“Where is the police station then?” inquired the driver.
For an Austrian peasant the man was admirably and efficiently concise.
“Down the road, first left, second right and third left.”
He spat and plodded off, his back indicating that he had had enough idle chatter for one day. The Saint wondered whether his pails would get scrubbed out and sterilised before being used for milk later on. He guessed probably not.
The driver ground the truck’s gears and moved off. He seemed incapable of proceeding at less than a breakneck speed.
“Get ready to jump out,” Simon told the others. “We’ll go when he slows up round the next corner.”
He did not even have to lower his voice. The groaning of the engine and banging of the truck’s body effectively prevented the driver from hearing anything to arouse his suspicions as they all three slid to the back of the truck and got ready to jump.
As Simon figured it, in making a left-hand turn across the road the man would use the small mirror on his front mudguard on the left side, which would show him only the outside of the truck. Of course, it was possible, even likely, that he would also glance in the rear-view mirror above his windscreen, but that was a chance they would have to take. With any luck he would be a typical Austrian driver and conduct himself as if no one else were on the road.
Fortune was with them, and the driver was in a hurry. His outside mirror showed him plainly that there was no one overtaking him, and he cut across the road towards a side street. As he did so, the Saint and his companions dropped off the back of the truck. Leopold caught Frankie as she stumbled, and the three of them watched the truck vanish behind the corner. No one paid any attention to them, as if this was not an abnormal way for hitch-hikers to abandon their conveyance.
Simon was amused to picture the driver’s expressions, both facial and verbal, when he got to the police station and found his passengers gone. But there was also a graver side to the matter. Policemen are always serious and always curious. They are paid to be so. The driver’s description of the missing hitch-hikers would cause the police to make enquiries on their network and broadcast their descriptions. And by now the Saint and his companions would be officially very much “wanted.” Simon decided that they had better play it safe and get out of Rust as quickly as possible and take the back roads without trying for any more hitch-hiking, while heading for their rendezvous with Max’s henchman. The journey was not all that far and, as he put it to the others, a little exercise would do them no harm and might even be of benefit.
Though not far in actual distance, the journey took them much longer than they expected. As far as possible they avoided the roads in case they might be seen and recognised as fugitives. Even rural farmhouses in Austria were likely to have radios. They tramped through muddy fields and forged their way through underbrush. Occasionally they had to hide from people. Once they even sought refuge in a pigsty. This episode lasted for quite a long time, since a farmer brought his horse into a neighbouring field and spent an unconscionable time schooling it. When he finally left the animal to its own devices, they were all three suffering from lack of oxygen and prolonged exposure to an almost insufferable smell.
“Shan’t stay at that hotel again,” remarked the Saint as they emerged from their hiding place. “Ozone is all very well but it can be overdone. Anyway, if it’s smells one wants, the sulphur baths at Baden are just as odoriferous but a lot more comfortable.”
Since Leopold knew something of the terrain he acted as their pathfinder, using the compass he had been provided with.
“Just like Max,” Frankie said when Simon had finished his tale of how he and Leopold had crossed over to Schloss Este and where they were headed now. “He is a great organiser but he always only goes so far. I think he never finishes a plan because he doesn’t want to tie himself down in case anything goes wrong. It’s the typical peasant mentality. He always wants to have several ways out.”
“So do I,” said Simon. “One way in and several ways out. That’s always the best set-up — including prison.”
“Have you tried, prison I mean?” she asked teasingly.
“Not seriously, but I wouldn’t mind one day. It would be a challenge. I mean, one of the really tough ones — Dartmoor or even Alcatraz. Some place where escapes are considered virtually impossible.” His eyes had a faraway look. “Maybe the Lubjianka in Moscow, or Devil’s Island.”
Frankie gazed at him sidelong.
“You are a strange man. Danger is your life’s blood, and the impossible your only ambition.”
The Saint grinned at her.
“Oh, I have a few others. Like having a quiet diner à deux with you some day, some place where none of the Ungodly would be butting in. Where would you fancy?”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Leopold with heavy politeness, “but it is getting near sunset and we should hurry a little. It will be difficult to get through the forest after nightfall.”
“Och aye, laddie,” replied the Saint docilely. “The camels are coming, as the Arab’s wife said when he inquired about her dowry. So are we. On, on, and the Devil take the hindquarters.”
He laughed at the expression of baffled exasperation on the young man’s face.
It had in fact been dark for some time when the rushing waters of the stream they had crossed only twenty-four hours before (although it seemed like days ago) filled the night with their deep-toned chatter.
Simon found the place where the rowing boat had been moored and from there led on upstream until they came to the pylon which Max had told him would be a landmark. They had, in fact, come in a vast full circle.
As Max had also said, from the pylon they could see a log cabin. Its windows were lighted squares in the enshrouding darkness. It struck the Saint as being an interesting coincidence that Max should own a farm so near to Schloss Este. Or had he perhaps purchased it for that very reason?
Simon tried the door, which opened without a creak on well-oiled hinges. The cottage was evidently used frequently or had been especially prepared for their coming.
Simon led the way in.
2
Anton was standing in the middle of the room. His air of nervous apprehension changed to a welcoming smile as he recognised the Saint.
“Good evening, sir,” he cried. “Ach, Gräfin Francesca and Graf Leopold! I am thankful to see you all.”
“And how glad I am to see you, Anton!” exclaimed Frankie.
A wood fire was burning in the grate and the aromatic scent of scorching resin filled the room, which was comfortably furnished with a sofa, some armchairs, and a table with chairs to go with it. There was no carpet on the floor but the room was scrupulously clean and had a cosy appearance. On the far side were two doors, which the Saint figured probably led to a bedroom and a kitchen respectively. When Simon asked him, Anton confirmed that they did.
Frankie sank into one of the armchairs.
“My God, I’m tired,” she said. “I could sleep for a week.”
She kicked her shoes off and began rubbing her feet. Leopold went over to the fire and held his hands out to it.
“It is nice to be warm again,” he said with feeling.
“My master told me to ask you to rest comfortably here until he sends for you,” said Anton. “Perhaps you would all like some food and drink?”
“You are a mind-reader, Anton,” beamed the Saint.