The Legion of the Lost, стр. 50
In that devastating moment Palfrey realised the danger and how it had come about. This man knew ‘Pienne’ – Pienne and others at the Palace of Gold were known by some of their compatriots as traitors. Others besides the club-footed youth might know the real Pienne, but to Palfrey, whose mind worked swiftly and whose heart began to race while von Often turned towards him, it did not matter how many others could denounce him as an impostor if this youth once betrayed his knowledge.
That, and more, flashed through his mind as he saw the German’s lips curling and heard him say: ‘You see, Herr Professor, you are not popular! You are yet another prophet without honour in your own country.’
The German was looking at Palfrey, the eyes of the youth were also turned towards him. That was surely the moment of betrayal. Palfrey’s face hardened, he stepped swiftly forward hoping to wrest safety even at that last moment, but unable to see how it could be done.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Youth with the Club Foot
The silence was uncanny.
The moment before, a dozen people had been talking at the same time; someone else had been moaning, the guards were cursing one or two of the prisoners, there was Bedlam in the big chamber. But as Palfrey stepped towards the club-footed youth, his eyes glittering and one hand clenched and raised, there was a hush which made Palfrey feel that every eye was turned towards him.
He got between the youth and von Otten and began to speak, hardly knowing what to say, trying to find some way of making the youth understand why it was necessary for him to hold his peace. Before a word passed his lips, however, the silence was broken, for Conroy shouted: ‘Look—watch him!’
The American suddenly dived forward towards the crowd. Palfrey, his mind crystal clear, knew that the other had sensed the danger and was deliberately creating a diversion. Stefan and Brian jumped forward, their minds working no less swiftly than Conroy’s. Palfrey did not know whether von Otten’s attention was distracted, but he hoped for the best. He reached the youth and gripped his throat, not tightly – the other was too startled to do more than gape at him. The guards, leaving him to Palfrey, went to the general mêlée.
Palfrey said in a hoarse whisper: ‘I am Pienne, do you understand? I am Pienne.’ Then he flung the youth away from him, sent him staggering to the floor.
He swung round to find von Otten turned away from the hunt which Conroy had started, a faintly surprised expression on his arrogant face.
‘This man must be questioned!’ cried Palfrey. ‘How does he know that I am here? Answer me that, how does he know?’ He glared at von Otten as if it were the German’s sole responsibility. He was relieved to see the other’s smile widen and grow more sardonic. The moment of crisis was past; now everything depended on whether the Swiss youth realised the importance of maintaining the deception, and whether anyone else there would recognise the ‘false’ Pienne.
‘Calm yourself, Herr Professor,’ said von Otten gently. ‘He will be questioned with them all. I agree that we must find out how he knows so much. You need not worry about that, he will be persuaded to talk.’
He looked at the youth, who was on the floor peering up at them both and licking his lips. The fire and the defiance had died away from him, his eyes were dull and lack-lustre.
‘You see, he is not nearly so brave now,’ sneered von Otten. ‘He realises now what he has done.’
Palfrey said harshly: ‘I will find out what he knows, whatever I have to do to him.’ He was thinking then with a swift anxiety that if it were in any way possible, he must help the youth – he needed no telling of the methods von Otten would use and shrank from victimising the youth to save himself.
It was more than that.
He knew it, yet it was difficult to admit it. He knew that even if he were denounced it would not ease the lot of the youngster on the floor, and – there was still more. The issue was so much greater than individuals; whatever the cost to himself or the others, he must try to maintain his freedom of movement, his precarious position in Berlin. By a tacit admission that he was Pienne the youth would bolster up his pretence; at great cost to the assailant, Palfrey might be made safer than had seemed possible a few minutes before.
The guards with the youth returned. Palfrey saw that Conroy and Stefan were struggling with a tall man in S.S. uniform, other guards were about them, the crowd had surged away from the door and the mêlée in it. That was all he did see, for von Otten shouted: ‘Be careful, Pienne!’
Palfrey half turned.
The club-footed youth had risen from the floor with an agility none would have suspected in him. He launched himself at Palfrey. The glare in his eyes gave the lie to the dullness he had shown a moment before. He thrust von Otten into Palfrey, who had no time to steel himself against the onslaught and was carried backwards. It happened too quickly for anyone to come immediately to his rescue. He felt the youth’s hand at his throat, the thumbs searching for the jugular artery; for a moment thought that the other believed him to be Pienne.
The youth’s voice whispered in its turn, close to Palfrey’s ear, as they turned over in the mock struggle.
‘You will not be betrayed,’ he said. ‘You will not be betrayed. Attanstrasse, Number 8. Attanstrasse, Number 8.’ Then he began mouthing curses, kicking and struggling as the guards dragged him away.
Palfrey straightened up, pushed a hand through his hair, and stared at the youth in a bewilderment and confusion not wholly assumed. It had happened almost too swiftly for him to fully