The man who had brought Khurrem's message to the British Embassy in Stockholm, whether he had been a Pole or only posing as one, must have been an agent of the Gestapo. His death in a car crash shortly afterwards had evidently been reported as a precaution against any attempt to trace and question him further; and, as all Gestapo operations outside Germany came under Foreign Department UA-1, this cunning plan to protect the secrets of Peenemьnde must have been hatched by its Chief, Herr Gruppenfьhrer Grauber.
Gregory was a brave man, but he blanched at the thought. The snare had not been laid for him personally, for Grauber could not possibly have known that he would be the agent sent; but now that agent had been caught he very soon would know, and his delight would be unbounded.
To have fallen into the clutches of the Gestapo was bad -enough, but soon to be at the mercy of his most deadly enemy did not bear thinking about. Yet he could not prevent his thoughts racing on. Unless a merciful Providence enabled him to escape, within twenty-four hours or less he would once again be brought face to face with that pitiless sadist. Into his mind there flashed a picture of a gorilla-like figure, made doubly sinister by having the mincing gait and airs of an affected woman. He could even visualize the glint of triumph in Grauber's solitary eye. The other he had smashed in with the butt of a pistol.' Grauber had sworn that he should sooner or later pay for that by being kept alive in agony for months and allowed to die only by inches.
Khurrem had disarmed Kuporovitch and Gregory's nightmare imaginings were cut short by Malacou saying in a quieter voice, `You may now turn round and lower your hands.'
As they did so, he motioned with the big automatic he was holding towards two chairs at opposite sides of the room, both of which were well away from his desk, and added, `Be seated, Meine Herren. My interrogation of you may take some time.'
Swivelling round his own chair he sat down in it, looked across at Gregory and went on, `I will begin with you. What is your real name?
'I have nothing to say,' replied Gregory firmly.
Malacou shrugged. `You are wasting my time. I have means to make you talk; or, anyway, provide answers to my questions. Tell me at least one thing. Have you ever been hypnotized?' Gregory gave him an uneasy look, then shook his head.
`Then you would not prove an easy subject. I could, of course, put you under if I summoned my man, had him and Khurrem tie you up, then held your eyes open. And that is what I shall do if you attempt to resist the measures I am about to take. But I have no wish to spend half the night subduing your will to mine. It will be much quicker and more pleasant for us all if you quietly accept Khurrem as your mouthpiece:
Extremely puzzled, Gregory stared at Khurrem as she came towards him, then went behind his chair and placed both her hands on his head. He knew that hypnotism was accepted by the medical profession and now used by a number of practitioners for relieving pain and for other legitimate purposes. But he did not suppose for one moment that by hypnotizing a third party Malacou could get anything out of him and it was evident that that was what the doctor now intended to attempt. Swiftly Gregory decided that to let him try was obviously more sensible than to allow himself to be tied up; since, as long as his limbs were free, there was always the chance that his captor's vigilance might relax and give him an opportunity to turn the tables.
Malacou transferred his pistol to his left hand, rested it on his thigh and, looking steadily over Gregory's head at Khurrem, made a few slow passes_ with his right. After barely a minute she said in a dreamy voice, `You may proceed, Master. I am with him.'
Transferring his gaze to Gregory, the doctor asked, `What is your name?'
Gregory kept his mouth tightly shut but, automatically, in is mind he saw his usual signature on a cheque. Khurrem's low voice came again. `It is a little difficult to read. Geoffrey, think. No, Gregory. And his surname is-but how strange. It s that of the Roman historian, Sallust.'
Utterly amazed, Gregory jerked his head from beneath her hands; but Malacou raised his pistol and rapped out, `Don't move Remember that I can force these answers from you by having you tied up.'
With a sharp intake of breath, Gregory sat back. Once bound, even if he could resist the doctor's hypnotic powers, he could not be able to prevent Khurrem from again placing her lands on his head and, it seemed, extracting a certain amount of information from him. His only defence was to try to make his mind a blank.
As Khurrem's fingertips again pressed down on his forehead, Malacou waited for a moment, then asked, `Where were you three nights ago at this hour?'
In spite of himself a picture formed in Gregory's mind. He jerked his thoughts from it and, visualizing a brick wall, strove to concentrate on that; but in vain. In flashes his mind persisted in reverting to the original scene, as Khurrem began o speak in a monotonous tone:
`He resists, but uselessly. It was a warm night and he was sitting in a garden. Seated beside him there is a fair woman she is very beautiful with a strong resemblance to Marlene Dietrich. She must know that he is about to leave her for, although she smiles bravely, her eyes are red. With them there’s another couple; the man Sabinov and a small, dark woman. She is younger than the other, also good-looking and wearing a curse's uniform.'
`Mother of God, protect us!' Kuporovitch suddenly burst out in French. `This is the Devil's work, otherwise it would be impossible.'
Malacou's thick lips broke into a smile and, using poor but fluent French, he commented, `Instead of calling on the Holy Virgin in her remote serenity you would be well advised to speak with respect of the Lord of this World.' Then, turning pack to Gregory, he reverted to German. `Tell me, Herr Sallust, about this house at which you spent that night.'
Still hardly able to credit the existence of such psychic powers, Gregory stared in bewilderment at the doctor for Khurrem had given an accurate report of the picture that had floated through his mind. Before setting out on their mission he and Kuporovitch had gone up to spend their leave with Erika and Madeleine at Gwaine Meads, Sir Pellinore's ancient property on the Welsh Border. On their last night there, as it had been warm, the four of them had gone out after dinner and sat in-the garden. Rendered more vulnerable by Khurrem's success he could not prevent his thoughts from flickering to and fro in response to her father's question.
Khurrem spoke again. `It is a mansion. Far larger than Sassen and with many rooms. I see a spacious bedroom. In it there is a bed with a tall canopy. He shares it with the fair woman. I see her then in another room. It is downstairs and much smaller. There are many files in it and she is typing. In the more modern part of the mansion the big reception rooms now contain lines of beds. Young men lie in them and nurses move about among them; so it must be a hospital. I see another part of the garden. It is a big lawn and men in uniform are sitting about there, some with crutches. They are all officers of the British Air Force and there are no German guards to be seen, so this hospital must be in Britain.'
Malacou's dark eyebrows suddenly lifted. `Khurrem, are you quite certain of that?'
Despite himself Gregory's mind slipped back to that scene as he had last seen it and after a moment Khurrem replied, `It must be so. They cannot be prisoners of war. One of them is cleaning a shotgun.'
`Donnerwetter l' the doctor exclaimed, coming quickly to his feet and laying his pistol on the desk. Then, after making a few swift passes at Khurrem, to bring her out of her trance, he said to Gregory: