part of his outburst, Cris had been
staring towards the east. Now I heard the faint hum of an
aeroplane and, after a long pause, I saw the dark object
which caused the noise.
Involuntarily I rapped out : 'Is it ours?'
Neither of them answered; the question deserved no bet­
ter fate. All of us knew that it might be an Axis machine,
come to bomb the mountain hide-outs, or even our own.
The machine came on steadily, and soon I saw that it
was a four-engined bomber. My heart leapt; it might be a
Fortress or a Liberator-we had seen them going over be­
fore. It might even be a stray machine which had lost its
companions after a bombing attack on northern Italy. But
-why east to west?
'It's a Liberator,' Cris said, at last.
'The Huns might have put a captured one into service,'
Anton said.
Cris and I ignored that pessimistic remark as we watched
he machine coming swiftly towards us.
34
 It was getting lower.
I watched with baited breath. Behind the house was a
peak, rising up sharply ; if the pilot came over that way,
he would have to turn pretty fast, or else climb steeply, to
avoid crashing-. The queer effect of the roaring engines,
muffled by the snow, was like nothing I had ever heard
before. In common with everything that had happened
from the time we had first heard that we were to have a
visitor, it seemed unnatural and disturbing.
I should have said before now that behind the farmhouse
and the peak-Mount Aeon-there was a flat plateau of
land, stretching for about three hundred yards. It was large
enough for a small aeroplane to land, and two had landed
-but it would be impossible for this monster, even if the
snow would not turn the machine over as soon as it touched
the yielding surface. The shadow of the plane crossed the
yard in front of us, then the four engines seemed to take
on an even deeper note as it curved round and went off in
the other direction, skilfully missing the peak.
Soon it was coming back ; obviously the pilot had been
taking his bearings.
Cris said : 'He's spotted us, I think.'
'But why . . . ?' I began.
I stopped, for the Liberator, a hundred yards or so ahead,
opened its bomb-doors. I have never felt so near to panic.
It zoomed over us, only to turn again as if making a bomb­
ing-run. I saw the white silk billowing out above the para­
chutist when he was no more than a thousand feet up. Two
or three other parachutes dropped, smaller ones, probably
carrying stores or equipment.
Even then I could not believe that a deliberate descent
was being made into snow several feet high. No matter how
perfectly the jump was judged, the risk of going too far in
the wrong direction was very great. If he missed the flat

35
stretch he would be finished, for no one could get down to
the ravines through the snow.
,The man floated gently downward after the 'chute had
opened up. We were already hurrying towards him before
he touched the snow.
I wonder if I have conveyed any idea of the incredible
courage of that feat-and the risks which the man ran ?
Normally, there would have been little enough in it­
except, of course, that it always takes some courage to make
a jump. But on that white expanse it was a very different
matter.
As Cris and Anton reached him-I was a couple of yards
behind them-the fellow was chest-deep in snow.
'Hallo,' he said. 'I'm sorry I'm late.'
There was a short, tense pause before Anton burst into
voluble French.
I said nothing ; the greeting showed a coolness which
Cris might have achieved but would have been quite
beyond me. The antagonism with which I had viewed the
man's impending arrival was swept away.
He took off his fur-lined gauntlets and unfastened from
his waist some collapsible snow-shoes. Eagerly we helped
him to put them on. Then the four of us trudged towards
the nearest parachute. Three of Carat's men had come out
of their hiding-places and were searching for the others.
(They contained chocolate, ammunition for our special
automatics and tablet food.) Cris gave the men a word
or two of instruction before we went on to the farm­
house. A little further away, near Louis' cottage, were more
of Carat's men, watching to warn us of any sign of curio­
sity from the village.
As I have said, it was not unusual for planes to come
over and drop supplies, and the occupying troops were well
aware of the existence of the guerillas. It was quite likely
36
 that there would be no search, especially in the snow, for
the exact place where the parachutist had dropped could
not have been observed.
Our new recruit stripped off his gauntlets and stepped
to the fire, warming his hands and grinning about him. He
was like a fresh-faced schoolboy-no more, I imagined,
than twenty-two or -three. Actually, he was thirty. He did
not tell us that until later, but as he took off more of his
clothes he dropped out odd facts as if they hardly mattered
-his name, the fact that he had left from Gabes, that he
would have been here on the night the blizzard had started
had not the meteorological reports been so bad that his
plane had not been allowed to take off. Although he had
seen none of us before, he knew us from our photographs,
and he had been well primed about le Liberateur and what
we did. There was a touch of shyness about him; before
long I read it as hero-worship of Cris. He was not alone
in that, by a long way.
His smile grew somewhat diffident.
'Made rather a nuisance of myself with you three,
haven't I ? I gathered from Clyde that I might be
unwanted. Sorry about that.'
I said quickly : 'Don't talk nonsense ! '
Anton laughed aloud.
'How English ! Brandon, I tell you at once-Ned was
prepared to take a gun and forcibly prevent you from dis­
turbing our happy home ! Confess it, Ned ! '
I coloured and told him not to be a fool.
'I don't blame him,' said Brandon, with engaging direct­
ness. 'I won't say that I wasn't prepared to give my ears
for the chance, but I can imagine how a greenhorn would
go down with you three old campaigners. Thing is'-he
looked very uncertain of himself-'Clyde thinks that I may
be able to help. I've a message from him somewhere-oh,

37
yes, in my shoe.' He took off a stout brogue and pulled out
the leather sock.
' Before you hand it over,' suggested Anton, 'perhaps you
can tell us why Clyde refused to give us any information
about you?'
'Oh, yes. Too bad,' said Tony Brandon. 'Apparently
some tyke in London snaffled the cypher. There's a new one
in with this letter from Clyde. So it'll be all right after to­
night.'
Half a dozen sheets of rice-paper, covered with Clyde's
unmistakable writing, were handed over. At the sight my
spirits cheered up. Many of the difficulties appeared to be
fading, and it would be no great hardship to work with
Brandon.
Cris devoted himself to a study of the letter, but made
no comment. When he had finished he handed it to me.
Anton read it over my shoulder.

Dear Cris,
You, and the others, will have been thinking harsh things
of me, but now Brandon will have told you why I was
so canny. By the time you get this the leakage will have
been staled and messages can be transmitted quite freely.
Because of the leakage I could not tell you before that
you are going to be relieved of that task which I know you
-and the others-dislike. Experts (from Algiers) will be
coming to your vicinity as soon as possible and will work
with the guerillas in preparation for the big crack-which,
I think, will not be long.
There is, however, much to be done elsewhere. Brandon
will give you fuller particulars. He has been with another
branch for some time past, working along the coast, and
has a lot of information which you will find invaluable.
Orders? There are none. Suggestions? Brandon will be
able to name several people whom we are very anxious to
get into England (or across to occupied Italy) as quickly
as possible. All of you will, I know, do what you can. The
usual arrangements will hold, and you will have all the
backing that we can give you.
Warmest regards to Ned, Anton and yourself.
Alan Clyde

We looked at each other, pleased, elated, more than a

little ashamed of our past criticism. We were freed from
the responsibilities with Carat and the others, we were free­
lances again-or should I say freebooters ?-and all of us
were eager to get away from the farmhouse and to start
wherever Brandon indicated that our services were needed.
I, for one, completely forgot that in the next room, rest­
ing, perhaps sleeping-was the Comte du Chesne, and that
we did not yet know who had robbed him.
It was not until later, after Brandon had told us of the
half a dozen Frenchmen and women, working for the Allies
in the South of France, who were in immediate danger from
the Germans or Italians, that I realised that for the time
being we could not get away from Aeon.
I suppose all of us had been uneasily aware of the fact
that we might be watched and that the Boche might be
playing a game far more cunning than usual : yet it was
with a sharp sense of shock that I heard it confirmed. The
first indication I had was three days later. Brandon, du
Chesne and I, huddled in coats and blankets, were mull­
ing things over when Cris, standing at the door, called to
me sharply.
I joined him at once.
Halfway from the village a figure was plodding towards
us on snow-shoes. After a while, I identified him : he was
an undersized fellow named Jacques, with intelligence

39
enough to negotiate the rocks and crevices of the district,
but with none over to spare. We had arranged with LeBnm
at the estaminet that in the event of bad news having to be
relayed to us he would be the most likely to get through
without suspicion.
I began to look beyond him for some sign that he in his
turn was being followed. Then I saw him stop by the bridge.
For the first time I noticed that he was carrying a half-full
sack. He put it at the end of the bridge, took something
from it, went steadily to one side and climbed over. The
sight of him clambering over the parapet, itself covered
with snow, large chunks of which fell off and were devoured
by the swirling brown water, put my heart into my mouth.
I thought he had fallen, but after a few minutes he re­
appeared, going to the far side of the bridge and repeating
his performance.
Cris said sharply : 'Get the others, Ned.'
I hurried to the house, returning with Anton and Tony
Brandon.
By that time Jacques had resumed his plodding walk to­
wards us.
We went to meet him and were some hundred yards from
the bridge when he saw us and began gesticulating wildly
for us to turn back.
Cris snapped : 'On your faces, all of you ! '
There was a split-second of hesitation ; the warning
could mean only one thing-yet my mind would not accept
it until Anton dragged me down into the snow. Its velvety
arms enveloped me so suffocatingly that I could not
breathe. Gasping, I wriggled my face free-and as I did so
I heard the muffled roar of the explosion. I do not know
how much gelignite was under the piles of the bridge, but
I do know that from where I was lying I could see stone and
:lebris hurtling hundreds of feet into the air.
 Hardly had the echoes of the first explosion died away
before a second came. I knew then that LeBrun had sent
Jacques to destroy the bridge and that it could only mean
that someone was on the way to attack us.

5
We Move from Aeon
One after the other we stood up. It was not easy, but
when we were on our feet we saw that Jacques was only a
few yards away, still gesticulating wildly. Cris waited for
the man, stretched out a hand to grip his, then turned and
followed Anton, Tony and I towards the house. I expected
du Chesne to be at the door, but there was no sign of him.
Nor did old Louis come out of his cottage, but I had no
doubt that he stayed hidden deliberately. If the occupying
troops were nearby, then it would be wise for him to show
no interest in the proceedings.
Jacques was babbling in an incoherent patois only par­
tially understood by Anton. Before he had finished, the first
shot was fired at us.
I looked over my shoulder. I could see no signs of life,
but a yellow flash appeared sharp and clear. Hardly had
the echo of the shot died down when a second and a third
followed in quick succession.
One struck the wall of the farmhouse in front of my eyes.
I flung open the door and we more or less fell in. Gasping
for breath, we looked at one another, myself rather
stupidly, Anton with a glitter of anger in his eyes, Cris and
Tony more calmly.
'I saw nothing-nothing at all ! ' exclaimed Anton
sharply. 'They were hiding in the snow, they . . •'
 Cris said evenly : 'They were dressed in white.'
Cris was right, of course, but I was less interested in what
had happened than in what was about to happen. I did not
join Anton and Tony in hurrying up to the attic for their
rifles, but looked across at Cris, who was smiling faintly.
'What's funny?' I asked heavily.
'I was thinking that they can't be too pleased over
events,' he said. 'There's only one way to the farmhouse
and that's over the bridge. They didn't come prepared for
demolition work or rebuilding, so we've a breathing space.'
'.They can come over the mountains,' I said sharply, only
to realise that the mountain passes would be blocked and
that even in normal times it would take twenty-four hours
to reach us by the more roundabout route. Reassured by
that, yet by no means certain that our enemy had exhausted
every means to get at us, I watched Anton and Tony take
up positions by the windows. There were a few desultory
shots from outside, and when Anton fired at a yellow flash
the whole house seemed to echo.
I saw little purpose in firing at flashes, for the chances
of making a hit were negligible. Soon shooting from closer
at hand startled me-in fact it scared me until I realised
that Carat's men were also returning the fire of the attack­
ers. Although the latter were no more than four hundred
yards away, the yawning chasm and the rushing torrent
made it impossible for them to reach us quickly ; the more I
realised that, the happier I became. All the same, it was not
a time for idling ; we had to make a quick decision.
With some ceremony Jacques handed over a note from
LeBrun. While Anton and Tony took pot-shots at the
white-clad enemy outside-more for their own satisfaction
and to relieve their feelings than anything else-Cris and I
read it. It stated, briefly, that German Alpine troops liad
42
 come to Aeon from Gap with instructions to attack the
farmhouse and to take all the occupants prisoner.
The note went on to say that the troops knew that le
Liberateur was in the farmhouse and also that the Comte
du Chesne was there; the orders covered the killing of du
Chesne, who was obviously considered to be of less account.
I looked up after a second reading to find Cris's eyes
turned towards me, unsmiling.
'It looks as if they were close on du Chesne's heels but
the blizzard stopped them. I'm beginning to think that
someone did take that letter from him, after all. They had
to keep quiet for a few days but backed by Alpine troops
no doubt they considered they could afford to.''
'They weren't far out,' said Tony Brando�.
Cris shrugged. 'Far enough, thanks to LeBrun and
Jacques.'
I said, suddenly : 'Where is du Chesne ?'
I suppose it was not surprising that we had given him
little thought until then. Thinking that the shock of the
shooting might have caused a relapse, I was the first to
enter the kitchen ; he was not there.
Nor was he in either of the other rooms.
'I don't like this,' said Anton, sharply. 'Did he come to
betray us, Cris ?'
Cris said : 'Try the attic.'
I doubted whether du Chesne had the strength to climb
the wooden steps, but I hurried up them, half-expecting to
see him on one of the palliasses. There was no sign of him,
but the loft-light was open and the large, dusty room was
very cold.
Cris, just behind me, looked about him quickly.
'So he's flown, has he ?' He stepped towards a cupboard
where we kept odds and ends of stores ; amongst other
things there had been heavy clothes and three pairs of skis.

43
A coat, a fur-lined hat, some gauntlets and one pair of skis
had gone. With one accord, we stepped to the open light ;
I hauled myself up, and saw that it was a simple matter to
scramble out and slide down the snowdrift piled up against
the back of the farmhouse.
'There he is ! ' Cris exclaimed.
Immediately beyond the level ground where Tony had
landed was a solitary figure, making very heavy going.
'He won't be able to get a mile ! ' I exclaimed.
'No,' said Cris. 'I ...'
He broke off, for Anton had followed us. He saw du
Chesne, and muttering an oath put his rifle to his shoulder.
With a sharp exclamation Cris knocked the barrel of the
gun up.
The sound of the shot deadened all other sounds as the
bullet went wide. Cris and Anton stared at each other,
Anton angrily, Cris with a faint smile.
'He should be shot, like all traitors ! ' declared Anton.
'What makes you think he's a traitor ?'
-'There is evidence enough ! '
'There might be,' conceded Cris, 'but I'm not so sure.'
'Perhaps you will talk plainly,' Anton said, stiffly.
Cris shrugged. 'All right, try it this way. He might think
that they were after him and by leaving a trail he would
give us a chance to get away.'
'There is small likelihood of that,' said Anton, scornfully.
'Why must you always find the excuse ?'
Cris smiled. 'Nevertheless, there is that likelihood. And
remember London said that du Chesne was reliable. He
didn't get that knife wound by accident.'
There was a pause; I inclined, then, towards Cris's point
of view, although I could see that Anton was not convin­
ced. He looked, however, a little sheepish as we all trooped
down to the kitchen. Tony turned his head.
44

,
 'Oughtn't we to be thinking of moving out ?'
'It'll have to be the mountains,' Cris said. 'That means
we'll be longer getting to the new venue than we wanted,
but a few days shouldn't make all that difference. You
might ask Jacques if he's coming with us to join the
guerillas, or whether he wants to look after himself,' he
added to Anton.
Anton reported, after much earnest chatter and waving
of hands, that Jacques wished to join Garat. I had no doubt
that he would be welcome, for his knowledge of the moun­
tain passes and tracks was uncanny, and his loyalty beyond
question. We began to pack, each of us carrying our own
iron rations. There were enough skis in the farmhouse for
us all, and the thought of a journey across the mountains
was by no means unpleasant.
True, there was the possibility that some of the enemy
would cross the river further up and get on our trail. To
well-trained Alpine troops a search of snow-clad mountain­
sides is by no means impossible. We were so used to being
on the run, however, that it did not worry us greatly.
For my part I was greatly relieved. The thought of clear­
cut objectives was exhilarating. I hoped it would not be
long before we got to the district where Brandon had
worked. There would be difficulties, but by no means in­
superable ones.
Knowing-or erroneously believing that I knew !-that
the invasion of France was a matter only of weeks and that
once started it would prove as successful as that of Italy, I
had wondered whether our period of usefulness was not
nearing its end. I had asked myself what point there was
in getting people out of France when in a month or two at
the most they would be automatically freed to help in the
rehabilitation of their country. Those questions had been
answered very quickly. As zero hour approached, German,

45
 Italian and 'Lavalian' authorities began a round-up of
even greater intensity than before. People who would be
useful agents during the invasion and in the rebirth of
France afterwards were being flung into camps or shot out
of hand. The last pretence had gone; the Nazis behaved
like the savages they were, and the fear of total defeat,
obvious even to them, brutalised them still further.
There was more than enough for us to do.
When we had finished packing we looked round for the
last time at the bare parlour, at the ashes of the cheerful
fires, the cheap prints which we had come to regard with
affection, the rocking-chair which had induced a feeling of
serenity and peacefulness. It was rough and ready, but it
had the friendliness that is bred by familiarity, and for its
sake only I was sorry to be leaving.
But there would be no easy getaway. Because of a loop
in the river it was possible for the enemy to cover every
door and window, and there was more than a likelihood
that they would open fire with machine-guns.
We looked twice our usual size, being so heavily clad;
Tony Brandon was smiling as if with secret satisfaction.
Anton had completely forgotten his anger and I'm sure
Cris had. He called out to Carat's men, who were hiding
from the enemy in the outhouses, that we were about to
start, and asked one of them to lead the way. We were asked
to wait for five minutes and but for that we might never
have made the discovery which reopened an important
question and made a great difference to future events.
On the floor by the rush-seated chair was the book which
du Chesne had been reading. Obviously it had fallen when
he had risen to his feet at the first sound of the shooting.
Cris picked it up and was about to slip it into his pocket
when a single slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Cris re-
trieved it-and then stared down, so startled and surprised
that the rest of us crowded about him.
There was a word pencilled in block letters, and we read
only that at first-it was 'Lucille'. There was more writing
beneath it, but we gave it no immediate attention.

6
The Mystery of a Name
I had told the others of du Chesne's utterance while
unconscious, as well as something of the story which he had
told me of his daughter; that was why Cris was so startled
to see the name written there. I stared, unable to compre­
hend its importance; I think the others were just as con­
fused, for after a long pause Cris turned and looked at me
steadily.
'It was Lucille, wasn't it?'
'Du Chesne's daughter, yes,' I said.
'Daughter! ' exclaimed Anton. 'He foxed you, Ned !
What else is there?'
The scribbled sentence cleared up a mystery which had
loomed large in our minds. It was an apologetic admission
that the lost papers had been in du Chesne's overcoat
pocket and, presumably, had slipped out in the snow. I felt
angry at the anticlimax.
It was some time before I came to agree that du Chesne,
on regaining consciousness, had continued to keep his eyes
closed and had deliberately uttered the name 'Lucille'. I
remember how anxiously he had asked me whether he had
spoken, and the quiet way in which he had told me of his
daughter's fate. Had the whole thing been deliberately

47
engineered to ensure that the name Lucille would be
remembered ?
Later, I knew this to be so, but at the time I felt non­
plussed and uneasy.
A call from outside told us that Garat's men were ready.
Cris folded the slip of paper and tucked it away inside
his coat. None of us spoke of it again. Jacques opened the
door just wide enough for him to slip through. He was in
dark clothes as we all were. I was amazed at the speed
with which he manipulated his skis, but my heart leapt
when I heard the crack of a shot, followed by a fusilade.
We waited for the shooting to stop. It was Tony's turn
to go ; he widened the door a little more, got ready and
started off.
This time the sharp stutter of a machine-gun burst on
the air. The bullets fell short, but the sound did nothing
to cheer me up. Our route was to cross the yard and out­
houses-which would give us cover for a moment or two­
and then go over a two-hundred-yard stretch of driven
snow, before dropping down the side of a hill and getting
out of sight. Even then, we could not be sure that the troops
were not stationed all along the opposite bank of the river.
'Off you go,' Cris said to me.
I pulled my fur-lined cap further over my ears, a some­
what pointless gesture-and then went through. Gritting
my teeth, I experienced a nerve-racking few seconds while
getting my skis on the snow. During this operation I was
visible to the enemy from the knees up and did not like it.
There were two sharp cracks of rifle-fire and then the stut­
ter of machine-guns. Two were in operation by that time
and I thought that I detected one on the far side of the
outhouses. I expected to run into a volley as I shot past the
sheds; I did-but the bullets went too high.
Once in the open I was able to go at such speed that
48
 there was not much risk of being hit. Soon I was careering
down the slope with the wind whistling past me and a feel­
ing of complete exhilaration; I completely forgot that a few
seconds before I had been scared out of my wits.
Two of Garat's men led the way, then came Jacques,
.Tony and myself, at intervals of about a hundred yards.
The shooting was continuous for a mile or more ; although
I tried to look over my shoulder to see the others I was not
expert enough to do so. It was not until I reached a hill that
with a wild whoop Anton flashed past me. I waited for Cris
who came alongside.
'That's another spot of bother over ! '
'Unless they've got something up their sleeve,' said I,
lugubriously.
Now that I was going more sedately the exhilaration of
the fast run had left me a little depressed. Nevertheless, I
enjoyed well enough the rest of the day's run.
I suppose we covered about twenty-five miles in all. The
rocks through which we passed gave us good cover after the
first mile or two, and with every minute that passed the
chance of an ambush grew smaller and the possibility of
being followed and caught up faded from my mind. I think
all of us felt the same.
At last we reached Garat's main camp, and the enthusi­
asm of the guerillas ran high when we told them that
specially trained officers were coming to lead them in
preparation for the invasions. I could tell you of Garat
himself, a little undersized man with a pendulous under­
lip and thin cheeks which looked like toughened leather.
In peace-time he had been a landowner of some conse­
quence ; after the occupation he had worked with the
underground movement until, forced out of the Orleans
district where he had spent the whole of his life, he had
joined the guerillas in the Alps.
49
 As he played no further part in what followed, I will
leave him with one more comment : he was a brave patriot,
no one knows the French until they know such men as he.
I have not, I know, done full justice to Cris as le
Liberateur. 1 have talked a little of what he had done in
the past and, I hope, given the impression that the
guerillas and other patriots thought highly of him. I have
mentioned, too, the legend which had built itself up about
him-a legend which put him as one of t�e most famous
figures in France, bearer of the torch of liberty which
glowed throughout the length and breadth of the land. To
me there has always been a quality about him which I have
never been able to describe, a personal magnetism, a charm,
an easy confidence, the ability to remain unruffled and
unafraid in any circumstances-or, at least, to appear un­
afraid. Even in England, where no one knew what he
was, he was always noticeable, a man at whom people
glanced with interest.
It might be said that this story should have begun after
we had left Garat, but the fact is that there is one thread
running through the events which took place. That thread
is the name 'Lucille'-intriguing, sometimes worrying,
often mystifying. Because du Chesne introduced us to the
name, the story really starts from his arrival at the Aeon
farmhouse.
The weather remained clear and cold while we were with
Garat. There was a transmitting and receiving station
there, so that we were able to get in touch with London,
learning more details of what Clyde wanted us to do.
It was on the last day before we were to continue our
journey to Castellane, where we were to start serious work,
that we heard a cryptic message from London to the effect
that le Comte du Chesne had been shot and killed in a vil­
lage on the outskirts of Gap.
 We had further confirmation of the fact that du Chesne
had been sending important information from Vichy and
Paris to London. It was impossible to doubt du Chesne's
sincerity, but-why had he uttered 'Lucille'; why had he
written the name on the slip of paper ? If he knew some­
thing about a woman called Lucille and wanted to attract
our attention to her, why had he not said so in so many
words ? Why had he made a mystery when a short explana­
tion might have made a great deal of difference ?
Of course, there was a reason for this, and a sound one­
but we did not know that then.
As the crow flies, it is about sixty miles from Aeon to
Castellane, but we travelled nearly two hundred miles, over
a period of eight days, before we first came upon the town,
on the Verdon River. Of the town itself there is no need to
say more than that it is old and sleepy. There was neither
time nor desire on the part of any of us to explore its nar­
row streets beyond the immediate needs of our purpose.
On the journey, Tony had told us something of the story
of de Brinno!'l, the mayor, and his long fight against the
Italians who had first occupied that part of France. He had
been missing for some time, but it was believed he was a
prisoner in a chateau some five miles to the west of the
town itself. De Brinnon was respected and liked; more than
that, he had an organising ability which would make him
an invaluable addition to the forces of liberation when they
came. He was to be the first objective of the new drive­
and when we reached Castellane, after a call at a farm­
h ouse a few miles out, where we had changed our clothes
and obtained papers giving us full authority to be in
Castellane and to go where we pleased, all four of us were
keyed up, anxious to begin again the matching of our wits
against the enemy's in an effort to snatch a prized captive
from his grasp.
 The first essential was to make sure where de Brinnon
was staying.

