The Legion of the Lost, стр. 71

But that was ahead of them—

They went on – men whose eyes glowed at the thought of the new life which stretched before them, given hope for the first time for an epoch. And then, towards the end of the line of over two hundred men who were of the Legion, Palfrey looked up and saw Ridzer and Machez.

Drusilla sat at his side, handing out the passports, Conroy and Brian were at another desk. The two latter did not notice the men they had started out to find. Drusilla and Palfrey stared at them, slacking for a moment. Then, without speaking, Palfrey waved them on to Stefan, who talked swiftly to them: they were travelling back with the party to England, Palfrey would have plenty of time to linger over this final touch to success.

Then a wave of uncertainty and apprehension flooded over him.

They had nearly finished with the men they wanted so much, Stefan was giving instructions to the other prisoners, who would get what help was possible from the local organisations. The stream of men had dwindled, it was nearly over. But they were a long way from the picking-up point yet.

Then he looked up and saw a youth limping towards him, a pale-faced lad whose eyes glowed and who walked with a pronounced limp. Palfrey started up in his chair. He saw the evidence of brutality in the scars and bruises on that pale face, swallowed hard, and beckoned to Stefan.

Stefan looked at the lad, and nodded. The club-footed youth joined Ridzer and Machez; he was to go with the smaller party.

Soon afterwards it was finished. The prison was empty, the ‘delegates’ were either on trains or on the way to the stations, there was nothing more to be done. The air-raid shelter at the big house on the Adolf Hitler Platz would have to remain sealed for the rest of the night, whenever the all-clear signal went, but he did not think there was any fear of anything going wrong with that.

He picked up his own passport, handed Drusilla hers, tossed Brian’s and Conroy’s to their desk.

Stefan came up, taking his mask off and saying: ‘We are a little absurd, Sap. We have not needed these things for the past hour! Are you ready? There is a car and an escort of motor-cycles waiting for us, and the streets are still deserted.’

Palfrey said: ‘Yes, we’re ready.’

They went through the deserted streets, seeing occasional searchlights groping across the skies. There was little thought in Palfrey’s mind but the fact that Ridzer and Machez were with them in the crowded car, and that the forest was a long way off.

Yet he did not think, then, that they would fail to get away.

Unshaven, tired, red-eyed and hungry, Palfrey and Drusilla, Brian and Conroy, with Stefan following like a huge major domo, entered the spacious study of the Marquis of Brett, who advanced towards them with hands outstretched. There had been no hitch; they had arrived in England two hours before. Their charges were being cared for in another part of London, and the crew of the bomber which had brought them from the heart of Germany was, at that moment, voting it a dull night’s work.

When they were sitting down, and Christian was proffering sandwiches and coffee, Brett looked at them from his desk, smiling a little and reminding Palfrey of Dross.

‘There just isn’t anything to say,’ said the Marquis quietly. ‘When I knew about Hilde, and the fact that you were obviously watched on all sides, I thought the best we could expect was to see some of you back. Now—’ he paused. ‘Well, why should I try to talk?’

‘No reason at all!’ said Palfrey, smiling. ‘Our turn to talk!’ He ate and drank and talked at the same time, of von Lichner and von Otten and all that had conspired to help them, of the organisation in Berlin which had been so prompt and ready to set everything aside and help them. Of Stefan, who smiled a disparaging disclaimer—

And then, in the middle of his story, Palfrey fell asleep.

In the days that followed they felt a tinge of sadness for what happened in Berlin. Reports reached Brett, from time to time, of the capture and execution of some of the men who had tried to hide in Berlin, and of the fact that whole districts had been combed for the insurgents. Gradually, as time passed, the picture grew clearer. The organisation remained, the enemy reached only the fringes of it. Day after day, men who had made their contacts successfully with the Marquis’s agents were brought to England; day after day the Allied Governments were strengthened for their post-war tasks.

Not all, but most arrived safely, and with a party from Denmark was a little child. Palfrey heard of it, and went with Drusilla to see her.

It was Lissa, still wide-eyed and grave. She had wanted her uncle to come with her, she said, but he had preferred to stay at home. He had left Wylen with his wife, because the Germans had talked of going there. She did not know where he was, but one day he would come to see her; she was sure of that.

‘Yes,’ said Palfrey. ‘Yes, of course he will!’

But he was not sure; his heart was heavy for the legions of brave folk who remained. Much had been done, more would be done, but until it was all over there could be no peace in his heart, no safety for them. The others, he knew, were eager to be at work again. After a few days they met at Palfrey’s flat and decided to approach the Marquis.

Palfrey, knowing that they were right to want to go on, looked across at Drusilla; soon afterwards they were walking through Green Park, with heavy autumn clouds driving above their heads. Streams of traffic were passing within sight, aeroplanes droned