For the wretched position in which he found himself his only consolation was that there was now a good hope that the Dakota with its precious cargo would get home safely.'
Walking back to the place where he had left Malacou, he. called to him at first softly then louder. He received no reply so it was evident that while he was still hiding among the reeds Malacou, Tarik, Szaajer and the two farm hands had all made off into the marshes and were now well away from the road.
Crossing it, he made his way some distance along the path that led to the cottage then, in a well-sheltered spot, sat down to consider his position.
It could hardly have been worse. He had had no chance to ask Frencombe to return and pick him up the following night, or on the next when conditions were suitable. Yet, as he thought of that, he decided that even if he had it was unlikely that the Wing Commander would have agreed. Now that the Germans in that area had been alerted it was certain that they would keep a sharp look-out for further landings; so for Frencombe to return would have meant the crew running their heads into a noose. Grimly, Gregory faced the fact that he was stuck there and would have to make his way home by whatever way he could.
Suddenly it crossed his mind that it was now early morning on the 26th, a derivative of the fatal 8 which Malacou had declared to be so unlucky for him. It was on the I7th, another 8, eleven months before, that he had been overtaken by disaster at Peenemunde. His evil number had caught up with him again, but he strove to ignore this unlucky omen and again to regard his situation objectively.
When he had set out he had known there was a risk that the aircraft might be shot down or that they might be surprised while loading the parts of the rocket into it, but he had never visualized himself being left stranded in Poland, and although he could pass anywhere as a German he could not do so as a Pole. He had not even a smattering of the language; so his only
x. Historical note: In this way a V.2 mechanism was brought to England, but the gallant Polish engineer who secured it returned to Poland
where he was caught by the Gestapo and executed on August 19th of that year.
asset was that, under the roomy flying kit that he had left in the aircraft, he had been wearing old but good-quality country clothes in which he would be inconspicuous.
Two things caused him special anxiety. The first was that the Germans would be scouring the district for anyone who might have landed from the aircraft and, if challenged, he had no papers to show; neither was there any means of transport by which he could get out of the danger area while it was still dark. The second was even more serious. As it had not even crossed his mind that he might be left behind he had not brought any Polish money with him. For that omission he cursed himself roundly, as he felt that he should at least have foreseen that the aircraft might be shot down and, if he survived, find himself in more or less his present situation.
His mind naturally turned to Malacou. Placing himself in the occultist's shoes, he tried to divine how the middle-aged Jew would react to his near escape from capture. It seemed probable that he was still hiding somewhere not far off in the marshes. But he could not remain there indefinitely. He would have either to resume his unhappy search for a new refuge or return to his cottage and, when the S.D. men paid it a visit, as they certainly would, trust in his ability to persuade them that he knew nothing about the Polish Resistance group or the landing of the aircraft.
Even if he made use of the rest of the night to put as great a distance as possible between himself and his cottage he could not get far on foot; so there was still a chance that he would be picked up next day. And if he were the very fact of his flight would be taken as proof of his guilt. Therefore it seemed he would stand a better chance if he stayed put and gambled on being able to bluff things out. If he had decided to take that line it followed that the sooner he got back to his cottage the better, so that he would be in bed and, apparently, asleep when the S.D. men arrived.
It then occurred to Gregory that somewhere in the cottage Malacou would almost certainly have hidden a considerable sum of money against an emergency and it was money, above all else, that he himself needed at the moment. If Malacou was there he could be persuaded to part with some of it; if not, the place could be ransacked until it was found. As against that, going to the cottage would entail a certain degree of danger, as the S.D. men might already be there or come on the scene while the money was being searched for. But after weighing the pros and cons for a few moments Gregory decided to risk that.
Getting to his feet, he set off along the path. At intervals other paths led off from it, and for a while he feared he would lose his way. But he had made the trip three times that night, so only once got off the right track. Shortly after having got back on to it, he caught sight of the roof of the cottage silhouetted against the night sky.
Cautiously he approached it. The door stood open and a faint light from it dimly lessened the surrounding gloom. It seemed unlikely that Malacou would have left the door open, so the inference was that the S.D. men had already visited the place and either found it empty or carried him off. Still treading with great care, although he now believed the cottage to be deserted, Gregory continued to advance and stepped into the small, square hall. The light was coming from an inch-wide crack down the edge of the living-room door, which had been left ajar. Just as he was about to push it open he heard a gruff voice say in German:
`Talk, you Jewish pig, or it will be the worse for you.'
For an instant Gregory remained standing with his hand raised, as if frozen. Only by the man speaking at that moment had he been saved from blundering in and almost certainly being shot down. The scene being enacted in the room leapt to his mind as clearly as if he could see it through the door. The S.D. mm had caught Malacou there and were questioning him. Next minute the occultist's voice came in a tremulous whine:
`I tell you I know nothing. I was about to go to bed. I swear it!'
`At three o'clock in the morning?' sneered the German. `You lie! You had just…'
Gregory lost the rest of the sentence. With infinite caution he had stepped back. Turning, he stole away in the direction from which he had come. The snatch of conversation he had overheard made it clear that the S.D. men had arrived before Malacou had had time to get his clothes off. The irony of it was that he often stayed up until the small hours making involved calculations from his astral charts and pondering over occult operations. But the Nazis would never believe that. And they would now treat his Turkish passport as so much waste paper. They would haul him off to a concentration camp and beat the truth out of him with steel rods. He would be lucky if he escaped the gas chamber. Gregory could only pity him, for he was far from owing him anything; and any attempt to rescue him would have meant a more than fifty-fifty chance of being killed himself.
Next moment, struck by a sudden thought, he pulled up. The S.D. men's motor-cycles must be somewhere nearby. Turning about, he padded softly round to the back of the building. There, propped up on their stands and with lights out, at the entrance to a dirt track road that presumably led to Rozan, stood the two machines. His heart suddenly lifted. One, at least, of his urgent problems had been solved. He had only to sabotage one of the machines, then ride off on the other, to be well clear of the district before dawn.