7
The Case of de Brinnon
It was much warmer in the valley.
Although Castellane, like the whole of the district, had
been swept by the blizzard, the effect had not lasted long,
and on our first day there it was possible to bask in the sun­
shine.
We were all dressed in civilian clothes, not particularly
good in quality but stout enough, even luxurious by com­
parison with the prevailing standard in France. On that
first day, after we had gone to a small hotel on the out­
skirts of the town, had our passes examined and talked
with a chatty little Italian officer-too chatty, though, for
his own safety-Cris and Tony went out to explore.
A walled garden surrounded the hotel and along the
bottom of it ran a small stream.
I suppose that people who remained in England, or on
one or the other of the fighting fronts during the war, find
it difficult to picture three Englishmen and a Free French­
man sitting in a French hotel, or walking about the streets
of a French town, without feeling constantly on edge. It
could not have been done in Paris, but in the rest of France
an uneasy peace was, in the main, held between the occupy­
ing troops and the guerillas. True, to be discovered in an
act of sabotage, or spreading 'sedition', meant immediate
captivity, if not worse. On the other hand, sentiment was
anti-Nazi and everyone knew it. Too many English airmen
had come down in France and been cared for by the
52
 French and helped across the Channel, or into Spain or
Switzerland, for there to be any doubt about that. We
found that, as strangers whose papers were in order, we had
little difficulty. Our descriptions were widely known, of
course, but by that time all of us had become adept in those
little items of disguise which are effective enough to all
but the closest scrutiny.
Anton, Tony and myself were bearded when we reached
Castellane; only Cris was clean-shaven, and he seemed to
bear a charmed life. I became used to seeing him with his
cheeks filled out with rubber pads, his fair hair dyed a chest­
nut brown. :-,.Jo Prefet de Police could have recognised us
on sight, even with our photographs slap in front of him.
The attitude of the population was equally important.
We knew-without making a song and dance about it--on
whom we could rely. In emergency we would be given pro­
tection at the risk of the lives of our helpers. That had
been difficult to countenance at first, but we had grown
used to it for it was an age of heroism and lives were
counted cheap. In consequence of all this it was reasonably
safe to go where we pleased, provided we had a satisfac­
tory explanation of the source of our travel permits, the
use of a car, or the hundred and one things which were
forbidden to the ordinary man. The exception was during
a special comb-out of a district, when the only safe course
was to stay in hiding.
The regular passing to and fro of English and French
agents had enabled a patriot organisation to be built up,
so that one could usually count on a fairly smooth run.
Not always, of course, for there were renegades, and un­
expected situations demanding quick and energetic hand­
ling.
In the days which followed the first mention of 'Lucille'
we struck a bad patch, but we did not know it when we

53
first reached Castellane, and as Anton and I sat in the
garden of the hotel, watching the stream go by, it did not
occur to us that Cris and Tony might be walking into
danger.
Perhaps I should say that the winter in the mountains
had made us all extremely fit--our training had, of neces­
sity, been as tough as that of any commando, and there
was not a great deal that we did not know about assault
tactics and hand-to-hand combat. We carried automatics,
knives, and-always--coils of thin cord. Our clothes were
either French or German. We changed our papers fre­
quently, removing our photographs from one set and stick­
ing them on another when we used new names.
In such circumstances we approached the case of de
Brinnon.
Cris and Tony returned a little before lunch-a poor
enough meal, for food was much scarcer than in previous
winters-and I could tell from Tony's expression that he
was pleased. We had a corner table near the window which
fronted Rue de Grasse, one of the main streets, so that we
could talk without fear of being overheard.
After an old, flat-footed waiter had brought us some
watery soup I said quickly:
'Is the news good?'
'Reasonably so,' said Cris, with a grin. 'De Brinnon is in
the chateau two miles out of the town. The guards are
Italian. He's living in some state-they obviously think he's
important.'
'In what way?'
'He's fed well, and, in wartime conditions, it might be
said that he's pampered,' said Cris. 'That means they hope
to win some information out of him by fair means before
they try foul.' We all knew that de Brinnon had the threads
of the patriotic organisation of Castellane in his hands; so

54
 did the enemy. 'He's allowed to walk in the grounds for
half an hour every morning, and every evening at sunset.
That's our time, I think-we have only to keep under cover
for half an hour before dark.'
'When do we start ?' asked .Tony. 'Tonight ?'
Cris nodded.
'And when we've got him ?' asked Tony.
'The nearest emergency airfield is at Moustiers, about
twenty miles across country, so we'll make for that. I've
sent a request for a plane to be there tonight,' Cris added.
We felt a surge of pleasurable confidence. There seemed
no reason in the world why we should not get de Brinnon
out safely, hide until dark, and get to Moustiers in good
time. True, there was a slight nervousness, which always
preceded a coup, but none of us dreamed . . .
But that is anticipating.
Anton and I went out during the afternoon ; we were
not followed and there was not the slightest indication that
there would be trouble. We strolled out as far as the
Chateau Castell, getting the lie of the land. It was a large,
isolated building, standing on a hill. From a distance it
looked old, but actually it was nineteenth century, put up
for show rather than purpose on the foundations of a much
older chateau. The cloudless sky, the sun behind our heads,
the green of fields and hillsides-not to mention the Italian
guards, whom we could see at the entrances to the chateau
-lent the place a false look of grandeur. As usual, we said
nothing of the plans for the attack until later. Cris would
brief us shortly before we went out and each would then
know his appointed task ; only on exceptional jobs did we
discuss them beforehand.
I grew impatient for sunset.
Just before six o'clock we went to the room which Cris
and I shared. The plan of action was simple. Cris and Tony

55
-who knew de Brinnon-were to do the actual work,
Anton and I were to distract the attention of the sentries
and, if necessary, do violence to them. We knew the court­
yard in which de Brinnon would take his exercise; before
the guards from the other side of the chateau could get
round, our main task-we believed-would be over. We
went over the details, and then, with about three-quarters
of an hour to go before sunset, left the hotel in twos­
Anton and I together.
Half an hour later we approached the secondary gate
of the chateau. Two Italian sentries, cold and miserable,
for the night was chilly and their green uniforms were
meant only for summer, greeted us with scowls and pointed
bayonets. Unable to speak French, they burst into a torrent
of Italian. I answered them in their own tongue. At this
they grew less hostile. Obviously they thought-as I inten­
ded they should-that we were there to inspect them and
to make sure that they were doing their job properly. The
spy-spying-upon-spy system was customary and there was
nothing surprising in it.
I could hear footsteps in the yard-long and steady,
those of one man. De Brinnon, I thought, and talked more
quickly, commiserating with them on the thinness of their
uniforms. That was a popular subject; they grew angry
about the neglect, the poor food, the fact that their quarters
were filthy. If the signori had any authority, would they
look into it ? I grew as angry with the controlling authorities
as they did; I demanded that they should come with me
into the chateau to make a complaint to the commandant.
They grew less garrulous after that, obviously nervous,
pointing out that they could not leave their posts. I grew
les� sympathetic, stating blandly that they could not be so
badly served as they made out if they were not prepared to
carry their grievances to the commandant in person-and
then I heard a soft whistle, which might have been from
a bird but which I knew to be Cris, indicating that it was
zero hour.
There were no more than ten minutes to sunset.
Anton, making out that he wanted to inspect the miser­
able sentry box, went behind the Italians-and dropped
cloths over their heads. It was done so quickly that before
either of them could shout, the bags had been drawn
tightly about their necks. The men were frightened for their
lives, as they had need to be, for we would have killed them
had it been necessary. As it was, the inside of the bags had
cellophane containers of an ether mixture fastened to the
linings. Within two minutes the guards were unconscious
and huddled together in the sentry box.
Cris and Tony came from a copse a hundred yards from
the chateau, running smoothly. Tony made a back for Cris,
who climbed up, reached the top of the wall and stood there
silhouetted a moment.
Inside, someone exclaimed : 'Sacre Dieu ! '
Cris called, quietly : 'It's all right, de Brinnon, get t o the
gate.' He climbed over and dropped down on to the flag­
stones of the yard, while Anton, now that our immediate
task was over, hurried to the wall and let Tony climb up
on his back. Tony, unlike Cris, carried an automatic. He
reached the wall, and I saw his expression alter. The grin
which was so of ten on his boyish face disappeared. He did
not speak, but he fired the silenced automatic; I saw the
flame. There was the slightest of sounds, an oath, and a cry
that might have been of pain.
Then I saw a dozen men in German uniform coming
from the copse in which Cris and Tony had been hiding.
Two carried tommy-guns, the rest had fixed bayonets.
They did not fire immediately, intent only on Tony, atop
57
the wall, and Anton, who had swung round on hearing my
sharp exclamation.
Two of the men with fixed bayonets advanced towards
me, as if they expected the sight of them would be enough
to keep me quiet; I have to admit that they were nearly
right, for at first I could not move, so complete was my
surprise. But I had the automatic in my hand and I fired
as soon as feeling returned to my limbs. .There was no time
to wonder how it would end, no sense in running while
Cris was inside. I doubt whether I thought of the hope­
lessness of the odds as I saw one of the approaching men
stagger and fall, the other following him after he had fired
a shot which struck the wall beside me with unpleasant
force.
Anton fired into the midst of the main party; I realised
th�n that I had made a mistake and should have picked
out the tommy-gunners. Anton got one ; Tony, from the
wall, got another. It happened so quickly that it seemed
divorced from reality. The first volley of shots, roaring
out like a cannonade, pitted the walls of the chateau. I felt
the wind of bullets stir my hair and saw Anton fall. I
shouted to Tony:
'Get down ! Get down ! '
He fired twice before he dropped to the other side. I
heard de Brinnon speak-at least, I assumed that it was de
Brinnon-and Cris answer him. Footsteps echoed over the
flagstones and a door banged. Two more of the Huns came
towards me, and I had the sense to drop my automatic and
put up my hands; had I been a second later I would have
been shot. I had no feelings except fear for Cris and Tony,
who did not stand an earthly chance as far as I could
judge.
I looked into the brutal faces of the men advancing to­
wards me, wished for a moment that I had not relinquished
58
my gun, for I thought they were going to plunge their
bayonets into my stomach. They did not, but one of them
turned his rifle and struck me on the side of the head.
Vaguely, I was aware of shooting and harsh oaths and
snapped commands. Then I lost consciousness.
I have no idea how long I was dead to the world. It
must have been some time, for when I woke up I was in­
side the chateau, lying on a couch. On the floor was Anton ;
his eyes were open and he showed no sign of injury, until,
looking more closely, I saw a dark patch at his waist.
There was no sign of Cris or Tony.
I made sure of that, looking furtively about the room.
Only two men were there besides Anton and me-an
Italian officer and a German. They were sitting at either
end of a table, on which were piles of familiar things, taken
from Anton's and my pockets. The room was illuminated,
by two oil lamps and there were heavy shutters at the
window.
The German, a little pimp of a fellow, was looking at
Anton ; the Italian, a much better physical specimen, was
looking at his fingernails.
The German spoke at last in a high, rather falsetto voice.
'Come, Duval, you are not so ignorant as that. Your
friends must have taken you into their confidence. Tell me
where they have gone and I will guarantee you good treat­
ment. I give you my word, Duval, and that is not a thing I
do lightly.'
Anton said, dully : 'I have no idea where they went.'
I thought : Cris got away! It gave me no feeling of satis­
faction or exhilaration until later. I was still too stunned by
what had happened and my head was aching abominably.
The German leaned forward and there was something
wolfish in his smile. I was prepared for the usual threats,
even for the torture which I knew would not be very long

59
delayed unless we spoke freely. I don't know whether Anton
knew that I was awake, but suddenly I grew conscious of
the gaze of the Italian, a good-looking fellow with quite an
air. It was the first time I had seen Count Pietro Bellini,
and I disliked him on sight.
Bellini-and Lucille; the names were going to mean so
much, although then I only knew that I was more alarmed
by the Italian than the German. That was a rare thing,
for the Italian reputation was kinder, saner, less brutal.
The stirrings of a better knowledge were born in me as I
looked into the Italian's strangely light grey eyes.
He spoke in excellent French.
'Try the other one, Pretzer.'
That was surprising in itself, for he spoke with authority
and obviously the German was prepared to obey, for the
toothy grin was turned towards me.
'So you are conscious, Mr. Deane ? Good ! I am glad that
you are not badly hurt-believe me, I have no desire to
injure you or your friends. I have been talking to Duval,
who misunderstands me. He thinks, perhaps, that I will not
carry out my promise of good treatment, but you will have
better sense. Where are St. Clare and those with him to
meet tonight ?'
I stared back without answering. I could see Anton's
face beneath the crook of Pretzer's arm, and I saw him
wink-that was more or less what I expected, for we had
been in Axis hands more than once, and a wink was the
signal to tell them where Cris and the others were to meet,
but to name an imaginary rendezvous. That would give
Anton and I more time, enable Cris to get de Brinnon safely
away, and allow for a rescue attempt. That one would be
made I had no doubt, although I was not cheered up by
the efficiency with which the trap had been set. On the
other hand, Cris had got away. The exhilaration was begin-
60
 ning to come, I had to force myself not to grm into
Pretzer's leering face.
I said : 'I have nothing to say.'
'But come, Deane ! '-I disliked his easy familiarity with
my name and Anton's, although I knew we were known
well enough-'they will be found, be assured of that. You
will merely save us a little trouble. Be frank with us and you
need have no anxieties.'
I repeated: 'I have nothing to say.'
The Italian said casually : '.They're going to be obstin­
ate. Start on Duval.'
I distrusted the expression in his light grey eyes more
than ever. He was handsome enough, yet ugliness was there,
an emanation, an impression. I was afraid because he gave
orders which I knew would be obeyed; an Italian who held
such sway over Germans must be a tougher nut than most.
It did not greatly matter which of us gave false informa­
tion, provided it were done convincingly enough, and if
they began to use torture, whomever they started on could
'break down' quickly.
But-would the Italian be convinced ? I believed the
German would lap up anything that we told him and
wished heartily that we had only him to deal with.
It is clear, I think, that I was still affected by a foolish
complacency ; I did not seriously think that we would fail
to hoodwink them, and I was not even properly concerned
at my own plight. Le Liberateur had succeeded too often,
had turned too many defeats into victory, for me to be really
afraid.
Pretzer leaned forward in another effort to beguile me
into giving information. The Italian-I did not know his
name then-snapped his fingers impatiently. Pretzer
jerked up to attention, then marched across to the door
and opened it. He uttered a word of command and three
61
men entered the chamber ; they were Germans and gave
me further proof that the Italian was a rare bird, for they
gave him the Fascist salute, ignoring Pretzer until the little
man snapped :
'The Frenchman will not talk ! '
One of the men, a husky-looking brute, took three steps
forward and kicked Anton in the ribs.
There have been many descriptions of the methods adop­
ted by Nazis and Fascists ; I see no point in piling horror
upon horror, or detailing the incidents of bestiality which I
encountered from time to time. Nothing that the man did
surprised me ; in fact he was unexpectedly 'mild', using only
his fists and his boots.
I do not know how long it lasted, but with the perspira­
tion pouring down Anton's face, with his lips colourless
as he bit them and my own face probably like chalk, I
gasped :
'Stop it-stop it, d'you hear ?'
The Italian , who had regarded his fingernails with such
intensity throughout all this, now looked at me.
'Where are St. Clare and the others, Deane ? If you
lie . . .'
I muttered : 'What guarantee will you give . . . ?'
'No guarantee of anything,' the Italian said. He stood
up for the first time and I saw that he was unusually tall.
He stood over me, making Pretzer look like a grinning ape,
and continued : 'One thing I will promise you, Deane. If
you lie, I will have your tongue torn out. Where is St.
Clare ?'
I gulped ; I felt bad enough as it was and his words held
the ring of sincerity. Perhaps that enabled me to sound
more convincing, for I stammered a little and cast a fright­
ened glance at Anton before I muttered :
'At-at the airfield at St. Julien.'
62
 'What time are they to be there ?' snapped the Italian.
'From-from an hour after sunset.'
The Italian said : 'You heard that, Pretzer, lose no time.'
Then, as Pretzer and the other hurried out, leaving only
one man standing on guard by the door, he looked at me
and smiled. He said nothing, but as Anton began to rave
at me for the 'betrayal', I felt very much afraid.

The Ruthless Italian

I am no braver than the next man, but I like to think that
I am no more faint-hearted. Very few people would have
been unaffected by Bellini's words, and one effect it had
was to make me angry with Anton for his outburst,
although I knew it was just the touch of realism which the
situation needed. It began to get on my nerves, and after a
few seconds, while Bellini looked at me with sardonic
amusement, I swung round on Anton and shouted at him.
' Be quiet, you fool ! What is the use of going on at me
like that, it won't help to have us all killed.'
I don't think Anton even paused. He eased himself up
on his elbow and tried to crawl towards me, looking as if he
would readily slit my throat. All this Bellini watched care­
fully; I think he was listening for the slightest hint that we
were bellowing at each other for effect.
'That is quite enough,' said Bellini. He stood looking at
me, and I remember the way his lips curled, as if he shared
something of Anton's disgust. That might have been
imagination, yet afterwards I learned that whatever
Bellini's failings, he was not a coward. In fact I doubt
whether he knew the meaning of fear, as ordinary mortals
know it.
'You will be well rewarded, Deane,' he said, 'and you
need take no notice of your friend's annoyance.' He
motioned to the guard, who stepped across the room and
clouted Anton across the face with the flat of his hand. The
blow would have stopped a fit man, and Anton fell back,
striking his head heavily against the floor. That sobered me
more than anything else, although I realised how well the
scene had been acted.
I looked at Bellini and muttered : 'I want no reward.'
'Not even freedom ?' asked Bellini. 'Supposing you were
the only one of your most interesting little party to get
back to England, would not that be worth a great deal,
Deane ?'
'I've told you what you wanted to know,' I said.
'Do you think so ?' mused Bellini. 'You will need to re­
vise your ideas; you have told me something of what I want
to know, that is all. But the rest can wait until we get St.
Clare. Of course, if you should have misdirected me . . .'
He paused and sent me so evil a glance that I shivered, but
I do not think I gave him any reason for thinking that I
had lied. He motioned me to a chair, and pushed a box of
cigarettes across the desk. I do not know where he got his
supplies, but they were good Virginian cigarettes, among
the best I had tasted for a long time.
Relaxed and yet wary, I sat at the opposite end of the
table, counting the chances of getting away. They looked,
now, considerably slimmer than they had done before.
I wished Bellini would speak.
I learned his name then, for there was an envelope on
the table addressed to Count Pietro Bellini; it was opened
and I took it for granted that it was his. He confirmed
this by putting it in his pocket and glancing at his watch.
64
 No more than twenty minutes had passed since Pretzer
and the others had gone to wait at what would prove to
be a wasted vigil near St Julien. I had said 'an hour after
sunset' and I expected Pretzer to wait for a couple of hours
before reporting that Cris had not arrived. I had, therefore,
a little over two hours in which to ponder the immediate
future.
After a long period of silence, not broken by any notice­
able sound, Bellini shot a quick question at me which took
my breath away.
'How is Lucille ?' he demanded.
I gaped at him. I feel sure that he could not have
guessed that I had heard the name before, because at the
first moment I had no idea what he was talking about and
my surprise was genuine. By the time I associated the name
with du Chesne I had recovered my wits and continued to
stare blankly.
He shrugged. 'So you have not heard of her, Deane ?'
'I have met several Lucilles,' I muttered.
'Yes, yes, of course,' he said, 'but this one-so charming,
Deane, I am surprised that she has not been in touch with
you and your friends. It means, of course'-! did not know
it but he was leading up to another snap question-'that
du Chesne did not reach you ?'
'I h ave no idea who you mean,' said I, very wary now.
'Perhaps not,' conceded Bellini. He waved a hand, dis­
missing the subject. 'How long have you had a fourth man
with you ?' he demanded, and drove all thought of du
Chesne from my mind. This man knew too much.
I gulped as I said : 'Some weeks.'
'How did he reach you ?'
'By air.'
There was no need to lie about that, for Bellini knew it
as well as I did, but I was genuinely alarmed at the extent
G.T.E.-C
of his knowledge. He must have known that le Liberateur
was in the district and it was not surprising that he had
guessed de Brinnon would be the first man we would try to
release. I wondered whether we had made a fatal mistake­
I had not yet been reduced to thinking that we would not
get away-when I heard footsteps in the passage. At first
I was alarmed, imagining it to be Pretzer back already. I
dismissed the fear as unlikely, but before the door opened
I had visions of Cris and Tony being brought in; they
could not have got far. That they had managed to take de
Brinnon with them seemed incredible.
After a sharp tap, the door opened to admit an Italian
officer, an effeminate-looking young fop with dark hair
waved and heavily oiled. There was another man with him,
a round-shouldered, oldish fellow with a head of tangled
grey hair, dressed in rough peasant's clothes.
'What is it?' demanded Bellini.
'Your pardon, Excellency, but this man came with a
report of seeing an aeroplane land near St. Julien this even­
ing. He is a farmer who was working nearby, and he claims
to have seen it land.'
Bellini shot a quick glance at me.
'So early?' he said. 'Come, old one, tell me more of this.'
The man with the round shoulders began to talk swiftly
in French. He spoke in a patois with which I was only
slightly acquainted. Bellini, however, seemed to have no
difficulty in following him. Occasionally he asked a
question in the same patios-that increased my respect for
him, if nothing else. The informant did not look into the
Italian's eyes, but glanced nervously about him-there is a
furtive air about a renegade in the occupied parts of
Europe which no one can mistake. They are a tribe which
has no friends, no loyalties. I felt a rising disgust which I
had to conceal at all costs, since I was supposed to have
66
joined the tribe-but suddenly I caught the man looking at
me.
My heart nearly turned over !
His glance rested on me for only a second; then he looked
at Anton and the door, then towards the wall. The
powdered fop remained standing by Bellini's side, looking
bored, and the German guard did not move.
Nor did I ; I could not have moved in that bewildering
moment, for I recognised Cris !
After the first shock I felt a cold shiver run down my
spine, and I licked my lips. Bellini happened to glance at
me; he smiled gently.
'You appear to have told the truth, Deane, I congratu-
late you. All right-take him away.'
'How much shall I pay him?'
'One hundred francs,' said Bellini carelessly.
Cris-could this round-shouldered fellow with the mop
of untidy hair be Cris?-immediately began to protest. The
information was worth more than a hundred francs, was
that meagre sum to be the sole reward for being faithful to
the ruling authority? Did their excellencies know that he
would be in danger of losing his life if it were discovered
that he had talked of the mysterious aeroplane?
Bellini motioned to the guard, who stepped forward. For
a moment I thought Cris had overdone it, but he cringed
back immediately, touching his forelock as if he understood
what Bellini's gesture meant. The guard turned and opened
the door and Cris and the younger officer went towards it.
I knew the plan of campaign, then.
By the door, Cris would have both of the others handy
and would be able to deal with them-I did not doubt that
he would succeed-while Bellini was left to me. I was
temporarily bereft of thought; I knew how much depended
on me overpowering this man, yet the length of the table
67
separated us and I was unarmed, while he had a gun. It
looked impossible-but when I saw Bellini staring towards
the door, with that faint, contemptuous smile on his lips,
I felt more sure of myself.
Cris turned in the doorway.
I had little time to watch or to admire the neatness with
which he managed it. I saw him swing round, making the
German and the Italian back away in surprise, and then
shoot out his hands and grip their throats. Bellini jumped
to his feet, his lips opened to shout an order, his right hand
moved towards his gun. I simply lifted up my end of the
long table. The far end caught Bellini on the thigh and
made him lose his balance. I flung the table further up, so
that its full weight fell on him, and he went sprawling, the
gun flying from his grasp. I gave the table a further push,
then leapt forward. Bellini, outwitted but not defeated, was
trying to get the gun back. I kicked it from his hand, then
backed away, but only far enough for me to hit him on the
jaw. Bent nearly double he could not protect himself; he
fell backwards, as Cris said from the door :
'Good man, Ned. Put him out.'
Any specialist in unarmed combat will tell you that there
are a dozen ways of making a man unconscious without
doing him any serious harm. I used the simple one, striking
the nape of his neck with the butt of the gun.
It all happened very quickly, and as Bellini lost con­
sciousness the door closed and Cris released his victims.
Purple of face they slithered to the floor.
Cris brushed the tangled hair back from his forehead
and Anton exclaimed
'Cris, mon ami-superbe!'
'We haven't started yet,' said Cris, 'we've got to get you
out.' He stepped to the table and righted it. Beneath it were
the various oddments taken from our pockets, including the
68
automatics and the coils of cord. I needed no telling what to
do, and while Anton lay there encouraging us and exhort­
ing us to hurry, we made a good job of gagging and tying
up Bellini and the others. Then we went through their
pockets and pushed everything we found into our own.
I suppose it took about ten minutes.
I had not really recovered from the surprise of seeing
Cris, although I should have been prepared for some such
miracle. Questions, however, could come later. I had kept
an ear alert for any sound from outside, but the rumpus
appeared not to have attracted attention. Cris must have
read my thoughts, for he said :
'Most of them have gone to St. Julien-nice work, Ned ! '
So he knew about that little deception. ' But the Italian
guards are still outside.'
'What of de Brinnon ?'
'Oh, he's all right,' said Cris, airily. 'What do you think
we came back for ?' He stood back to survey the roped men.
'Now listen carefully, Ned. Outside, there is a passage
which goes right and left. Turn left, and at the end of it
you will find a flight of stairs. Go to the top and wait there
-it's the first floor-and there is a small window. Just wait
and do whatever seems best. I'll take Anton.'
I thought it folly not to go together, but Cris knew what
he was doing. There was no one in the passage and I met
no one on the stone staircase. I reached the window, which
I estimated to be just large enough for me to climb through,
took my automatic from my pocket, and waited.
I was just above the level of the wall over which Cris
and Tony had gone. I could see the topping of spiked glass
which I assumed had been done since the chateau had been
turned into a detention camp. That Tony and de Brinnon
had got away occupied my mind almost as much as the
69
fact that Cris and I had to, carrying Anton. On my own, I
would have considered it almost impossible.
Behind heavy banks of cloud the moon glowed faintly.
Everything seemed very quiet, especially inside the
chateau. Then I heard a sound from some distance off.
From one of the valleys came the creaking of an old
farmcart. I think it must have been nearly a mile away
when I first heard the jolting of its wheels. It drew nearer
and I fancied that it was filled with farm produce. I won­
dered whether it were bringing food for the chateau ; prob­
ably it was, for there would be no market so late as this in
Castellane.
I could hear two sentries talking in undertones and I
began to feel on edge, for I did not know what to look
for-Cris was sometimes infernally mysterious, and I am
not particularly good at improvisation. I knew that he was
not sure what would happen and that he had probably
been a little afraid to give me precise instructions lest I
should be at a loss if the plans went awry.
The creaking of the farmcart, now so near that I could
see everything on it, was very loud. Then I saw the 'man'
hunched on the cart was actually an old woman, bundled
up in a mass of rags, her untidy hair tucked in an ungainly
cap.
Obviously she was coming to the chateau, for she did not
take the road to Castellane. One of the invisible sentries
called out to her, a coarse jest which received only a shrill
tirade of abuse ; the somewhat embarrassed laughter of the
sentry and his companion told me that her retort had
struck home.
Then I heard a whispered voice floating upwards ; I
looked down and saw Cris between the side of the chateau
and the surrounding wall. I caught the words :
'Be ready any time, Ned! '
 With mounting excitement I saw him throw a rope up to
the wall ; there was a hook near, and the noosed end of the
rope caught in it. Cris, carrying something I did not see,
climbed up quickly and rested the 'something' on the wall.
It was a blanket or an old coat and I knew that it was to be
a protection from the glass as he climbed over. The cart,
drawing nearer, was now quite close to the wall. I wished
I had warned Cris, called myself a fool for not doing so-­
and then grew aware of the fact that the creaking of the
cart had stopped.
Cris reappeared, carrying Anton over his shoulder. He
was slower climbing the rope this time and did not speak
to me. Once at the top of the wall, however, he turned and
beckoned.

9
The Nature of Count Bellini
I suppose everything I relate seems very matter-of-fact ;
well, so it was-nothing Cris ever touched took on any hint
of fantasy or drama ; everything was taken as a matter of
course. Had we kept ourselves at a stretch of emotion, had
we not been constantly prepared to take the rough with the
smooth, we could not have got away with as much as we
did.
Cris climbed over the wall, sat astride it with Anton still
over his shoulder, and pulled the rope up with one hand
while he held his gun in the other, looking towards the
sentry box all the time. He made no sound, but a casual
glance round might prove his undoing, for he was clearly
visible. I lost sight of him then, for I scrambled out of the
window, lowering myself cautiously until I was dangling
71
from the sill to which I clung with both hands before drop­
ping to the uneven flagstones below. Recovering my bal­
ance, I looked up, seeing no sign of Cris; but suddenly the
rope came flying over the wall again. I caught it and
scrambled up without much difficulty. I was astride the top
in time to see Cris walking away.
Then one of the sentries came into sight. I heard his
exclamation as he spotted Cris disappearing. He put his
rifle to his shoulder swiftly; I fired, aiming low. My bullet
caught the barrel of the rifle and jerked it aside. It fell to
the ground, making plenty of noise. The second sentry, see­
ing his companion disarmed, immediately flung his own
rifle down and held up his hands.
Here was a fine kettle of fish ! They would stay like that
as long as I kept them covered but as soon as it was safe to
move they would start shooting. I was afraid that there
would be others, soon, for the noise could hardly have
failed to penetrate into the nearer rooms of the chateau.
Then Cris came back. In less than a minute he had
treated them in much the same way as I had done Bellini.
I lost no time in climbing down to the other side of the
wall. I managed to unhook the rope, too, and was coiling
it when Cris reached me. He grinned, but I knew that he
was in a hurry and wished things had gone more smoothly.
'Quick,' he muttered, 'we haven't much time.'
'Anton . . .' I gasped, for the farmcart was disappearing
into the chateau grounds. 'Cris, what on earth . . . ?'
'He'll be all right. She'll bring him out again, don't stand
gaping !' He gripped my arm, while I, with considerable
misgivings, followed him towards the trees which had once
hidden the Nazi unit. When we were safely under their
shelter Cris slackened his pace and gave me a straight look.
'Somtimes,' he declared, 'I agree with Anton ! '
I coloured. 'Confound it, you must admit that . • .'
 'She had to deliver that stuff to the chateau,' Cris said.
'I arranged with her to be here and to have some old sack­
ing for Anton to hide beneath. If she went off without
delivering the goods the cart would be suspect. As it is,
they'll think we got away before she left.'
I was by no means satisfied, but there was nothing I
could do and certainly no point in protesting further.
It was growing darker, and for this I was thankful, for
to be on the run in daylight is a nerve-racking experience,
and the shadows of night, in such a circumstance, are
always welcome and consoling. Until it was pitch dark we
stayed among the trees, always going straight ahead-Cris
had obviously been given careful directions. I thought, a
little glumly, that he should have told me about this, had I
been on my own I would not have known where to go. I
was still feeling sore at his sharp : 'Sometimes I agree with
Anton'; he meant my discursiveness in a crisis, of course.
Probably he sensed the fact that it rankled, for, when
we were standing on the edge of a little stream, he said
lightly :
'It's a thankless job, eh ?'
I was mollified a little, although I growled :
'I shall be much happier when we see Anton.'
Cris shook his head.
'We won't do that for several days-perhaps weeks,' he
said. 'He will have to lie up until he can move about again,
and I've got to trust the woman.'
'Who is she ?'
'She works what we would call a smallholding in the
hills. I was recommended to her this morning.' He was
silent for a moment, then began : 'How did . . .' But his
voice trailed off, for both of us heard a sound not far away
-the steady sound which so often held menace. Soldiers,
on the march.
73
 There were no voices, no whistling, no engine, just the
tramp, tramp, tramp of troops on the road. They might
have been moving up to the front line, so silent was that
ghostly battalion. The noise drew nearer and I realised
that we were not far from a road-one with a good sur­
face if the ringing sound of their heels was anything to
judge by. It drew closer, holding a menace as great as any­
thing we had encountered. I felt sure that during the next
five minutes those men were within a few yards of us. There
must have been thousands of them, a gigantic crocodile of
field grey ; only Germans would march like that in France.
At long last the sound of their marching receded.
We looked at each other, breathing audibly.
Presently Cris said, his voice quietly normal :
'There's another farmhouse farther along here where we
can get shelter for the night. As for tomorrow-it must take
care of itself ! '
'Where's Tony ?' I asked.
'He should reach the rendezvous ahead of us, and de
Brinnon should be in England by now.'
'How the devil did you manage it ?' I demanded.
He did not tell me the story until we were at the farm­
house, hidden in the loft with Tony, who had arrived half
an hour before us. Told by Cris, it sounded simple enough ;
he had rushed with Tony and de Brinnon into the chateau,
while the commotion outside had brought all the guards
into the grounds. It had not been difficult to overpower the
only two men who had tried to impede them and go out
through the main gates of the chateau ; with the scene of
action on the other side, it had been possible to get to a
copse, half a mile away, and then for Tony and de
Brinnon to cycle off on machines left there by patriots.
Cris had immediately made contact with the people at
the farm where we were now sheltering, and borrowed the

