The Legion of the Lost, стр. 38
They heard the voices of children on the road; soon that of Lissa grew recognisable. There was an outburst of laughter, hurried footsteps – and then the child appeared through a gap in the hedge.
She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
‘It is quite safe now,’ she said. ‘Goodbye!’
She was gone almost as quickly as she had come, leaving Brian staring after her, as she rejoined the children on the other side of the hedge.
Palfrey rubbed his chin.
‘Nicely done,’ he said.
‘They’ve got it all worked out to a decimal point,’ said Brian. ‘We’re learning, Sap. And von Lichner knows it, of course, he fears what will happen when we get our feet on Europe again. D’you know,’ he added with a smile, ‘I don’t feel half as browned-off as I did a few hours ago!’
They made their way to the village, keeping by the hedge all the time. On the outskirts they were greeted by one of the men whom they had seen on the field. He gave them directions carefully, assuring them that no one who might see them would betray them. They entered a narrow street, at the far end of which it widened, looking very like the square at Trenborg. But here the wooden houses with their gables and quaint carvings looked older; Wylen had a forgotten air; seeming, like Dross, to be relics of the middle ages, untouched by the ugly hand of modernity.
On the opposite side of the road they saw a single shop.
Its window was quaint, mostly of green bottle-glass through which they could not see, but transparent in one small panel showing three large bottles of coloured water, the inevitable sign of the chemist’s shop. There was no name over the facia, but the word ‘chymist’ in old style lettering. They crossed the road, which seemed quite deserted, as the door of the shop opened and a quiet voice said: ‘Come in, please!’
It was a woman, short, thin, smiling – the pleasure on her face gave Palfrey a feeling of contentment; her eyes were as warm and genuine as the chemist’s. She led the way to the back of the shop, through a narrow, dark passage with oak beams which made Palfrey and Brian duck their heads, then opened a door at the end of the passage to admit them to a small, square room with tiny latticed windows, oak beams, a glow of copper and brass. The floor was of stone with rush mats upon it; a piece of wick floated in a tiny clay crucible of oil.
‘I am asked to tell you that the American is here,’ said the woman, ‘and that there is word that the Russian is also on his way. He will not be long. Now, please, will you wait?’ She beamed as if she had never been so happy in her life and went out by another door. They heard her calling softly. Her voice faded, but soon footsteps sounded on the stairs.
‘Not the woman’s,’ thought Palfrey, and they did not sound like Conroy’s. He gave them little attention, for he was too exhilarated at the news about Stefan and Conroy to worry much about anything.
Then the door opened and Drusilla Blair entered the room.
It happened as quickly as that, with no fuss at all: one moment the door was closed, the next it opened and on the threshold stood Drusilla, smiling, a glow in her eyes, her head on one side.
‘’Silla!’ gasped Palfrey. ‘My dear—but—’
‘’Silla!’ shouted Brian. He jumped towards her, gripping her hands and hugging her. ‘Bless your heart, I didn’t dream—’
Then they all began talking together, Palfrey’s eyes glowing, his depression completely gone. He forgot the dangers, felt inclined to laugh aloud with satisfaction.
Drusilla had arrived – by air – on the previous day. Although the chemist’s shop had been searched with the rest, there had been little danger – she had been hidden beneath the bath. The bath moved on a hinge; behind and beneath it was a box-room where half-a-dozen people could shelter without difficulty.
They had a meal of vegetable soup, with lettuce and salads to follow; there seemed plenty and to spare. Dross and his wife were downstairs most of the time; the bell of the shop door kept ringing. Palfrey, smoking a pipe pressed on him by the chemist – it was one which, Dross assured him, had been burnt out with a cinder but smoked by no one-leaned back in a winged armchair. Brian, sitting astride a rush-seated, upright chair, smoked a cigarette.
‘You’re slipping,’ said Conroy. ‘You’ve been here over an hour and you haven’t asked a single question. Why, Drusilla?’
‘Ah’, said Palfrey, looking at her. ‘Yes, why? Did you persuade Brett against his will?’
Drusilla laughed.
‘Could anyone? No, he wanted me there for a few days, he had—’ she frowned, as if a darkling thought had entered her mind, until then free of everything but contentment at the reunion. ‘He had an idea, Sap. I don’t know what you’ll think of it.’ She pushed her fingers through her dark hair and settled back on a fireside stool. She wore a tweed skirt, stout shoes and a leather jacket, all of them showing signs of wear. ‘He’s going to use Hilde.’
‘It—it doesn’t make sense,’ said Brian, hotly. ‘Do you mean to say he’s listened to her and is allowing her to return to the continent? That she’s in Norway now! Back among those—’
‘We’ll meet her in Berlin,’ said Drusilla.
Palfrey took his pipe from his lips. The others looked towards him, as he said slowly: ‘Ye-ess. I can see why. Full of zeal, hating the Huns like the very devil, bursting to do something, ready to sacrifice everything, wanting revenge. Not nice in the Hildes of