The Legion of the Lost, стр. 4
‘I wouldn’t call it a polished performance,’ admitted Palfrey thoughtfully, ‘but he’s trying. What’s his game?’
Drusilla, who had been washing up the cups and saucers, came in from the other room and asked with some thoughtfulness: ‘What would we do if we wanted to find out what our opposite numbers in Germany were planning? We would know that there was little chance of finding anything written down,’ said Drusilla, ‘but we might try to make the other side think we were looking for just that. Then if we had them off their guard we would try something else. Supposing we knew where they were likely to meet? What would we do?’
‘We might try to listen in,’ submitted Stefan.
‘Ye-es,’ said Palfrey. ‘We might try to listen in, but not by eavesdropping in the normal way. We’d hardly expect to have much luck at key-holes.’ Palfrey slapped his hand against his thigh and moved swiftly to Drusilla and squeezed her about the waist.
‘Carpets,’ said Palfrey, turning abruptly to a corner of the room. ‘Floor-boards. Dictaphones. Yes, ’Silla?’
‘Of course, it might be a waste of time,’ said Drusilla dubiously, ‘but it’s worth trying.’
Palfrey was on his knees pulling at the carpet; it came up easily from one corner. Stefan and Drusilla stepped to the doorway so that the carpet could be pulled further up, Palfrey squeezed against the wall, treading on bare boards, then folded the carpet back from the corner. Stefan and Drusilla watched, eager-eyed, but it was Palfrey who first saw the traces of sawdust and two newly-sawn boards. Stefan drew a knife from his pocket and handed it to Palfrey as the latter tried to prise the sawn boards up with his fingers.
Beneath they saw the complicated coils and wires of what Palfrey immediately took to be part of a dictaphone. He did not pull it up at once but traced one strand of cable to the wainscoting: it ran along a gap between two boards for a short distance, then close against the wainscoting, protected from casual discovery by the carpet which fitted flush against the wall. It continued beneath the desk where a small instrument, like a miniature microphone, was neatly fitted.
He turned to the instrument in the floor, bent down and picked up two cylinders which were nearly a foot long and about two inches in diameter; they were made of a material that looked like shellac. ‘Very, very nicely done!’ said Stefan, still softly. ‘He came in, moved the carpet, perhaps took other cylinders away, and certainly left these here. He would not need to take very long.’
‘We should have thought of it before,’ said Drusilla quietly. ‘Sap, did you say much in this room before we came back this morning?’
‘I was alone,’ Palfrey reminded her. ‘I certainly didn’t say anything on the telephone, except talk to you. We kept off the subject that matters.’ He smiled a little vacantly. ‘One subject that matters, anyhow! He didn’t get much from the other cylinders but he would have had plenty from these. I wonder where we can get them played back to us?’
‘The Marquis will know,’ said Stefan.
When it was finished – it just included Brian’s arrival, then the second cylinder ran out – the Marquis stopped the machine and said quietly: ‘Yes, it’s a good thing you found it. But I don’t think any immediate harm has been done as far as you’re concerned. Have you laid your plans yet?’
‘I’d thought of doing it in easy stages,’ said Palfrey after some reflection. ‘For a start, go to Oslo to try to get Raffleck. We can get back to England from Oslo without a lot of trouble; then over to Copenhagen. There’s only Raffleck mentioned in Oslo,’ added Palfrey. ‘Is there anyone else there?’
‘You might be able to find out more when you arrive,’ said the Marquis. ‘We’ve no mention of anyone outstanding who would be willing to come. But it is those who are not there who matter most. When will you be ready to go?’
‘It depends on Conroy,’ said Palfrey.
‘I’ve heard that he’s on the way from Lisbon now,’ Brett told him, ‘so he will be here today. The day after tomorrow, do you think? Thursday?’
‘Thursday,’ agreed Palfrey.
Thursday was suddenly the only day that mattered in the whole of the future.
Chapter Three
On Foreign Soil
The night was dark but for the stars, which were hidden in places by a thin mist of cloud drifting lazily across the heavens. The engines of the aircraft which carried Palfrey, Drusilla and Brian Debenham seemed very loud in the confines of the small cabin, where they squeezed close together.
They had been flying for a little over two hours.
To Palfrey, glad of the fur-lined jacket, knee-breeches and boots which he was wearing, as well as of the cap with ear-flaps which seemed to keep the whole of his face warm, the past few hours were like a distant dream. For nearly forty-eight hours ‘Thursday’ had seemed far away and he had been impatient to start. He knew that the others had felt the same.
They had decided that Stefan and Conroy – the American had arrived, as the Marquis had prophesied – should go by a slightly different route, but also by air. They had started half an hour later than Palfrey’s little party, after planning to join forces at the extreme end of the Rokn fjord.
The uncanniness of the journey was made the greater because there were no lights on the aircraft and none at sea, not even to outline the coastline of Norway. They flew through blackness towards blackness, and there seemed neither beginning nor end to the journey.
Only once had there been any illumination.
Then, far to the east, they had seen the glow of fires, and even fancied that they had seen the bursts of bombs. A bellow