74
old clothes ; the wig was part of the make-up he always
carried with him. By coming to report the 'aeroplane' he
had made sure of forcing entry to the chateau at a time
when most of the military stationed there were on the way
to St. Julien. The rest I knew.
Tony Brandon was already asleep, and soon afterwards
Cris and I joined him, stretching ourselves out on the
plentiful straw in the loft, prepared for a short night's rest.
We breakfasted on our own iron rations washed down
with weak 'coffee'. During the day, when we did not move
out of our hiding-place, the farmer brought us snatches of
news. The district was being searched but the most intense
effort was being made further away from Castellane than
the farm where we were sheltering. Bellini, it seemed, had
imagined that we would put ten or twenty miles between
us and the chateau before dawn. From Cris's expression I
gathered that he had suspected such a course.
Reassuring news of Anton, who had reached safety, came
during the afternoon.
'So now you can rest,' Cris said to me with a mischievous
grin, 'and save your curses for another day ! '
'I still think you took a pretty big chance,' I grumbled.
And then a thought struck me.
'He's had an idea,' Tony said, with a fine show of
apprehe'fl.sion.
'Don't act the goat ! ' I snapped. 'Cris, I can't think why
I forgot to tell you earlier. Bellini asked me one or two
questions, including-did we know Lucille.' I was as
excited as I doubtless looked as I stared into Cris's eyes.
He frowned.
'So Lucille crops up again.'
'It's more than that ! ' I said heatedly. 'We've only heard
of her from du Chesne and it might have been his obsession
for his daughter, but Bellini was surprised that we hadn't
75
made contact with her. He said that du Chesne couldn't
have reached us.'
'Did he ! ' exclaimed Cris, quietly. 'I heard the name
mentioned once or twice in Castellane,' he went on, sur­
prising me, although he often kept little things like that to
himself. 'Nothing very much, just the name and a wink.
Yet it's hard to think she's of any consequence. If she were,
London would have heard of her, but they've said nothing.'
He looked questioningly at Tony . 'The name isn't familiar
to you ?'
Tony shook his head.
'When were you about here last ?'
'Less than a month ago.'
'A month is hardly time for a reputation to build up,'
mused Cris, 'and yet she's been mentioned all right and
now we know that Bellini has his eyes open for her. What
did you make of the Italian, Ned ?'
I said that I had been most unfavourably impressed.
Tony nodded in agreement. For a mild-spoken fellow he
had harsh things to say about Count Pietro Bellini, but
there was nothing in his story which surprised me.
One of the earliest members of the Fascist Party, Bel­
lini had been the prefect of a northern Italian district for
some years. Before that he had been one of the worst of
Mussolini's exponents, a man with a lust for inflicting tor­
ture, indifferent to human suffering, and possessing a
personal ambition which knew no bounds. He had become
a high official in the Party, but been 'axed' during one of
the purges. At the beginning of the war he had joined the
Fascist Militia and had made an astonishing rise from
lieutenant to colonel in less than twelve months.
'He's supposed to be very friendly with a cousin of Von
Ribbentrop's-the Countess von Braden,' Tony went on,
'a right royal beauty ! That may partly explain why he's
76
favoured by the Huns but it's not the whole reason-he's as
tough as they come. Quite a reputation with women, too,
although the countess appears to be permanent. She has
an apartment in Nice when she stays in France ; he uses it
when she's away.'
Cris nodded thoughtfully.
'I wonder if there are many like him?'
'Meaning?'
'Well, most of the Italians hate the Huns as much as
we do, but Bellini is sitting on the fence. Are there many
others? Who sit on the fence, I mean, with or without help
from a lovely cousin of Von Ribbentrop's.'
Tony pondered. He could not have known the import­
ance of the question and answer; nor could Cris, for all his
prescience. Certainly I had no idea how important it was
to be, for it was not for some time that the real struggle with
Bellini was to start, and we were to know why he was so
anxious to find Lucille. But undoubtedly Cris envisaged the
possibilities, though vaguely, from that time onward.
'I wouldn't say there are many,' Tony said thoughtfully,
'but there are a few, you know. Bellini's about the most
lively of them. He's not so much in the Nazi pocket as one
of them.'
'Hmm, interesting, but-I suppose we can't do anything
about it here. He hasn't been in the Castellane district for
long, has he?'
'No, I didn't realise that he was here until you told me
last night. I wouldn't mind having a shot at him myself,'
Tony added, a little wistfully.
Cris smiled. 'You mean you believe in attack?'
'I do sometimes wonder if you wouldn't do more good
by bumping off some of the Bellini brew,' admitted Tony,
ingenuously.
We dropped the subject, although we returned to it from

77
time to time during the next few days, while we stayed in
the farmhouse. There was no radio, but there was one at
another farm further away and we were brought news once
or twice every day, with a large admixture of local gossip.
Talk of Bellini began to feature largely. He had emptied a
village of all its male inhabitants without a word of explan­
ation or warning ; and there were rumbles of trouble,
although the Italo-German occupying forces were too
strong to be brought down by mere rumbles. The guerillas
were still in the hills, immobilised by the melting snow.
There was talk, too, of Bellini misusing those people whom
he suspected of being a party to our escape, and there were
mysterious disappearances.
Naturally, we chafed somewhat under the enforced
hiding, but we were assured that Bellini had not yet stop­
ped looking and although we were only a few miles from
our nearest 'safe' point-that is, from other English agents
-we stayed at the farmhouse. The reports which came
from Anton were all satisfactory ; a doctor had seen him
and the bullet had been removed. He would not be about
again for a month, but at the rate we were going he would
not miss a great deal.
I chafed more than the others. The lack of urgency
worried me ; there were many people like de Brinnon, badly
in need of help, and yet . . .
Cris, reasonable as always, pointed out that in view of
Bellini's activities we were needed more in his district than
anywhere else. By keeping quiet for a few days and then
planning a series of contacts and hiding-places so that we
could really get busy in the vicinity, we would do far more
good than by going further afield. Besides, London must
have had a reason for sending us here.
One more thing-and then I will have done with ex­
planations ! We made enquiries about, but received
curiously little information of the woman Lucille. She was
known, but not well known. It was believed to be the name
of a woman who put many a spoke in the Nazi and Italian
wheel, but we were never able to find any direct evidence.
No one could state exactly what she had done ; yet, as the
days passed, there were more and more occasions when she
was mentioned in the village and in Castellane. A mystery
surrounded her.
On the ninth day the hunt quietened down ; London,
who had received a message from us, helped by spreading
stories of le Liberateur's exploits in the Lyons district. Pre­
sumably Bellini assumed that we had escaped from him and
that we were too scared to return. Perhaps he felt satisfied.
I have no idea, for it was on the ninth day that we had a
real scare.
We had just been told that things were now reasonably
safe and we went out by day for the first time-unshaven,
dirty, almost disreputable. We were only a few hundred
yards from our hide-out when we heard the stutter of a
motor-cycle.
Now motor-cycles, in France, could only mean the
enemy; no one else used them. All three of us jumped to the
conclusion that it was a German or Italian dispatch rider,
perhaps hot on our scent. We knew that the farmhouse was
visible from the road, so we stayed in the field, calculating
the chance of escaping that way if serious trouble arose.
The motor-cyclist roared up to the front of the farmhouse,
stopped and dismounted.
He disappeared into the farmhouse.
Tony looked at Cris with an anxious expression.
'I suppose the old couple will be all right, Cris ?'
'It wouldn't surprise me,' said Cris, quietly. 'Come on,
we're going back to the house.'
'Are you crazy ?' I demanded.
79
 Cris smiled. 'I hope not ! The point is, Ned, if that young
woman wants to look like a man, she should cut off her hair.
No good Nazi has long hair, does he?'
I stared at him in amazement, then went forward
slowly, not wholly convinced that he was right yet thinking
of a girl dressed in German uniform. Could it be Lucille?

IO

A Message from 'Lucille'

Cris was right. A girl was standing in the smoke-filled front
room of the farmhouse, on the open fireplace of which a
stewpot was simmering. The old woman's lined and
wizened face was softened in a smile which startled me.
She peered at the new arrival, who had taken off her
peaked hat and was letting loose luxuriant coils of dark
hair. She was young and pretty, remarkable for the fact
that her face, unlike those seen so often in these days of
war, carried no hint of want or deprivation.
As Cris entered, she stepped towards him, her expression
one of repressed excitement.
'You really should cut it off,' said Cris, reprovingly.
The girl stared, puzzled, her excitement fading.
'I beg your pardon, M'sieu?'
'Your hair,' explained Cris, gently.
She hesitated for a moment, looking rather like a dis­
appointed child. The old woman muttered something
under her breath and padded out of the room. The mutter­
ing, I thought, indicated annoyance with Cris.
Cris smiled at the girl.
'Presumably you are in a hurry, for the motor-cycle must
be returned quickly.'
Bo
 'So ! You realise that ! Yes, M'sieu, it will be well if the
machine is returned before it is missed, but I have, per­
haps, two hours. M'sieu, are you le Liberateur?' Her bright
eyes flickered from him to me and then to Tony. 'M'sieu,
please, which one of you is le Liberateur ?'
'I am,' Cris said.
'C'est bien!' She smiled. 'M'sieu, I am proud to see you.
I have a message, a request, M'sieu, from-Lucille ! '
'Ah.'
'You know of Lucille ?'
'I have heard of her.'
'No more than that?' She put a hand inside the but­
toned jacket of her uniform and drew out an envelope ;
she handed it to Cris, her lips parted.
I smiled to myself, seeing Tony looking at her with the
open admiration a young man offers to a girl of excep­
tional beauty.
As Cris opened the letter he motioned me to read it with
him. Written in English, it - was dated that day, March
I 1 th :

Greetings to le Liberateur ! I have a request which, please,

grant if it is possible. A man of great importance is im­
prisoned in Nice. He is an Italian, Signor Umberto
Diano, of the Italian Socialist Party, recently brought to
Nice from Milan. He is, I say, of great importance, and his
freedom of consequence. I will be able, if you will give word
to Colette, who brings this message, to arrange for your
papers, for clot.hes and everything else you will require.
From Maurice Rivere, at Le Chat de Nuit in Nice, you will
be able to obtain more particulars.
I ask you one thing-if you are able to accept this
mission, do so quickly. There is talk of Diano being execu-
81
ted within one week, and it must be prevented at all costs.
I sign myself as, perhaps, you know me,
Lucille

I read this remarkable epistle twice and then looked up

at the girl. She seemed to be on tiptoe. One could imagine
her standing like that with her dark hair streaming back in
the wind, on the edge of a precipice or a high cliff.
Tony joined us and Cris handed him the letter.
'Who gave you this, Colette ?' he asked.
'It reached me through the local nurse,' said Colette, 'in
Castellane, M'sieu-it is, I understand, of great import­
ance. I am instructed to say that if you are agreeable, will
you please meet M'sieu Mounier at his home after dark
tonight.'
I said : 'Mounier? Who . . . ?'
'I saw him in Castellane before we went to the chateau,'
Cris told me. 'Mounier is all right, but'-he looked frankly
at the girl-'the letter might be a forgery and you might be
from the Germans, Colette.'
'I ?' She drew herself up and her eyes flashed. 'M'sieu
does not understand,' she called out, her voice imperious
and yet not overbearing.
I was not surprised that the old woman came padding in,
her wizened face expressionless except for her eyes, which
were filled with a dog-like devotion.
'They are doubtful of me,' Colette said, disdainfully.
Tell them, Lulu.'
'Of Mam'selle?' The old woman turned on Cris and
rated him soundly and with increasing vigour. Did he not
have eyes in his head? Was he indeed le Liberateur, for
would he make such an imbecile mistake ? Had not
Mam'selle Colette risked her life many times to assist those
who were fighting the Germans and the Italians ? What
82
more proof did he require than the motor-cycle which had
been stolen and the risks the girl had run ?
Cris waited patiently until she had come to a stormy
finish.
'All that may be true, Madame,' he said, 'but would I be
wise to accept, uncorroborated, the word of anyone whom
I do not know ?'
'Will you help Lucille ?' the girl demanded, hotly.
'Naturally I will help.'
I thought Colette was going to fling her arms about Cris,
but instead she gripped his hand, shook it warmly, then
scrambled her hair up, placed the hat on her head, beamed
round to us all, and made for the door. When we reached
it the motor-cycle engine was stuttering loudly and before
we got as far as the gate she was half a mile down the
road.
I said : 'So we've something to do at last. Provided'-!
lowered my voice-'we can rely on the girl.'
'We can rely on Mounier,' said Cris. 'I'll see him to­
night, and you two had better stay outside the town, where
I'll pick you up later.'
We were to wait by a stream, two miles to the west of
Castellane, after dark, and he would join us there as soon
as he had seen Mounier. We would start moving after dusk
and thus lessen the risk of being seen by a German patrol.
With the prospect of this new adventure I expected much
evidence of jubilation from Tony, but after Cris had gone
he was very quiet and thoughtful. Lulu's husband sent one
of the innumerable village children to guide us to our ren­
dezvous by the stream. Not once on the journey did the
pinched-face child speak, but flitted ahead of us through
trees, alongside hedges, over little streams and bridges made
of logs, until we reached the spot, near a waterfall. I was
sorry to see the lad disappear, and gave him ten francs ; even
then he did not speak, but clasping it tightly turned and
hurried off, a noiseless wraith who had led us faithfully but,
we knew, was very much afraid. I wished that it were not
necessary to use such children, but there was nothing I
could do to prevent it.
'And so we're going to get busy,' Tony said, as we sat
down on the banks of the stream, now grey with lingering
shadows.
'If it's not a trap,' I said, pessimistically.
'Don't be an ass ! ' retorted ,Tony, with unusual warmth.
'That girl was all right.'
I said nothing, for after all, it was not part of my job to
tell Tony that even he should not take anyone on trust. I
remembered the rather breathless way he had smiled at
Colette and an uneasy possibility crossed my mind-that
they knew each other.
Soon it grew dark. We did not dare to smoke, and I
found my nerves getting near to breaking point-I was
always happier with a cut-and-dried plan. Cris might be
here any time, but there could be a delay of several hours.
I was leaning with my back against a tree, my bundle of
clothes and possessions under my feet. It was not unusual
in France for men to travel with all their wordly possessions
wrapped up in a blanket, and strangers thus burdened
would attract no undue attention. Once or twice I thought
I heard a rustle of movement and looked about me, trying
to pierce the darkness and half-expecting to hear the
whistle which would eventually come from Cris.
From a long way off I heard a strange, regular sound. I
should have known what it was, but it was not until it was
nearer that I recognised it as the tramp, tramp, tramp of
marching men, getting gradually nearer, unhurried, accom­
panied by no other sound, just the steady tramp, tramp,
tramp conjuring up the sinister image of a thousand men
 in a long, field-grey crocodile. It drew nearer, just as it had
done the night when Cris and I had fled from the chateau.
Steady, rhythmic, firm, remorseless. Tram p, tramp, tramp.
Nearer still, in a gradually increasing volume of sound,
until it seemed to echo about our heads and make the very
ground tremble. It was a long time before it began to fade
away. We did not move but sat watching the trees, as that
unseen battalion, ghostly, unreal, and yet so full of menace,
passed by.
Schooling my voice to indifference, I said :
'Eerie thing, at night.'
'I wonder how often it happens ?' Tony said.
Then we forgot the marching men, for a faint whistle
came from the other side of the stream. I sent back an
answering whistle as we scrambled to our feet. In a few
moments I heard Cris's voice.
'All right, there ?' he called.
'Doing fine ! ' Tony answered.
'Stay where you are, I'm coming over.' He came towards
us, a shadowy figure, his face just discernible. 'Did you hear
the troops ?' he asked as we joined him.
'Yes,' said I.
'It's curious, that's the second lot we've heard, and
they're Nazis all right. Why move by night ?'
'And why on foot ?'
'This place was almost entirely controlled by the
Italians,' said Cris thoughtfully. 'Now it's Huns. We'll have
to find out why. All the same, that's not our immediate
trouble. The girl was all right and we're due at Nice to­
morrow afternoon.'
'When are we starting ?' Tony asked, with deep satis­
faction.
'Mounier is sending a guide within the next hour, and
we'll be well on the way by dawn.'
 Our guide proved to be a youth, little more talkative than
the boy who had brought Tony and I to the river. We
walked in his wake along the course of the stream and then
across country. Those who imagine that the Cote d'Azure is
always free from cloud and rain should spend a winter
there.
We travelled almost due south for a while, then, as dawn
broke, turned south-west on the outskirts of the small town
of Trigance. Soon, a dray came creaking by, a little garden
produce in it for appearance's sake. We all climbed in, ex­
cept our guide, who wished us Godspeed and then dis­
appeared into the shadows of the morning. The driver of
the dray knew just what to do, and we dozed off fitfully
during the next few hours. The cart took us as far as Grasse
before we left it, stiff and yawning, in broad daylight with
the sun breaking through the clouds and the promise of a
warm day ahead of us.
Nice was rather less than twenty miles away.
We stayed together for as long as we could find shelter
in woods and copses, but, after three hours' walking, split
up, to find our way to Nice on our own-we would be much
less liable to arouse suspicion like that. We had papers and
'identities' with 'histories' which we had carefully memor­
ised. The risk of being apprehended was small enough.
Cris went first, Tony following ten minutes later. Then
I started in their wake, wishing my bundle were not so
heavy. I passed few people, although once I was bellowed
at by the crew of an A.A. gun. I shouted insults back but
scurried away quickly, noticing that the crew had been
German. Were there no Italians here?
I was perhaps half a mile away from the gun-site, wish­
ing that a car or cart would come along and I could beg a
lift, when I heard the hum of a motor-engine. I stood wait­
ing by the side of the road, but the more I heard of it the
86
 less I liked the idea of begging a lift. I decided to make
myself scarce and climbed the low hedge, crouching down
to wait for the car to pass. There were, in fact, three cars,
the last one being a Hispano.
I peered through a gap in the hedge-and then my heart
almost turned over, for I recognised Bellini !
His handsome face was set ; he was talking, but his lips
hardly seemed to move. A woman sat beside him, and I
caught a glimpse of her profile, clear-cut as a cameo. I
wondered who she could be.
For half an hour I trudged along, t�ice passed by farm­
carts already so loaded with people that it would have
been impossible to have found room for me. As the sun
grew higher in the sky I began to wonder whether I would
reach Nice that afternoon.
I had given up all hope of getting a lift when a lorry
came along. It was loaded with coal, but on the coal several
men and women were perched, holding on precariously.
The driver, a pale-faced man in weather-washed clothes,
pulled up at my signal. Animatedly, he told me that his was
a coal-truck, that it was forbidden to give lifts, that in any
case I would probably fall off and he could accept no re­
sponsibility, and that it would cost me ten francs to go as
far as Nice. I accepted without argument and paid up
promptly. A genial old rascal on top of the coal gave me a
hand up. Sitting on sacks near the driver's cabin was a girl
-she was little more-who was obviously in labour. Above
my pity I wondered a little apprehensively whether we
would reach Nice before the situation became acute.
The genial old rascal began to talk animatedly. With fine
catholicism he cursed Italians, Germans, Lavalians, Petain,
de Gaulle and Giraude. An old woman sitting with the girl
snapped at him waspishly-would he not keep quiet ? If he
were a man he would try to comfort his grand-daughter, not
make it worse by risking arrest-who could be trusted ?
She glared at me.
I assured her that I would betray nothing of what the
old man had said. I crawled over to the girl and took her
hand. The pressure of her thin fingers bit deep into mine.
The lorry rattled and banged on the bad road and I
thought of the tragedy that was about us, fully expecting
that we would have to stop so that the child could be born
on the roadside.
Then I heard the driver exclaim and we came to a noisy
halt. I stood up, stretching, wondering why we had stopped
as I looked over the roof of the lorry cabin.
Then I went rigid.
In front of me, on its side in the hedge, was the Hispano
in which Bellini had travelled. A little way ahead was a
hole in the road and a mass of debris from a car which
appeared to have been blown to pieces. A third car, badly
damaged, was a little further on. Bellini himself was stand­
ing by the woman with whom he had travelled. She was
sitting on the felled trunk of a tree, looking steadily into
space.

II

A Child is Born
I did not speak, but continued to stare at Bellini, whose set
face reflected his anger. I guessed what had happened;
there had been rumour of his journey and the patriots had
blown up a section of the road. Had he been in the first
car I had no doubt that he would have been blown to perdi­
tion, with his companion.
88
 Bellini snapped a question to the driver of the lorry, who
answered nervously-doubtless he was afraid of being
caught carrying passengers.
The old woman tugged at my hand.
'We must get her down,' she said. 'M'sieu, please . . .'
'Of course,' I said quickly.
I had recovered from the first shock of seeing Bellini but
was still frightened, forgetting at first that I had a ten-day­
old beard. Wearing different clothes and badly in need of a
haircut there was little chance of my being recognised ex­
cept under close scrutiny . .Then I realised that it would be
impossible for me to Iift the girl down on my own. The
other men had hurried over the hedge, afraid of being
questioned and flung into jail.
'A moment, please,' I said, approaching Bellini, for
there was nothing else to do but brave it out. 'Will you
allow one of your men to assist me, M'sieu ?'
Bellini stopped talking to the driver and snapped :
'Assist you in what ?'
'There is a woman here who is about to bear a child,' I
said.
Bellini stared at me blankly. I think he would have re­
fused me, but before he could do so, the woman imperi­
ously beckoned one of his entourage. She was a German, if
her voice was anything to go by, for she spoke the tongue
fluently and without hesitation.
'I will help,' she said, after she had directed the guard.
'No, no, not you, Hilda,' said Bellini sharply.
She ignored him. By then I was back on the coal, which
had already blackened my hands and clothes and had left
smudges on my face. I raised the girl in my arms and
lowered her gently into the arms of the German guard, a
hulking fellow who was unexpectedly gentle, murmuring to
the girl in an absurdly soft voice. He carried her to the
89
side of the road, where the woman Hilda joined us, giving
orders, in German, to the guard.
There was a picnic-basket in the Hispano, the boot of
which had not been damaged. The guard and I fetched a
kettle and some jugs from that, going in search of a stream.
Bellini was still talking to the lorry-driver and I had the
impression that he was in a great hurry, and far more con­
cerned with getting into Nice than in worrying about
broken regulations; the only obstacle to his travelling in
the lorry was the crater in the road, which the other
guards, at a word from Bellini, began to fill in. As soon as
we appeared with the water, he snapped orders to us to
JOlil m.
Hilda turned her head quickly.
'I shall want one of them, Pietro.'
His frown grew thunderous. 'I will not . . .' he began,
and then, apparently quelled by Hilda's steady gaze,
growled : 'Take the Frenchman. You ! ' he bellowed to the
guard. 'Get your fat carcass busy ! '
The man put the water receptacle down and hurried to
do Bellini's bidding. I needed no telling that hot water was
needed. I found a spirit stove in the Hispano and put on
the large kettle. It was playing at midwifery, but the situa­
tion was too urgent for me to worry about that and I was
only too thankful to be able to keep my back to Bellini.
Hilda turned to me.
'You are doing well, M'sieu.' I had a shock, for her
French was as good as her German. 'Open that case, please,'
she went on, 'and tear the clothes which will be of most
good. You understand what is needed ? '
I said that I did, making a wild guess. I opened the case
and found it packed with clothes which would have made
nine Frenchwomen out of ten green with envy, for the
quality was superb, silks and satins, dinner- and day-gowns,
go
 nightdresses and negligees-it was a small store in itself. I
chose the stoutest material and began to tear it into wide
strips.
I had time to ponder the situation.
There was no immediate danger and Bellini was far too
anxious to get off to pay much attention to chance-met
Frenchmen dressed in rags. All the same, if he looked too
directly into my eyes he might remember me, so I kept my
back to him as much as I could. The noise of the hole being
filled in, occasional oaths as a man hurt himself, accom­
panied that strange childbirth. I wished there were a bucket
in which I could get more water-and then fortune smiled,
for a horse and cart came along the road, the cart half­
filled with empty milk churns.
I was about to press the driver into service and to get
him to come with me and fill the churn, when Bellini set
him to work first. So I raised a churn on my shoulder and
trudged off to the stream.
The engine of the lorry was now revving up; it moved
forward slowly, crunched on the loose rubble in the crater,
then stopped. Bellini cursed the driver, who managed to
back the lorry and the work was started again. By then, I
had the chum of water by the side of the two women and
the girl-and, amid the harsh sounds of shovelling men
and the muttered curses of Bellini, who seemed to have
lost complete self-control of himself, I heard a thin wail.
Startled, I turned and looked-to see Hilda, with an in­
fant in her arms, hastily wrapping the torn strips of cloth­
ing about it. She looked up and asked for more hot water
and I kept myself very busy. The older woman and the girl
were silent and I wondered if the mother were all right.
Then the lorry engine revved up again and this time the
lorry got across.
Bellini turned and shouted : 'Hilda, we are ready ! '
91
 'Go on, Pietro,' she said. 'I will join you later.'
'But now,' he snapped, coming nearer. 'I insist.'
'Where shall I meet you?' Hilda asked quietly.
He scowled, his handsome face twisted unpleasantly, and
then growled:
'If you must make a fool of yourself, I can't help it. I
shall be at Le Chat de Nuit of course, if you want to see
him you'll hurry. Hilda, I appeal once more to your . . .'
'If I do not arrive in time, give him my apologies and ex­
plain why I was detained,' said Hilda, quietly.
Bellini turned on his heel and hurried to the lorry, while
I caught a glimpse of the woman's face and hastily averted
my eyes.
But it was no use.
She had seen how startled I was ; I had an uneasy feeling
that she could hear the thumping of my heart and read
the sudden wild anxieties which had sprung into my mind.
Cris and Tony might now be at Le Chat de Nuit, but if it
were a rendezvous for Bellini and others of his breed there
could be no safety for them there. I was so worked up that
I did not pay much attention to the possible significance of
the emphasis that Bellini had put on the pronoun 'him'.
Hilda stared at me. She had fine grey eyes ; she was hat­
less and her fair hair was ruffied by a gentle wind. I thought
she was going to say something, but instead she stood up
abruptly and stepped to the little squealing bundle of
humanity lying on the dresses which she had sacrificed so
readily.
The child and the mother were 'all right', I gathered,
but would have to be taken to a h ospital quickly in case of
complications. A message had been sent ahead, and
presently a car appeared, large enough to serve as an ambu­
lance.
The mother, the woman with her, and the new-born babe
92
were helped inside. Hilda gave the guards instructions,
then, with a faint smile, motioned me to the car. I drew
back, protesting.
'Please no, Mam'selle, I can walk. It is not far . . .'
'You have earned a comfortable journey,' she said. 'Get
in, M'sieu.'
I had to obey.
I wished that the woman had not smiled so enigmatic­
ally, nor looked at me so straightly when I had started at
the mention of Le Chat de Nuit. Although she had handled
this emergency well it did not alter the fact that she was
a friend of Bellini.
I was profoundly uncomfortable and worried, moreover,
by the fact that Cris and Tony might be walking into a
trap. I could not believe that Bellini would be going to a
place run by a reliable Allied agent. It seemed much more
likely that the message from 'Lucille' and the trustworthi­
ness of Colette had been spurious, that this had been
arranged so that all three of us should go to the place and
find ourselves confronted by Bellini.
Then I broke into a cold sweat, thinking that 'he' might
mean Cris, as le Liberateur. I dismissed that idea when I
realised that the woman had sent her apologies, but I was
like a cat on hot bricks as the car travelled, as smoothly as
the rutted road would allow, towards Nice.

