Grauber opened the rear door on his side and slid out on to the pavement. The policeman took Gregory by the shoulder and gave him a shake. Feeling that there was nothing to be gained by having himself carried, he pretended to rouse up and lurched after the policeman out of the car.
His brain kept on telling him that if he once allowed himself to be taken inside he was finished. Only death could follow; and death at Grauber's hands would be more painful than anyone who had not been inside a Gestapo torture chamber could imagine. Yet, as he struggled out of the car, his knees almost gave under him, and he realized that he could not have staggered a couple of paces before being set upon and dragged into the Station. In an agony of mind he allowed the policeman to put a hand under his arm and guide him up the steps into the building.
It was only when the little group, minus the chauffeur, stood facing a Sergeant across his desk in an office that Gregory realized that Grauber was also a prisoner. Apparently the two of them, and Cochefert as well, had all been arrested for causing a disturbance in a public place; but the Frenchman, owing to his nose having been broken, had been taken by another policeman to hospital.
Now that, in spite of the pain in his head, Gregory's brain was functioning again, he exerted it to its utmost capacity in striving to find a way in which he could turn this totally unexpected situation to his advantage. He had plenty of money on him; so if only he could induce the police to accept a cash deposit of any sum they liked to name as security that he would turn up to face a charge before a magistrate in the morning, he might yet wriggle out of Grauber's clutches.
Yet, even as he toyed with this exhilarating possibility, he knew in his heart that he would never get away with it. Grauber was one of the highest Police Chiefs of an allied power. He had only to produce his credentials and say that the fracas had occurred solely as the result of his recognizing a British spy for him to have his enemy clapped into a cell, and walk out himself a free man.
And that, in effect, was what happened. The washroom attendant made his statement about the fight he had witnessed. Grauber produced his Gestapo card and declared Gregory's passport as Commandant Tavenier to be a fake. The Sergeant telephoned to the Gestapo liaison office in Budapest and, having given a description of Grauber, satisfied himself about the German's identity. He then asked, at Grauber's request, that a car should be sent to collect the Gruppenführer, and declared his intention of holding Gregory on the charge preferred.
Grauber angrily protested that a civil charge of having created a disturbance was not good enough. He wanted Gregory to be held as a dangerous enemy agent awaiting examination; and, further, demanded the right to proceed forthwith to examine him himself.
At that the Sergeant demurred, arguing that some evidence must be brought to support such a charge; and that, anyhow, it would be time enough to produce it when Gregory was brought before a magistrate next day. He added that he could not allow the prisoner to be cross-questioned there and then, as it was against regulations.
At that Grauber flew into a rage. Thumping the desk with his fist he shrilled out falsetto threats of what he would have done to the Sergeant unless he was given his way. The Sergeant, overawed by the high rank of the German Police Chief, decided that discretion was the better part of valour, so agreed to submit the matter to the Station Commandant.
While Gregory waited on tenterhooks a constable was sent to fetch the Commandant…Five minutes later he joined them: a square shouldered tough looking Captain of Police, with a slight cast in his left eye. After he had been given a brief resume of what had occurred, he dismissed the washroom attendant and took Gregory and Grauber into a small, barely furnished waiting room.
The Captain's eyes were blue although his nose was flat and his cheekbones high, indicating Tartar descent. For a moment he stood sizing up the two men before him, then he said to Grauber:
'It seems there is little doubt about your identity, Hen Gruppenführer, so naturally I wish to be as helpful as I can. Although it is against all ordinary procedure to allow one of two people picked up on the same charge' to question the other about something entirely different, since you say the matter is urgent you can go ahead.'
With a brief word of thanks, Grauber turned to Gregory and snapped: 'Now! What are you up to in Budapest?'
Gregory knew that he could not bluff Grauber; but he hoped that he might keep the mind of the Police Captain open by replying, I see no reason why I should submit to being questioned by you; but the sooner this matter is sorted out the better. It is evident that when you attacked me you mistook me for someone else. I am a Frenchman and I own a truffle farm in Perigord. I am here to sell my truffles.'
'A fine story!' Grauber sneered, 'And now I will tell you why I am here.'
'Thank you.' Gregory shrugged. 'But as I have never met you before I am not in the least interested.'
'Ah! But you will be! I am here because word reached my office a few days ago that a conspiracy is afoot in which a little clique of Hungarian magnates is plotting to bring pressure on their Government to sell out to the English.'
Gregory managed to keep his face expressionless; but Grauber's words were a sickening blow. His fears, that a leak to the Nazis would result from the casual disregard of security displayed by Count Zapolya's friends after the first big meeting at the Nobles Club, had proved well founded. He could only pray that so far Grauber had not secured any actual evidence against the members of the Committee, and hope for a chance to get a warning to them. Meanwhile the plump, pasty-faced German was going on:
'To run into you was a real stroke of fortune. On your past record as a secret agent, I would wager Reichsmarschall Goering's cellar against a bottle of sour claret that you are at the bottom of this plot.'
'You are completely wrong. I know nothing whatever about it.'
'Oh, yes, you do! There is no war activity in Budapest which would bring a man of your calibre here, but such big game as this is just your meat. Now; I want the names of everyone you have met since you arrived in Hungary.'
'If I had anything to hide I would not tell you; but during the fortnight I have been here I have met scores of people. My first few days were a little dull but I got into conversation with all sorts in the bars and at the swimming pools, and if you know how hospitable the Hungarians are you will appreciate that soon I had not a dull moment. There is hardly a night that I have not been to a party, and…'
'Enough!' Grauber cut him short. 'It is useless to try to fog the issue by giving me a list of names a yard long. I want those of the people who know you to be an Englishman.'
'There are none; for the simple reason that I am not one.'
At that moment there came an interruption. The Sergeant poked his head round the door and announced the arrival of the car sent to collect Grauber. Two of his aides-de-camp had come in it, tall pink cheeked young Gestapo men; as the Sergeant stood aside they entered the room, clicked their heels and saluted.
Grauber gave them a nod and waved a hand towards Gregory. 'Heershaft, we are in luck this evening. Allow me to present to you Mr. Gregory Sallust, the most skilful and dangerous of all British operatives. He has personally killed several of our colleagues and been responsible for the death of many