They had a surprisingly pleasant meal and were hungry enough for the liverwurst, cheese and hunks of bread to taste like food fit for kings — or at any rate monarchs on the run. They drank most of the wine, and to his delight the Saint discovered that the label on the other bottle declared it to contain Delamain cognac. “Nothing but the best,” murmured the Saint appreciatively, and poured them each a noggin in the glasses which Max had not forgotten to pack, but had thriftily not chosen from his finest crystal.
After which, he took the Gladstone bag for a pillow and stretched himself out as comfortably as he could on the bare floor,
“Switch off the chandelier when you settle down, and save the electricity bill,” he said, and closed the eyes.
Even after the light went out Leopold could be heard moving restlessly and unhappily, until the Saint, with his amazing capability of controlled relaxation, drifted away into peaceful slumber.
The built-in alarm clock which was another of the Saint’s mental gifts awakened him within what his luminous watch hands told him was only minutes of the hour for which he had set it. The hut was still dark, but there was just enough light outside to limn the crack underneath the rickety door.
He was cold and stiff but quite pleased with life. This was the sort of expedition which compensated for the boring interludes when there was no excitement, no danger, and no fun and games. That such dull periods were not all that frequent, nor of great duration, in the Saint’s life, made no difference. They did come along occasionally and that was too often as far as he was concerned.
He roused the snoring Leopold, who must have dropped off eventually, if only from exhaustion and the wine and brandy, and the young man sat up in sudden alarm. “Wo sind Wir?” he gasped, his eyes still glazed with sleep. “The Hotel Sacher,” Simon replied cheerily, and handed Leopold a staling crust. “Room service coming up.” They made a swift meal of the rest of the sausage and cheese and wine, discarding the glasses and the empty wine bottle along with the bag in which they had been carried; but the Saint stowed the remaining brandy in his workman’s satchel. Delamain ’14 was too good to chuck away. Then he opened the door of the shed cautiously.
Staying well in the shadows, they both peered out into the new day.
The sight which met their eyes would have been well suited to a travel poster. Two ridges of low tree-clad hills converged. Between them lay a small valley where nestled the hamlet of Este, which consisted of a few high-gabled cottages clustering around a large baroque church with an onion-shaped spire.
The village, however, was not what held their attention. Above it, set on a sheer stone cliff and perched like an eagle on its nesting place, was the Castle.
Even under such tense circumstances, Simon appreciated its beauty. The towering façade, shining white plaster on massive stone walls, rose storey upon storey. It was surmounted by a red-tiled roof, and behind this the immense medieval keep tower loomed, its battlements gnashing at the sky.
But not being tourists, they could not linger just to appreciate the view. They had to get up to that castle without being seen, and, what was more, they had somehow to get into it. Looking at its vast unwelcoming frontage, this last enterprise would have disheartened most men. That two unwanted strangers could penetrate such an imposing stronghold would have struck the average surveyor as a frivolous pipe dream. But Simon Templar was not average in the least degree, and his whole life was dedicated to making just such fantasies come true. Motioning Leopold to follow him, he made off quickly across the area of small vegetable garden allotments in which their overnight shelter was one of a number of similar sheds. The villagers of Este evidently practised some form of communal farming in the small amount of arable land available. This often occurred in the hinterlands of Central Europe, especially when the land was owned by a single landlord and rented out to tenant farmers. The Saint judged that there was no danger of minefields so far away from the surrounding barbed wire perimeter defences, and he only hoped that whatever sentries were on duty there at that hour would be looking outwards from the enclave and not inwards. He headed for the left-hand hills rather than the right, for up against the latter was a huddle of new-looking wooden huts which probably housed part of the military garrison.
It was only a matter of minutes before they had reached the shelter of the woods, and they then set their course towards the Castle. The going was easy, for on the continent of Europe forests are an industry and are kept clear of undergrowth.
The sun was now well up and was beginning to warm even the inner regions of the woods. A few late butterflies danced, madly amid bracken as if they knew they were performing a last waltz before winter and death overtook them, and warm woody scents began to fill the air.
Their passage, though easy, was slowed down by the fact that they had to try not to be seen. But even so, it was not long before they came to an opening in the trees where some time ago the face of a cliff had fallen down the side of the hill. The jagged rocks of this fall presented quite an obstacle. For one thing they were steeply stacked, jumbled and in some cases as jagged as dragon’s teeth. For another they were clearly visible from the entire valley below and especially from the road which ran along the foot of the rock fall and up to the Castle gate.
This hazard would have to be crossed as quickly as possible and they would have to trust to luck that no one saw them from the valley or came along the road while the traverse was being made.
Simon moved out into the open with Leopold following. The young man seemed at last to have tacitly accepted the Saint’s leadership, or at least recognised his superior competence in this kind of activity. They squirmed Indian-fashion between the rocks on their bellies, only rising when a particularly large obstacle forced them to. The farther they got out into the open the more they could see of the road and conversely the more chance there was of their being spotted.
Suddenly a hoarse shout of command made them both duck down behind a large rock. Peeping cautiously around it they saw a small detachment of German soldiers marching up the road towards the Castle.
The Saint was surprised. Hungary, though sympathetically inclined towards Hitler’s regime, was not then officially in the German orbit, and Admiral Horthy still managed to preserve autocratic rule in his own country. It must have gone against his grain and the feelings of many of his colleagues to be forced to allow the Gestapo to take over Schloss Este. And these German troops implied much more. Max was obviously right. The Castle was garrisoned by the Wehrmacht. That was going to make entry even more difficult.
Then Simon saw that the troops were guarding a prisoner, who walked along proudly, head up, in their midst. Leopold saw too, and gave an involuntary gasp. The Saint stilled him with a gesture.
The prisoner was Frankie.
IV
How Simon Templar changed costume, and a Reichsmarshal was deprived of transport
1
Frankie marched along briskly, looking every inch the aristocrat in spite of the peasant costume she wore. She had dropped the scarf from her head, and her raven hair glistened in the sun like a black plume. Then she and her guards vanished around a bend in the road,
Leopold was white-faced and shaking.
“They have captured her!” he whispered hoarsely.