12

Adventures in a Bathroom
I could not rid myself of the impression that the woman
called Hilda had read something of my thoughts and that
she did not intend to lose sight of me. As we were sitting side
93
by side I did not have to look at her a great deal-all I
could see, above the head of the old woman, was the white
ribbon of road unwinding behind the car, with a little cloud
of dust gradually settling down. Hilda leaned forward and
took the child from its grandmother's arms.
She glanced at me and said, with a laugh in her voice :
'You have not asked whether it is a boy or a girl.'
'I-I didn't think,' I stammered. It occurred to me that
Hilda might think I was the father and for the time being
it would be a good thing if she were not disabused. 'It has
been a most worrying time,' I added, as she did not answer
immediately. 'Is it-a son, Mam'selle ?'
'It is somebody's daughter,' she said, and I could swear
that her eyes were laughing, as if she saw through my pre­
tence and wanted to make sure that I knew. I wiped the
perspiration from my face with a dirty piece of cloth, and
this time she laughed openly.
'Oh, a daughter,' I mumbled. 'Excellent, excellent ! '
Would the journey never end ?
Apparently Hilda had given the driver instructions, for
he pulled up outside a large house, some three miles inland.
I noticed the massive building of l'Hotel Regina, with the
Victoria Pavilion behind it, and judged that we were near
the old Roman arena, not far from the Boulevard de
Cimiez. Then I saw a notice-board stating that the house
was a private nursing home.
The old woman, obviously impressed by the munificent
appearance of the place, looked askance, but a quick ripple
of words from Hilda reassured them both. There would be
nothing to pay ; since she had helped she wanted to make
sure that the best was available for the child and the
mother. She climbed out of the car and I was only too glad
to follow suit. Two or three people passing by stared at om·
little party ; we must have looked a comic opera lot, Hilda

94
 so well dressed looking as if she had been fitted out from
top to toe in Paris, the old woman with her verminous rags,
the girl-mother with a ragged overcoat about her
shoulders, the child now wrapped in a travelling rug, the
two guards in uniform-and myself. I could only guess
what I looked like !
Attendants came from the nursing home carrying a
stretcher. Hilda gave quick and imperative orders.
Shuffling my feet, I tried to look very rustic.
I blurted out : 'May the good God bless you for your
goodness, Mam'selle. I go now . . .'
'You cannot go like that,' said Hilda, 'you must have a
bath, M'sieu.'
'Mam'selle, I assure you . . .'
'I shall insist.'
It was a command, not a request. I returned to the car
and this time she joined me, sinking into a corner with a
sigh of satisfaction.
She offered me a cigarette which I accepted thankfully,
but as her glance fastened on my fingers I grew a little
apprehensive, afraid that she had noticed they were not the
hands of a farm labourer. She said nothing, however, and
the silence got on my nerves so much that at last I blurted
out :
'Where are we going, Mam'selle ?'
'To my apartment.' She laughed lightly.
I could not rid myself of the impression that she was
playing a cat-and-mouse game with me, but I was far less
concerned with my own immediate fate than with that of
Cris and Tony. If only I could have got a message to
them . . .
But this was impossible, even had I been allowed to go
free from the nursing home. With any luck they had been
in Nice for some hours and the worst, if it were going to
95
happen, would have already done so. I began to realise that
I was being a fool. Perhaps the shock of meeting Bellini
and the unaccustomed duties I had performed explained
that. For the first time I became conscious of the possibility
that I might be able to learn more about Le Chat de Nuit
and the mysterious 'him'.
We were driving towards the bay and the scene over­
looking the Mediterranean was glorious. There were a few
small boats in the harbour, and two long, lean destroyers of
the Italian or French Navy near the jetty.
In the gardens, brilliant with flowers, people were lying
about in deck-chairs under gaily-coloured shades laughing
and talking. I suppose I frowned at them, for Hilda spoke
for the first time since we had started smoking.
'You have no patience with such gaiety, M'sieu ?'
'It-it is none of my business,' I said hastily.
'You will not be frank with me ?'
'Mam'selle has been too kind,' I mumbled, 'but I was to
meet friends-family friends-they will be alarmed,
and . . .' My voice tailed off, for she was laughing at me
agam.
'They would be more alarmed if I allowed you to meet
them looking as you do now ! ' she assured me.
The car slowed down outside a large and opulent-look­
ing house. I was startled, for I had not expected such a
place as this. Hilda had said that we were going to her
apartment-this was a private house. My apprehension
grew more harassing; she was playing with me.
As we walked through a well-kept garden I could see
that the house had been divided into flats. A German
officer walked from the front entrance towards us. He
bowed to Hilda, glaring at me as if he could not believe
his eyes.
So some of the flats had been taken over. I was tempted
96
to cut and run for it, but I realised the folly of any such
attempt. Besides, at the back of my mind there lurked the
hope that before I left I would be able to learn something
of value.
We were taken by an astonished janitor by lift to the top
floor. I was spared the ordeal of seeing myself until we
reached Hilda's apartment and I came face to face with a
full-length mirror.
I stood and stared, hardly able to believe what I saw. I
was covered in coal-dust from head to foot. I knew my
hands and clothes were filthy but had not realised how I
had smeared the stuff over my face and neck. My hair was
thick with it and small segments had clung to the edge of
my beard.
I turned abruptly and stammered an apology.
Hilda gave a light laugh.
'It was done in a good cause, M'sieu, and-I warned
you that I dared not let your friends see you in such a
state ! '
I wondered if I imagined a slight emphasis on 'friends',
but then I was led to a bathroom, a magnificent place with
a sunken bath, green glass tiles, a shower and every im­
aginable fitting.
One of my chief worries, after the door had closed, was
my bundle of wordly goods, which I had left in the hall. I
did not think there was anything incriminating in them,
but the quality of some of the clothes might arouse com­
ment. I shrugged my shoulders, decided that there was no
point in anticipating trouble.
It seemed a sacrilege to bath in that dainty room, but I
was soon too glad of the hot water in which I soaked to
worry. Resisting a temptation to linger, I stepped from that
to a cold shower, then towelled myself vigorously. I was
looking with distaste at my dirty pile of clothes when a
G.T.E.-D
97
door opened abruptly and the maid appeared.
,That was a shock ! I gaped at her, grabbing the towel
and putting it round me hastily. She was followed by a
small man carrying a b ag.
What on earth, I wonden�d, did the fellow want ?
I was to know soon enough, for he motioned me to a
chair, and produced a comb and a pair of scissors. Deciding
there would be no point in making a fuss, I sat down and
let him drape a towel over my shoulders. He started to trim
the back of my neck, working upwards. Lulled by the snip­
ping, I closed my eyes-and then I felt the snip-snip-snip
of the scissors at my beard.
I jerked my head away.
'Nom d'un nom, imbecile! What do you think you are
doing ?'
His eyes looked frightened and he began to apologise.
He thought that I wanted my beard off, he had no idea
that I would resent it. But I knew differently; he had
staged it well, given me no opportunity to retain it; I could
not leave with one side of my beard long and the other
short. It alarmed me more than anything else had done,
but I had the sense to make the best of it, although my
mind was in a turmoil as he went on with the work. It
meant, of course, an end to disguise, and that I would have
to face Hilda as myself.
And there might be others in the flat.
With increasing perturbation I allowed the man to
finish. I must admit that I enjoyed the scrape of the razor
over the stubble, the clean smell of soap, the smoothness of
my cheeks. When, finally, he whipped the towel from my
shoulders and invited me to inspect myself, there could
have been few greater transformations !
The little man then ushered me into a second room.
Here were laid out a lounge suit, underwear, and shoes.
98
 'What the devil is all this ?' I demanded-but I was
speaking to an empty room, for the barber had let himself
out and I heard the door close with a decided snap. My
misgivings were great enough as, dressed, I looked at a
small mantelpiece clock and saw that it had turned half
past five; I thought again, grimly, of Cris.
I was certain of one thing.
This was not a sudden whim on the part of Hilda; it
was being done too deliberately and I needed to be more
than ever on my guard. I suppose, too, that I was afraid,
but I was more puzzled than anything else and fear was
certainly not my chief emotion.
At last I finished. Norman Deane, one-time member of
His Majesty's Foreign Office, lately assistant (not very
capable) to le Liberateur-looked back at me out of the
mirror.
Then a bell rang and I started.
It rang again before I realised that it was a telephone.
I hesitated, then picked it up, and waited.
It was Hilda : I wished the laugh were not so often in her
voice.
'Are you ready, M'sieu?'
'Mam'selle,' I began, 'there is no limit to your goodness,
but I cannot understand . . .'
'Why should you try ?' she asked, gently. 'I am waiting,
M' sieu, for tea.'
I stepped towards a door opposite to the one leading to
the bathroom-and found myself in a passage. Two other
doors opened from it, through one of which I could see
Hilda, looking pensively out of the window towards the
scene below.
Uncertainly, I went in.
 13

Le Chat de Nuit
She looked at me appraisingly. She, too, had changed, and
was wearing a gown of some silky material. She looked
quite lovely.
I should, perhaps, explain that I am engaged, that no
woman will ever attract me as much as Sheila (Cris's
sister). I can claim, I think, that I look on beauty dispas­
sionately, and yet-yes, she was very lovely indeed, and the
fact that she was smiling and that her eyes were laughing
made her more so. I stood stiffly at the end of the settee.
By it, a low table was laid for tea.
'Mam'selle,' I said, doggedly, 'I cannot thank you enough
for your kindness, but I must insist on an explanation. I
am at a loss to understand why you should take such
trouble for a poor . . .'
'You could hardly go to Le Chat de Nuit as you were
when I met you,' she said, and her eyes mocked me.
I gaped. 'But, Mam'selle, I do not know . . .'
'The name affected you very strangely on the road,' she
said. 'I was not so busy that I did not notice it. M'sieu . . .'
I saw that she had been laughing at me all the time !
Why I had been such a purblind fool I do not know, but
even then I did not gcess who she was. I could not make
myself think clearly except to acknowledge that I had given
myself away on the roadside.
'It-it is your imagination, Mam'selle, I . . •'
She said : 'M'sieu, three people I know were going to Le
Chat de Nuit this afternoon. Messieurs St. Clare, Brandon
-and Deane. I have heard of you all and I have seen
1 00
photographs.' She leaned forward and touched my hand.
'Sit down, Ned, and do not look so alarmed ; you are with
friends.'
Then it burst upon me like a thunderclap.
I gasped. 'You are Lucille !'
She nodded. 'You see how completely I trust you,
M'sieu ? I assure you that all who are here now are trust­
worthy and that you are quite safe.'
I sank down in an armchair; collapsed would be nearer
the mark.
'What about the others ? Are they all right ?' I muttered.
'They are, now. You need not worry about them yet.'
Quite calmly, she began to pour out tea.
'What do you mean by "yet" ?' I demanded, and when
she did not immediately answer I went on more swiftly :
'I must get word to Cris quickly, and-and . . .'
I faltered, for she looked at me with great intensity­
and asked me whether I liked sugar.
I said, gruffly, that I did not. I felt that I was being un­
gracious, but I was a little sore at being treated in quite so
elaborate a fashion. During the car ride she could have
told me what she knew and I would not have been through
the suspense of the past hour. As if she read my thoughts,
she said quietly :
'I could not be certain of you, of course, because of your
beard, M'sieu Deane. I had to be sure.'
'Er-yes,' I gulped, realising that I was behaving like a
bore. 'You might-you will-have some difficulty in
explaining me, Mam'selle.'
'Difficulty ?' she frowned. 'Oh, with Bellini ! ' She shrug­
ged. 'He considered me foolish to help that poor woman,
he will think it even more so that I brought a man home
and gave him a bath and sent him away with a meal inside
IOI
him. That is all ; for he expects women to be fools. How
well do you know him ?'
'Only casually,' I said.
'So you had not met him before the Chateau Castell
episode ?'
'No,' said I, grimacing.
'I have never seen him so angry,' she said meditatively.
'To have le Liberateur and two of le Liberateur's closest
friends snatched from under his very nose, to be tied up
and left helpless-what a blow to his pride !'
'What a spur to revenge,' I said, dourly.
'Ye-es. And yet, M'sieu Deane, I must confess that I am
almost convinced of the invincibility of le Liberateur.'
'I've felt like that, too,' I admitted, 'but he's only a man,
you know.'
'He will succeed,' she said quietly. 'There is more than
one man, more than a little party of brave men who take
such risks. I need not tell you that. The whole country is
with you, the very name is magical.'
I said : ' "Lucille" seems to be an open sesame, too.'
She nodded. 'I have tried hard to make it so. It is only a
name, you know, but . . .' She smiled a little. 'You haven't
guessed ?'
'Guessed what?' I demanded.
'How I was able to help this afternoon.'
I stared at her, unable to see what she was driving at.
' "Lucille" is a nurse, M'sieu Deane. It is easy for her to
travel up and down France. She has many friends who are
also nurses. There are many Lucilles, not one.'
I said : 'Nurses ! ' And I remembered that Colette had
said that a nurse had given her the letter.
'In the villages and in the towns,' she told me. 'That is
how I have spread the name, how I have carried messages
from one place to another, how I get word, very often, of
102
 men who are in need of assistance from le Liberateur.'
I looked at her straightly.
'Are you telling me that you have an organisation among
the district nurses ?'
'I suppose that is what you would call them, yes. Nurses
are so rarely suspect. Now, with Diano, it is of the utmost
necessity that he escapes, M'sieu. I want you to impress
that upon your friend. I only know that he is considered of
great importance by Bellini, who is fully acquainted with
the machinery of Nazi and Fascist government.'
'Government ?' I ejaculated. I could see that I was put­
ting up a pretty poor show; I reflected that I would have
to pull myself together or she would wonder whether Cris
had surrounded himself with half-wits. I wished I knew
what she was driving at, and found my mind working back
to du Chesne. Government-and du Chesne, who had
been close to the counsels of the Vichy authorities. Was that
a line ? I tried to hide a rising excitement, when I remem­
bered that Diano was a Socialist and, at one time, had been
a close friend of Matteotti.
'Mam'selle,' I said, slowly, 'do they think there is a
Socialist plot to overthrow Mussolini ?'
I began to see the significance of what was happening­
at least I thought so, and afterwards was proved right­
of the tramp -tramp-tramp of Nazi infantry marching
during the night, of German-manned anti-aircraft sites
where Italians had been before, the increasing influence of
the Nazis in this corner of France which the Italians had
taken over.
After a long pause, I spoke quietly.
'I think I see it, Mam'selle. Diano might be in a position
to rally the anti-Fascist factions and they are trying to make
sure that he has no opportunity, but they want, first, to
103
find out what organisation he had built up-that is why he
is a prisoner and not already dead.'
'If I have read Bellini aright, that is so,' said Lucille. 'I
want you to visit Le Chat de N uit and pass on this infor­
mation to your friend.'
She moved restlessly towards the window ; I remember to
this day the way the sun caught her hair, making it look
like spun gold, and how her small, firm chin was thrust for­
ward and her fine lips set.
'Corne here,' she said.
I joined her. My thoughts were still confused, and
amongst them was one which I tried to thrust aside for it
implied doubts of her sincerity. After all, I did not know
her, and the story of the nurses, the legend of Lucille,
might have been created in order that she could worm her
way into the counsels of Cris and his friends. I think two
selves warred within me, one feeling much as Tony had
done with Colette, the other colder, more dispassionate and
prepared to be sceptical. It had all worked so smoothly.
A faint smile played about ht>r lips.
'You are not sure of me, M'sieu ?'
'I am bewildered, Mam'selle.'
She looked away, pointing downwards over the many
coloured roofs.
Following the direction of her finger, I saw an unex­
pected and incongruous thing-a black roof with some­
thing white on it, near the Municipal Casino. The sun made
it difficult to see more than that but I narrowed my eyes
and made out, with growing wonder, the shape of a white
cat.
'Le Chat de Nuit,' said Lucille, softly. 'It is a private
hotel in the Rue de la Terrasse, popular with high German
officials on holiday, and Maurice Rivere, who owns and
manages it, is trusted by them-so far.' She was still a little
104
sombre and I wondered uneasily whether she had any real
grounds for anxiety. 'In the downstairs room, at this
moment, Diano is being questioned. Bellini is there, and
Baron von Horst, who is the real Prefet of Nice, whatever
the Italians may say. In addition, there is Ribbentrop.'
'Rib . . .' I began, and stopped, rather foolishly. If Tony
were right, this woman was a cousin of the Nazi Foreign
Minister.
'There are other officials from the Foreign Office in
Berlin,' Lucille went on. 'I do not know exactly what is
being discussed, but-what would such men want with
Diano ? Can you answer me that ?'
I said : 'I haven't a notion, beyond what I've suggested.'
'No,' she said, moodily, 'nor have I. But there is some­
thing in the wind, M'sieu Deane, something of great
importance, and unless Diano is rescued we cannot find out
what.' She looked at me as she said 'rescued' and for the
first time I wondered if she meant it to be taken literally. I
suppose the more tortuous side of my mind, so used to in­
trigue, was working at full pressure, for I snapped my
fingers and exclaimed :
'My oath, if Diano would change sides . . .'
'Exactly,' she said. 'If Diano were to change sides many
strange things could happen. They are being discussed at
Le Chat de Nuit, M'sieu Deane. You are my cousin on the
French side,' she added abruptly. 'I have talked to Bellini
about you and he will not be surprised to find you there.
First, you must ask for Rivere, make sure that you see him
in person, and then for Lucille. If all is well, you will be
led to your friends. Much has been arranged, of course,
but only with your help can we get Diano away. You under­
stand ?'
I was thinking feverishly.
'Yes, I understand, but I cannot go there straight away,
1 05
I must see others in Nice. I shall be at least an hour.
Because,' I added quickly, 'if we get a chance of freeing
Diano now-this evening-we shall have to make arrange­
ments for him to be taken out of the country.'
'Can you make such arrangements in so short a time ?' she
asked incredulously.
'I can,' I said, 'but I must be on my own. And I shall
need some kind of conveyance.'
'A bicycle will be best, I think,' said Lucille, thought­
fully. She telephoned instructions for a bicycle to be left in
readiness for me. When it was time for me to go she gripped
my hand before I turned and hurried off, suddenly on a
knife edge of anxiety, with a fantastic dream whetting my
curiosity and lending me wings.
I passed the portentous Nazi officer as I cycled away
from the house, but he did not give me a second glance.
Knowing Nice well and having seen exactly where I was
from the window, it did not take me long to make the one
call, near the flower market in the old town. Here I saw the
agent whom Cris and I had been advised to visit for mes­
sages to and from England. He told me that there was an
emergency landing-field about three miles from Nice, where
an aircraft could land after dark; in addition, I was given
the addresses of several places in Nice where we could hide
for a few days.
Still on the bicycle I went to the Rue de Ia Terrasse,
where Le Chat de Nuit was situated. There were four
luxurious cars outside, each with a Nazi at the wheel, and
by the doorway stood uniformed Nazis. For the first time
I wondered whether I would even be able to get into the
place. With a quaking heart I propped my cycle against the
kerb and walked boldly towards the door.

106
 14
M'sieu Maurice Rivere
As I drew within the shadow of the doorway I saw more
men inside, among them one of Bellini's guards. As he
swaggered past me I kept a straight face, knowing that he
could not recognise me as the bearded man of the road,
yet apprehensive because anyone who was familiar with my
photograph could have done so easily enough.
A fellow in uniform approached me and inquired politely
whom I wanted to see. I met civility with civility and asked
him to be good enough to send my name to M'sieu Rivere.
I was in a momentary panic lest he demanded my identity
papers, but he simply nodded and called out an order to
someone else.
I was relieved that there was, so far, no justification for
Lucille's nervousness, but as I waited for nearly a quarter
of an hour-I had given my name as Leonardi-I con­
jured up visions of sudden arrest and wondered whether a
report had been taken to Bellini. Then a servant came
along, a soft-footed, middle-aged man, who asked me to
follow him.
I was taken upstairs in a Iift. Stepping into a wide pas­
sage, I followed the man to a door on which was painted
the name : M. Maurice Rivere.
He tapped, and then stood aside for me to pass. I entered
a large room with a wide window overlooking the Bay of
Angels. The apartment was remarkable inasmuch as it was
entirely black ; the walls looked like black glass, the ebonised
desk and chairs were without a single touch of colour to
1 07
relieve them. The man sitting at the desk stood up and
greeted me.
'My dear Leonardi ! This is indeed delightful ! '
He came round the desk and gripped my shoulders, kiss­
ing me on either cheek exuberantly-all, of course, for the
benefit of the servant. When the door had closed Rivere
stood back with a smile. He was a small man, faultlessly
groomed ; his hair was as black as the glass which sur­
rounded him.
'So ! M'sieu Deane, I am delighted to welcome you-
your friends are also here.'
I drew in a deep breath of relief.
',Thank the Lord for that ! I was afraid . . .'
'No, I do not believe it ! ' declared Rivere roundly. 'No
friend of le Liberateur could be afraid ! ' His eyes twinkled.
'M'sieu, I do most heartily congratulate you. I was given
to understand that you would arrive at least as dis­
reputable-looking as the others, instead . . .' He leaned back
and surveyed me ; no question could have hung more in­
vitingly in the air. But I was in no mood to tell him where
I had obtained the clothes, being much too anxious to see
Cris.
'Where are they ?' I demanded.
'They are downstairs,' Rivere told me, 'and I will take
you to them very soon, M'sieu. It would not be wise to go
down immediately, because the meeting is suspended and
the doors are open.' He waved me to a chair and pushed
a box of cigarettes towards me. 'I am glad that you fell on
your feet, M'sieu Deane.'
'I had a lift in a coal-cart, helped in the delivery of a
child, was befriended by an angel in the disguise of a
woman, and here I am,' I said, hoping that it would startle
him enough to prevent him from asking questions. I
thought : Confound it, I don't even know Lucille's official
1 08
 name ! For the life of me I could not remember what Tony
had called her, except that it was 'von' something or other.
I began to feel apprehensive again. The peculiarities of
the encounter with Lucille increased in importance and I
even wondered whether I had been deceived by her lovely
eyes. Supposing she had sent word to Bellini the moment I
had left? Supposing . . . ?
I thrust the thought aside and waited impatiently.
Rivere talked idly of local conditions, saying little about
the meeting taking place downstairs. Then a buzzer rang.
He pushed his chair back and stood up.
'You are anxious, M'sieu, and that is the signal-come,
please.' He took me to one side of the room which, as far
as I could see, was a blank wall. At closer quarters, how­
ever, I saw that a doorway was built into the glass. Rivere
touched a press button and the doors slid open to reveal a
lift. He waited for me to step inside and followed me in; at
the touch of another button the doors slid to. We went
down slowly.
The lift came to a stop and Rivere led me into a nar­
row passage, and from there through a door.
Cris was sitting in an easy chair, in similar clothes to
those of the servant who had taken me to Rivere. Tony was
sitting opposite him, dressed in tweeds. From the blank wall
at which they were looking came a voice speaking in Ger­
man.
Rivere motioned me to a third chair and sat on a fourth.
Cris grinned at me and raised a finger. Tony half-shut one
eye.
The voice went on : 'We have, then'-! am translating
the German's words roughly-'the assurance from Signor
Bellini that the coup d'etat can be arranged at any time.
We are not yet ready, let that be understood. There is to be
no action until word is sent to you by my leader.'
1 09
 I had heard Ribbentrop often enough at the Foreign
Office and in England, and despite the hushed tones­
caused, I learned afterwards, by a loudspeaker turned down
to make sure that its echoes could not be heard in the con­
ference room next door-I knew that it was he. The over­
bearing manner, the touch of arrogance-oh, I could even
imagine the cold, sombre expression on that handsome face.
A voice I did not recognise spoke next.
'Of course, Excellency'-it was humble, it spoke German
with a pronounced Italian accent-'my time is yours. It
will require some weeks in which to prepare.'
'It may have to take months,' said Ribbentrop. 'Bellini,
you have everything else ready ?'
'Immediately you say the word, I will act,' Bellini
promised.
They began to talk of personalities-people who were
reliable, and those they would purge. There was a cold
ruthlessness in the discussion which might have angered me
at another time, but then I was far more concerned with the
drift of the first part of the conversation which I had heard.
:The fantastic idea which had come upon me at Lucille's
flat was now an actuality, but I had no time to congratu­
late myself on my astuteness. I knew that it was Diano
who had spoken in that humble and obsequious way to
Ribbentrop. I had more than an idea who the coup d'etat
would chiefly affect. Diano was prepared to forsake his
Socialist principles and work with the Germans and
Bellini. It meant . . .
'We're getting on, Ned, aren't we ?' asked Cris in a casual
voice. 'No wonder Lucille wanted us to get Diano !'
'Yes, ' I said, 'but-is he ratting ?'
'Oh, yes,' said Cris. 'They've been talking for quite a
time. The days of Mussolini are apparently numbered and
Italy is likely to revolt against Fascism. Hitler knows it, and
1 10
is making preparations. When the Fascist regime can last
no longer Diano will take over and form a 'Socialist'
Government which will immediately come to terms with
the Allies. Of course, they've gone too far-they're plan­
ning for the Italians to swing over to our side completely.'
I stared. 'But if they do that . . .'
'German troops in the south of Italy will, officially, be
disarmed,' said Cris, 'and be put in prison camps. How­
ever, large supplies of armaments and ammunition will be
available. Picked battalions of Italian Fascist Militia, under
some other name, will free the Nazis when we're legging it
up to the north of Italy and trying to force the Brenner.
The Calabria Mountains are full of small airfields with
hangars in the rocks. We'll be caught both ways. Very neat,
isn't it ?'
·'My sainted aunt ! ' I gasped, quite oblivious to the in­
anity of the oath. 'They've gone as far as that, and . . .'
Cris smiled. 'Need we worry ? We can send word to
London and with a little luck we'll get Diano away, so that
they'll have to try to find another quisling. Even if we lose
him, we won't be taken in by the coup d'etat. It's just as
well Lucille warned us, isn't it ?'
'Have you seen her ?' I asked.
Cris shook his head.
What I might have said was stopped by Ribbentrop's
voice followed by a woman's, clear and haughty.
I hardly know why I did not tell them who the woman
was ; at first I was too intent on catching her name-the
Countess Hilda von Braden-and taking note of Ribben­
trop's manner with her, in which I detected a hint of
obsequiousness.
I said at last : 'What are you going to do?'
'They'll have a meal soon,' said Cris, 'and I'm going to
wait on them.' He looked highly amused. 'They should
III
start leaving in about two hours. Diano will be in a car with
Bellini-Rivere has discovered all this-and they'll go on
to Mentone, where Diano, officially, will be detained. In
fact there is going to be a rumour of his execution, and by
the time Goebbels and Gayda have finished with the story
it should be pretty hot ! ' He laughed, soundlessly. 'Ned,
Ned, it's a brilliant piece, no doubt about that, it's
brilliant ! '
I had to admit that i t was, but instead of asking questions
about the plans for the coup d'etat and the ostensible over­
throw of Fascism and Mussolini, I demanded:
'Well, what then? Are we going to hold them up?'
'Certainly not,' said Cris. 'Why make a messy business of
it? You're going to be the chauffeur and Tony one of the
bodyguard. Instead of driving to Mentone, you'll . . .'
I said : 'I've arranged for a plane tonight, outside Nice.'
'Have you ! ' exclaimed Cris, looking at me in surprise.
'That was forethought, but we're going a bit further afield.
I've fixed up to leave from Peille.' That was a little frontier
town north-east of Mentone. 'The Nice landing-field is to
the west end and we'll have to start on the way eas,t, any­
how. You don't mind?'
'I don't mind,' I said, 'but how will I get to the car?'
'Thank Rivere again,' said Cris with a glance at the
Frenchman. 'The staff and bodyguard outside is coming in
to eat. .The Italians and the Germans aren't on speaking
terms so they're being given separate rooms. There are only
two Italians-Diana's driver and one other ruffian. Rivere
has a seamstress on the premises who will make quick
alterations to their uniforms. Simple, isn't it?'
'I hope it works,' I said, fervently.
'Why shouldn't it?'
'I don't know,' I said, 'except-oh, it seems too easy ! '
Tony protested that we had pulled off much more
I I2
difficult things, and I agreed with him. All the same I was
on tenterhooks. I did not go into any detail about what
had happened to me, but concentrated on listening to
Lucille's voice. I was afraid that she might have been
double-crossing me but she said no word which even hinted
at betrayal and I felt an easing of anxiety. It was some
time later-when the party was hilarious and wine was
flowing-that Tony and I left to don the Italian uniforms.
The last word I heard Lucille say was that she would be
delighted to travel with Bellini.
That worried me.
Everything worried me, but I had always been some­
thing of a Jeremiah, and I did not express my fears too
freely. Rivere seemed highly delighted as the plot slowly
began to take shape. Soon I was too busy to worry much,
for in a small room on the first floor the two Italians who
were to drive Diano and Bellini were standing in their
underclothes while a man held them up with a sinister­
looking revolver.
As far as possible, with greasepaint and other aides, Tony
and I simulated their appearance. We were about the same
build as the Italians, but though there was not the re­
motest chance of being taken for them in daylight, it would
be dusk by the time we left, and we hoped to pass muster
under a cursory examination. Meanwhile, a nimble­
fingered woman was busily altering the Fascist uniforms.
At last Tony and I were dressed and Rivere came in. He
nodded with satisfaction when he saw us, then led us out
into the Rue de la Terrasse, where we walked stiffly past
the Nazis already waiting by their cars. I climbed into the
driving-seat of a powerful Bianchi and, surreptitiously,
made myself familiar with the gears and instruments. Tony
stood against the open door, without speaking, while the
Germans talked amongst themselves. Eventually a man
came hunying out to say that the main party was on its
way.
The Nazi drivers started their engines ; I did the same.
I could only just discern the face of Lucille as she came
to the car and stood talking with Ribbentrop for a few
seconds before he wished her a rather emotional goodbye.
Then a little, chunky fellow climbed in-it was Diano­
and Bellini followed.
Tony took his place beside me, and I moved off.

