"It is only the Colonel whom His Excellency has consented to receive."
Gregory glanced at Freddie and said in English: "He doesn't know anything about you yet, as I didn't wish to confuse the issue by mentioning that I had brought anyone with me. You'd better wait here, I think."
It was the first time since the plane had been shot down nearly three weeks before that the two had been called upon to face the possibility of a permanent separation, and in that instant Freddie really realized how much he had come to admire Gregory and to depend on him. But now that the moment had come when he was to be left alone to face whatever fate had in store for him he did not allow any trace of his apprehension to show. With a calmness that, in turn, won Gregory's admiration e just smiled and said:
"Well, good luck. I'll be seeing you."
Gregory smiled back. "Don't worry about me if I'm a long time in fact, you can take it that the longer I am the better things will be going.
The official led Gregory across the hall to a lift which rose with the speed of an American installation; then down a corridor and into a room where two of the grey clad bodyguard were sitting. They immediately stood up and while one said politely, "Permit me to relieve you of your pistol, Herr Oberst," the other, murmuring, "You will excuse this formality," slipped his hands under Gregory's armpits, from behind, and down over his pockets to his hips to make sure that he was not carrying any other weapon. He handed over his automatic and submitted smilingly to the swift patting of the expert frisker, then the first man beckoned him to a great pair of double doors and, tiptoeing forward, gently opened one of them.
Next moment Gregory found himself in Goering's vast, dimly lit study. The door closed softly behind him and he walked forward across a great empty space of thick pile carpet, vaguely glimpsing the big pictures that adorned the walls portraits of Frederick the Great, Bismarck, Mussolini, Kaiser Wilhelm II, von Richthofen, the ex Crown Prince, Napoleon, Balbo and Hitler but his mind was on the powerful figure at
the very end of the room; seated behind a fine table desk. On it there were no papers; only writing impedimenta and a scribbling block, flanked by two great silver candelabra holding a forest of tall, lighted, wax candles.
From them came the only light in the great apartment but it threw up the big head, forceful face and enormous shoulders of the Marshal. Behind him there was a panel of flaming red and gold, in the centre of which was suspended a huge executioner's sword his symbol, since it was he who had reintroduced beheading into Germany as a quick, clean death for those who differed from him in their political opinions.
Gregory had ample time to observe these details as he covered the distance between the door and the desk, but immediately he came sharply to attention in front of it Goering wasted no time.
Displaying the Iron Cross in his hand he said:
"Where did you get this?"
"It was given to me, Excellency, by General Count von, Pleisen himself."
"Why?"
"For services rendered, Excellency."
"When?"
"At eight o'clock on the night of November the 8th."
Goering raised an eyebrow. "What service did you render?"
"I brought him the list of the Inner Gestapo, whose duty it is to spy upon the high officers of the Army, and a letter from the Allied statesmen guaranteeing Germany a new deal if the Army leaders would overthrow Hitler and sponsor a freely elected Government."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Gregory Sallust. I am an ex officer of the last war, now employed as a British Secret Service agent."
"You must know that by making such disclosures to me you have signed your own death warrant."
"Yes. Excellency?"
"Then why do you come here?"
"Because I'm in love."
For a second Goering frowned but Gregory's unwavering gaze held his and he saw that his apparently crazy visitor was, after all, not mad. His face relaxed a trifle as he said:
"Well, why should you virtually throw away your life by coming to me about it?"
"Because, Excellency, I believe you to be the only man in Germany who may be able ‘to give me the information that I am so anxious to have about the woman I care for more than anything in the world."
Goering sat back and thrust his hands into the pockets of his breeches. "Give you information? All I'm going to give you, my rash friend, is a bullet."
"Naturally Excellency. I am prepared for that. All I ask is that you will be generous enough to give me the information first and the bullet afterwards."
Suddenly Goering laughed. "Lieber Gott! You must love this woman pretty desperately."
"I do, Excellency. I have had a most interesting life and, for the times in which we live, a reasonably long one. She is now the only thing that matters to me and if I can find out what has happened to her I am quite prepared to die."
"Mr. Sallust, you are a brave man."
"People have been kind enough to say so, Excellency." "Very well. Who is this woman?"
"Erika von Epp."
"Who?" Goering jumped to his feet with a swiftness amazing in a man of his bulk. "Who did you say?"
It was the decisive moment and Gregory brought all his biggest guns to bear in the attack. `I spoke of that old friend of yours for whom you imported a hundred cases of French champagne free of duty, only just before the war Cliquet 1928, several bottles of which I enjoyed with her at Das Kleine Schloss, in Munich of the lovely girl for whose sake you protected the Jewish armaments millionaire, Hugo Falkenstein, until he was fool enough to quarrel with Hitler of the clever woman who was invaluable to you in your secret negotiations with her friends among the Army chiefs of that amazing Erika who is as brave, as generous and as unscrupulous as yourself; who is more beautiful than either the Dietrich or the Garbo and yet has said that if fate permitted she would divorce the Count von Osterberg in order to become Mrs. Gregory Sallust."
"So!" As Goering brought the word out he lowered himself into his chair again. For a moment he sat silent, then his whole manner changed completely. He spoke reminiscently, as one old friend to another. "Life was a hard school for Erika, as it was for all of us Hochwohlgeboren Germans after the last war. When Falkenstein died she swore that she would never love again and I would have bet a million on it. Her marriage to von Osterberg was made only to please her father before he died and the Count agreed to give ‘her absolute freedom. If it is true that she is prepared to divorce him and marry you an Englishman you must be a very remarkable man."
"As I shall shortly be facing a firing squad there can be no point in my either concealing or distorting the facts, Excellency."
Goering smiled. "No. From the look of you I should think that you could be the Prince of Liars on occasion, but men like you do not lie on matters like this. So Erika really wanted to marry you? I must say that that fact alone makes me wish to know more about you. Sit down and help yourself to a cigarette."
"Thank you," said Gregory with a relief that he did not show. He felt that now he had succeeded in intriguing the Marshal he had at least cleared the first fence in his audacious plan. The cigarette that he took from the lapis lazuli box was fat, round and long. The first puff of it told a connoisseur like Gregory that it was made of the very finest Macedonian tobacco. He said appreciatively:
"I haven't had anything so good as this to smoke since I entered Germany when I had to chuck away all I had left of my own Sullivan’s."
"They still come through," Goering shrugged, "and as the war progresses it will become still easier to obtain them."
"That opinion is not shared in high quarters in London," Gregory remarked amiably. As though he had touched a spring, the Marshal suddenly became alive dynamic: