Gregory's fingers had only just found the butt of his automatic and owing to the heavy clothes that he was wearing he could not draw it swiftly. Jerking away his hand he grabbed up his rifle to club it. Except for the fog of cartridge-smoke the room was now bright as day.
The two Nazis who had forced their way in had drawn their pistols and had Gregory covered, when a high-pitched shout came from the passage:
"Don't kill that man I want him” And Grauber lumbered through the doorway.
The Nazis put up their guns. Both of them were hefty, bullet-headed men. The third, who had fallen by the desk, was now on his feet again and the fourth followed Grauber into the room.
Suki was lying groaning in the corner clutching his wounded thigh from which the blood ebbed slowly. Gregory had only just grasped his rifle. He was on his feet but had no time to draw himself erect before the two leading Nazis came at him with a rush. He dodged a blow that one aimed at his head, but the other kicked him in the ribs and sent him spinning sideways. He managed to land his foot in one fellow's groin as he went over, and the man gave a howl of agony, but next moment he was on the floor and the other three Strong-Arm men had flung themselves on top of him.
The breath was driven out of his body. He was kneed, kicked and pummelled until, incapable of further resistance, he was lugged to his feet with his hands twisted behind him and found himself looking into Grauber’s face.
Herr? Gruppenführer Grauber had never been a handsome man at the best of times. He was strong but paunchy and his bull neck rose to a cannon-ball head with fair hair, cut en brosse. His face was pasty and his eyes had been a muddy, nondescript colour under his almost-white eyelashes: but now there was only one of them. Gregory himself had bashed out the other with the butt-end of an automatic and the wound was covered by a large black patch. After one glance at the safe Grauber advanced on Gregory with a mincing step.
"So! Mr. Sallust," he said in his high falsetto, "you re up to your old tricks and you thought you'd rob me. But it is not so easy to break into a Gestapo Headquarters."
With a swift, catlike movement he wrenched open Gregory's furs and ramming his hand inside drew out the big packet.
"Thank you," he smiled. "Now we will find out the name of the traitor in Berlin who gave you these. Take him down to the cellar, men. I'm sure my ingenuity will be sufficient to make him talk."
Chapter XVI
A Question of Identity
Gregory had an excellent memory. He did not need to be reminded of what Grauber had done with the lighted end of a cigar to poor old Tom Archer's eyes. Only six weeks before, on his secret visit to London. He recalled, too, with the utmost vividness the acid-bath in the secret Gestapo Headquarters in Hampstead and the frightful death which Grauber's lieutenant, Karl, had inflicted upon the unfortunate Jacob Rosenbaum. No-one had better reason than himself to know that the Gestapo were every bit as merciless outside Germany as in it if they once got an enemy into their clutches.
With racing brain he endeavoured to assess his own chances. ',Now that the firing had ceased and he had not rejoined Wuolijoki the diplomat would know that the attempted burglary had failed and would assume the raiding party to be wounded or dead. Wuolijoki had made it quite clear that, anxious as he was to have Goering's report for submission to his Government, his official position made it impossible for him to play any part in this legal affair. Finland was not only at peace with Germany but in the Finnish War of Independence Germany had been her sole ally. For twenty years the relations between the two countries had been excellent-right up to the time of the Russo-German alliance in the previous August and, in spite of that, were still good. They might be most seriously damaged by a Finnish Foreign Office official's participating in what amounted to be a gangster-raid on the Helsinki Gestapo Headquarters. Gregory felt that he could not possibly count on any help from Wuolijoki.
Erika and Fredeline von Kobenthal would still be waiting anxiously outside. But what could they do apart from endeavouring to comfort each other for the non-reappearance of their men out of the desperate shooting-affray which they must have heard? Other people, too, must have heard the shooting, even in such a sparsely-populated neighbourhood. The fire was still roaring, so by this time quite a crowd must have gathered outside; but during the hectic quarter of an hour which had elapsed since the bombs went off Gregory had not heard the clanging of the fire-engine bell, so he felt certain that the fire brigade had not yet got out there.
What would happen when the fire-brigade did turn up, or when the police, some of whom must be on the premises by now, began to ask questions? The local civilians would certainly tell them about the shooting. Grauber would satisfy their inquiries by saying that a gang of bandits had attacked the place and been driven off; upon which it was unlikely that further inquiries would be made until the morning; and Gregory had good reason to believe that by the morning he would have cashed in his cheques after a lingering and most painful death.
As two of the Nazis began to drag him towards the door a third said: "Is it safe to put him in the cellar, Chief? They haven't got the fire under yet."
Grauber's one eye narrowed and Gregory saw his last hopes fading as the Gestapo Chief considered the best means of preventing any interference between himself and his prisoner. "True," he said: "and the fire-brigade may be arriving at any moment. Go and get Flugel."
As they waited there Grauber filled in the time by getting a little of his own back on the enemy who had caused him such acute mental and bodily distress. While the two Nazis held Gregory upright the Gruppenführer swung his fist and caught him a smashing blow in the middle of the face. His upper lip was cut against his teeth, his nose began to bleed and the pain from it caused the water to start to his eyes and run down his cheeks.
"How do you like that, Mr. Sallust?" Grauber asked in his thin, piping voice. "It is only one-thousandth part of what is coming to you."
He swung his fist again, this time hitting Gregory not on the chin but just below it so that his collar-stud was driven home, like a small hammer, on to his Adam's apple. The pain was excruciating and by reflex action Gregory immediately began to vomit.
Gregory knew both these blows and had used them himself upon occasion; one to make a man cry, the other to make him sick; and in his pain-racked mind he wondered what the Gestapo Chief would deal out to him next. Perhaps he would put on one of the leather gloves that still lay on the desk and strike him a glancing blow across the cheek, which Gregory very well knew, by the sharp drag of leather on skin, would lay his face open from the corner of his eyebrow to his chin; but he was saved from that by the appearance of a short, gorilla-like man who had the look of a professional wrestler.
"Well, Flugel?" Grauber turned to him. "How are you doing?"
"We're getting the fire under, Chief. Good thing we had those chemical extinguishers; but we had no chance to fetch them from the bedrooms until we'd mopped up the men outside. A crowd has collected out in the street, but so far only three policemen have put in an appearance. I told them that we'd been attacked by Jewish Communists who had made their escape into the darkness after an exchange of shots. As all the Finns loathe Communists they seemed to think it a pity that we hadn't killed some of them, and now they're helping our fellows to put out the fire."
At that moment they all caught the sound of a clanging bell and shouting from the street as the fire-engine drove up.