15
So Near to Success
My vague misgivings increased.
I knew the road reasonably well, but that did not greatly
matter, for at the end of the Rue de la ,Terrasse, where it
joined the Boulevard Macmahon, two motor-cyclists had
gone ahead of us and two others followed behind us. The
drive to Mentone was not a long one, and I waited on
tenterhooks as we drew nearer the 1urning to Peille. Rivere
had given me careful directions ; I was to turn sharp left
when I passed three white houses standing next to each
other.
Never has a short drive seemed so long !
I could hear a murmur of conversation from the back of
the car, but after five minutes the music from a portable
radio replaced it. That increased my uneasiness and I went
over all the arrangements, testing each link. The plane
would be outside Peille half an hour after sunset-and sun­
set was now more than half an hour past. All I had to do
was to look after the car, Tony would make sure that our
passengers would not be troublesome. From the comer
I 14
 where I was to turn off to the landing-field, the road was
fair and the journey should take ten minutes at the most.
Three armed men would be at the corner to pick off the
motor-cyclists if the need arose.
Cris had stayed behind-he wanted to keep an eye on
Ribbentrop, I think. I knew that Rivere and the loyal staff
at Le Chat de Nuit were planning to leave that night,
for after this they would be suspect even if nothing were
proved against them ; actually, proof would almost cer­
tainly be forthcoming.
My chief regret was that Lucille was in the car.
If it came to shooting-and there could be no guarantee
that it would not-I did not want her injured. I cared little
whether Bellini lived or died, but Lucille was in a very
different category.
I passed over a little bridge, of which I had been warned ;
it was a mile to the first of the three white houses. I
glanced at Tony, who was staring impassively ahead of him.
After a short while the first white house came in sight­
and then, because the hum of the car engine was so soft­
I heard the voice of the _announcer on the radio.
'This is Radio Nice calling Count Pietro Bellini.' The
name struck home like a punch on the nose ! 'The driver
and attendant on your car are foreign agents. This is Radio
Nice, calling Count Pietro Bellini. The driver and
attendant . . .'
I have never seen anyone move so swiftly as Tony did
then. He turned in his seat, smashed the glass partition with
a single blow with the butt of his gun, and covered the three
people inside before the announcer had finished his second
warning. I let the car swing dangerously to one side, forcing
the motor-cyclists to swerve into the hedge. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw Tony use his left fist. I could not
see Bellini or Lucille, but I heard Bellini swear.
I I5
 'Not in front of a lady,' said Tony, reproachfully. 'And
don't try any tricks, Bellini, because I don't like you very
much as it is.'
Bellini said : 'You fool, you cannot . . .'
'Oh, but we can,' said Tony, reasoningly. 'Madame, if
you keep still you will not be hurt.' Then, out of the corner
of his mouth, Tony snapped at me : 'Get a move on, Ned ! '
I passed the third white house.
Unaware of danger, the first two motor-cyclists had
swung along the road, taking a right-hand fork where I
was to turn left. They were not likely to cause any trouble,
but those behind remained and Tony would have no
chance of dealing with them. We would have to rely on the
armed men who should be waiting. But I knew that if the
plot had been discovered so soon there would be other cars
in pursuit. Already I could see the dancing beams of head­
lights, perhaps a mile away.
I kept my foot well down on the accelerator. The car
was swaying from side to side and a dozen times I felt the
wings scraping against the banks at the side of the road.
Tony must have had the devil's own job to keep a grip on
his gun, but apparently he managed to look reasonably
threatening, for even Bellini made no effort to turn the
tables.
I was looking for a narrow bridge, which would be half a
mile from the landing-field, at the turning to which a man
would be stationed waving a red and green light. Oh, it
had all been arranged perfectly, yet the secret was out and
I could see those headlights, now on the secondary road,
and, I thought, gaining on us.
Then I saw a red and green light.
It was waving gently to and fro and I had been told
that the road turned sharply to the right. I caught a glimpse
of a dark figure of a man swinging the light as the car
I I6
 lurched to one side. It came down with a bump, but it did
not tum over and the engine did not stall. I realised that
we were on a bad road where it would be disastrous if I
went at any speed. Soon I saw another light and, not far
away, the shape of a monoplane. I stopped the car, the
suddenness of it sending Tony off his balance.
T o this day, I do not know exactly what happened in the
next ten seconds.
I heard the sharp bark of a shot and heard Tony gasp.
Next moment he slumped against me, forcing me against
the door so that I could not open it. I heard Bellini speak
viciously and heard Lucille exclaim. I shouted as loudly as
I could and the door was wrenched open and I heard an
English voice.
',The little man, the little man ! ' I gasped. 'Get him away,
get the little man away ! '
Then there was another shot behind me; I felt a pain in
the head; a sharp, red-hot agony which seemed to spread
over my whole body, as if my head had exploded and I was
disintegrating. I remember thinking, vaguely : This is it !
before I lost consciousness.
I did not see the other cars swinging towards the landing­
field, nor hear the roar of the monoplane engine, or the
exchange of shots. I did not see Bellini push Diano to one
side and crouch low in the car with Lucille. I did not know
that the pilot and his crew, realising that there was no
chance of taking any of us to safety, climbed into their
machine and, with a fusilade of shots after them, taxied off
and rose: hedge-hopping for a mile or two before making
'height.
I did not know that Tony was dead by my side and that
I looked as if I were dead. I did not know that Cris was at
Le Chat de Nuit, a prisoner with Rivere, because someone
II 7
had been careless and the terrified Italians had been dis­
covered and told their story.
Consequently, I was unaware of the fact that the only
one who was free to act, and who had even an inkling of
the Diano plot, was Lucille.

16
The Dark Months
All that, as you know, happened in the February and
March of 1 943 .
In the following months, hazy and unreal as far as I was
concerned, a great deal happened throughout the world,
particularly that part affected by Bellini and the Diano
plot. Mussolini still retained an uneasy supremacy, though
he must have known of opposition, growing in bitterness,
but perhaps he imagined that there were enough loyal
Fascists to keep him enthroned at least as long as Hitler.
That, of course, is sheer speculation, but there was nothing
speculative about the events in Tunisia, the collapse of
Italo-German resistance and the preparations for the
assault on Sicily.
I was only vaguely aware of these things, for most of the
time I was semi-conscious with a bullet lodged near my
brain.
It proved that Tony's body and mine (for I was thought
to be dead) were removed from the car after the other cars
had arrived and gone chasing after the aeroplane. Guerillas
took us away, and although the countryside was combed
out for weeks afterwards, there was no betrayal. Tony was
buried on the side of a hill overlooking the Mediterranean ;
a cure, who when I began to regain full consciousness often
I I8
 visited me and tried to help me regain my memory, per­
forming the last rites.
It is hard to know why I lived. For two months I was
nursed by the cure and simple countryfolk. The local
doctor, also a patriot, refused to operate; there were, he
said, only half a dozen surgeons in Europe who could do so
with any chance of success; the best thing to do was to let
me linger on for as long as possible, meanwhile making all
efforts to get one of the surgeons to come. One did, after
two months-M. Albert Poincet, of Paris. I did not know
any of this at the time, nor was I conscious of the primi­
tive conditions under which the operation was performed in
the little room of the cottage where I lay hidden.
There were three separate and distinct tragedies as far
as I was concerned-additional to the death of Tony. The
first, of course, was that Cris had been captured. Why he
was not shot-or tortured to death-will always remain a
miracle.
,The second tragedy was that of Lucille.
She and Bellini had both been placed under house arrest.
Actually, Bellini was free ; it was a ruse to suggest that he
was in disgrace and unlikely to play any part in Italian
political life.
What happened between Lucille and Bellini I do not
know, but it appears that he did not share the suspicion
that she was not what she pretended to be. Von Ribben­
trop, too, vouched for her, but though at the time he was
under a cloud, the Germans in France did not take liberties
with anyone whom he protected, for fear of his return to
favour. Thus, under house arrest, she lived in somewhat
precarious safety.
Diano was also 'under arrest'. He was supposed to be in
a concentration camp in Germany and, as Cris had
imagined, Goebbels and Gayda worked themselves up into
I I9
unimaginable frenzy against underground elements in
Germany and Italy-over which they were beginning to be
really worried.
Since my escape from France, I have been through the
files of newspapers and reviews, reading up the opinions
expressed. Nothing indicates any real conviction in
England or America that the Mussolini regime was totter­
ing. We know now, of course, that when Mussolini fell it
came earlier than the Allies thought likely. And here is the
third and greatest tragedy as far as Cris and I were con­
cerned : we could have warned the Government of a
deliberate, German-inspired coup d'etat, to be staged as
soon as it became obvious that only a change of Govern­
ment in Italy would satisfy the people.
There is one remarkable fact which should, I think, be
emphasised. The Italian people did not particularly want
war at any time, but their objections to it were never very
vociferous when they thought they had a chance of win­
ning. I feel quite sure that had Diano taken control and the
great double-cross been successful, had the Allies suffered
a catastrophic defeat in Italy when the rearmed German
and Italian forces attacked them from the rear, then the
Italians would have rejoiced. Of course, they had been bred
for years on the slogan of the Fascists, but even that is not
a real excuse. I mean, very simply, that the Italian and
German people would not have regretted the war had it
worked out according to plan.
An obvious thing to say, perhaps, but it is rather apt to
be overlooked. The brave voices raised, inside Germany and
Italy, against the two regimes were directed, remember,
against corruption within the country, not against foreign
policy. True, any declaration against foreign policy would
probably have been construed as treason, a capital offence,
but was that the only reason why it was not uttered ? Or
120
was there a sneaking hope that after victory, gained with
such barbarity, internal conditions would improve and the
full fruits of victory be enjoyed by all ?
I am afraid that I have rather drifted away from the
main theme.

It was about a week after the operation, and when

Poincet had left me in the hands of a bustling little French
doctor who took his life in his hands every time he visited
me in that cottage in the wooded slopes of les Alpes Mari­
t imes, that I recovered my memory.

It did not return all at once. Poincet had said that it

would be, perhaps, two months before I would remember.
It was, therefore, in the middle of July when I first recalled
Cris and Tony and learned that Tony was dead. I could get
little information about Cris, except that he had been cap­
tured.
Then I remembered Anton.
I did my best to get in touch with him, but although my
benefactors knew several of the people whom I named as
reliable friends of le Liberateur, there was no news of
Anton. The depressing truth had to be faced : the organisa­
tion of le Liberateur had broken down from lack of use.
Cris remained a legend, but legends alone do not get things
done. Several efforts were made to get messages to England
for me, but the processes were all too slow. The simple
countryfolk were not in regular contact with our agents,
and though I knew that there must be dozens of our people
about, we could not get in touch with them.
12I
 As I grew fitter and was able to walk about the woods my
depression grew worse. At one time I had been able to send
a message to England at a minute's notice; now I was com­
pletely cut off. My only chance of escape was to reach
Spain, but this would take weeks and, at the time of my
urgent need, I was not physically able to risk the journey.
The only consolation I had was from the cure. I am not a
Catholic, but that old man helped to restore my faith in
life and religion.
Moreover, he had a secret radio and I listened in regu­
larly to the B. B.C., always hoping that I could pick up
some hint which would tell me where I could find help
within a reasonable distance of Peille. None was given.
Finally I decided that if nothing transpired by July 30th
I would try to get across country. I would be almost well
by then, for I walked a little further every day in my effort
to become physically fit. Getting word of the Diano plot to
England had become an obsession, and was unlikely to be
accomplished by an ailing man.
Then, two days before the end of July, a girl came to
look for me. I was returning from a long walk across the
scrub-clad foothills and I saw her in the doorway of the
cottage where I was living at the time-have I explained
that I moved from cottage to cottage, never staying in the
same place for more than a week? The name of the people
at the cottage where I hid that week was Durand, a middle­
aged couple with two sons still in German prisoner-of-war
camps.
There was something about that girl . . .
She was in uniform, and talking animatedly. Keeping
under cover, I heard the Durands deny emphatically that
they knew anything of an Englishman in hiding in the
district.
I drew nearer; and then I saw that the girl was Colette !
122
 17
Colette-and New Hope
I walked as quickly as I could to the back of the cottage,
slipped through to the front, and then, unseen, spoke to
Madame Durand.
'Madame, will you please refer the Mam'selle to M. le
Cure ? '
Madame Durand gave Colette directions. As the girl left,
Monsieur Durand set off to scan the road to Peille. If she
were followed he would soon find out.
Madame Durand looked at me with beaming eyes. She
knew something of my anxiety, and had always been
against my plan for a cross-country journey in an attempt
to reach England.
'She will be able to help, M'sieu ?'
'I hope so ! ' I said fervently.
I could hardly contain my patience until Durand
arrived. No one had followed Colette as far as he had seen,
but he had sent one of his younger children to follow her to
M. le Cure and then into Peille. Within two hours we
should know for certain whether the Germans were watch­
ing Colette.
They were not; and, towards evening, a message came
from the cure asking me to see him at his house after dark.
Light-heartedly I made my way to the rendezvous, about a
mile away from the Durands' cottage on the outskirts of
Peille. The old priest greeted me warmly, then, without
losing time, showed me into a small room where Colette
was standing. Her eyes lighted up and she greeted me im­
pulsively, throwing her arms around me.
1 23
 'M'sieu Deane--only by your voice would I have recog-
nised you ! M'sieu, the end of so long a search ! '
'Have you come from Anton ?' I asked quickly.
'But yes, who else ?'
She told me that Anton had been searching for us since
he had recovered, but that he had heard no word. London
-and, incidentally, Sheila-were afraid that we were dead.
Cris's people had, it seemed, taken that for granted. All of
this Colette poured out in a breathless rush, until at last
the spate of words dried up.
'Where is Anton now ?' I asked her.
'In Cannes, M'sieu.'
'How quickly can you bring him here ?'
'I will take word myself, and he will know by this time
tomorrow.' She paused. 'I do not think he will lose much
time in coming ! '
Nor did I, and I decided not to send a written or verbal
message about Diano. It would be much more effective to
tell Anton to his face and he would understand the urgency
of getting word to London. There was, of course, the pos­
sibility that the plan had been scrapped, but on the other
hand I knew German reluctance to alter plans once they
were made.
Colette went off, and I spent an hour with the cure
more excited, I'm afraid, than intelligible. Waiting for
Anton was difficult and yet I found that the time passed
quickly. I did not seriously think that there was any chance
that he would be watched and followed.
I had no idea that he had been identified, that the
Germans knew he was searching for me and hoped that the
day would come when he would lead them to me. Perhaps
I should have suspected it, but-well, at least my excite­
ment was not spoiled by fear for the next forty-eight hours
and when, at a little spot in the woods not far from the
1 24
cure's house, I met Anton, after dark on the day after I
had seen Colette, my reaction was almost entirely emo­
tional.
When we had recovered from the first outburst of
enthusiasm, I told him everything that had happened, the
details of which were so clearly etched in my mind. Within
an hour, he knew as much as I did-including the fate of
Cris and Tony and the fact that Lucille and Bellini were
under house arrest at her apartment in Nice.
'Is anything known of Diano in London ?' I demanded
when I had finished.
Anton said : 'Nothing, mon cher, nothing at all ! We will
have to lose no time, but I can arrange to send word . . .'
'Not good enough,' I said; 'one of us will have to take
it. You can't send a message like this in code.'
'We must look for Cris,' Anton said.
'Yes, yes, but after we've told London the whole story,'
I insisted; 'the thing might blow up at any time. Imagine
what a signed Peace--or Armistice-Treaty with Diano
would mean. Our men would be in Italy before we could
stop them and the jaws of the trap would close.'
Then we discovered that we were being watched and had
been overheard.
A voice spoke from the trees, although I had heard no
movement, no hint of sound. I went rigid and Anton
jumped up, putting a hand to his pocket-but he did not
take out a gun, for several men appeared and we knew
there was no chance at all of getting away. It came so sud­
denly and with such devastating completeness that I hardly
had time to realise the greatness of the disaster.
'The jaws of the trap have closed,' one of them said
sardonically.
I said nothing ; Anton uttered a half-hearted oath but
did not make a move.
1 25
 An order was rapped out, and the men closed in on us.
Our guns were taken away and we were marched through
a clearing and over some fields. We reached a road, where
several cars were waiting, and saw that Colette was sitting
in one of them. I heard Anton exclaim and looked at him
sharply. He sounded absolutely desperate and in a flash it
dawned on me that he .cared for Colette. He even forgot
himself so far as to step forward ahead of his guard, but
received a cuff which knocked him off his feet.
We were taken into Nice.
Dully, I sat back in the car, afraid for Lucille, whom I
had so incautiously named.
Anton was with me but Colette was in one of the other
cars. I knew that he was tormented by the possibility that
she would be tortured. We said nothing because there was
nothing to say.
There followed a nightmare hour. We were taken to a
house in the Rue Pertinax and questioned by Gestapo
officers. The Nazi who had been in charge of the search­
party related word for word what they had overheard. Part
of it, I knew, caused a great impression-and immediately
afterwards they started questioning me. The drift of the
questions was: had Bellini been a party to the escape plot
-and had Lucille, whom they spoke of as the Countess von
Braden? They made a mistake by starting with Bellini and
giving me an opportunity to express my feelings for that
gentleman so convincingly that they did not press the point
of Lucille. I concealed my relief. She was now our only
hope, a slim one perhaps, founded on the hope that she
would learn how it came about she was suddenly free from
suspicion.
On the third day I was taken out of my cell. There were
the usual and familiar objects-a chair beneath a power­
ful light, boarded windows, stolid-looking men standing
1 26
 about pointlessly, one carrying a rubber truncheon, another
a whip. There were two German officers sitting at a table
and, between them, Bellini.
I think he was jubilant because my evidence had freed
him from suspicion. There was a faint smilP. on his full
lips, and his bearing was debonair and confident.
He waved me to a chair.
Reading the signs, I assumed that he hoped to get in­
formation from me freely and that the paraphernalia of
third-degree treatment was there for effect-at least at
first. I eyed him steadily and he waited, turning the screw
of suspense.
Then he adopted his trick of saying the unexpected.
'You are attached to St. Clare, Deane, aren't you ?'
I said : 'He is a friend of mine.'
'Ah ! A friend of yours-not to mention, of course, a fel­
low spy ! You know the penalty for spying, don't you ?'
'I am acquainted with it,' I said stiffly.
'You don't want to get closer acquainted ?' Bellini said
amiably. 'No, Deane, I am sure you are a sensible fellow
and that you would prefer to live than to be shot. Not to
mention other, more painful, penalties.'
He paused before going on :
'So ! Well, now, we know that you are attached to St.
Clare, you are fond of life, you are not a fool and you know
what will happen to you if you are obstinate.'
The build-up was good, for he had me more scared than
a few blows from the rubber truncheon would have done,
although I could see that truncheon looming larger with
every minute that passed. The moment was drawing rapidly
nearer when I would have to answer whatever proposition
he was going to put to me. It would be 'No' and he would
then give his underlings instructions. Scared I might have
been, but I was also fatalistic about it.
1 27
 Then he said : 'I am going to have you released, Deane.'
I hid my astonishment. I could not believe he meant
what he said, could not understand this set-up and that
amazing statement. He seemed disappointed at my un­
altered expression.
'I repeat that I am going to have you released,' he said, a
little sharply, 'but, of course, on conditions ! You know that
St. Clare is alive-in fact he is quite well and you will be
allowed to see him before you go. Of your other friend,
Duval, you have recent knowledge. In your hands, Deane,
will be their continued safety. Do you understand?'
I was tempted to tell him to go to hell, but I stopped
myself in time. Whatever proposition he had to make would
be worth hearing. So I nodded, narrowing my eyes in what
I trusted would be accepted as an expression of wariness
touched with hope.
'You will go to one of your agents and radio to England,
asking for an aeroplane to come to pick you up with two
other people,' said Bellini. 'You will not name them. You
will be accompanied to the transmitter, but all the people
who operate it will be given twenty-four hours' grace to
get away ; they will not be victimised. The aeroplane will
come the night after tomorrow. Am I making myself clear ?'
'Yes,' I said, slowly.
So they wanted to plant two agents in England and had
devised this means of getting them there safely. At first
my heart leapt, for if I could once get to England the Diano
plot would be doomed. Then I had a rush of pessimism ;
for there was a catch in it somewhere. But I listened closely
enough to Bellini as he went on :
'You will allow the men to leave the plane in England
-they will have their own arrangements made once they
are there. If you allow them to be suspected then St. Clare
and Duval will be killed immediately.'
1 28
 I did not believe that he meant what he said, there was a
trick which I could not see. He would not accept my word,
would not trust me to betray my country for the sake of
friends, no matter how dear. Whatever else, I knew, Bellini
was a realist. Even if I gave an undertaking to do what he
asked, he would not trust me, so there must be a catch. The
more I thought about it the more confused I became, for I
could not see how it could be done. If they wanted the other
men to reach England they would have to get me there ;
I could vouch for them, whereas if they arrived without me
they would be suspect.
'Well ?' asked Bellini.
'I will consider it,' I said, with an effort.
'Oh, no,' said Bellini sharply. 'You will say "Yes" or
"No" immediately. My men are ready to escort you to your
transmitting station. The message must be sent out
tonight.'
I thought swiftly. If I sent the message it would do no
more than bring a plane here and I need not say precisely
where it was going to land. I would gain twenty-four hours,
or rather more, in which to find out what was behind it, to
see through the fa<;ade Bellini had built up. Whereas if I
turned it down there would be no hope at all. Little though
the period of grace would give me, it was better than
nothing.
But I made a show of being hesitant. Bellini grew im­
patient and snapped his fingers to the truncheon expert­
which was just what I wanted him to do, for I jumped to
my feet and shouted :
'Haven't you the sense yet to know that force won't do
you any good with me or my friends ! You wouldn't have
put this up to me if you hadn't failed with the others'-1
scored a bull there, for Bellini started-'and they've turned
you down in spite of your damned truncheons. If you want
O.T.E.-E 1 29
this badly enough, Bellini, you'll give me a say in it, d'you
understand ?'
It was rather like a mouse shouting defiance at a lion,
but it was not wholly ineffective. True, Bellini said stiffly :
'Exactly what stipulations would you like to make ?'
'That's better,' I said, pretending to assume that he was
prepared to talk business. 'I want a guarantee that St.
Clare, Duval, and the girl Colette will be free as soon as I
and your men have started for England.'
Bellini narrowed his fine eyes. 'You have my word . . .'
'Oh, you fool ! ' I cried. 'You word hasn't a chance of
convincing a child of ten. Your word ! I said I wanted a
guarantee.'
It angered him, but he controlled himself.
'What would satisfy you ?' he asked.
I said : '.The three of them put in a motor-launch with
petrol enough to get to Spain.' I spoke tensely, not think­
ing that there was a ghost of a chance of his accepting
the conditions even if he had the authority, yet hoping
that from his reaction I could judge how badly he wanted
his men to get to England. It was a preposterous condition
on my part and I knew that I might have gone too far­
but he eyed me thoughtfully.
'Listen to me, Deane,' he said. 'I cannot make such a
guarantee now, but if you send for the aeroplane I will
discuss it with others and try to arrange it. If it is arranged,
then you will go to England with these men and allow
them loose in England. Is that understood ?'
'If you free my friends and I see them go,' I said, more
boldly. 'If I don't, I won't put a foot on the plane.'
'That is reasonable enough,' said Bellini. 'I will see what
can be arranged. You will show your goodwill by using the
radio tonight. That must be done first.'
'Yes, I'll do that,' I said, recklessly.
1 30
 'Excellent ! I believed you would see reason ! ' He lifted
a telephone and gave orders-and, five minutes afterwards,
I was taken to a transmitting station in the cellar of the
house near the flower market. I gave the necessary pass­
word, feeling damnable.
I could have biven the Fascist away and tried to turn the
tables, but the place was surrounded and I knew that unless
I came out within a reasonable time it would be raided and
probably blown to bits. So I left, with feelings, I suppose,
appropriate to a traitor and a skunk, hoping that Bellini
had told the truth when he had promised the occupants
twenty-four hours' grace. Hardly was I back at the police
station than I heard him telephoning a warning of a
coming raid, using my name. When he had finished he re­
placed the receiver with some complacency.
'You see, Deane, I keep my word. I have no information
for you yet about the other matter, but meanwhile I am
going to have you released from confinement.' He sounded
so light-hearted that I believe he thought that a miracle
had come to pass, while I was racking my brains to find a
way of turning the fantastic situation to my advantage.
I did not see the road we took, but as soon as we left the
car and entered a doorway, I realised that we were at the
block of apartements on Chateau Hill, where I had
visited Lucille. A quickening of excitement accompanied
that discovery, for I thought that I might be going to see
her, but the flat to which I was escorted was on the first
floor; hers was on the third, you will remember.
I was left alone in a pleasant room, with concealed light­
ing, a comfortably filled bookcase, and cigarettes. The
fantasy grew apace. I could hardly believe that Bellini
thought I would carry out ali that I had promised, but he
was certainly doing his damnedest to make sure of my good­
will. I could not believe, however, that he would take the
risk of allowing me to return to England even if I did carry
out my part of the bargain. I remembered that the subject
of Diano had been studiously avoided-the man might
never have existed.
Bellini reminded me, half-jestingly, that guards were out­
side the building and that if I were foolish enough to
attempt an escape I would be shot. Then he left me alone,
after promising that food would be sent to me.
A tap at the door heralded a waiter with a trolley-and
also the sight of two armed guards, silent but effective
reminders of Bellini's serious intention. Covered dishes re­
vealed grilled sole, chicken fricasse, saute potatoes and
peas, and there was a half-bottle of claret; an attempt, I
guessed, to lull me into a sense of false security.
I helped myself fairly liberally, and as I thrust a spoon
into the vegetables it uncovered something smooth and flat.
Startled, I probed deeper. A moment later I had a small
celluloid envelope in my hand.
Then, for the first time, I wondered if I were being
watched from some secret spy-hole.

18

A Set of Photographs
I covered the envelope with my hand, and under cover of a
napkin peeled open the flap.
A tense excitement possessed me. I made a guess at
Lucille as the sender of the message-but strangely enough,
there was nothing written, only four small photographs.
I turned the photographs the right way up-and sup­
pressed a start of surprise. I was looking at myself!'
 It was not the bearded 'me' but the one newly shaved
and barbered in this selfsame block of flats.
'What the devil is it about?' I muttered.
The third photograph was a profile, the fourth a view of
the back of my head. I looked again at one of the two full­
face likenesses. Then I looked at the other. Comparing
them I suddenly understood the message of these photo­
graphs.
For the first one was not of me, but someone skilfully
made up to look like me. It was a pretty good job, too;
only people whom I knew well would see the difference, and
certainly the unknown original of the 'faked' photograph
would pass casual acquaintances.
'Well, well ! ' I exclaimed. 'So that's all he wants, the
clever swine ! '
J had arranged for the aeroplane to come, I would go,
with the strangers, to the landing-field-and there this man
would replace me. The pilot of the machine would know
me only from a photograph and there would be no question
about it. Three German or Italian agents would arrive in
London and by the time the impersonation was discovered,
two of them would be at large in England. Bellini did not
trust me to go to England, but he was trying very hard to
make me think that he did.
Then I began to wonder who had sent me the photo­
graphs; I did not need to look further than Lucille.

Well, I reflected, I knew the worst and, also, that I

would be safe enough until the day after tomorrow, when
the plane was due. So I had forty-eight hours, in the course
of which Cris, Anton and Colette m ight be put on board a
launch with petrol enough for them to reach Spain. I
1 33
rather thougnt that they would ; true, there was a prob­
ability that aircraft would be sent after them to sink the
boat but I thought Bellini would continue to show out­
ward evidence of good faith. He might even be so anxious
to get the spies into England that he would release Cris
and the others in order to make sure of it.
Forty-eight hours, during which I would never be wholly
alone, and . . .
I replaced the photographs under the vegetables, and
assumed that the waiter would take them to Lucille. Then,
half-heartedly, I began to eat the spoiled dinner, with all
complacency gone and only an increasing headache for
company.
After half an hour the trolley was taken away and the
table cleared. I sat back in an armchair, slowly and labori­
ously evolving a plan of action. I knew that it depended a
great deal on others and might fail for any one of a dozen
reasons, yet if things went smoothly it carried the promise
of partial success and at worst would give us a chance of
sending word of the Diano plot to England.

