" 'Railway station' is Vogzal Borzair," replied the General, and went on: "The Supreme Command is at Nykyrka, in captured Finnish territory, on the south of the Isthmus. Would you like one for the road?"
"Thanks." Gregory nodded, so they moved over to the sideboard to empty the remains of a bottle of vodka into glasses.
"Good luck, mon cher Baron " The Soviet General winked.
"Good luck and a thousand thanks, Comrade General." the impostor Nazi Colonel smiled back, and they emptied the glasses.
Outside on the landing it seemed that the whole of the ancient castle was sunk in grim, foreboding silence. No sentries were about and although they trod as softly as they could their footfalls echoed on the stone steps of the grand staircase. Down on the ground floor the General turned along a narrow passage. At its end he produced a large bunch of keys, shone a torch and unlocked a door; then they tiptoed down two more long, chill corridors till they reached a heavy postern. The bolts creaked a little as they drew them back, but no other sound disturbed the stillness. Kuporovitch unlocked the door with another large key and swung it open as he put out his torch; the cold, night air struck their faces.
As Gregory stepped out into the snow the Russian said "Keep along this wall as far as the corner then turn left for a hundred paces; that will take you past the sentry. Ahead of you, you will find a shed that is used as a wood store. If you get on to its roof you'll be able to climb to the top of the outer wall of the castle. It's a nasty drop about twenty feet but the snow will break your fall. Go straight ahead again and you'll reach the nearest buildings of the town."
Gregory gripped his hand and slipped away into the darkness. He was free again; but he had only seven days or ten at the most to save his friends from being sent back into Nazi Germany to face a Gestapo execution squad.
It was nearly five o'clock in the morning so the moon had set and he was almost invisible against the blackness of the castle. Gaining the corner he paused for a moment to peer ahead in case the sentry was patrolling there; but he could detect no trace of movement in the shadows so turned left and crossed the open space. The store of wood had overflowed and at one side of the shed was a great heap of logs which made an easy way up to its roof; but as he scrambled up the pile some of the loosely stacked logs rumbled down under his feet. Fearing that the noise, which sounded like hammer blows in the silence, might attract the attention of the sentry he crouched on the roof's edge for a moment holding his breath.
Nothing stirred so he pulled himself up to the apex of the roof and, by balancing himself upon it, found that he was just able to grasp the edge of the castle wall. With a heave he wriggled up on to its broad surface and lay there, flat, so that even in the dim light his silhouette would not be conspicuous against the fainter darkness of the sky line. The next stage was a tricky one, as twenty feet is a nasty height from which to have to drop. Had there been no snow on the ground he would have had to risk injuring himself seriously and, even as it was, he feared that if he let himself drop feet first he might break a leg, which would put an inglorious finish to his enterprise. But Gregory was an old escaper and knew a trick or two. Wrapping his arms round his head to protect his face he just rolled off the wall. The act required much more courage than jumping but it distributed his weight over a greater surface. He struck the snow full length and suffered no ill effects apart from a hard jolt as his body buried itself in the soft cushion of whiteness.
Picking himself up he went forward until some buildings loomed in his path and, skirting round the nearest, entered a narrow street, down which he proceeded at a rapid pace, to keep his circulation going. The houses were all shuttered and silent, the infrequent street lights dim and the road deserted.
He had a vague idea that Kandalaksha was at the head of a gulf running westwards from the White Sea. From what he had seen the previous evening it was quite a small place and dreary in the extreme. There were a certain number of brick and stone buildings in the centre of the town but most of the houses were made of wood. There were no tramways or buses. But the important thing was that it lay on the Murmansk Leningrad railway. Five minutes' walk downhill brought him to the little square and, turning left out of it, he reached the railway station ten minutes later.
In peace time it would certainly have been shut at this hour as it is doubtful if more than one train each way passed through it per day, but the war had caused a big increase in traffic. The line was Russia's only link with her northern forces operating round Petsamo and trains were coming through at all sorts of odd hours, so the station was open day and night. Marching into the booking hall he handed his railway warrant to an official who, after examining it, said something to him in Russian.
Gregory tapped his lips and ears and shrugged his shoulders, conveying that he had the misfortune to be a deaf mute. He then pointed to himself, to the voucher and to the door on to the platform; upon which the official nodded kindly and indicated by signs that Gregory should go into the waiting room and that he would fetch him when the next train for Leningrad came in.
The waiting room was incredibly stuffy and already full of people. Most of them were soldiers but there were a certain number of peasants and townsfolk who had evidently gathered them not knowing when the next train was likely to come in and, for fear of missing it, had parked themselves at the station for the night. All the benches were occupied, and a good portion of the floor, where dirty, smelly people lay sprawled, looking extremely repulsive in their sleep. Gregory found a corner and, as he had not slept for nearly twenty four hours, dropped off almost as soon as he had stretched himself out.
When he awoke daylight was filtering through the grimy window, so picking himself up he left the waiting room to see if he could find some breakfast. There was a small buffet on the other side of the booking hall and after doing his deaf mute act again he secured a huge doorstep sandwich, which contained some sort of sausage between the thick layers of greyish bread, and a steaming cup of substitute coffee. As he had had a good dinner the night before he did not want the sandwich and forced himself to eat it only because he did not know when he would be able to feed again; but the boiling hot coffee substitute was extremely welcome, since the amount of vodka, Caucasian champagne and sleivowitz that he had had to drink the night before had given him a most frightful hangover and he felt like death. While paying for his snack he also bought some biscuits rather like stale sponge cakes which were the only kind available and a packet of chocolate that cost him about ten times as much as it would have done in England.
He then showed himself to the official again so that the man should not forget about him and went back to the waiting room to nurse his splitting head. The fug and smell there were quite revolting but it was the only warm place available. A sharp wind was coming up the frozen gulf across the harbour, which lay on the far side of the station, and the cold outside was bitter.
Two trains going north rolled in during the morning and both waited in the station for the best part of an hour before proceeding further, while the troops with which they were packed got out to stretch their legs and crowd the little buffet. Gregory's awful state, the pain behind his eyes and the evil taste in his mouth to some extent took his mind off his impatience to get started on his journey; which was just as well, since it was nearly midday when the official came to fetch him. Many of the other people in the waiting room went out on to the platform with them and a long train slowly chugged its way in.