Time was passing with horrifying swiftness and he knew that he had got to think mighty quickly if he was to get both the King and himself—not to mention the wretched inhabitants of Hamar—out of this ghastly mess, and for about ten agonising minutes he could think of no way out at all.
Suddenly the idea came to him that it might be possible to use the information he possessed as a bargaining counter, and he said quickly to von Ziegler: 'This isn't good enough. Our boys may get the King but they'll probably get us too; and if they don't, it's a hundred to one that we'll be lynched afterwards by a howling mob. I'm perfectly prepared to die for the Fuehrer, but we can be much more useful to him alive.'
The airman was a brave man, but the last ten minutes had done him no good at all. Little beads of perspiration were standing out on his forehead and he had gone quite pale about the gills. He knew, just as well as Gregory did, what an extraordinarily slender chance they stood of getting out of that police-station alive, and he said after a moment:
'Yes. It was one thing to take a sporting chance of being wounded or killed in an attempt to get the King, but it's another to have to sit here waiting for almost certain death—as we now have to. I wasn't reckoning upon being trapped like this. What d'you suggest?'
'You'd better leave this to me,' replied Gregory. 'Just get me that police sergeant who speaks German.'
Von Ziegler hammered on the door and when it was opened spoke to the warder, who shut it again and a moment later returned with the sergeant.
'Look here,' said Gregory, 'my friend and I have been thinking things over. We fully realise that we shall be shot directly some of your troops turn up, and we've been wondering if we couldn't save our lives by doing a deal with you. We are in possession of very important information; something which may change the whole fate of Norway. As a German officer and nobleman I give my word for that. My proposal is that we should give you this piece of information and that, in exchange, you should allow us to walk out of here immediately afterwards as free men. If you don't agree—all right, we're not talking; we'll go to our deaths with our mouths shut—but you'll regret it as long as you live.'
'I must send for the inspector,' said the sergeant cautiously.
Gregory shook his head. 'Sorry, there's no time for that. This matter is of the utmost urgency, so you must make the decision yourself. My friend and I have excellent reasons for wanting to be outside this station as soon as possible, and the information will be no good to you unless you act on it at once. If you haven't made up your mind in two minutes the deal is off.'
The sergeant was a much more intelligent-looking man than the old inspector and he did not waste further time beating about the bush. Instead, he said quietly: 'In that case you must give me your information and leave yourself in my hands. If I consider that the information is really worth it I'll let the two of you go.'
The man had an open, honest face and Gregory knew that the only thing that he could do was to trust him, so he said: 'All right; I'll take your word for that. We were signalling, as you saw, to one of our planes. It went back to Oslo with the information that King Haakon has taken refuge in the chateau here and with orders for three squadrons of bombers to come up and blow the place to hell. There is no means of cancelling the order, so you've got about twelve minutes left to warn the King and get the inhabitants out of the town.'
'Right,' said the sergeant. 'You're free. Out you go—both of you!' Then he yelled an order in Norwegian to the astonished warder and raced for the telephone. A moment later Gregory and von Ziegler stood out in the street mopping the perspiration from their brows—but free men.
'Mein Gott! You handled that well,' sighed von Ziegler. 'And you were right; we should have been crazy to stay there and let ourselves be blown to bits. Now we're free again we'll get the King tomorrow and still live to wear Iron Crosses of the First Class for the job.'
His car was still standing outside the station and he ran towards it. As he started it up and swung round the wheel Gregory jumped in beside him, yelling: 'Hi! Not that way— back to the hotel! I want to collect my car.'
'We haven't much time,' muttered the airman.
'Time enough for that,' replied Gregory, 'and it may prove useful.'
'Schon!' Von Ziegler put his foot on the accelerator and the car sped down the street. Realising that at that time of night the garage would be locked, they drove straight to the hotel entrance. When Gregory raced up the steps he heard a fire-alarm ringing loudly; a warning had just been telephoned to the hotel and the night-porter had had the sense to set the alarm going as the quickest way of rousing the guests.
The bedless crowd who had settled down in the lounge to get what sleep they could were already hurrying to the cellars and other people in their night-attire were running down into the lounge from the rooms above. After one hasty glance round, Gregory saw the night-porter and grabbing him by the arm demanded the key of the garage. The man took it off its hook and thrust it into his hand. Without losing an instant he ran out of the hotel again and jumped on to the footboard of von Ziegler's car, so that the airman could run him round to the garage gates.
The open space outside it was blocked with the cars of refugees who had selected the hotel as a temporary shelter for the night, and when Gregory got the door open he found that the garage also was jammed to capacity with cars; so he did not bother to look for his own, as it might have taken him a quarter of an hour or more to get it out. Instead, he ran his eye swiftly down the front line and selected a car of the same make, which his ignition key would fit. Thrusting it in, he turned on the engine, then glanced at his watch; there was still about five minutes to go. Getting into the car, he sat back and lit a cigarette.
He waited there, keeping an eye upon the minute-hand of his watch and listening with all his ears for the sound of aeroplane engines. Three minutes passed, then von Ziegler came dashing in.
'Come on!' he yelled. 'Come on! What the hell are you waiting for?'
'All right,' Gregory called back. 'I've been trying to find my own car but it must be somewhere at the back, and it's only just occurred to me to take this one instead.' As he spoke he drove slowly out of the garage, but directly he got the car on to the road he stopped again and, getting out, lifted the bonnet to examine the engine.
'Come on!' shouted von Ziegler. 'They'll be over in a minute!'
'Right,' yelled Gregory. 'Let me just fix this,' and he pretended to tinker with the carburettor. He had been at it for about a minute when he caught the faint hum of aeroplanes. 'There they come,' he thought.
'Just like the old Boche—punctual as a clock.' And slamming down the bonnet he jumped back into the car.
Von Ziegler's car was already in motion and he was cursing furiously. He had meant to drive north out of the town immediately they left the police-station, and so get ahead of the Royal party, as it was a hundred to one that the King would renew his flight in that direction. But Gregory's insistence on collecting his car had necessitated their going to the southern end of Hamar, and now it was too late to drive back through the town. Unless he was prepared to risk being caught in the open street he had to take the road south: which was just as the crafty Gregory had intended that it should be.