Lacroix slowly nodded his head. 'Whatever may be said for or against her motives, it is Madame de Porte's avowed intention to destroy the French Republic as it is at present constituted, and she is utterly unscrupulous in the means she employs to further her end. I am the servant of the French Republic as it is at present constituted, therefore I will give you every assistance in my power; but great discretion must be used, otherwise I shall find myself dismissed, and then I should no longer be able to render any help either to you or to France.'
'Merci, mon Colonel. Do you know where she is at the moment?'
'She is in Italy; and you can guess what she is trying to do there.'
'To make Mussolini screw up his courage to the point of stabbing France in the back now that on land she has lost the aid of Britain and is fighting for her very existence?'
'Sans doute! Mussolini still wavers. He would never have dared to come out against us in the open, face to face, but now he is greedy to snatch a cheap triumph from us while our backs are turned; yet he knows how terribly vulnerable his new Empire is. Italy's African Colonies contain a considerable portion of her Army, which would be cut off from the homeland by the Mediterranean in the event of war; since, whatever may happen in France, Mussolini would still have to reckon with the British Navy. If wise counsels prevail there is still a chance that he may not come in, but if La Baronne Noire is left a free hand to pour her poison into the ears of all his satellites it is almost certain that Italy will enter the war against us. If you are prepared to kill the Baronne you may prevent that; therefore, such an act would be the highest service that you could render at the present time to both our countries.'
'All right.' Gregory smiled grimly. 'Time is obviously of immense importance. I'm game to start for Italy at the earliest possible moment.'
'Does the Baronne know you?'
'Hardly. She saw me face to face only for a few seconds, just after she shot Erika.'
'Even so, the odds are that she will recognise you again. You must adopt some form of disguise; otherwise immediately you enter her presence she will take alarm and, perhaps, shoot you first. Also, she guards herself very carefully so you will not find it by any means easy to approach her unless you can do so with special credentials which will cause her to believe that you are a friend.'
'What d'you propose?' Gregory asked.
After a moment's thought the little Colonel replied. 'I think it would be best if you assumed a new identity. Have you ever heard of the Reverend Eustace Arberson?'
'No.'
'He was a prominent member of the Nordic League and is one of Britain's most dangerous Fifth Columnists. He is about your height and age, and although there is no real resemblance between you I think you could be made up to look passably like him. As his hair is dark and he wears it a la Hitler that would hide the old scar on your forehead. A full, black moustache such as Pere Arberson's would alter the appearance of your mouth, and if your eyebrows were plucked to resemble his they would no longer tend to turn up at the corners. To my certain knowledge the Baronne has not been in England for the past four years and, as far as I know, the Reverend Eustace has never travelled on the Continent, so it is most unlikely that the two have ever met, but they would almost certainly know of each other, and it is quite possible that if the Reverend Eustace were in Rome he would take the opportunity to meet her. Time, as you so rightly say, is now a vital factor, so during the course of the night I will have a letter forged which you can use by way of introduction, and the signature on the letter will be that of the ambitious Mayor of Bordeaux, one of Madame la Baronne's most trusted friends.'
Gregory nodded. 'Good. I shall be able to start for Rome tomorrow, then?'
'Yes. You will also require a passport in the Reverend Eustace's name, but I have a photograph of him which can be touched up to make it appear not unlike yourself, and I will then have it re-photographed for passport purposes. The Baroness's headquarters in Italy are the Villa Godolfo, in the Alban Hills, just outside Rome, and I expect you will find her there. In any case, you will first go to Antoine Collimard, in Rome. He is a barber and has a shop; Numero 25 Via Veneto. Collimard is a master in the art of make-up and he is also one of my best agents, so you may safely leave yourself in his hands, and he will give you all the help he can. The passport, the forged letter of introduction and a line to Collimard will all be ready by midday. As the matter is urgent I shall place a pilot and a plane at your disposal to take you to Rome; and in view of the risk that you are running they had better wait there to get you out of the country immediately your job is done. Have an early lunch and your old friend Ribaud will call for you at one o'clock; he will deliver the papers to you personally and will run you out to the private aerodrome a few miles south of Paris from which you will start.'
The little Colonel stood up and, extending his hand, added: 'Bonne chance, mon ami, and, should the qualms natural to a chivalrous man at the thought of killing a woman make you hesitate at the last moment, remember now that France has lost one Army through the defection—or shall we say indecision?—of your countrymen it may lie with you to prevent the Army of another great Power being added to her enemies.'
Gregory nodded gravely. 'I shall not forget.' And taking Lacroix's hand he shook it with the same earnestness as if he were signing a solemn pact.
As he went downstairs a few moments later he knew that on the following day he would be setting out upon the most horrible mission that he had ever undertaken. He was going to the country of assassins to become an assassin. In his heart of hearts during these last days he had doubted if even his urge to revenge Erika would ever bring him really to that point; but now, in order that the cause of justice, toleration and liberty should not have the weight of 50,000,000 Italians flung against it in its darkest hour, it was necessary that the Little Black Baroness should die.
CHAPTER 22
The Assassin
On the following morning, Wednesday, June the 5th, Gregory slept late and lunched early. At twelve-thirty he received a telegram from Sir Pellinore, which read: ERIKA NO WORSE NO BETTER
DON'T PHONE WILL WIRE YOU IF SHE SHOWS ANY CHANGE: and with this cold comfort he had to be content for the time being.
Punctually at one o'clock the porter at the Saint Regis rang up to say that a Monsieur Ribaud had called for him in a car, and on going down Gregory exchanged warm greetings with the fat little French detective who had arrested and later cooperated with him in the previous October.
As they drove through the sunny streets of the capital, which was much more crowded than when Gregory had last seen it, owing to the great influx of refugees, they exchanged views upon the war, but neither had anything very cheerful to say so Gregory was glad when they turned off the main road into the grounds of a small chateau outside Choisy and he saw a solitary aeroplane standing outside a hangar.
Ribaud introduced him to the pilot, Raoul Desaix, a lean, lantern-jawed, middle-aged man, and five minutes later he was waving good-bye to the detective as the plane took off.
It was a four-seater civil aircraft with a cruising speed of 160 miles an hour so Gregory knew that it would be about four o'clock before they reached the Mediterranean. There was little aerial activity south of Paris. The skies were a clear, bright blue and they were flying at no great height, so he was able to amuse himself by watching the landscape unfold beneath them.