‘Let me come with you.’
‘Do what I tell you!’ Girland said curtly and moved to the door. He opened it, watched the sleeping guard for several moments, then slid out into the corridor. He entered the room next door. A few minutes later, he returned as silently as he had gone with two more lengths of cord. These he knotted to the end of the cord dangling from the window and then continued to lower the cord which now just reached the ground. He tied his end to the balcony rail and moved back into the room.
‘It might fool them,’ he said. ‘Even if it doesn’t, it will gain us time.’
‘Can’t we use those ropes? We could get out of here!’
Girland shook his head.
‘I could, but you couldn’t, so we don’t go that way.’
She caught hold of his hand.
‘Once we get free, I promise I’ll leave my father alone. I won’t ever bother him again… I promise.’
‘All right, but first we have to get out of here. Now, let’s get moving. Take your shoes off. I want to look at the other rooms. This one is too small’
They both took off their shoes, then Girland opened the door and watched the sleeping guard, then led Gilly out into the corridor. Silently, they moved away from the head of the stairs, down the long dark corridor to the far end. At the end of the corridor, double, ornate doors faced them. Girland briefly used his flashlight.
‘Wait,’ he said softly.
He went forward, listened against the door, turned a handle and eased the door open. He listened again, then put on the flashlight.
The beam scarcely penetrated the vastness of the room which appeared to be a banqueting hall. For a brief moment, Girland was startled to see shadowy figures lining the walls. A further probe of his light showed him this was a vast hall full of armour, fitted to stands and the walls covered with medieval weapons. He wasn’t to know that in this room was one of the finest collections of Italian, German and English armour that Herman Radnitz had collected from all parts of Europe.
He returned to where Gilly was waiting.
‘We have lots of company,’ he said. ‘Come on in. This looks as good a hiding-place as we can hope for.’
As he entered, Girland gently closed the door.
The guard at the head of the staircase continued to sleep.
From his tree-top perch, Malik watched Girland come out on to the fifth floor balcony and lower the knotted curtain cord until it reached the second storey. He watched him lean over the balcony rail, look down and then move back out of sight. Malik guessed he was getting more cord.
The bright light of the moon lit up the face of the Schloss and Malik found it unnecessary to use his night glasses. He eased his broad back against the trunk of the tree and waited. Girland returned and added two more lengths to the cord and then fastened his end to the balcony rail.
So they were going to make a break, Malik thought. The climb down would be dangerous: with the girl, doubly dangerous. He continued to watch with interest.
But nothing further happened. The wooden shutter remained half open; the balcony remained deserted. A half hour crawled by. Malik then decided that this length of rope was a red herring. He nodded his approval. He had come up against Girland several times and each time, his admiration for the way Girland handled a situation increased. So, after all, Girland had decided to remain in this enormous Schloss, but to give those who were hunting for him the hint that he and the girl had escaped into the forest. Malik approved of this plan.
He remained astride the thick branch of the tree for another half hour. All the lights of the Schloss had long gone out. It would be when the sun came up behind the hills that the hunt would begin.
He considered what he should do. Girland was in there on his own. The girl would be more a hindrance than a help.
Malik remembered that moment when Girland could have had him shot, but instead, to Malik’s amazement, Girland had handed him back his gun, saying to the girl who had wanted to shoot him: ‘Don’t get worked up, baby. He and I just happen to be on the wrong side of the Curtain. Both of us are professionals… working in the same dirty racket. There comes a time when we can forget the little stinkers at the top who pull strings…’ (see ‘Have This One On Me’) Malik remembered this incident vividly. This, he knew was something he would never have said to a man he had in a hopeless trap. Girland’s words had made a tremendous impression on him. There comes a time when we can forget the little stinkers at the top who pull the strings…
Malik thought of Kovski, plotting at his desk, his shabby suit food-stained, his energy and thoughts bent only on mischief… a little stinker… yes… Girland was right. But Girland, with this girl, was now trapped in the Schloss. Malik decided this was the moment to pay off his debt. He remembered a phrase that was drummed into him when he was learning English: One good turn deserves another. How often had he repeated this phrase while the gloomy, red-nosed teacher had corrected his pronunciation. This phrase was a cliche, but cliches often were true.
He swung himself down from branch to branch until he dropped on to the moss and the dead leaves of the forest. Then he moved off, silently, like a big, dangerous cat, skirting the forest until he reached the edge of the lawn. Here, he paused and studied the face of the Schloss. His next move would be dangerous. Although there were no lights showing, he wasn’t to know if someone was watching. His thick fingers closed over the butt of the Mauser pistol. He drew the gun from its holster, then moving swiftly, he raced across the lawn and into the sheltering shadows of the Schloss. He paused at the foot of the steps leading to the terrace and waited. He heard nothing: no one shouted: no one raised an alarm.
Satisfied, he climbed the steps and reached the terrace, then made his way quickly past the tables and the folded sun umbrellas to where the curtain cord was hanging. He put his gun back into its holster and took hold of the cord. He pulled at it with his immense strength. It held. He pulled again: again it held.
Placing his feet against the face of the wall, he began a slow, steady walk up to the first balcony. Here he paused, gripping the balcony rail with his left hand, his feet wedged into the back of one of the dragon heads that decorated the wall. He listened and waited, then moved to the second balcony. The climb to him was easy. He was a man of tremendous strength and fitness. He was also nerveless. The thought that the rope might break and he would crash to his death meant nothing to him.
By stages, he finally reached the fifth floor balcony, swung his legs over the rail and paused before the open shutter and the open window.
He had come up silently, but he knew Girland had a highly developed sense of hearing. To walk into the black darkness of the room would be asking for trouble. He remained on the balcony, listening, but heard nothing. Girland could be near, out of sight, thinking one of the count’s men had come up by way of the rope.
‘Girland… this is Malik,’ Malik said in his guttural English. He pitched his voice softly. ‘Girland… this is Malik.’
He waited. There was silence. Slowly, he moved forward, turning on his powerful flashlight. The white beam lit up some of the room. He stood in the doorway, sending the beam of the flashlight to the four-poster bed, then around the room. Satisfied the room was empty, he entered.
He stood in the middle of the room. So Girland had arranged his red herring and had left the room. Malik nodded his approval. But where was he?
Malik went silently to the door, eased it open and immediately stiffened when he saw a faint, flickering light in the corridor. He looked out, watched the sleeping guard for several moments, then moved silently into the corridor.
Doors faced him. Somewhere on this floor, Malik reasoned, Girland, with the girl, was hiding. He hesitated. He had to be careful not to wake the sleeping guard. He couldn’t go from room to room, calling Girland. It would be unwise to enter any room, without first alerting Girland who he was. Finally, he decided to get as far away as he could from the sleeping guard and find himself a hiding-place.