Bellini returned just before midnight. He was alone, and

I think he had been drinking. I could tell from his manner
that he was about to announce 'good' news.
'Well, Deane, you are a fortunate fellow ! I have been all
the evening interviewing this authority and that, I spent
an hour on the telephone to Berlin, but'-he wagged a
roguish finger-'! have been able to arrange for your
conditions ! '
My heart beat fast ; so much depended on the way in
which the 'conditions' had been interpreted.
'Are they to go by motor-boat to Spain ?' I asked.
1 34
 'You will see them go with your own eyes,' he assured
me. 'They will leave Cannes ; they will have provisions and
a set of sails should they run into bad weather.' He looked
at me as if he expected me to embrace him, while I marvel­
led at what he told me. It was a bribe, of course, and there
remained the possibility of an air attack on the boat, but the
fact that they were prepared to go to such lengths to make
sure that I took them safely to the aeroplane made me
understand how desperately the two men were wanted in
England. I could not understand why, and began to won­
der whether there was even a remote chance of finding out
who the two men were. I longed for just a few hours' free­
dom, for Anton had told me of a number of other agents
and I believed that I could, with a few hours' notice, get a
guerilla band together. I even dreamed of luring Bellini
to some quiet spot and 'working' on him to make him talk.
But that, I realised, was no more than a dream.
'When will I see them?' I demanded, after he had
quietened down a little.
',Tomorrow morning,' Bellini assured me.
I would not let myself think about Lucille ; if she did
make some arrangements to free me and I disappeared,
that would be the end of all hope for Cris and Anton, for
Colette-and, probably, myself. I was almost afraid that
she would do this-but I heard nothing during the night
nor the next morning. Soon after ten o'clock, when we had
finished breakfast together, I went out with Bellini, an
escort ahead of and behind us.
We had coffee beneath a gay awning at a cafe near the
Opera House. Then I was taken to a car on the Promen­
ade des Anglais. Several limousines were there and, with a
sense of shock, I saw Lucille looking at me through the
window of one of them. She made no sign that she recog-
1 35
 nised me, but my heart was beating fast at the thought that
we were going to travel together.
Bellini went with her; I sat in solitary state in a powerful
roadster. It was with a strange sense of unreality that I sat
· back in the car-and then I saw Cris, Anton and Colette,
all together in a closed saloon car which went slowly past
and was the signal for the others of us to start.
My heart was beating fast as I was driven along the road
to Antibes and Cannes. I did not know why that was to be
the starting point; all I knew was that all four of us were
close together and that three were to be given a small boat
and a chance to get away. Of course, we would all be care­
fully watched, but there was a chance.
We reached Cannes just before one o'clock and drove to
the Quai St. Pierre. There, drawn up against the jetty, was
a motor-boat; men were loading cans of petrol into the
hold as my car stopped and the door was opened. I was not
allowed to go near the others-but I saw Cris staring at me
with a curious expression on his face. I dared not show any
sign or give any message; I knew that Bellini had tried this
same gambit on him and Anton and that he could not
really bring himself to believe that I had come to terms
with the man, although it looked as if I had. Anton studi­
ously avoided looking at me. When the preparations were
finished they were told to walk down the steps towards the
launch-and at the same moment I heard the drone of an
aeroplane engine.
I shivered, aware of the awful importance of the next
move.
Bellini was standing near me. Lucille was still in the car.
This time she was looking straight at me. I think she was
trying to send a message, although I could not be sure.
There was a little crowd of people, mostly fishermen, stand-
1 36
ing on the rails behind the jetty, gazing incuriously at the
scene.
The last of the Nazi guards left the launch. Cris started
the engine, and it awoke to life with a spluttering roar.
The painter was cast off and the launch made out to sea.
Then I drove my fist into Bellini's stomach and, as he
staggered back into two of the guards, made a dash for the
edge of the jetty and dived into the bay.

19
New Vistas
Crazy ? Of course it was ! There was no more than one
chance in ten of reaching the boat and being hauled aboard,
not one in twenty of us getting out of shooting range be­
fore the launch was riddled with holes. On the other hand,
B(':Ilini's dream of getting his envoys to England died as I
hit him, and that at least was on the credit side.
I am a fair swimmer and in the car had loosened my
shoes so that I was able to kick them off quickly. I kept
under water for as long as I could, expecting to come up
under a hail of bullets, but when I broke water there were
no ominous splashes near me, and the only sound I heard
was the stutter of the launch. I dashed the water from my
eyes, took a single glance round to locate the boat, then
started off in pursuit.
Still nothing came from the shore.
I did not waste time trying to look round, but went to­
wards the launch with all the speed that I could muster.
Anton was leaning over the side of the stern. He grabbed
at me, caught my shoulder, then had to let go. In a flash the
1 37
boat was past me and I started to swim again. And then
Cris headed for me a second time and I could see Anton's
set face drawing nearer. This time they came more slowly
and Anton was able to get a good grip on my sleeve. I was
pulled through the water for perhaps a hundred yards. It
seemed an age, but at last I was in the boat, lying in a pool
of water between Cris and Anton-whose smile was so wide
it seemed to split his face in two.
He babbled something about : 'A thousand, a million
apologies ! A thousand, a million ! ' but I did not take it in,
for I was expecting the attack from the shore. Even if we
could get out of immediate danger, there would undoub­
tedly be a chase. I put the absence of noise from machine­
guns and rifles down to the stutter of the engine, but, as I
regained my breath and turned to look at the shore, I had
one of the biggest shocks imaginable.
The quayside was in uproar !
I was, perhaps, three hundred yards away from it, but
the clear air enabled me to see everything vividly-I even
imagined that I could see the expressions on the faces of
the fishermen and others who I had thought to be idle
spectators. Not a bit of it ! They were fighting with the
guards on the quay and, as I watched, one of the enemy's
limousines was pushed to the edge. It fell slowly, hitting
the water with a tremendous splash and a noise which even
reached the boat. We were getting rapidly further away,
yet the melee on the quayside remained etched clearly on
my mind. Men were rushing hither and thither, some
tumbling off the side of the quay into the water. Now and
again I saw the flash of a shot, but who fired at whom I
do not know.
Gradually the quayside faded.
With a strange sense of tragedy I watched everything
merge into a long, broken line. Lucille had been left to the
1 38
mercy of the crowd, a crowd gone berserk in its hatred of
the Axis powers. With a heavy heart I turned back to Anton
who was still babbling about a thousand million apologies.
'Now what are you talking about ?' I demanded, looking
at his beaming face. Oh, it was good to see him, to see Cris
standing by the wheel, a wide boyish grin on his face.
'Cris told me that I should not jump to decisions,' de­
clared Anton, mixing his words as he always did when he
was excited. 'Mon .cher, it was superlative, I have never
seen such an expression on a man's face as I did on Bel­
lini's-and I thought-not altogether, but just a little-that
you had treated with them ! I shall never be able to say
"sorry" often enough.'
'Idiot,' I said, a little uncomfortably.
Cris left the wheel with Colette, and came over to join
us.
'Well, Ned,' he said. 'So you've pulled it off again ! '
' I took a chance,' I said, awkwardly, 'and it came off. If
the crowd hadn't decided to take a hand I'd probably be
floating face down by now.'
'Yes,' mused Cris. 'I wonder who arranged it ?'
'Arranged what ? The riot ? Good Lord, do you think
someone guessed what would happen and had that crowd
on the scene to give us a chance ?'
'It looks like it. Who was in the secret ?'
'No one, of course. Could Lucille have guessed ? Con­
found it, would anyone have guessed I was going to do just
that ?'
We talked about it for five minutes or so and came to the
conclusion that Lucille had sent me the warning photo­
graphs to make sure that I was not tricked by Bellini ; she
had, presumably, guessed that the only time I could do
anything would be at the quayside and so she had man­
aged to get word to the sturdier elements of the Cannes
1 39
patriots to be at the scene-and my blow in Bellini's stom­
ach had been the signal for a riot which was probably still
in full swing.
'A remarkable woman,' Cris said. 'We owe her a great
deal.'
'You don't know the half of it,' I assured him emphatic­
ally, my teeth beginning to chatter.
'Well, you'd better get those wet clothes off,' Cris said
briskly.
Anton took me down to a small cabin, draped me in
blankets and hung my clothes about the engine-house.
Now that the excitement was over I began to look about
me apprehensively. Cris had made himself more familiar
with the engine, and he set the boat on a course which it
would maintain without help from him or Colette. We then
gathered in the stem, Colette and I sitting on a wooden
form, Cris and Anton leaning back against the engine­
house.
Talking above the sound of the engine was no use, how­
ever ; in a few minutes I was hoarse and Cris, realising that
we could not exchange views with any comfort and that in
any case I had no useful suggestions to make, returned to
command the boat.
I knew that we had little chance of reaching Spain itself
but there was a chance that we would reach the island of
Majorca. There was bound to be a British Consul on the
island and we should be able to get some kind of a message
through-although it might be difficult. Now that we were
on our way I became somewhat pessimistic. Anton and
Colette also seemed to feel the reaction. Her hair was blow­
ing back and she looked much as I imagined she would
when standing in the wind on the edge of a cliff. She and
Anton made a fine pair. I looked at them curiously, won­
dering how far their romance had progressed. Then,
realising how my mind was working, I scowled; that was no
subject to be dwelling on when we were a few miles from
the French coast and every ship and aircraft in the vicinity
would soon be on the lookout for us.
It was hard to believe that Bellini had given us enough
petrol to get us any considerable distance-yet as the min­
utes passed and we were not intercepted, I began to wonder
whether he had acted in good faith, had intended that Cris
and the others should have a chance to get away. Some­
how, it was not in keeping with Bellini or his reputation.
We had been travelling for about half an hour and were,
I suppose, fifteen miles off-shore, when Cris slackened our
speed and the engine was toned down to a muffled roar
which made speech 3: little easier.
We discussed briefly what had happened, then Cris said
thoughtfully:
'They're mighty anxious to get those men into England.'
I leaned forward.
'Cris, aren't we wasting time ? It looks as if we're going
to have a break, after all, but-what are we going to do ?
Majorca seems the nearest point of neutral land, and . . .'
Cris said drily : 'Not one of your brighter moments,
Ned ! '
'What d'you mean ?' I demanded.
'If we'd headed for Majorca or Spain we would certainly
have run into trouble. We should be all right now, provided
we keep away from any shipping.'
Still I did not see what he was driving at, and said so.
'Well, Bellini might have wanted to satisfy you that it
was all straight and above-board,' Cris said, 'but, believe
me, he had no intention of letting us get away. I haven't
any doubt that aircraft are now patrolling between Cannes
and Majorca and will be for the rest of the day-and night,
and tomorrow morning ! That was pretty obvious, so as
soon as we got out of sight of the beaches I swung round.
We're somewhere between Corsica and Italy.'
I gaped at him.
'Now, come,' said Cris. 'It was the only chance we had of
getting away.'
He was right, of course, yet I was so obsessed with the
need for getting word to England that I felt startled and
alarmed. I could not help thinking that we might have had
a chance to have reached Majorca-it was an absurd idea,
of course, we would never have made it-but now, even if
we managed to evade enemy shipping, it would be a long
time before we drew within sight of friendly shores. Tuni­
sia was the nearest point, and Tunisia seemed a world re­
moved from us. I made a rough calculation ; it would be
about four hundred miles almost due south, sailing all the
time through enemy waters. However generous Bellini had
been with petrol, we would not be able to go much more
than two hundred miles with that, and if we had to rig up
the sail and rely on the wind, it might take us weeks rather
than days. I could not help feeling that the crisis was
approaching in Italy and that the Diano plot might be put
into operation at almost any time. I suppose I looked glum,
for Cris rallied me.
'It isn't as bad as that, Ned ! '
'Well, what can we do ?' I demanded.
Cris said : 'I 've been thinking that the best thing will be
to get to Leghorn. We can't be far away-within a few
hours' journey, I mean-and I've had a look at the petrol.
We should be all right for that. We can keep off-shore until
it's dark and then land.'
'In Italy ? Are you mad ?'
'We shall have friends,' Cris said. 'We've a regular agent
whom we can contact in Leghorn, anyhow-a man named
Bianchi, living in a caf e on a comer of the Piazza di
Mussolini. We're more likely to get a message to London
from Leghorn than from Majorca. There's a risk, but it's
worth taking.'
I pondered the proposal for some time. After the first
shock I had to admit that there was something in it. After
all, we would certainly have as much chance in Leghorn as
in Nice-perhaps more, because the last place they would
expect us to go would be the Italian mainland. The absence
of aircraft was reasonable proof that Cris had judged the
reactions of Bellini and the Germans rightly.
'Feeling better about it ?' Cris asked after a long pause.
'Yes,' I conceded, and then : 'I wish I knew where Diano
was being kept.'
'Didn't they say Mentone ?' asked Cris.
'They say a lot of things,' I retorted. I paused, and then
said anxiously : 'I'm worried about Lucille.'
'Tell me more about her,' invited Cris.
So I told him, and he did not once interrupt. I knew
that he was impressed by the story and, like me, was anxious
for her. It was clear enough that Bellini had let her know
about the arrangements with the motor-boat and that she
might be suspected again. Bellini would associate the riot
with my escape, and would assume that both had been
planned beforehand, with my knowledge. Possibly both Cris
and I exaggerated the situation, but it seemed to us likely
that he would not be long in suspecting Lucille. Even if he
did not, his German masters would.
As there was nothing we could do about it, I said rest­
lessly :
'I wonder what Bellini's share in the "new" Italy 1s gomg
to be ? '
'He's probably got hopes of becoming the new Mussolini,'
said Cris, 'assuming they'll be able to overthrow the current
1 43
one. They seemed pretty certain at Le Chat de Nuit-what
an age ago since then ! '
'It is,' I said, rather sourly.
We had now been going for two hours, and Cris reck­
oned that we were no more than fifteen or twenty miles
from Leghorn.
Then we had a scare.
We heard the sound of aircraft, faint at first, then
swelling to immeasurable proportions-but although we
searched the sky we could see nothing. The noise grew in­
credibly loud and the boat seemed to shake. Then came
the spitting of machine-guns. Tensely, we stared towards
Italy and at last made out the shapes of fighters, spinning
this way and that.
Over the water came flying two formations of four­
engine bombers-Flying Fortresses-which, to us, looked
like a flat mass above the surface of the sea. Above and
about them fighters were blazing away with machine-guns,
the Forts firing back. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle,
taking place no more than a mile or so away from us. With
relief we saw that the battle was moving towards the north.
Then one fighter came towards us, skimming the waves.

20

An Adventure at Sea
We stood quite still.
I think we all thought that the pilot had spotted us and
was coming to investigate. I know that he came towards us
with devastating speed, the Nazi emblem clear enough for
all to see. One moment the plane was half a mile away, the
next it was roaring above us. Then it began to climb.
1 44
 'He hasn't seen us ! ' Anton cried.
'I don't think he'd care if he did,' said Cris, calmly. 'He's
manreuvring to attack again.'
We followed its course with breathless interest; saw it go
in to attack, heard the explosion as it fell to bits in the air.
We stared at each other, the horror of warfare touching
us. Nevertheless, the sight of those Flying Fortresses had
given us more encouragement than anything else could
have done. The perfection of the formation, the almost con­
temptuous ease with which they went through the opposi­
tion, had been sight enough to make our eyes glisten, as
we turned to our immediate business.
Cris checked our position; we were some fifteen miles off
the coast of Leghorn. It was about three o'clock in the
afternoon, which meant there would be another four hours
or so of daylight. Cris cut off the engine to conserve petrol,
and we drifted on the tide. I donned my clothes again,
wishing they were not quite so shrunken and wrinkled.
Colette was gazing out to sea, when suddenly I saw her
stiffen.
She pointed a quivering finger.
'What is that, please ? '
A t first I could see nothing, but gradually I realised that
she was right-there was something in the water.
Cris said, softly : 'Someone's baled out, by George ! '
'A Boche ! ' snapped Anton.
'Probably,' said Cris. 'And-he's seen us ! '
I t was a queer situation; one moment we had been alone
on the wide expanse of sea, not dreaming that there was
anyone within sight of us-and now we saw the man in
the dinghy, waving something which showed white. We
hesitated, looking at one another, knowing that it was a
German. We were torn two ways, I think-to pick him up,
or else to pretend not to see him and pass him by. Of the
1 45
two, I inclined towards the latter. He was near enough to
the coast to stand a chance of being picked up, but if we
took him aboard there was no telling what complications
might ensue.
We all looked at Cris for guidance. We got it.
'I wonder if he's got a gun?' he said thoughtfully.
'He's sure to have,' I said, quickly, veering round to the
other alternative.
'Leave him and his gun ! ' said Anton, sharply. 'He will
only be in the way.'
'It might be useful to have him as a guide,' Cris said,
'we might even be able to land in daylight, he'll be pretty
pleased with us. We won't be so liable to suspicion, pro­
vided we've a plausible explanation for being here.' He
started the engine up, heading towards the Nazi. 'Now get
this clear,' Cris continued decisively. 'We left Nice three
days ago, intending to go a few miles. The engine failed and
a storm blew up during the night. We've just been able to
get the engine started and we're heading for the coast as
fast as we can make it. We cut off the engine because we
thought we saw him bale out and have been looking for
him. Right?'
'Good ! ' I said.
'If you will do it,' growled Anton.
We went nearer to the dinghy and soon saw that the
airman was a youngish fellow, his tunic scorched and wet
through. We called out and he answered in German. Soon
we were able to grip the side of the dinghy, drawing it
close to the launch while he clambered over. Whether he
was surprised to see a woman or not I don't know, but he
showed no suspicions and was obviously only too glad to be
on board.
'What a relief !' he gasped. 'I thought, perhaps, I would
be out here day and night-those Italians ! ' he cursed them
roundly. 'They do not worry what happens to us, and do
not send out boats. I would rather be picked up by the
French than the sun-soaked Italians ! ' As he unloaded
rations from the dinghy we noticed a portable radio set,
one gun strapped to his waist and another in a waterproof
case. We looked at one another behind his back. If we could
use that radio to get a message to Tunisia or Algiers it
would be little short of a miracle.
He finished and let the dinghy drift away; then he be­
gan to share his chocolate ration-it was good milk choco­
late, and all of us were glad of it. He told us of the number
of hits he had obtained on the Forts-we discounted at
least seventy-five per cent of them-and that it was just his
luck to be the only one shot down. He was an engaging
youngster, no more than about twenty-one or two. I could
not help thinking what a fine lad he would have made had
it not been for his Nazi upbringing.
At least half an hour passed before he showed any in­
terest in us whatever.
Cris then told him our story. I wondered if it were wise,
for probably motor-boats were not allowed off the French
coast-certainly petrol would not be granted for pleasure
trips. But Cris improvised a beautiful series of events-I
think we were almost prepared to believe that they were
true ! We were collaborationists, and, because we had done
so well in the past few months in discovering agitators and
guerillas, we had been allowed a small quantity of petrol
for a holiday trip. I don't think any responsible officer
would have swallowed the story, but this lad-his name was
Kurt Heuser-did not show any doubts at all.
By now we were so close to the coast that we could see
a number of small craft. Heuser moved over to talk to
Colette with an eagerness of which we took full advantage,
allowing us, as it did, to talk together in undertones.
1 47
 Anton was all for taking the wireless set and dumping
the fellow overboard. It was cold-blooded, but I don't think
that in itself was enough to influence us against it.
'Once we're ashore, he'll serve as a passport,' Cris said.
'He'll have friends in Leghorn and we won't need much
more introduction.'
Anton began to argue the point. He said sharply that
there would be a warning out for three people who landed
from a motor-launch. Even if they searched only the other
side, they would have word sent everywhere along the
north of Italy.
'That's possible,' conceded Cris. 'On the other hand, all
we really need is to get ashore without any immediate
trouble. If there's a general lookout for us, the presence of
the boy will distract attention. Once the first excitement is
over, we'll be able to disappear.'
'Three men and a girl, of course, will not be noticed,'
Anton said, sarcastically. 'No, Cris ! Usually I see the wis­
dom of what you say, but this time I think you are wrong.
It will be too dangerous, whereas if we land somewhere
along the co1st on our own, after nightfall, and rig up that
wireless-then we will be able to get word away at last ! '
I was beginning to think that it was a deadlock when
Cris suggested a compromise.
'We'll go ashore south of Leghorn, by daylight, with
Heuser. Landing on a fairly lonely beach it'll be some time
before we're noticed. If we are noticed he'll be helpful. If
we're not, we can deal with him, take his radio, and experi­
ment after dark.'
'That's no better,' said Anton, and flung up his arms.
'Oh, have it your own way, you are usually right ! '
W e joined the others. Heuser was telling Colette what a
wonderful fellow he was and how soon the war would be
over. We did not interrupt, but listened, fascinated.
 I had rarely heard such a rigmarole of nonsense uttered
with such solemn sincerity. I think we could have listened
to him for hours and got a laugh out of it, but it was
obvious that Colette was getting weary-and, in fact, once
or twice she answered him sharply. He took no notice of
that, but Cris broke in before she could really betray her
feelings.
Meanwhile, the coast drew nearer.
We passed several Italian fishing smacks, manned by old
men, dark-skinned and mostly bearded, who, without hail­
ing us, glared sourly at the uniform of Kurt Heuser. After
that happened four times in succession, I looked at Cris
with new respect, and Anton whispered
'It looks as if we'll get as much help there as we did in
France ! ' He seemed to have forgotten his objections.
We went ashore where there was a small quay and several
other launches, hoping that the officials there would be
Italian. Hardly had we tied up alongside when a man in
German uniform came out of a little shed. He was followed
by two obsequious Italians. If I had wanted any further
proof that the Germans were strengthening their hold on
northern Italy, here it was.
He barked questions at Heuser, but looked at us; it was
almost as if he had seen our photographs and was trying to
remember where. However, a new situation arose, for Kurt
Heuser began to fume under the man's hectoring manner
and I thought it would not be long before he asserted his
authority as an officer of the Luftwaffe !
True enough, he did.
Cris and Anton and I listened with growing satisfaction
as Heuser, always very sure of himself, began to gain the
upper hand.
'If that is so,' said the sergeant sourly, after Heuser had
told him that his duty was to see that airmen picked up
1 49
from the sea were transported as quickly as possible to their
stations, and not to argue, 'what of these people ? Who are
they ?'
'It is enough that they rescued me,' Heuser said, loftily.
'They will travel with me.'
'They are French,' the other said, glancing at Anton and
then Colette, whose nationality could not have been in any
doubt, 'and the French are not allowed here. They will be
placed under arrest until I have had authority to release
them.'
Anton continued to smile, as if he could not understand
German, but I could imagine his feelings. Cris rubbed his
chin thoughtfully. Unlike the scene at Cannes, we were
almost alone-no one showed the slightest interest in us
and I was beginning to reckon the chances of making a bid
for safety there and then. If the worst came to the worst,
I thought, we could go back to the launch.
Heuser drew himself up-I think he would have opposed
the man for the sake of it, whatever the circumstances.
'They are under my authority,' he said, icily, 'and I will
be responsible for them.'
'That is all very well . . .'
'Gott in himmel, must I repeat it all ?' roared Heuser, and
1 saw him then as a ferocious young Nazi, not as a pleasant
if conceited lad; there was a definite change in him, as if
something evil had come to the surface. 'Send for a car.
When that is done, get us some food. Hurry ! '
Well, he won !
We were fed, and a car arrived soon afterwards, with a
girl in Luftwaffe uniform at the wheel. She and Heuser ex­
changed warm greetings-obviously they knew each other,
equally obviously his station was not far from Leghorn. On
the journey we learned that it was almost due north of the
city and that Heuser was going into the town centre for
 our sakes. We passed through the outskirts of the straggling
port and were keenly aware of the sullen hostility of the
people. My impression-and, remember, I was only driving
through the streets in a German car-was so vivid that I
felt certain that Leghorn was fit for revolt at any given
signal.
If Diano were to be made Prime Minister, I thought, they
would go delirious with delight. The need for getting the
truth to London increased ten-fold.
Heuser sat in front with the girl driver but turned in his
seat and talked expansively to us. What part of Leghorn
did we wish to visit ?
Neither Cris nor I knew the port well, but Anton had a
rubbing acquaintance with it. He said that he had some
relatives living in the residential quarter south of the town,
but that it would be wise, first, to go to one of the hotels
for a bath. Heuser quite understood. He said, however, that
he hoped we realised that he had given his word that we
would be of good behaviour and that he would have to
report to the German authorities and say that we ourselves
would report before nightfall.
Cris said pleasantly : 'Why don't you take us straight
there, Herr Lieutenant ?'
Anton drew in a sharp breath-but it was exactly the
right thing to say, for Heuser, obviously relieved, promised
that he would, and that it would save us reporting again
when we had seen our friends. He left us in one of the main
thoroughfares, climbed out of the car and saluted us with
some ceremony, before being driven off. We stood outside a
German-occupied building while an old fellow, also a Ger­
man, eyed us curiously. At Cris's suggestion I asked
,whether the Consul were in.
We were directed to the Consulate, some distance away.
The man stared curiously at our dishevelled appearance, as
15 I
did several other people when we walked through the
streets of Leghorn, but no one questioned us. We found the
Spa Gardens and strolled towards a tree-lined corner. Sink­
ing down on one of the seats we stared at each other, in
congratulation.
'I will never raise my voice against you again,' Anton
said, generously. ' But, Cris-what now?'
'We have an address,' Cris reminded him. 'What we need
is somewhere to stay while one of us goes to find out the lie
of the land.'
'We could stay here,' I said, 'there are plenty of people
on holiday-we won't be noticeable.'
It was finally decided that Anton and Colette should
stay in the Gardens, while Cris and I ventured forth.
That suited me-and it obviously pleased Anton and
Colette, whom we left lying on the d ry, yellow grass while
we strolled across the Gardens towards the town centre as
if.we had not a care in the world.
Without appearing to do so, we were looking for the
little cafe in the Piazza di Mussolini. There, if the fates
were kind, we would find Bianchi, one of the British agents
on Sir Alan Clyde's list.
Naturally, we were anxious-but we were so used to
walking through the streets of Axis-occupied towns that we
did not feel particularly alarmed. The only thing that gave
us any real anxiety was the possibility that Clyde's agent
had left the cafe. When we found the place, we saw a little
uneasily that its windows were boarded up except for one
small pane with a few tins of beans and spaghetti on show.
The door, however, was open and we went in.
We were met by a strong smell of oil and garlic. An old
woman, fat and frowsy, sat behind a dirty counter and
looked at us as if she did not care what we wanted if only
we would leave her alone. It was hot outside, but it was
152
like a bakehouse in that little shop. Two or three people
were eating at tables covered with worn American-cloth.
An urn was simmering near the woman's elbow and there
were some bottles of soft drinks flanked by a row of dirty­
looking glasses.
This was the right cafe-but I could not believe that we
would get any worthwhile help here. I began to rehearse
the conversational gambit which would be necessary.
After we had asked for Bianchi, the woman-if she were
in the know-would ask : 'What do you wish with him?'
and I, tapping my hip pocket, would reply by a formula
which she should know by heart. It was the last formula I
had learned and I was worried lest it had been changed.
Cris ordered a couple of cakes and two glasses of lemon­
ade.
The opportunities for using my opening sentence seemed
far from good, so rather unhappily I bided my time.
After ten minutes, the other customers went out.
The woman slithered down from the high stool on which
she was sitting and padded round the counter to us. She
put two monstrous hands on the table. I took this to be an
invitation of sorts, and said, as casually as I could :
'Is Signor Bianchi here, please?'
'What do you wish with him?' she demanded.
'I have something to sell which I think will interest him,'
I said, and-feeling somewhat foolish, although I had done
the same thing often enough-patted my hip pocket. She
did not smile, but tucking some strands of greasy hair into
place turned away and waddled towards the door.
'Well, what do you make of her?' I demanded.
'I think we're all right,' Cris said doubtfully.
We waited for ten minutes, the heat growing more
oppressive as my uncertainty increased.
Then we heard the woman padding down some stairs.
15 3
She walked past us without giving us a glance, went to the
street door and looked out. She stayed there for at least a
minute, then returned and spoke in her hoarse voice :
'Signor, go up the stairs, please. Hurry ! '
My heart leapt as I rose and followed Cris through the
door. Ahead, a flight of narrow steps confronted us. We
went up quickly and reached a landing from which led a
passage and two doors. One of them was open.
We went into a small bedroom. It was badly furnished
and yet-I could hardly believe it-it looked clean ! There
was a bed in one corner, covered with a gaily-coloured
patchwork quilt, and, by the head of the bed, a wickerwork
armchair from which rose an old man.
He inclined his head graciously.
'Please be good enough to close the door.'
Cris did so. The old man held out a frail white hand.
'Why do you wish to see me ?'
I said : 'Are you sure it is safe ?'
The question was not purposeless, it was the final stage
in the opening remarks I had made downstairs-and it
required a definite answer. He gave it to me without
hesitating.
'It is safer here than anywhere else in Europe ! And now,
Signor, how can I help you ?'

