The Legion of the Lost, стр. 28
Ohlson jumped in alarm.
Erikson licked his lips and stared at the man’s bullet head and close-cropped hair; his high-peaked cap had fallen off.
‘What—what will we do with him?’ demanded Ohslon in a low-pitched voice.
‘Do we go over any lakes?’ asked Palfrey. ‘I’ve a hazy recollection that we do.’
‘We cross the water between Korson and Nyborg,’ said Ohlson. ‘Why?’
‘If we can push him out and he goes under water, there’ll be less chance of his being seen,’ said Palfrey.
Ohlson said: ‘Yes, of course.’ He looked out of the window, then pointed to a small bridge some way to their right. ‘We go over that, the water comes in thus far. But will he not be seen from the next carriage?’
‘If he is we’ll say he fell,’ said Palfrey.
He stood up to get a better view of the bridge which they were approaching at a speed of no more than twenty miles an hour. Beyond the stretch of marshland were the rising green fields of Denmark – cultivated fields where they could see men working. He opened the door and Brian pulled Brunning to the floor again; the others raised their legs and Brian pushed the man towards the open door, giving the gross body a final shove.
Palfrey closed the door.
Looking out of the window he could see the disturbance on the water where Brunning had fallen, but the man did not rise to the surface.
They kept quiet for fully five minutes. They heard no exclamations from the adjoining compartments, only the rumble of low-pitched voices.
They relaxed at last and Conroy said sardonically: ‘We aren’t doing too badly. What about the box, Sap?’
‘Ah, the box!’ said Ohlson.
The fact that Brunning had been pushed to his death made no impression on them; Palfrey remembered the time when, even had it been a German, he would have been seriously affected by conniving at a man’s death.
Erikson drew a deep breath.
‘White bread!’ he gasped. ‘White bread!’ Actually it was quite brown.
‘Sausage rolls,’ said Brian, appreciatively.
‘Pork pies?’ exclaimed Conroy in a low-pitched voice. ‘I just don’t believe it. Raised pork pies! They are pork?’ he added quickly. ‘They wouldn’t dress anything else up like that? The guard knew a thing or two!’
There were ‘white’ rolls, butter, three pies of moderate size, a dozen sausage rolls and, packed well with newspaper, a bottle of wine without a label. They stared at it for some seconds before Erikson said: ‘I have not seen food like that for at least three years.’
‘You’ll have to go easy for a start,’ Palfrey said. ‘That applies to us all,’ he added; but when he saw the way the Danes ate their food, trying not to appear ravenous and yet gulping it down, he was tempted to increase the allowance. But it would do Erikson no good and it would not be fair to him to increase Ohlson’s or the others’. They made deep inroads into the second of the large pies, but saved the rest, six rolls, and a small loaf of bread. They put them back in the box carefully. Erikson belched, then said apologetically: ‘It would be worth dying for, that meal!’
‘Ease off that talk,’ said Conroy. ‘We’ve come a long way to get you out of the country alive.’ He proffered cigarettes from a packet—Sobranies which it was safe for them to smoke in Germany or the occupied countries since they were made from Balkan tobacco. Then as they drew in the smoke, he mused: ‘We’ll have to start thinking soon, Sap; word will probably have reached the next station.’
Brian drew an oilskin bag from a large pocket inside his coat. He opened it to show a collection of paints, brushes and crayons as well as some small packets about the size of those holding ten cigarettes, but not so thick. He opened one and unrolled what looked like a bundle of hair. ‘You see?’ he asked hopefully.
Ohlson smiled and Erikson asked dubiously: ‘Will disguise—it is material for disguise?—help us? In such light and circumstances,’ he added.
‘It wouldn’t be any good under close scrutiny,’ said Brian, ‘But it should be effective in the case of a casual glance, and it won’t be broad daylight all the time. You’ll be surprised when I’ve finished. We can’t get away from two main facts, though. You’ll be described as long and thin, Ohlson as short and fat. Still, it will help.’
‘I am amazed at your confidence,’ marvelled Ohlson. ‘I do not think that one of you has at any time been really perturbed in spite of the narrow escapes. Is that not so?’
Palfrey pulled a wry face.
‘It isn’t, but you can get used to anything.’ He eyed the disguise-container thoughtfully. ‘It’s been a help before, but it’s not foolproof. Is anything?’ He drew on his cigarette and added thoughtfully: ‘With luck we’ll be at Fredericia tomorrow morning. We’ve got to get over to the coast after that. You’d better know the plans.’
He talked for ten minutes.
Ohlson said quietly: ‘We shall see England before long, Erik. And now we are about fifteen minutes, at this speed, from Riskilde. Are you going to begin now?’
‘Right now,’ said Conroy promptly. ‘Wait for it!’
Chapter Thirteen
The Barrier at Fredericia Station
As the train drew fussily into Riskilde Station, past the crowds on the platform, five men in civilian clothes were in Palfrey’s carriage. Despite the movements of the train, Brian had altered the expressions of the faces of the two Danes so that no casual observer would know them as the men who had been in company of the three Germans. He had worked more successfully on Ohlson than Erikson, whose egg-shaped head presented a considerable problem.
Footsteps scurried along the corridor and voices boomed out the name of the station. Brian, holding the door open an inch or two, waited until the corridor near them was empty and then stepped out. The others followed, hurrying along the