Fate, in the form of Tina's warning, had given him an alternative. He need not go on. Instead, he could step back into the lift and make a bolt for it. But what then? How much grace could he expect? The men in his room might wait there for another hour or more without suspecting that he had slipped out of their clutches. But no! The desk clerk would probably have telephoned up to let them know that he had just come in. Anyway, the clerk would telephone when he saw the man they were after going out again. Possibly, even, the clerk would call on the porters to hold him till the police could be fetched down. That would mean a fight in the hall. He could put a couple of shots over their heads to scare them into letting him pass; but they would all shout 'Stop thief!' and start a hue and cry in the street. Even if he got clear away, within a few hours he would have the whole police force of Budapest on the lookout for him. Fortunately in another hour or so it would be dark. But he would have to leave the city that night, or go into hiding with Levianski. The risk of recognition and capture would be much too great for him to go about openly any more. Such a handicap could make it almost impossible to continue with his mission. The Hungarian nobility were not the sort of people who would take kindly to furtive meetings in obscure cafés and for him to be able to make contact with them again at all depended on whether he could keep his freedom for the next half-hour.
While Tina stood there staring at him, and nervously clasping and unclasping her hands, he strove to weigh the chances. If he turned tail immediately he would become a hunted man. If he went in to his room and, should the police attempt to arrest him, fought his way free, he would likewise become a hunted man. And, as a hunted man, there could be little hope of his completing the talks that had developed in such a promising way that afternoon. Only one possibility remained of his being able to do that. It was to face the police and do his damnedest to bluff his way out of any charge they might have against him.
Next moment his mind was made up. Since there was just a chance that he might be able to carry through his mission he must take it. With a smile he said to Tina:
'Thank you very much for the warning, but I think I know what it is that the police want to see me about in private.'
Then he walked past her on his way to his room.
Thin Ice
Chapter 8
As soon as Gregory was round the corner of the landing, out of Tina's sight, he transferred his small but deadly automatic from his hip pocket to the right-hand pocket of his jacket. Walking on down the long balcony corridor he did not look ahead but over its open side down towards the restaurant, scrutinizing with new intentness the tall trees that grew among the tables in the courtyard.
It had occurred to him that should he have to make a bolt for it he would stand a better chance of getting out of the hotel quickly if, instead of dashing for the lift or stairs, he jumped into the branches of the nearest tree and shinned down it to the ground. At the moment there were only a few groups of people drinking aperitifs at widely separated tables, and there was an hour or more to go before the courtyard would become crowded with diners and waiters; so the odds were good against his being tripped or caught by grabbing hands as he ran across it.
Having decided on the branch at which he would take a flying leap, he took out the key to his room and inserted it in the lock with his left hand. His right closed about the butt of the automatic in his jacket pocket, he turned the key and pushed the door open.
Monsieur Cochefert of the French Consulate was sitting in the armchair near the window and a plump red-faced young man in the uniform of the Hungarian State Police was perched on the end of the bed. At a glance Gregory also took in the fact that the lids of both his suitcases were a little raised, evidently owing to their contents having been taken out and thrust back into them without the least care. The two men were smoking and looked bored, but a pistol lay ready to Cochefert's hand on the broad arm of the chair in which he was sitting.
The sight of the weapon and the contemptuous lack of any attempt to conceal the fact that his suitcases had been searched confirmed Gregory beyond all doubt in his belief that this was not a routine visit. Having already decided that his best hope lay in attempting to bluff his way through any trouble he raised his eyebrows in feigned astonishment at finding people in his room, then demanding sharply of Cochefert:
'Monsieur! Kindly inform me what you are doing here!'
The Frenchman picked up his gun and came slowly to his feet. His nearly bald head, thin beak of a nose and long scraggy neck protruding from the stiff white collar made Gregory again think of a vulture. With an ironical bow he replied:
'When we met before I neglected to introduce myself fully. I am Captain Jules Cochefert of the Vichy Deuxieme Bureau. My companion, here, is Lieutenant Puttony of the Hungarian Security Service. He does not speak French, and I understand that you talk quite fluent German with the staff in this hotel; so we will use that language.'
Gregory could feel his heart beating slightly faster, as it always did when he was in a dangerous situation; but his brain swiftly registered the implications of the disclosure. Cochefert was not just a minor Civil Servant but an officer of the French 'Quisling' police, who were hand in glove with the Nazis. Evidently something had aroused his suspicions that Commandant Etienne Tavenier might be working against his paymasters. Next moment, with a sardonic grin which displayed two rows of yellowish teeth, he led Gregory to suppose that he was putting the grounds for those suspicions into words by asking:
'How are you progressing with your arrangements for selling truffles to the foie gras factories?'
The sigh of relief that Gregory heaved was internal, but none the less heartfelt. So that was it! The Vadaszkürt had forwarded on to him at Nagykata a list of foie gras firms from the French Commercial Attaché’s office. As he knew nothing of the technicalities of truffle growing and foie gras tinning, he would probably have decided that it was wiser not to expose his ignorance of the subject by calling on any of these people even if he had had the opportunity; but his having been at Nagykata for the past five days had put the matter outside his jurisdiction. Evidently this Paul Pry had learned of his commercial remissness and had assumed that to be evidence that he was engaged in some nefarious activity.
Since entering the room he had kept his hand on his gun; so that at any moment he could have shot through the cloth of his coat before either of his visitors could level a weapon at him. Now, feeling that he had little to fear, he took his hand out of his pocket and said affably:
Oh, I decided that before I got down to work here I'd take…'
He got no further. His hand had hardly left his pocket when Cochefert raised his pistol and snapped:
'Thank you! Shooting through a pocket is rarely accurate but can be dangerous to others. I have been waiting only to relieve you of the temptation to experiment. Put your hands up! The Herr Leutnant will oblige by securing your weapon.'