“I am glad we understand each other’s jokes, my friend. We are much the same, you and I. If you will forgive another English-type joke, we can wave to each other from the same length.”
It was Simon’s turn to be momentarily baffled.
“As Ma Coni said to Pa Coni,” he quipped weakly, and winced as he said it.
“I think you two have gone mad,” interrupted Leopold.
“You are just talking nonsense. How do we get back with no boat?”
Max looked at him out of the corners of his eyes.
“That is up to you. I suggest you may swim. It will be a bit chilly, but it will only be a short trip. A little way downstream you will see an electricity pylon. Near it is my wooden hut. I will have someone stationed in it, with a change of clothes for you both, and for Frankie, we hope.”
“I hope you get the sizes right,” said Simon. “My tailor is awfully particular about what I wear.”
“Here we are,” Annellatt said at last, manoeuvring the car off the road and into a thicket.
He switched off its engine and its lights. A moment later the second car joined them and did the same, and Anton and his two helpers alighted and were dismissed by Annellatt with a gesture, as if they already had their instructions.
Max led Simon and Leopold along a narrow path through the trees towards the sound of moving water which was like a Wagnerian overture. The thunder of the rushing stream became louder with each step they took, and suddenly they came out upon the riverbank and the water swirled in silver whorls at their feet, seeming to have a luminescence of its own.
A boat was tied to a stake on the bank, straining as if it was eager to be off. The Saint and Leopold each had a workman’s satchel containing the tools Simon had asked for, also a flashlight, a long knife and a compass. Each of them had a Walther PPK .32 calibre pistol in a shoulder holster. Max carried an old Gladstone bag that held sausage, bread, cheese, and two bottles, which he put in the boat. The Saint considered that some of those provisions were unnecessary and a bit bulky for carrying, especially up drains, but Max had been so enthusiastic about his preparations that Simon had not wanted to hurt his feelings.
Leopold got into the boat, and Simon followed him and took up the oars. Max untied the craft and pushed it into the stream where it was immediately taken by the current.
At that moment there was a sudden rattle of firecrackers up the river where Max’s henchmen were starting their diversionary tactic. A series of incandescent balls floated up, suffusing the sky in that direction with a multi-coloured glow.
“Goodbye,” called Max in a low voice, “and good luck, my friends. You will need it.”
Then his figure was lost in darkness as the boat surged into the middle of the stream.
Simon pulled hard on the oars, forcing the craft diagonally across the river. A searchlight flashed out from the Castle fortifications above, stabbing towards the point where Max’s men were putting on their firework display, well hidden in the underbrush. It looked as if Annellatt’s plan had worked, and the Saint and Leopold would be able to make it safely to the opposite bank.
Then suddenly, the searchlight began to swing in their direction, its operator apparently not being satisfied that he was getting the whole picture. The brilliant sword-like beam played along the opposite bank of the river, lighting up the stream as it went as well. It would only be a matter of seconds before it discovered the boat.
Then, all at once, it stopped dead in its swinging arc. Max was standing full in its beam, waving gaily in the direction of the Castle ramparts.
Simon understood at once what Max was up to. If the Austrian could hold the searchlight long enough, the boat would gain its haven. There was a crunch as its keel grounded on the opposite bank. Simon and Leopold leapt ashore and shoved the boat back into the current where it was immediately swept away. They then ran, doubled, for the drain.
The last thing Simon saw as he and Leopold slid into the opening was the debonair figure of Max. At any moment he might as likely as not have been rewarded with a bullet, but no shot came. Max gave a final wave and walked in a leisurely fashion into the shadows. It was a typically Austrian gesture, gallant, heroic and idiotic. But he had saved their skins for the time being.
4
Simon and Leopold crawled up the drain. Their progress was slow because they had to go on all fours and were encumbered with what they had to carry. Also the floor was covered with pools of filthy water and slippery silted mud.
The Saint led the way, his flashlight probing ahead along concrete walls covered with green scum stretching away into the darkness. Behind him Leopold scrabbled, panted and occasionally swore.
“Never mind, laddie,” the Saint encouraged him. “Think of the poor midgets who have to tunnel the holes in Gruyère.”
Finally they came upon a small dome in the roof of the tunnel. In it was what appeared to be the manhole Max had mentioned. Rising on his knees with some difficulty in that cramped space, the Saint shoved at its lid. It did not budge. Bracing himself, he asserted the full force of his great strength, and when the Saint did that most things budged or got moved around in some way. The manhole lid was no exception, and once it had been loosened from its rusty moorings the Saint was able to push it aside quite easily, even though there appeared to be something heavy resting on top of it. He climbed through the aperture cautiously and noiselessly.
All was dark, almost unnaturally so. The Saint waited for a moment, listening for some noise which might indicate what part of the Castle’s grounds he had come up in, and also whether anyone had heard or observed his arrival on the scene.
Nothing stirred, and in the impenetrable dark the Saint felt secure enough to risk moving around. Almost immediately he ran into something hard with a sharp edge. It seemed to be a large box. Feeling his way around it the Saint encountered a wooden wall. He was evidently in some sort of shed, and he decided therefore that it would be all right to have a quick look around with his torch.
His flashlight showed him immediately why the manhole had remained undiscovered by the recently arrived Germans. It was indeed in a shed, and had been covered by the heavy wooden box which the Saint’s shin and probing fingers had just encountered. The box was stencilled GEHEIMWEIT GESELLSCHAFT. LÜBECK. HOLSTEIN., and it had once probably contained farming implements or something of that order, for the shed was evidently used as an agricultural storage place, judging by the spades, forks and other farm tools which leant against its walls. The box had obviously, perhaps fortuitously, been placed on top of the manhole, which explained why the Germans had not found the latter and also why the Saint had had some extra difficulty in moving the lid.
The Saint called to Leopold to come up through the aperture and lend him a helping hand. When the other stood panting beside him, Simon made a sweeping invitation with the flashlight.
“Make yourself at home, chum. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s so difficult to get the right sort of staff these days.”
He stood his torch on the wooden crate, opened the Gladstone bag beside it, and began to take out the provisions.
“What is that for?” Leopold demanded.
“Dinner,” said the Saint succinctly. “An army marches on its stomach, as Napoleon was always telling me.”
“But we have not the time to waste—”
“We can’t find a way into the Schloss in the dark. And we can’t creep around looking for one with flashlights, unless we want someone to hose us down with a machine gun. And even if we were only challenged, I don’t think we could convince anyone that agricultural engineers work at night. We’ll have to wait for the crack of dawn.” Simon was cutting slices of bread and capping them with slices of sausage, and he proffered one to Leopold on the point of his knife. “Meanwhile, this’ll be something less to lug around.”