21

Signor Bianchi is Helpful

So accustomed were we to working with Clyde's agents in
France that neither of us questioned the reliability of Signor
Bianchi, although we were puzzled to see so frail a man.
1 54
However, that was not our business ; he would be capable
enough if he worked for Clyde or any section of British
Intelligence-and he would know what facilities there were
available for us.
Cris asked in execrable Italian whether he had a radio
transmitter.
'Not here,' said Bianchi, 'but one can be used tonight,
Signor. To whom do you wish to send a message? London
or Algiers?'
'London. Will it be safe?'
'It has been in regular use for twelve months, and the
Huns have searched for it often enough ! Have no fears of
that, Signor.'
I asked quickly : 'Is there accommodation for four of us
in or near Leghorn for a day or two, and can you get us
some papers of authority?'
Bianchi leaned forward tensely.
'Four, Signor?'
'Yes.'
'You come from Cannes? You escaped from Bellini and
you have come here !' He threw his arms out with a hoot of
laughter, rocking his body back and forth, while Cris, as
taken aback as I, stared at him as if he had gone mad.
Tears of merriment streamed down his face. 'Fo ur!' he
gasped again. 'From Cannes ! Signor, you will never be­
lieve what a trouble there has been ! The whole of the
South of France has been in uproar. Aircraft, speedboats,
destroyers, all have been searching for you. I had such a
report from Mentone only an hour ago, there has not been
anything like it for months ! How like the English ! ' and off
he went again, while I began to wonder whether so frail a
man could stand such paroxysms of mirth.
Bianchi recovered himself at last.
'I am sorry for that,' he said, wiping his eyes, 'but it is
1 55
the way it affects me-Bellini, ho-ho ! How that man
fancies himself, and now he has been made so big a fool ! '
'So you know Bellini?' Cris asked.
Bianchi shrugged. 'Who does not? He is an evil one, that
man. He has, they say, been under arrest but he has also
been at many meetings of the Gestapo and I understand
that Ribbentrop has been to see him again-that does not
seem much like arrest.'
I whistled. 'By George, no! '
Cris said : 'So they've been trying to hoodwink us, letting
it seem as if Bellini was as much out of favour as . . .'
He paused, deliberately ; Bianchi looked at him,
patiently, but did not supply a name-as I think Cris half­
expected him to do.
'Diano,' said Cris, quietly.
Bianchi was one of the most unpredictable fellows I have
ever met. I have since learned of his cunning, his loyalty,
and his quite incredible feats of organisation-but it was
always a toss up whether he would start laughing or show
great indignation. Now he chose the latter, and standing up
as straight as a ramrod, although so woefully thin, he
barked :
'Diano? What do you mean? What would you say of that
man?'
Cris said easily: 'Nothing disparaging, Bianchi-what
would you?'
'What would I?' cried Bianchi, so emphatically that I
looked nervously towards the window, in case he were
heard outside. 'i would say this, Signor-if there is hope
for Italy, it is through Umberto Diano. He is a truly great
man. Believe me, Signor, if he can seize power when you
strike-and, please God, you will not long delay it ! -then
there is hope for our un�appy country. The people would
throw Mussolini over tomorrow-today ! I believe they
156
have the strength, for the members of the Fascist Grand
Council are wavering. There is much dissatisfaction with
the degree of help which the Germans can give. They have
sent only a handful of men to Sicily.'
I would not have judged it wise to interrupt then, but
Cris did.
'How many is a handful ?' he asked.
'One division,' said Bianchi, contemptuously. 'There is
talk of more and perhaps they will make it up to three or
four divisions, but it is not enough-we, the people, know it
is not. True, I have always believed that the Germans
would desert us when danger approached. The fool who
plunged us into this war, the thrice-damned fool ! He was
blind, Signor, blind . . .' Bianchi broke off, and gave an
unexpectedly gentle smile. 'But I ramble on too much,
Signor.'
'Tell me more about Diano,' said Cris.
'Need I ?' asked Bianchi, softly. 'There is a man who will
save us. He will, I believe, take power when Mussolini falls.
There is even now talk of revolt, as I have said, amongst
the Fascists themselves-the will of the people remains
strong and powerful. So Diano, with the support of the
people, will rise up when they put their puppet in to take
Mussolini's place.'
Cris spoke softly. 'The people are with Diano ?'
'Nine men out of ten, yes,' answered Bianchi.
'I see,' murmured Cris. 'Signor Bianchi, have you heard
of a man called le Liberateur ?'
Bianchi stared at him. 'But of course.'
'You believe in him ?'
'He is dead, alas,' said Bianchi. 'He was killed when he
opposed Bellini, in Mentone. There was a rumour that
some of his friends escaped, though one named Brandon
was killed. I have been asked by radio to watch for Duval
157
and Deane. It is thought that, if alive, Deane might reach
here and Duval might follow him. They believe that le
Liberateur and his friends made some discovery of great
importance.'
Cris said : 'Yes, they did. Le Liberateur is not dead, how­
ever.'
'Signor?' Bianchi looked puzzled. 'I have information
that-Signor." His voice grew tense. 'What do you mean?
How do you know?'
Bianchi looked from me to Cris, hope, wonder and a
profound excitement kindling in his eyes.
'Can this be true?' he demanded. 'Signor, I . . .' He
turned abruptly and went to a small cupboard, built in the
wall. He opened it and drew out some papers. These he
whipped through, eventually picking out a set of photo­
graphs. Running through them, he stopped when he saw a
particular one, looking up at me with startled eyes.
'So ! You are Deane?'
I nodded and let him go on, to find another photograph,
this one of Cris. He stared at it for some time, then re­
placed the files and closed the secret hiding-place. When
he spoke, I believe he meant what he said :
'It is an honour, Signor!'
Cris smiled. 'At the moment we are helpless without your
aid. We must have that, for ourselves as well as Duval and
the girl with him. This is the point that matters, Bianchi.
We did cross swords with Bellini and we did make a dis­
covery which will upset the German plans with Italy.
Umberto Diano is in German pay.'
A curious tension fell upon us.
Bianchi had been standing by the cupboard and he
stayed there for some seconds, then moved forward slowly,
with one hand outstretched, as if in appeal. His lips moved
but no words were uttered. He continued to stare and then
to approach us slowly, looking all the time at Cris. I
thought then-and I have no reason to change my view­
that we killed something in Bianchi when we told him that.
I believe that he sensed the truth of the statement from the
moment it was uttered, yet he had set such store by Diano,
had put his faith for the rehabilitation of Italy in that
traitor, that the blow was almost mortal.
'Diano is in German pay ?' he repeated, stupidly. 'Signor,
you are aware of what a serious statement you make ?'
'I think so,' Cris said. 'I know Diano is working with the
Germans, for Bellini arranged it. I was waiting at the table
when the first discussions were made-it was when Ribben­
trop visited Nice in March. You knew of that.'
'He went to Le Chat de Nuit,' Bianchi said in a whisper­
ing voice. 'Yes, there was trouble then, it was immediately
afterwards that le Liberateur was caught.'
'True enough,' Cris said.
'So-there can be no doubt ?' Bianchi turned and looked
at the window, but I do not believe he saw it. When he
turned back to us he looked an older man.
'You wish to advise England of this ?'
Cris nodded.
'I have had instructions from England to give Diano all
the help I can,' said Bianchi, simply. 'Each week the in­
structions are renewed-it is the same all over Italy. There
is a powerful movement on foot to make sure that when
the blow falls and Mussolini goes, Diano will be the popu­
lar choice for Premier. Signor-can you convince
England ?'
'Yes,' said Cris, crisply. 'Just as I've convinced you.
Bianchi, I wish it were different, but . . .'
The old man dropped his hands.
'Do not speak thus, Signor. The truth. is what matters
and you will, I believe, save us from making a terrible mis-
1 59
take. But Diano-I knew him in the old days, when he was
so close a friend of Matteotti.' He paused. 'Signor, is there
no single chance that you are wrong ? Could it be that he is
pretending to work with the Germans, that . . .'
'.They have him too firmly in their power,' said Cris.
'Yes. They would not take chances,' said Bianchi,
slowly. 'There is nothing to be done except to make sure,
now, that he does not succeed. But, Signor . . .' His face
was more animated as he saw a problem which had already
loomed unpleasantly large in my mind, 'that will not be
easy. For months, now, we have worked to make the people
look upon Diano as their one hope of salvation. How can
such work be undone, I ask you that, Signor, how can it
be undone?'
Cris said : 'There's only one way.'
'I see none,' said Bianchi. 'To spread a rumour which
is welcome is one thing. To spread a denial, especially in
such circumstances, is another. It would be laughed at, it
would be called a German trick to make us set Diano aside.
Believe me, Signor, it will not be easy to convince the
Italian people, who want peace and a new regime so fer­
vently, that Diano is working for the Germans.'
'There's only one way,' repeated Cris. 'We want Diano,
in person. If we kill him, it will look as if the Germans
assassinated him. If we let him take over, there will be little
chance of putting Italy out of the war quickly. But if we
have Diano himself there is a chance of making him retract.
Italians listen to the B.B.C., don't they ?'
'Of course, everywhere the B.B.C. is heard.'
'If Diano gave an interview, admitting it all, over our
radio,' said Cris, 'we would convince them ?'
'Yes,' admitted Bianchi. 'But-how is it possible ? Where
is Diano ? Even if you were able to perform the miracle and
get him away from the Germans, how would you take him
1 60
to England and be sure that he would talk on the radio ?'
'He'll talk,' said Cris.
'And-you think that you can get him ?'
'We can try,' Cris said.
He was thinking of Lucille, of course-who was more
likely than anyone else to know where Diano was in hiding.
\Ve had tried many forlorn hopes, this would be no more
forlorn than the others. With the right daring, thorough
preparations, and the opportunity, it could be done. Even
if it proved a failure, it had to be tried. That had been
obvious from the moment I had realised how well the Nazis
had done their work, how firm a hold Diano had on the
imagination of the Italian masses.
Bianchi drew a deep breath.
'So, Signor. Meanwhile-there is the matter of your
friends, they must be taken to a place of safety.'
'It's possible that there will be a report that we've come
to Leghorn,' Cris said. 'You won't forget that ?'
'It does not matter,' said Bianchi, 'there are plenty of
places for you to hide. I have only to say that you are a
supporter of Diano'-he smiled bitterly-'and you can
have a thousand friends.' I liked the way the man's mind
worked, turning a tragedy to advantage. 'I would like one
of you to remain here and the other to take me to Duval and
the girl.'
Cris nodded and I stood up.
'I'll go with him,' I said.
I left soon afterwards, walking alongside Bianchi as we
pushed our way through the little cafe. He did not speak
but led me to the Spa Gardens. I was a little afraid that
something might have gone wrong, but there were Anton
and Colette, sitting on the grass and looking as if they had
nothing in the world to worry about. They were so absorbed
G.T.E.-F 161
in each other that Bianchi stood looking at them for a
moment, like an old man recalling the joys of youth.
Introduced, he bowed low over Colette's hand, then led
us by a somewhat devious route to the residential suburbs.
Here he left Anton and Colette with a woman who obvi­
ously knew Bianchi well and was prepared to give shelter
to anyone whom he recommended. I left all arrangements
for a later meeting to Bianchi and, relieved at the thought
that the others were safe for the time being, we walked back
towards the Piazza di Mussolini.
We were twenty yards from the cafe when I saw Cris
emerge from the doorway, an armed guard on either side.
I stood stock still, shocked beyond words and feeling.

22

Viva Diano !
Cris was looking straight ahead of him; that his arrest had
shocked him as much as it had me was obvious. I could
hardly believe it. I had felt so safe with Bianchi-buoyed
up by the old man's confidence.
He, too, had seen the carabinieri and their prisoner. He
missed a step-that was all-then gripped my arm and
walked on briskly. I wondered if he were going to chal­
lenge the police, then saw him purse his lips and give a
shrill, sharp whistle.
All those who were passing by looked up sharply.
Bianchi whistled again. The policeman who had been
standing on the kerb looked about him and I did not im­
agine the nervousness in his expression. He drew his re­
volver and one of those with Cris did the same. Suddenly, as
162
if from nowhere, a crowd began to form, converging on
Cris and his captors.
'Do nothing,' Bianchi told me, 'do nothing at all,
Sign or.'
This time I saw his lips move, and the words he uttered
were :
' Viva Diano! Viva Diano!'
He only needed to say it twice and, as he finished, he
looked at me with a twisted, half-humorous expression, the
laughter of a clown who knows the tragedy of life. Then I
saw the carabinieri being hustled away from Cris, their
guns snatched away from them-they had no control at all
over the crowd but, I thought, their defence was so weak
that they must be in secret sympathy. Certainly the crowd
showed no particular viciousness towards the policemen as
they stormed about Cris and cried in a rapidly increasing
crescendo :
' Viva Diano! Viva Diano!'
Other members of the carabinieri were pouring into the
street and I saw a few German uniforms, but the crowd
had swollen to enormous proportions and the roar of the
battle-cry must have been audible half a mile away.
Then they began to cry 'Down with Mussolini ! ' and
cursed the Nazis.
It was not long before I heard the sound of rifle-shots.
Someone blew a bugle on a high-pitched note which
seemed to have the same effect as Bianchi's voice, for the
crowd began to disperse. Motor-cyclists came roaring into
the street, followed by one or two armoured cars, from
which Italian Army men were firing over the heads of the
crowd. The few remaining demonstrators fled.
'Come,' said Bianchi, plucking at my arm.
I had not noticed a little alleyway only a few yards along.
Bianchi disappeared into it, and I followed him eagerly.
1 63
 I hardly knew what to think. I was no longer worried
for Cris, but I could not get the 'Viva Diano!' out of my
mind. Nothing else could have proved more conclusively
the hold which Diano had on the people. The fiendish
cleverness of it was the one thing which made me feel
heavy-hearted and afraid that no matter how we tried we
would not be able to convince the Italians that once again
they were being made victims of the Nazi machine.
I waited for Bianchi to speak and in turn he waited until
we had left the main road and were in the residential quar­
ter beyond the park. Then he said gravely :
'I do not know where they have taken St. Clare, but I
will find out before long, and you will be quite safe where
I leave you.'
I said : 'What about the cafe?'
He shrugged his shoulders. 'It will have to go.'
'And the old woman?'
He grinned, puckishly. 'She will have gone !'
'What about your papers?'
'They will have gone, too,' he said. 'We do not take risks,
the cafe was always watched. I am a little concerned be­
cause they chose this afternoon to make a sortie. I have
used that cafe, on and off, for two years. Perhaps they
have a description of le Liberateur and went for him.' That
did not appear to alarm him greatly. 'It will work out well,
Signor, do not worry. I will find out where your friend is
and bring you together again. You will need clothes and
papers.'
'If there could be a make-up box it would be very use­
ful,' I suggested.
'Very useful?' Bianchi echoed. 'I now understand what
is meant when it is said that the English are remarkable for
understatements ! '
He took me into a small house, with a wide front garden.
164
 Leading me to an upstairs room, he assured me that no
one unfriendly would come, and that if I were visited I
had only to give his name. Then he went off on his errand
of inquiry.
Alone, I slumped into a chair and began to review all
that had happened.
I believed Bianchi when he said he would find Cris-I
felt sure that someone in the crowd had taken him to safety
and that the underground movement, with which Bianchi
was in close touch, would know where he could be found. I
believed that there would be no serious consequences of the
raid, but, of course, I was perturbed by two things. First,
and most immediate, the possibility that Cris had been
arrested because he was le Liberateur. I began to think that
doubtful, however; it was unlikely that the German
authorities would have allowed the admittedly lukewarm
and inefficient carabinieri to handle a matter of such im­
portance. Except that it meant we would have to be very
careful indeed, however, it did not greatly matter either
way.
The thing that did count was the roar of the crowd,
'Viva! Viva! Viva Diano!' I could hear it as plainly as if
it were being shouted outside the door. I could see the ex­
cited faces of the people and knew how deep a hold Diano
had on them ; it made me, as I have already said, pro­
foundly frightened cf the consequences. As for getting out
of Italy-or finding Diano inside Italy-it seemed nothing
more than a dream. I had agreed with Cris that the only
effective way to destroy his influence would be to have him
recant in person, had even thought for a wild moment that
it might be done.
I told myself that I now knew better.
Restlessly, I stood up and looked out of the window, but
all I could see was a brick wall and drawn curtains. There
was no movement inside the house itself. My mind began
to play tricks and I wondered if it were possible that we had
been betrayed. It was a most uncomfortable two hours, and
by the end of it darkness had fallen.
At last I heard footsteps. I went to the door and opened
it ; sure enough, I heard a key inserted into the leek of th�
front door. Footsteps and low-pitched voices followed­
and Cris's was among them !
My heart leapt as I felt my way downstairs. Bianchi had
pulled the curtains in a front room and switched on the
light. I stared in amazement at the man with Cris's voice­
for I would not have recognised him !
He wore a black shirt, adorned with the insignia of
Fascist rank, a row of medals, and a revolver strapped
about his waist. His hair had been cropped close to the
sides of his head, and there were a few deft touches of
greasepaint at his eyes and mouth. He looked a typical
Fascist tough !
He laughed and Bianchi rubbed his hands together.
'Not bad, Signor,' he said. 'I have clothes for you, too,
and the others are also being looked after. You will all be
ready by midnight. I have papers of identity, visas for
France should you need to go there and permits to travel,
which are more difficult to obtain than anything else.'
I drew in a deep breath.
'It's miraculous ! ' I exclaimed. My voice tapered off, for
I was overcome by the brightness of the prospect.
Cris carried a bundle of clothes up to the bedroom. I
stripped to the waist, while Cris ran some clippers up the
back of my neck and the sides of my head. Off came my
beard again, but he left a little tuft in the centre of my
chin and a small moustache, which, when I had donned
the blackshirt uniform, made me look like a comic-opera
Fasci�t, a type we had met often enough.
1 66
 Bianchi had given Cris a short resume of what had
happened, and this he now passed on to me.
Apparently Kudt Heuser had told his commanding
officer of the four people he had picked up. The C.O., with
no particular suspicion in mind, had taken the precaution
of advising the carabinieri. On hearing the 'Viva Diano!'
cry the carabinieri had assumed the rescue to be part and
parcel of the socialist underground movement and were not
likely to carry it further. They had enough difficulty in
keeping order.
'I thought I'd had it when they marched in on me,' Cris
admitted. 'What did you think of the mob scene ? Effective,
wasn't it ?'
'It's damned sinister,' I said.
But Cris was not to be daunted and I knew something
had pleased him mightily. 'I'll find Diano if it's the last
thing I do,' he said. 'I 've spoken to London and told them
the truth. I gathered that it gave them plenty to think
about. How's that ?' he added, stepping back and admiring
his handiwork with clippers and scissors.
I looked at my reflection.
'Terrible,' I said. My heart had lightened, for getting
that message to London had seemed so difficult, at times
impossible. That we had done so drove most of the other
worries away. Ii we failed to get Diano, it was the Italians'
own pigeon. Despite the scene in the Piazza di Mussolini, I
was not enamoured of the mass of Italian people who had
not shown any great displeasure when Mussolini had been
at the zenith of his fame. 'You didn't get any news, did
you ?'
Cris said quietly : 'News with a capital N, Ned ! We've
started on Sicily.'
'What ?' I gasped.
'It's true. I heard a London broadcast. We've taken Capo
Passero and several other places along the south coast. The
Eighth Army is on the west, the Americans on the east, and
they're past the beaches ! '
'So it's started ! ' I exclaimed. 'It means . . .' I stopped
abruptly, a shadow had fallen over the brightness of the
vision. 'Cris, at that rate Mussolini won't last long.'
'No,' said Cris. 'Bianchi seems to think it will come in a
matter of days, if not hours. We've got to move fast, old
chap.'
I asked him exactly what he had in mind.
'First find Lucille,' he said, simply. 'I can't get any news
of her here, so we'll have to get over the frontier into Nice.
If she's still there we've a chance, if she isn't . . .' He shrug­
ged his shoulders. 'We'll have to give up all hope of finding
Diano.'
It was as simple as that.
By the time I had finished and was dressed in the dread­
ful black shirt-happily with fewer medals than Cris !-I
looked the part well enough. We waited for little less than
half an hour before we heard a knock at the front door
and, a few seconds afterwards, Anton and Colette were
admitted. I had doubts of the wisdom of taking Colette
with us, although when I saw her, also wearing a black
shirt and with her hair cut short, I had to admit there was
not much danger of her being recognised.
We had a meal-brown bread, thin vegetable soup and
cold tomatoes-and then sat round the table discussing the
plan of action. I was glad when Cris suggested that Anton
and Colette went one way, he and I another. It gave us
two chances of getting to Nice and finding Lucille.
Before we left, more news was brought to Bianchi. There
was to be a general search, for the motor-launch had been
examined and identified and it was now known that we
were in Leghorn.
1 68
 I could not say, when we started out in the early hours,
that I felt optimistic.

23
We Hear Bad News of Lucille
It was the most nerve-racking journey I have ever endured.
Cris and I travelled by train and had to go through
Genoa. The R.A.F. chose that night to bomb the port and
I have never been so thoroughly frightened. It was a posi­
tive hell and I wondered how long the easy-going Italian
people would be able to stand up against such pounding.
The train was not hit, but the track ahead and behind us
was damaged and we spent five weary hours on a siding
after the All Clear had sounded before we began to move
forward at a crawl. The devastation on either side of the
track had to be seen to be believed. Huge buildings had
toppled down, the rubble from some of them fallen right
over the line. Twice we had to leave the train, to spend
half an hour or more picking our way over piles of debris.
Finally we had to join another train which had come to the
scene of destruction from the other side.
We were held up again at the entrance to one of the
tunnels for seven l ong, weary hours. We had a little choco­
late with us, but that was all, and we grew ravenously
hungry as the hours passed.
The passengers took everything with a minimum of
grumbling. They seemed shocked and I think had been so
scared during the raid that they were thankful to find them­
selves alive.
At last we moved on again.
Three times our papers and travel permits were inspec-
1 69
ted. I was afraid that there might be a search for us, but we
remained unmolested for the final trip, stopping frequently
but making better progress than on the first day. The
journey from Leghorn to Nice normally takes about five
hours ; that time it took thirty-six, and we were worn-out
and famished, with our fine new clothes crumpled and
dishevelled, when, towards evening, we reached the station
at Nice.
We had little difficulty. Apparently the three inspections
on the train were considered enough and no one questioned
us and we !eft the train and walked out into the sunlit
streets.
Bianchi had given us the address of a small hotel where
we would find help. It was a great relief to find it had not
been taken over, for we had expected to find the Germans
in partial occupation. We simply showed the card which
Bianchi had given us and had no trouble in getting a room.
I was famished, yet I kept dozing off as I washed and,
even after a shower and shave, could hardly keep my eyes
open. Cris was in no better shape.
We had a meal-I cannot remember to this day what
we ate-and fell into bed. I don't think we would have
cared much had the Germans come in and arrested us as
we lay there, we were so absolutely exhausted. It was partly
reaction, and when we woke up the next morning and col­
lected our wits we realised that we had lost a precious
twelve hours.
Cris was the more cheerful of the two.
Over breakfast, which was served in our room, we
decided that the best course would be to call on Bianchi's
friend, the proprietor, although the previous night we had
been against it. We asked for him and he came to our room
almost immediately, a tall, well-dressed Frenchman whom
I would have taken to be a keen collaborationist, he looked
1 70
so smug and complacent. But when the waiter had gone
he turned to regard us with a different expression.
'You are from Bianchi. He is well?'
'And safe,' I said.
'Good ! Well, gentlemen, how can I be of service ?'
I told him, quietly, that we were anxious to get news of
Pietro Bellini and his friends-I did not mention Lucille
either by that name or as the Countess. At mention of
Bellini, Bonnet-for that was his name-scowled belliger­
ently. Apparently there had been a purge of French officials
a few days before-it was connected, rumour said, with
the escape of le Liberateur and his friends. We heard that
story at some length but I did not tell Bonnet who we were.
Nice and Cannes had been virtually under martial law for
two days and the watch was only now slackening.
'What do you want of Bellini ?' Bonnet asked.
I smiled. 'He has information which might be useful.
Were any of his personal friends suspected ?'
Bonnet shrugged. 'I do not know. They say there was a
woman, a German countess, who was questioned by the
Gestapo.'
'Was she detained ?'
'I do not know, M'sieu, but I can, perhaps, find out.'
'I'd be glad if you will,' I said. 'Is there any talk of Diano
being near here ?'
'Diano ?' Bonnet's eyes brightened. 'No, there is no news,
but if he were in Nice I would certainly know.' Bonnet
wanted to be discursive on the subject of Diano and the
chances of a successful revolution in Italy, leading to the
peace which, he took for granted, would be one of the first
acts of a new Diano Government. Oh, it had been handled
with diabolic cleverness !
We did not disillusion him.
 He promised to put enquiries on foot immediately and
left us.
He was away for about two hours.
When he came back he had an air of suppressed excite­
ment. He had just been told that Ribbentrop had been seen
in Nice-the third visit within as many months. Obviously,
Bonnet said, there was trouble coming in Italy and Ribben­
trop was trying to make sure that the Fascists remained
loyal and in power.
Cris asked : 'Where is he, do you know ?'
I waited for the answer with a quickening pulse. It was
quite likely that Ribbentrop would see Diano and unlikely
that the German Foreign Minister would travel further
than Nice-it was surprising that he had come so far. For
the first time we saw the possibility of getting Diano with­
out help from Lucille.
'He is at l'Hotel Grande,' said Bonnet. 'He has a suite
and is staying for two days. Bellini has been to see him­
and the Countess von Braden.'
My heart leapt. 'So she is free ?'
'She has not been detained by the Gestapo,' said Bon­
net, 'but I understand that she has been under house arrest
-it has happened to her before.' The man was obviously
curious but did not ask questions. Nor had he once
questioned our identity. 'She is at her apartement, which
is . .. .'
'We know where it is,' interjected Cris.
'Bien! Messie·urs, I ask you if you are aware of the identity
of the Countess von Braden ?' He paused and when we
looked blankly at him, went on : 'It is said that she is a
relative of von Ribbentrop. Also, in view of what has hap­
pened, no one who has not a great influence in German
quarters would be detained only in her own home. There
are even rumours that the Gestapo officials who questioned
her have been dismissed from Nice and sent away.'
'I'm beginning to appreciate Lucille,' Cris said quietly.
Bonnet flung his hands upwards.
'Lucille-whom do you mean? Lucille . . .' That the
name meant something to him was only too clear. 'I beg
vou to explain, M'sieu. There was a famous woman named
Lucille who did much in this district to maintain the fight
against the Italians. She was at one time believed to work
with an Englishman called le Liberateur. Both, it is said,
were interned in Germany. As I told you, it was rumoured
that le Liberateur escaped from Cannes and .. .'
Cris said quietly : 'Madame la Countess is Lucille no
matter to whom she's related, and it is true I worked with
her.'
'You are . . . ?' began Bonnet, and then paused as if he
could not believe his ears. I do not know how long it took
us to convince him-and in fact I was a little worried be­
cause Cris had said so much. There was always the pos­
sibility that Bonnet would talk too freely and that some of
his confidants would not be trustworthy. Afterwards, Cris
told me why he had taken the decision and I had to admit
that he was right.
'You are le Liberateur,' gasped Bonnet, 'then who have
you come to free from the Germans?'
Could there have been a better tribute than that ?
Cris said : 'Madame la Countess, for one. Diano, for the
other.'
Bonnet said : 'Parbleu! Diano is not ...'
'Diano will be here,' said Cris, quietly, 'and we have to
get him away. M'sieu Bonnet, how many men can you call
upon to assist us?'
'Hundreds, M'sieu-tiens, no ! Thousands ! '
'A few dozen will do,' said Cris, quietly. 'They should be
1 73
warned to be ready to take action although not told that it
concerns Diano. Can you, if necessary, cause trouble with
the public services-gas, water, telephone ?'
'It can be done,' said Bonnet, 'there are few men who
would not help.'
'Good ! ' said Cris. 'What abcut \veaµons ?'
'They are available, for they are dropped regularly to us
by the R.A.F.'
'And iuceu<liary Lombs ?'
'We have enough to set all Nice ablaze ! ' cried Bouuel
extravagantly.
The two of them went into details, Bonnet arranging to
have the men ready at various vantage points and prepared
to converge on any single place at short notice.
Cris went on quietly: 'We shall have to arrange for an
aeroplane to come from England to the nearest landing­
field to Nice-to say, two such landing-fields-each night
until further notice. The fields must be protected by the
guerillas, to make sure that we are not taken by surprise
and unable to get away. All that is possible ?'
'Yes, M'sieu, and will be done.'
'Good. Then, wherever we go, we need someone to fol­
low us-we might be discovered and we're not anxious to
have a spell in a concentration camp.'
I wondered if it were wise to have our footsteps dogged.
We had always played a lone hand. This time, however,
Cris seemed determined to reduce the risks to the absolute
mm1mum.
Then he went on : 'What arrangements are made to
guard Madame la Countess-do you know ?'
'There are Germans at all outer doors, and a regular
patrol night and day.'
Cris said : 'We'll have to get in, somehow.'
'It will be a great risk, M'sieu.'
174
 'Yes. Still, we have to see her.' I asked myself whether it
would not be enough, now, to follow Ribbentrop and to
find out when he was seeing Diano, but Cris, understanding
the German mind even more thoroughly than I, wondered
if the Ribbentrop visit was a blind. It was well known that
men made up to look like prominent Nazi Party members
visited different towns in the occupied countries purely as
a blind to their real activities and to cause speculation in
Allied headquarters. 'See what you can do in other direc­
tions, will you ?' Cris asked Bonnet. 'We'll handle the
countess.'
'As you wish, M'sie-u.'
When the door had dosed, I voiced my various objec­
tions.
'There's something in them,' Cris admitted, frowning
thoughtfully. 'On the other hand, Bonnet's lot will work
for le Liberateur where they might doubt others. Also,
they'll accept assurances of the value of Lucille from him
-I gathered that Bonnet has no love for the countess, as
the countess, and we'd have trouble if that's the popular
view. I didn't tell him the truth about Diano because'-he
shrugged-'he wouldn't want to believe it.'
'You took the risk with Bianchi.'
'It had to be taken then,' said Cris, 'but we can do with­
out it this time. We'll get more support if they believe we're
playing our regular game and getting a friendly fellow out
of harm's way.'
I shrugged. 'You're probably right. What about Lucille ?
How do you propose to try to get past the guard ?'
Cris smiled. 'I propose to become one of the guard. No,
you're not going to dress up in any more fancy clothes ! In
any case you'll have to do the talking with her and she'll
recognise you before she will me. We ,could use Anton and
Colette,' he added. 'I wish there was news of them.'
1 75
 They were to have come to the same hotel but nothing
had been heard. I was apprehensive lest they had been in­
jured in the bombing. However, I was too accustomed to
being anxious about something or someone or other for it
to become an obsession. Later in the day, Bonnet came in to
assure us that everything had been arranged, and that
London had promised to supply the planes. When Cris
asked for three good men to help him after dark that night,
I think Bonnet had great difficulty in restraining himself
from volunteering.
If Cris succeeded in impersonating one of the German
guards, he would station himself at the front entrance of
the block of flats and in my guise of an Italian official I
would make no bones about going straight to Lucille's flat.
It would be at least two hours before I had any news.
It was a little after ten o'clock when Bonnet came to my
room and told me, excitedly, that he had received a mes­
sage from Cris-the first stage was over successfully. I do
not know how he managed, with his helpers, to overpower
two of the German guards and to take their place, and I
did not give it much thought as I hurried through the
darkened streets towards Chateau Hill and Lucille. There
was still no news of Anton or Colette, and they became a
nagging anxiety which I could well have done without.
However, I put it to the back of my mind and walked up
the drive accompanied by two of Bonnet's men. We were
not questioned until we reached the front door and then I
could have sworn that the German of the guard who asked
what business we had there was genuine. However, directly
we got inside the little lighted foyer, I recognised Cris,
straight-faced and hard-eyed. He has a peculiar trick of
living the part of whomever he is impersonating ; I suppose
it has become second nature to hin:.
For the benefit of the c-o ncierge I produced my papers,
1 76
purporting to contain an authority to visit the apartement.
With much grumbling, Cris let me go upstairs.
I tapped on the door which I had first seen when I had
been covered with coal-dust, and waited. I heard a move­
ment inside the flat, then the maid whom I remembered
well opened the door.
I wasted no time, but stepped inside before she could
stop me. She exclaimed in alarm, but I put my finger to
my lips and waited until she had closed the door.
Recognition dawned on her as she surveyed me. She nod­
ded sagely, then hurried across the hall towards the door
of the lounge.
'M'sieu Deane, Madame ! '
Lucille rose swiftly from the settee o n which she was sit­
ting, and approached me with the flowing movement I
remembered so well. Our hands gripped. She gave me a
smile which was quick but fleeting, her mind made up on
the instant.
'There is no time to lose, they are preparing Diano to­
night. I am not allowed to leave here. The coup d'etat is
timed for tomorrow.' She was breathing hard and I knew
that all the pent-up emotions of the past few days expressed
themselves in her voice and eyes. 'Can you prevent it?' she
demanded.
'Do we want to prevent it?' I asked.

