The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that money was the key to his problem. Without ready cash to distribute as need be he was like a boxer who has been handcuffed. Somehow he had to have funds, and considerable funds at that. But how could he possibly secure them? Not by remaining in the countryside. That was evident. Trees that grow golden apples flourish only in towns. They were banks, prosperous businesses and rich people who had big money and could be persuaded or tricked into parting with a wad of it.
He must, then, make for a city. And there was another advantage in that. Once the hunt was up the roads would all be scanned for him and the stolen motor-cycle, whereas in a city he would be able to lose himself in the crowds. But to go to Warsaw was no good, or to any other Polish city, since he could not speak Polish and he must get out of Poland as soon as possible. Czechoslovakia was no good either. To establish a new identity that would hold water he must get into Germany.
His mind ranged over the map which from long study he was able to visualize easily. In the north one city stood out beyond all others. It was the German capital.
For a moment Gregory shied away from the idea of endeavouring to seek safety in the heart of the Nazi Reich, for in it were concentrated the headquarters of every police organization that played a part in controlling Hitler's empire. Then an episode in a story he had read many years before recurred to him. It was by that great short-story writer C. E. Montague, and opened with the small son of a British Ambassador playing in an Embassy garden. He had been given a tortoise and his nurse said that beyond all things to eat tortoises loved cockroaches. A cockroach was procured, presumably from the Embassy kitchen, and set down in front of the tortoise like an early Christian before a lion. Realizing its peril, the cockroach lost not a second but leapt into the armpit of the tortoise, thus making it impossible for the tortoise to snap it up.
Having strapped the hold-all containing his clothes on to the motor-cycle behind the saddle, Gregory kicked the starter, mounted the machine and set off for Berlin.
15
The Armpit of the Tortoise
The track ran north-east and after bumping along it for a mile and a half he found that it came out on the road to Rozan. Turning west he increased his speed and two minutes later passed the place where the aircraft had landed. A few miles further on he struck the broad main road where it made a sharp angle. During the past week he had imprinted on his mind a map of the area, so he knew that the left-hand fork led south to Pultusk and Warsaw. Thinking it wise to keep well away from the more highly populated area round the capital, he swung right and, now that his powerful machine had a good surface to move on, roared away to the north.
After about six miles he passed through a silent village, and another twelve brought him to a small town that he decided must be Przasnysz. There the trunk road continued straight on through the market square but, feeling that he was now sufficiently far north of Warsaw, he took a side turning that led west.
Now that he was over thirty miles away from Malacou's cottage he was entering territory that he had not memorized; so a little way outside the town he pulled up, got out the map he had found at the cottage, shone his torch on it and spent some minutes studying it for the best route to take. He saw that the second-class road he was now on wound about considerably, but its general direction was westward and in a little over twenty miles would bring him to the town of Mlawa. From there it curved north-west through two villages, then ran west again to the railway junction of Brodnica.
When he reached Mlawa the summer dawn was breaking and there were lights in the windows of some of the houses, but no one was yet about. A church clock struck five as he passed on his way out of the town. For the next hour he still met no traffic, but from some of the farms men and women were trudging off to work. At about half past six he entered Brodnica. There were a few people in the streets and a Polish policeman on duty in the square; but after a hasty glance at him everyone looked quickly away, afraid, he guessed, that he might see in their eyes the hatred they had for everyone in the uniform he was wearing.
From Brodnica he took the road to the provincial city of Turum, which lay another forty miles away to the south-west. Owing to petrol rationing the road continued to be free of traffic except for an occasional farmer's cart, but by the time he was half-way to Turum he was feeling very tired. A little less than twelve hours had elapsed since he had left Brindisi in the aircraft, and he had slept for a good part of the flight, but the past five hours had put a great strain upon him. Although it was eleven months since his leg had been smashed it continued to be a disability when used in strenuous exertions. Disposing of the two S.D. men's bodies had taken a lot out of him and between half past three and seven o'clock he had covered over a hundred and ten miles.
He would have given a lot to lie up for a few hours somewhere that side of Turum, but he felt it imperative to take the utmost advantage of the lead he had secured; so he made up his mind to keep going until he had passed through the provincial city. He reached its outskirts about seven-thirty. By now, although it was most unlikely that the bodies of the S.D. men would have yet been found, it was possible that their failure to report had led to a general call being put out for them; so, as a precaution against the number of his motor-cycle being noted, instead of going through the city centre, where it was certain that traffic policemen would be on duty, he turned off to the right and made a wide detour through the suburbs until he got on to the main highway that led to the city of Bydgoszcz.
As soon as he was clear of Turum' he began to look about for a suitable place to lie up during the day; but, as so often happens when looking for a good place to picnic, his luck was out. The country was as flat as a pancake and open fields stretched away on both sides of the road as far as the eye could see. With faultless rhythm the machine carried him on mile after mile until he was so weary that he feared that he would not be able to control it for much longer, and it was not until he was within twelve miles of Bydgoszcz that he drew near a wood that would serve his purpose.
Slowing down, he turned off up a track through the trees, then began to look about for a place where he might hope to sleep for a few hours without anyone coming upon him.
Several hundred yards from the road he reached a wooden bridge over a small stream. Having dismounted and scrambled down to the water's edge he found that there was just enough room to conceal the motor-cycle under the bridge on one bank and for him to stretch out and sleep on the other. To get the heavy machine down and into its temporary garage took all his remaining strength. Straining and cursing, he managed it; then unrolled the hold-all to lie upon and used the country clothes in which he had flown out from England as a pillow.
In the five hours since he had left Malacou's cottage he reckoned that he had covered some hundred and sixty miles, so he was well out of the danger area and felt he could consider himself extremely lucky. His main worry for the moment was the thought of Erika's distress when she learned that he had not returned with the aircraft. At the moment, as it was half past eight, he thought it certain that she would be awake. Visualizing her in bed at Gwaine Meads, he thought of her with love and longing; but he was so exhausted that after a few moments he fell fast asleep.
When he awoke a glance at his watch showed him that it was getting on for four o'clock in the afternoon, so he had slept for over seven hours. Although he felt much refreshed his bad leg was very stiff, and it was not until he had exercised it gently for some minutes that he turned his thoughts to other matters. Anxious as he was to put more miles between himself and Rozan, he decided that, now the hunt must be up for the missing men, it would be wiser not to make another start until dusk had fallen; for after dark there would be much: less likelihood of a policeman-chancing to notice the number on the motor-cycle, and connecting it with any call that had gone out.