The Legion of the Lost, стр. 24
The house was silent until a burst of laughter, feminine, high-pitched and raucous, sounded with a jarring note. That faded; Palfrey moved to the door and turned the handle.
A brighter light was shining inside.
Palfrey stepped in and was the first to see the man sitting at a long table, quite alone and with a set of patience cards in front of him. He looked up with a wide smile, and did not move. Palfrey stopped quite still, his heart almost turning over.
Stefan rose to his feet, his vast hands gripped Palfrey’s and Brian’s, then Conroy’s.
‘A little surprise,’ he said. ‘I could not resist it, Sap; I asked them not to tell you. Now, come in, tell me all of the news.’
Chapter Eleven
The Palace of Charlottenborg
They had thin soup and coarse fish, with large quantities of black bread, and finished a large pot of what was called coffee and tasted like nothing on earth.
Stefan had told them how he had contrived to get away before the worst had happened in Oslo, reaching Sweden and making contact with English agents. Like all of them he knew the men who could give help in emergency and, assuming that Copenhagen would be their next port of call, had managed to get across the Cattegat in company with some fishermen being allowed to unload their catches at fantastic prices in the markets of Denmark. He had located Thorvold. Thorvold was far too cautious, Stefan thought, but since he was on the Marquis’s books he was presumably reliable.
‘While things go well, yes,’ said Palfrey. ‘I don’t think he would stand much pressure. But our money’s on Schlesser.’
‘And who is Schlesser?’ demanded Stefan.
Palfrey went into a detailed explanation. When he finished, Stefan leaned back and the chair creaked under his weight. He straightened up with a grimace, then said thoughtfully: ‘I can see nothing better to do, Sap, than what you suggest. I think perhaps’ – he frowned in concentration – ‘I had best get on the train at Osterbro, not meeting you again until later. If there is trouble I can cause a diversion. You can manage in the palace? They are not very powerful, the Germans here. Most of them are old men. As soldiers go,’ he added, ‘they are both old and weary. A good sign!’
‘You wait at Osterbro,’ agreed Palfrey, ignoring the aside.
They went into further detail with the plans and preparations, but there was little more to say.
‘How do we ask for our rooms?’ asked Palfrey.
‘There is a bell,’ said Stefan.
The woman whose name they did not know came along in her elephantine way, her head on one side, her beady eyes on Palfrey’s. Her plump hands, so fleshy that there was hardly a crease in the palms, were held out as if she was tentatively hoping for another order and the kroner in advance. She showed no disappointment when they elected to have a room between the four of them, but said quickly: ‘Yes, follow me.’
They trailed along the passage after her, climbing another flight of steps. She pushed open a door on the next landing without using her hand or slackening her pace – just bore down on it and sent it flying open with a kick – then stood in the middle of a wooden-walled, bleak-looking room with four camp beds.
She bustled out and the others grinned at each other, waiting with the door ajar until she returned; then Palfrey, catching the first glimpse of her, hurried forward. She was carrying a pile of blankets which rose high and wide in front of her, doubling her mighty bosom and hiding her face; yet she stamped along as if unburdened. Palfrey grabbed an armful of the blankets and felt something hard beneath the top one.
She dumped the rest on one of the beds and wheezed: ‘I will return,’ and off she went again.
Palfrey, moving one of the blankets which he had taken, looked up with an absent smile.
He had revealed the uniform of a Nazi officer and the hard thing he had felt was the belt, not of leather but of some ersatz material which was already cracking at the sides. Hidden beneath the others were the two uniforms for N.C.O’s and three Mauser revolvers.
They breakfasted off thin porridge which had little taste, and further copious draughts of the ersatz coffee, with a small ration of black bread.
‘Are we going out this morning?’ Conroy asked as they finished and while the fat woman whisked the dirty crockery from the table in the room where they had first met.
‘You would not be such fools as to go out,’ said the fat woman expressionlessly. ‘You have an important task. I wish you well. Tell Erik Erikson—’ she let her lips open more widely and Palfrey realised that she was achieving a grotesque smile; it was as if she had not smiled for years and her muscles were stiff for want of practice. ‘Tell Erik Erikson,’ she repeated, ‘that Olga Loffler helped him to get away.’ Her smile widened, she put a tray of crockery on the table and placed her chubby hands on her enormous uncorsetted stomach and laughed, a mountainous upheaval which fascinated all of them. ‘Tee-he-he’ she wheezed, ‘tell Erik Erikson that Olga Loffler helped him to get away. He will laugh, oh, he will laugh! Tee-he-he!’
A clock struck three.
Palfrey walked along a side turning for a few yards, and approached the main doors of the huge palace. Behind him, Brian and Conroy walked stiffly; all three had revolvers, none had rifles. They presented their papers to a little bald-headed sergeant just inside the door. He looked at the signatures, hesitated, then said in a thin voice: ‘Whom do you wish to see?’
‘The Dane, Erikson,’ said Palfrey harshly.
‘Erikson,