24
I Fail to Persuade Lucille
Lucille looked at me as if I had taken leave of my senses.
'What-what do you mean?' she demanded.
I laughed-the idea had come to me as swiftly as I had
1 77
uttered it, and I knew that Cris would be in full agree­
ment.
I said : 'Let them kick Mussolini out-it will be a help !
If they haven't got Diano to take his place . . .' I laughed.
'They'll be in a mess, Lucille ! '
She spoke rather coldly.
'Let us speak of practical things, M'sieu.'
It was meant to be a rebuff-she was not sure that I
was sane ! -but it had no effect on me. Of course we wan­
ted Mussolini off his perch; if the Germans knew that it
was coming and contributed towards it, what did that mat­
ter ? I knew all about the working of the Teutonic mind.
Thorough-up to a point-yes, but congenitally incapable
of improvisation. Mussolini was to go, Diano to take his
place. If there were no Diano available-and I was on a
crest of a wave of optimism and believed we would get him
all right-the carefully laid German scheme would be com­
pletely upset. They would have no one to fall back on, and
someone in Italy would have to take over. Whoever it was
would not be so completely under the German thumb as
Diano.
'All right,' I said, smiling. 'I'm sorry if I've rather run
ahead of myself. Do you know where Diano is ?'
'Yes,' said Lucille, 'at Le Chat de Nuit.'
'Again ?' I asked, astonished.
'It will not be so easy to get in this time,' she reminded
me. 'Is-le Liberateur . . . ?' She paused.
'He's downstairs,' I said. 'So Diana's at Le Chat and is to
have his final grooming tonight. Tomorrow the coup d'etat
-we must wait until it's so far gone that they can't stop it.
Dawn should be all right.' I was still carried away by what
I considered to be an idea of some brilliance. 'We're ready,'
I added, and told her of the arrangements so far made, and
of the forces Bonnet was preparing for us.
 She took more heed of that than the other business-but
I think she was beginning to warm to the idea.
'So all we have to do is to get Diano,' I finished.
'All ?' asked Lucille, and smiled. 'You do not yet realise
what you are facing. They are guarding him as if he were
the Fuhrer himself. He doesn't sleep alone, eat alone or
walk alone. Each car is carefully watched by half a dozen
different men, there will be no simple business of replacing
a driver. The place itself-Le Chat-is guarded like a
prison, no one can get in who is not recognised, an ordin­
ary permit will not serve you. It will not be easy, Ned.'
'I'm leaving all that to Cris,' I said, pleased by her use
of my Christian name. 'I'll go soon, but there are other
things ! Did you know of the plan to send two spies to
England ?'
She smiled. 'Which you frustrated ! They were supposed
to be colleagues of Diano, to tell the authorities in London
what plans he was making.'
'Oh,' I said, slowly, 'the finishing touch. But surely they
weren't fools enough to think that my double would be
taken for. me in England. Which reminds me about the
photograph trick, I haven't thanked you for . . .'
'I need no thanks ! ' Lucille regarded me with a curious,
speculative expression. 'Sometimes you are so very quick, at
others so very obtuse,' she said with embarrassing frankness.
'Your impersonator was to go with them to the aeroplane.
You would have been killed, he would have told the pilot
to take the others to England and, of course, the pilot would
have thought the message came from you yourself.'
'Yes,' I said, rather blankly, knowing that I should have
realised that. To cover my discomfiture, I went on briskly :
'Well, then, our next problem is what you are to do.'
She shrugged. 'I shall be all right-I am protected by von
Ribbentrop. But for that I would have been removed a long
1 79
time ago, but he cannot bring himself to believe that I am
what I am. Bellini is doubtful and'-she shrugged-'in love
with me. You need not worry about me.'
'Don't you believe it !' I said, with feeling. 'We've
knocked out two of the guards below and they'll be dis­
covered sooner or later. They'll know that someone's been
visited here, and it won't take them long to guess it's you.
It's time you left, Lucille.'
'I? Leave France?' The idea seemed to amuse her.
'Oh, come,' I protested. 'You'll be more use in England
than you will here; all the von Ribbentrops in the world
won't protect you when we've got Diano away.'
Slowly, she shook her head.
'I shall not leave France,' �e said.
'All right-but you must leave here. If you don't there's
more than a chance that you'll suffer the same fate as du
Chesne.'
She said proudly : 'There could be worse than that, mon
ami.' I was surprised at the effect the name had had on
her. She went on quietly: 'It was he who first suggested
what I should do, you see. He was my father. It was decided
that I should be thought dead and thus he would have
reason for bitterness against the English, who were sup­
posed to have killed me. Then he went with Laval and I to
Germany. I had friends there who hated the Nazis as much
as my father and I. They were relatives of von Ribbentrop,
although they could gladly have killed him. They had a
daughter who was smuggled out of the country to England.
I took her place, visited Ribbentrop, pretending to be a con­
vert to the Nazis. He was always attracted to women, my
fine cousin.'
It was no time to talk of the past or to clear up mysteries,
and yet I was so fascinated that I could not stop myself
from asking :
18o
 'Why didn't your father tell us ? It might have saved a
great deal of time.'
'Yes,' said Lucille, 'but I had to keep away from him
since I moved in Nazi circles. I could trust no one to take a
message to him and as the Countess von Braden I became
quite notorious. I received a letter from him, after his death.
He told me that he had believed me to be the "Lucille"
who was being heard of then, in France, but he was not
sure. He gave you good reason to think of "Lucille" and,
knowing you were not fools, believed that eventually you
would associate me with him.' She paused, an obscure
smile on her beautiful face, then said quickly : 'But there is
no time now to talk of the past. You believe you can delay
getting Diano away until the rest is over. I hope you can,
for I cannot help you further.'
'We were talking about you,' I insisted. 'You must leave
here. You can go to friends further inland, or . . .'
'Please ! ' she said, and I knew then that it would be use­
less to go on trying to persuade her.
A bell rang in the outer room.
I saw Lucille stiffen and heard the maid stepping to­
wards the door.
'That is Bellini,' Lucille whispered. 'The concierge has
evidently sent a warning. Go into the bathroom and slip
through the other door when he enters. Hurry ! ' she exhor­
ted, 'he will come straight upstairs and he has a key.'
I looked at her, appealingly, but instead of responding
she laughed lightly, leaned forward and kissed my cheeks.
'Bon voyage, Ned ! ' she said. 'If needs be I will send word
to Bonnet for help and I will call on you, but now-leave
me with Bellini.'
So I went into the bathroom as I heard a sharp tap at
the passage door. The maid opened it and I heard Bellini's
voice, loud, assured, full of confidence. The maid came to
181
me, urging me to go, but I stayed because I felt an over­
whelming curiosity. I waited, stepping towards the door
which was closed-and locked, for he turned the key on the
inside as I reached it.
'I have succeeded, Hilda ! ' I heard him say. 'It is all
arranged, Mussolini goes tomorrow, Diano will take over
immediately, but I will rule Italy. I have it from Joachim
himself, he has the authority of the Fiihrer.'
'Pietro ! ' exclaimed Lucille. 'I did not dream . . .'
He was too full of glee to care whether her words rang
true or not, and went on extravagantly :
'.The whole of Italy, my sweet, I can do what I like with
it ! Oh, I have powerful friends in Italy as well as in Germ­
any. I have always told you that the thing to do was to
make sure of a following in each country. Diano himself
will not last a week, of course, only long enough to fool the
English. Then . . .'
'Since I was suspected . . .' began Lucille.
'Suspected? You?' Bellini laughed. I knew that he was
lying. 'No, no, that was done only to mislead the under­
ground elements in Nice, there are plenty, I did not
approve but orders came from the Fiihrer. It was believed
that those Communist agitators, knowing that we "suspec­
ted" you would try to make contact with you. But why
worry about that now? Why let that affect us? In a week,
perhaps less, the Allies will have landed in southern Italy
and they will have suffered such a severe reverse that the
hopes of fools who believed in the invasion will be smashed
for all time.'
Lucille said : 'Does Diano know about your position?'
'He thinks that I will work with him,' said Bellini care­
lessly. 'He has no idea that we do not expect his regime to
last more than a week. The fool ! All these traitors are the
same, they think they can change sides and be treated with
1 82
fairness and respect. He caused too much trouble in the past
to be forgiven.'
'He's still at Le Chat ?'
'Oh yes, he will not leave until after Mussolini has gone.'
I could imagine the shrug of Bellini's shoulders-and then,
I think, he took her in his arms.
I turned away and went out. I was preoccupied with
Lucille and her story ; it was more on my mind than the
problem of Diano. I reached the front door and Cris
loomed out of the darkness.
His first words were : 'Where is she ?'
I told him briefly and, I think, emphatically enough for
him to be sure that she would not come with us even if we
went back now. It seemed to catch him in two minds.
Standing there in the darkness, with the genuine German
sentries bound hand and foot in the shrubbery not far
away, I told him of Diana's whereabouts and the precau­
tions to keep him there.
He was silent for a moment, then : 'Quite a problem,
and we've twelve hours to work in. Ned-when they dis­
cover the missing guards, and we can't stay here after day­
break, there'll be hell to pay upstairs.'
'We can't make her change her mind,' I said urgently.
'Cris, we mustn't waste time. She's made her choice, we
can't make another for her.'
'Can't we ?' said Cris and I wondered what was going on
inside his agile mind. He did not speak again until he told
the two Frenchmen who were with him to wait there until
daybreak, then took my elbow and led me away. 'We'll have
to leave her for the time being,' he said, 'and concentrate on
Le Chat, but-I don't like it, Ned.'
'It's her choice,' I repeated. 'Cris, we've a bigger prob­
lem than that. Le Chat is pretty nigh impregnable.' I re­
peated what Lucille had said about the precautions which
1 83
hedged Diano. 'We haven't a chance of getting him alive,'
I said at last, 'our only chance is to see him dead.'
'Not it,' said Cris, 'we'll get him.'
'But how ?' I demanded. 'There are limits and we can't
break in.'
'No. We'll smoke him out.'
'I wish you would talk sense ! ' I snapped.
'We'll smoke him out,' repeated Cris. 'I've had it in mind
for some time. Some judicious fire-raising near Le Chat and
they'll have to evacuate the place. Why do you think I
wanted a fairly strong force with us, why I asked Bonnet
whether he could tamper with the gas and water supplies,
the telephone and public services ?'
'I didn't think,' I admitted, 'but . . .'
'I've been working it out while I've been on guard,' Cris
went on, 'and it shouldn't be difficult. It'll have to be at
daybreak, or just before. There must be a breakdown at
the fire-station to make sure the fire gets a hold, a break­
down at the water supply in case someone improvises a
fire-fighting unit. When it's burning good and proper
they'll have to bring Diano out.'
I said : 'Look here, Cris, the whole district will be sur­
rounded directly there's a rumour of trouble.' As he did
not answer, I went on : 'In the first place, how are you
going to start fires near enough to put Le Chat in danger ;
in the second, how are you going to get Diano from the
custody of his guards?'
'In the first place,' Cris said, soberly, 'we'll climb on to
the roofs of nearby buildings and throw incendiaries. We
shall get the whole district in flames since there'll be no
fire-fighting available at the start. In the second place, do
you remember a riot on the quayside and Cannes ? And
another in the Piazza di Musssolini in Leghorn ? How much
use are armed guards going to be when they're trying to
1 84
keep a fire under, trying to look after Diano and trying to
cope with a crowd several hundred-perhaps thousands­
strong? We'll arrange with Bonnet to tell the crowd to be at
hand, they'll appear as if from nowhere-crowds always
do! Two or three of Diana's guards will bring him out,
but every street and road leading from the block will be
covered by the specially detailed men Bonnet had already
warned. They'll be looking for Diano. They'll think he's the
man le Liberateur wants to take over in Italy after the war.
Oh, Bonnet will have spread that around by now and we
know that Diano has quite a reputation even here. They'll
just grab him . . .'
I said : 'I think it's just plain crazy! '
Cris laughed. 'You know as well as I do that it's the only
chance there is.' Then with one of those curious changes of
mood, he said soberly : 'I wish Lucille had come with you.'

25
We Make the Great Attempt
The first people we saw after reaching our rooms at Bon­
net's hotel were Anton and Colette. Both looked fit and
eager, and most of my other emotions were forgotten in a
wave of gladness at their safety. Colette told us that they
had been held up by the bombing, and that Genoa was in
flames. They went into no further detail and Anton asked
quickly what plans we had made.
Cris told him.
I had expected Anton to condemn the scheme out of
hand, but instead he nodded from time to time and seemed
to have no objections. I wished that I could work up some
enthusiasm, but as far as I could see it was foredoomed to
1 85
failure. True, anything else would have been equally for­
lorn, yet this seemed to depend too much on others.
'Ned, of course, dislikes the idea,' Anton said, looking at
me with a sly grin. 'Have you told the admirable Bonnet ?'
'Not yet,' admitted Cris, and pressed a bell-push. Bon­
net himself appeared.
As he listened a delighted smile spread over his face, and
I began to think that there was something the matter with
me-perhaps my mind had become atrophied. Then Bon­
net began to chuckle, saying that it would be the last thing
they expected.
They would be prepared for any kind of mass onslaught,
but an attempt to smoke him out would not be prepared
against.
His enthusiasm knew no bounds.
'Yes,' he said, looking solemn and yet with his eyes
a-twinkle. 'I can myself arrange for fires to start inside for
or five of the buildings and for someone to climb the roofs
of others until they reach Le Chat. The chimneys there,
M'sieu, also-they are fine, square chimneys, excellent for
the dropping down of bombs. M'sieu, you have one thing to
worry about and only one-to get Diano away once he has
been rescued by the crowd.' He rubbed his hands together.
'For that you will need transport, which will not be easy.
Private cars will not be permitted on the roads tomorrow,
except those driven by Germans . . . '
'Can you get a bus ?' Cris asked, casually.
'A bus ?' exclaimed Bonnet, and considered. 'It could be
arranged, the drivers and conductors are always prepared
to help us, but . . .' He peered narrowly at Cris. 'It will be
slow, M'sieu.'
'We only need to get out to the foothills,' said Cris, 'we
can look after ourselves once we're away from the town. A
bus-two buses ?' He raised his eyebrow£ hopefully.
1 86
 'Two buses ! ' declared Bonnet. 'When\ M-'sieu ?'
'One on the Promenade des Anglais, one on the Quai des
Etats Unis,' said Cris.
'Some start from there early each morning to take work­
ers to factories,' said Bonnet. ',The buses are often waiting
there empty, before the workers arrive. The drivers will co­
operate.'
'C'est bon!' cried Cris. 'I'll be at one, Anton and
Afam'selle at the other. The workers will be admitted, as
usual, and whichever bus Diano is taken to will go off on
its usual run. No one will be surprised. Private cars might
be stopped, but a bus which goes each morning and is
crowded with workers-who will think of looking there ?'
'M'sieu,' said Bonnet, softly, 'I think you will rescue
Diano and it will be a great achievement-a large feather
in your hat,' he added, and clapped his hands again, more
animated and excited than I had yet seen him.
When he had gone, Cris and Anton looked at me hope­
fully. At first I scowled, but at last I had to smile at their
confidence-and yet there were not only my misgivings to
overcome, but the spectre of Lucille's likely fate.

I snatched a few hours' restless sleep although the others

seemed to sleep well enough. I was awake when Bonnet
came in, an hour before dawn. We all scrambled from
the beds and chairs where we had been sleeping, blinking in
the bright light which Bonnet switched on. A glance at him
was enough to tell us that everything had been arranged as
Cris had wanted it.
Soon afterwards, we left for the sea front.
 There was a faint grey light in the eastern sky. It was
enough to show the outlines of the buildings beyond us and
to reveal the squat shape of the single-decker bus, near the
Hotel Negresco on the Promenade des Anglais. The driver
was standing by it, but he made no comment as he peered
towards Le Chat, the high black roof of which was just
visible against the sky. There was a slight mist rising off the
water and the lapping of waves against the sand came
clearly. For the rest there was no sound.
Then I saw the first tongue of fiame.
It came from an upper window. I stood watching,
fascinated as it shot out, then receded, leaving a dull yellow
glow. A moment later it came again, shooting further into
the air, and within a few seconds other flames were
coming from buildings surrounding the hotel. I was
amazed at the speed with which the fires gained hold.
People were astir by then.
They came streaming along the promenade and I knew
they had been watching as eagerly as I for the first sign of
fire. They were silent, but in the glow I could see the grins
on their faces and I warmed to them. I heard shouting
from Le Chat and a powerful car shot along the road to­
wards the burning buildings. The clattering din of a fire­
alarm suddenly burst out, and that, with the lapping of
the waves and the distant roar of the fires getting a quicker
and firmer hold, were the only sounds except, closer at
hand, the padding noises of the gathering people.
Inside ten minutes the whole of the block with Le Chat
in the centre was ringed by fires. Cursing Nazis and sweat­
ing gendarmes were calling out for fire-engines but the only
engines I heard were those of cars bringing harassed officials
to the scene. As the minutes flew I began to worry. I did
not think they would have kept Diano in the building for
many minutes after the fire had started, and I could hear a
1 88
German officer shouting guttural orders to shoot a way
through. I half-expected to find the crowd bringing Diano
along shoulder high, in a triumphal procession, and I could
not believe my ears when, with the dawn getting brighter
and the red glow showing us the features of every man
nearby, Cris whispered:
'Here he is!'
It was Diano, between two big fellows who held his arms.
He looked frightened out of his life, for doubtless he
thought that they knew the truth and he was afraid of being
lynched. I could see perspiration pouring down his cheeks
as he was bustled along. Whether he were recognised or not
I do not know ; I can only say that he reached the bus.
Cris pushed the quisling socialist to safe obscurity, and
me after him. The last thing I heard him say-I could not
realise it, not for hours afterwards did it really strike home
-was simply :
'I'm going back for Lucille, Ned.'
And he turned and made his way into the crowd.

You will not want to hear, in detail, how the bus lum­
bered along, not once stopped, although other vehicles were
being inspected by the police. How we went through the
outskirts of Nice and then towards Colomars in the grey
morning light, with the sky behind us glowing red. How
we reached a quiet spot in the foothills and I took Diano
out, accompanied by two of Bonnet's recommended
helpers, who led us into the woods and towards the airfield
-where the plane from England would be waiting.
It was not.
But, during the day, while we lay hidden, Anton and
Colette joined us. There were several search-parties about
1 89
but we were not discovered, and within half an hour of
sunset we heard the distant drone of an aeroplane engine
coming from the west. Soon afterwards we heard it zoom­
ing over us as it prepared to land. We hurried towards it
and within five minutes were on our way, welcomed by a
cheerful British crew to whom this 'joy-riding' to and from
France was a regular occurrence. We did not tell Diano all
we knew even then-when he learned it in England it
would be a shock likely to make him talk more freely.
He did.
You know that Mussolini's fall did not, after all, occur
that day. In fact the Germans, as always when their care­
fully laid plans go awry, could not think what to do and
went into a panic. The decision, as I understand it, was to
allow Mussolini to stay where he was for long enough for
them to work out something else, but Badoglio and the
people acted quickly and Mussolini disappeared from the
stage. You know what followed-and, probably, you
heard the recording of Diano's full admissions in the Italian
and French programmes of the B.B.C. He told of the whole
plot, hoping that it would save his miserable life-and as a
consequence how the people soon made their distrust of
Badoglio felt and the new Premier found it difficult to keep
them in hand, for they believed that he was in league with
the Nazis.
At the time I had no idea of that was going to happen­
and, if the truth were known, I did not greatly care. Cris's
last sentence haunted me. I believed that the story of the
bound and gagged guards had soon been told, that Lucille
would be suspect and, this time, that no one would be able
to help her. I did not sleep on the journey to England, and
after I had turned Diano over to the authorities, and after
Colette had been settled with Sheila (Cris's sister and my
true love) Anton and I wanted to go back immediately.
1 90
 This we were not allowed, for we could report on condi­
tions in Italy better than most and we had to tell the story
of the plot and counter-plot time and time again. Even the
interview we had with the Prime Minister did not take my
mind off the nagging uncertainty about Cris for long.
We waited for reports, but the days went by and we
learned nothing of him. Certainly he did not make contact
with any of our agents, and I grew more than ever certain
that he had been caught, with Lucille. We studied the
German and Italian radio reports for a mention of either
of them, but there was none.
Then, during the rioting after the resignation of Musso­
lini, we heard that Fascist headquarters in Turin had been
besieged for days, holding out against the military as well
as the people, an had finally been overcome. Amongst the
men who had fought until death was Count Pietro Bellini
-but the English papers hardly considered him worth a
sentence and only in one did he get more than a paragraph.
We tried again to get permission to return to France­
but first Anton and then I went down with summer 'flu. I
thought forlornly that it would be a week at least before we
would be fit enough to search for Cris. Actually, it was a
month.
I was trying to console myself by writing the opening
pages of this story, when I heard hurried footsteps on the
stairs. I jumped up, for I recognised Anton's voice mingled
with Colette's. He thundered on the door and I opened it
almost at the same moment. He almost fell in, his eyes
ablaze.
'Ned, he's all right ! We've had a message from Lucille ;
they got away ! '
I sat down heavily, but did not remove my gaze from
him.
 'Go on,' I said, with difficulty.
He was gasping for breath-Colette told me afterwards
that they had run all the way from their hotel-and
blurted out :
'He had to go to ground with Lucille. Now-c'est in­
croyable ! ' gasped Anton. 'He has unearthed something
which he calls "an interesting situation". He and Lucille
are working at it and he wants to know if we are free to
join him ! '
The next day, when we left, I think the only one who
had any regrets at all was Colette, but she did and said
nothing to discourage us.
J o h n Creasey wrote over 550
books and h is wo rld sales now
total 75,000,000. H is work has
been translated i nto near l y th i rty
languages and i n c l udes eleven
series, fou r of them with some
fifty titles to t h e i r cred it. A l l h i s
novels were written i n l onghand
and rev ised five or six t i mes be­
fore being sent to the p u b l isher.
Born i n 1 908 and married fou r
t i mes with t h ree sons, C reasey
was an extensive t rave l l er. He was
fou nder of and fought fou r bye­
elections for the Al I Party A l l iance,
advocati ng govern ment by the
best men of al l the part ies work­
i ng together.
He d i ed at his home near Sal isbury,
Wilts h i re, i n June 1 973.

I S B N 0 0 9 1 1 8490 8

Printed in G reat Britain by

Cheltenham Press Ltd
John Creasey
AVAI LABLE AGAI N I N CASE D E DITIONS
Doctor Palfrey .. Department Z
Thrillers Adventures
THE PERILOUS DEATH STAN DS BY
COUNTRY PREPARE FOR
TRAITORS' DOOM ACTION
DANGEROUS QUEST THE DEATH MISER
THE LEGION OF THE LOST THE LEAGUE OF
THE HOUSE OF DARK MEN
THE BEARS FIRST CAME A MURDER
THE HOUNDS OF
VENGEANCE DARK PERIL �
THE LEAGUE OF LIGHT MURDER MUST WAIT
THE WINGS OF PEACE THE PERIL AHEAD
DARK HARVEST GO A·WAY DEATH
THE CHILDREN OF THE DAY OF DISASTER
DESPAIR CARRIERS OF DEATH
DEATH IN THE
RISING SUN DAYS OF DANGER
SHADOW OF DOOM THE MAR:K OF THE
CRESCENT
SONS OF SATAN
THE MAN WHO SHOOK ISLAND Of PERIL
THE WORLD THUNDER IN
EUROPE
SEVEN TIMES SEVEN
THE TERROR TR
DANGEROUS JOURNEY
THE WITHERED MAN DEAD OR ALIVE
I AM THE WITHERED MAN NO DARKER CRII
WHERE IS THE PAN IC !
WITHERED MAN t DEATH BY NIGH1
UNKNOWN MISSION
DEATH ROUN D Tl
MEN, MAIDS AND CORNER
MURDER
REDHEAD
THE MAN I DIDN'T KILL
MENACE
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