The Legion of the Lost, стр. 26
Erikson missed a step; Ohlson tightened his grip on the other’s arm, shot Palfrey a single startled glance, then waited. They walked in silence for perhaps a minute before Palfrey went on, still speaking German: ‘A car will be outside shortly. When it arrives my companions will overpower your guards and we shall go out. It will be a difficult journey and there will be a certain amount of risk. My instructions are to try to make sure that you are both released, but you should be warned.’
Ohlson said in a gentle voice: ‘Who are you? English, of course? Erik, you hear that?’
Erikson’s voice was barely audible. His hooded eyes, once so lifeless, looked at Palfrey with an expression of incredulity. ‘I must warn you also, I shall not be able to stand the strain of a long journey without—without—’
‘Insulin, I know. You’ll be all right once we’re outside.’ He stopped. Ohlson began to ask questions, none of them requiring any answer. They passed the guards, Conroy and Brian, and nothing was said. Then, as they drew near the heavy gate, they heard the sound of a car drawing up outside.
Palfrey turned and raised a hand to Brian.
Chapter Twelve
A Journey by Train
The corporal and the sergeant saw the sign and appeared to take it as a signal to them; they both stepped forward. Conroy slipped behind them, Brian closed in on the other side. Their hands clutched the men’s throats to prevent them from crying out; there was a brief struggle and only a slight, scuffling sound. Conroy’s man, the sergeant, went down first; he did not move when he hit the flagged courtyard. Conroy bent over him and was stuffing a handkerchief in his mouth, as Brian’s man collapsed.
Palfrey hurried to the door and Ohlson led Erikson towards it. The door was locked and barred and Palfrey had to exert all his strength to lift the bar. By the time he had finished and had got the door open an inch, Conroy was behind him and Brian was leaving his man.
A Daimler-Benz, old and badly in need of a coat of paint, was standing outside; there was no one inside it. The road was a narrow one, tree-lined; only a blank wall faced them on the other side. They could hear footsteps and traffic from the main street, but they ignored them. Brian and Conroy pulled the door behind them and Conroy called out in German: ‘It is all right. You may lock the door.’
There was no sound from the yard, of course. He and Brian stood stiffly to attention after Brian had opened the back door of the car. Three German officers came walking leisurely down the street, all of them oldish men. Behind them were two couples, younger Huns with two Danish women, laughing, apparently gay. The sun shone warmly through the leafy branches of the beech trees.
The three officers eyed the party curiously.
Palfrey stood aside for Ohlson and Erikson to enter and Erikson stumbled. Palfrey snapped harshly: ‘Hurry! We have not all day to waste!’
Brian and Conroy saluted as the trio drew nearer; Palfrey thought that they hesitated, wondering if the hunt were to start right away, for the answers he would have to give to any questions might arouse suspicion. The Germans changed their minds, returning the salutes casually as they passed.
Palfrey climbed into the back seat with the Danes, Brian took the wheel. Conroy climbing in beside him. The engine awakened to life and Brian swung the wheel, turning in a couple of locks and driving towards the Gothersgade, where he turned left. Nearer the main street there were dozens of grey uniforms, but they received no more than casual glances.
Ohlson began to smile; there was a strange transformation about him, he seemed to fill out, more like the fat and genial man he must have been before the Germans came.
‘Don’t smile, we might be noticed,’ Palfrey said in a warning whisper. ‘Officially, you’re prisoners under guard.’
Erikson was leaning back in his corner with his eyes closed; his gaunt face made it seem as if he were already a ghost of himself. Palfrey took a small case from his pocket. Extracting a hypodermic syringe, he leaned forward and bared the unconscious man’s forearm. He pinched the flesh and then plunged the needle home; there was no time nor chance for sterilising it.
Erikson gave no sign of consciousness.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Ohlson quickly.
‘The Osterbro station,’ Palfrey told him.
‘Turn left at the next wide road,’ said Ohlson quickly. ‘We are some distance off, but it will not take more than ten minutes. Should I have any papers?’ he asked Palfrey. ‘Or do I have to answer any questions?’
‘Until we’re on the train, you and Erikson remain yourselves. We’re taking you away under guard,’ said Palfrey. ‘At the station or on the train we’ll get out of these uniforms and then we’ll take chances—we’ve got false papers for you, don’t worry about that.’
‘It is worth trying!’ said Ohlson quietly.
Erikson opened his eyes. For a moment he looked dazedly about him. There was a smile, of a strange transcending beauty, in eyes which had become much clearer and brighter. Palfrey felt then as he had done when Pastor Martin had recognised Raffleck.
‘I remember now,’ he said. ‘I remember!’
A moment later they turned into the station yard.
There were three or four sentries with fixed bayonets standing near. Palfrey’s heart was in his mouth as he waited for Conroy to jump out and open the door. The guards watched them as they tumbled out on to the side-walk, Ohlson and Erikson together, Brian on one side and Conroy on the other.
Palfrey went ahead and one of the armed station guards approached him.
Palfrey snapped: ‘Halt!’ He did not obey the injunction himself but left the party standing in the entrance to the station, where they were as much in the way as was possible as he approached the guard. ‘You, which is