Complete works of peter.., p.396
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 396
She said: "I don't think he is. I don't think he has any friends. He is waiting for a permit to get out of Norway. He is an American."
The boy said: "He can move about at night: They let him. If we knew something about him...one never knows, he might help."
She looked up at him. "One dare not chance a thing like that. One dare not chance a thing like that."
The boy said: "You ought to know, Ingrid. You have talked to him. You have been about with him. People have talked..."
She said: "I like him very much, Gunnar. He is a strange man, but I like him." She looked into the fire. She was thinking.
The boy said: "I must go. I will see you again in the morning if I can get back into the town. If not, I will wait till night at the usual place. Good-bye, Ingrid."
He went quietly out of the bar, slipped into the shadows by the side of the road, moving noiselessly away into the night.
She sat looking into the fire. She was wondering what was happening to her sister Hilde. She thought it was a pitiful thing that had happened; that more pitiful things would happen. But what was one to do? One could only try. She remembered the happy years that had gone, when she and Hilde were little girls playing in the woods on the edge of the town. A lump came into her throat.
She looked up as the door opened. Berg stood in the doorway. He did not come in as the Norwegians came in. He opened the door wide, stood framed against the darkness outside for a moment; closed the door behind him. He had the bravura of a man who had a police pass, entitled to move about. He came over to the table. He grinned at Ingrid.
He said: "Well, babe, how's it goin'?"
She said: "Not very well, Rene Berg. Not at all well."
Berg raised one eyebrow. He said: "Nope? It's funny to hear that anything goes or don't go in this dead an' alive hole."
She said: "Would you like some beer?"
Berg nodded. He drew up a chair, sat down by the fire. She walked over to the counter. She asked the landlord for the beer. Sven and the other two men were in the far corner, talking in whispers.
The landlord whispered: "What are-you going to do, Ingrid?"
She said softly: "There is just a chance." She looked at Berg's back. "He knows Nielenberg. You never know..."
The landlord said: "Be careful. They say he is a friend of Nielenberg's."
She smiled. "No," she said. "I know him. He is not the type. He has contempt for Nielenberg—for all these Germans."
The landlord said: "You should know, Ingrid."
She picked up the beer, returned to the table. She put the mug down, sat on her chair. Berg turned his own chair round so that he faced her.
He said: "You're not drinkin'?"
She said in her soft, slightly guttural English: "No, I am not drinking. Rene...do you think I have been kind to you?"
He cocked one eyebrow. He said: "Yeah...I suppose you have. You're a nice girl, Ingrid."
She asked: "Have you ever asked yourself why I have been kind to you? Do you think that I sleep with any man?"
Berg said: "Why not? I sort of never thought about it like that."
She said in a flat voice: "I have been good to you because somebody has got to find out about strangers in the town."
Berg said: "Yeah...why?"
She gave him a little whimsical smile. She asked: "Cannot you guess? Do you think we shall always have these swine here?"
Berg said: "Well, it looks as if you got 'em here now, don't it? An' it looks as if they're gonna stay."
She said: "Not always. The British will come back. I tell you that I believe that. We must believe it."
Berg said: "Yeah? Well, if you feel like that it's better to go on believin' it."
She said: "There is something else. Some of us who love our country believe that we should help the British to come back."
Berg drank some more beer. He said: "That's O.K. by me. But I don't reckon you've got much chance of doin' it; kid."
She asked suddenly: "What sort of man are you, Rene? Are you a good man?"
He grinned at her. He said: "No. I reckon by your standards I'm a lousy type. You know...I've never been very good at anything much except maybe one or two odds things that wouldn't interest you."
She said: "No? I have heard things about you in the town. They say you were a big man in America at one time; that you, used to work for one of the bootleg organizations; that you were clever."
Berg said: "I would know about being clever. I usta work for a guy called Scansci. I reckon he was a pretty big liquor guy at one time."
She said: "You must have had all sorts of difficult things to do in your work."
"You're tellin' me," said Berg. "But I don't know that they were so difficult. It was getting away with it that was difficult."
She said: "Rene, I would like to tell you a story. I am putting my life and the lives of my friends in your hands. I must do it, because there is no other chance."
Berg said: "Say...what is all this? Everything's sort of goddam dramatic around here to-night. I reckon you could cut the atmosphere with a knife." He turned and looked at the other men in the bar. They were standing looking towards him now, their hands hanging straight down by their sides. Berg thought they looked very grim—very unpleasant. She said: "There is a great deal of strain for us all to-night. I will tell you why. Early this evening a British Secret Service agent, whom we know, and a Norwegian woman, were dropped out beyond the town from an airplane. They were unfortunate. The man came down badly. He hit his head; was unconscious. Before the woman had time to do anything about it they were discovered by an infantry patrol. They have been handed over to the Field Gendarmerie."
Berg said: "So that's it. Nielenberg was tellin' me something was breakin' around here." He lit a cigarette. He went on: "Look, kid, what the hell's all this to you? Supposin' they have knocked off these guys, what's it to you?"
She said: "It means a very great deal to me, Rene. The woman is my sister Hilde."
Berg whistled through his teeth. "That's not so good, is it?" he said.
She said: "It is not very good. It may be terrible. You know, or probably you do not know, the German police—especially the Field Gendarmerie—have some very unpleasant methods of making people talk."
Berg drew on his cigarette. "I get it," he said. "You reckon that Nielenberg an' the boys are sort of gonna get to work on this guy an' your sister?"
She nodded.
He said: "Not so good." He looked at her quickly. "An' you got another idea," he went on. "You reckon if they get busy on her an' she cracks up she's got to give some other guys away maybe."
She nodded again. "That is correct," she said.
Berg said: "Look, are there a lot of you bozos in this? What is this...sort of underground stuff, hey?"
She said: "Yes, underground stuff. And we are all in it, Rene. Every Norwegian, except just a little scum, is in it."
Berg said: "Well, well, well... I reckon I'm sorry about this." He smiled at her. "You're not a bad kid," he said. "I hope for all your sakes nobody talks." He finished the beer, threw his cigarette stub into the fire. He lit a fresh cigarette.
She picked up the mug, took it to the counter, handed it to the landlord, who refilled it. She brought it back, put it beside Berg's elbow. He threw her a quick sideways smile.
She put out her hand. He noticed that the fingers were thin and white. Then he looked into the fire. He was drawing the smoke down into his lungs, exhaling it slowly through pursed lips.
After a bit he said: "So you didn't sorta fall for my manly beauty or anything like that. You weren't sort of stuck on me. You just thought that whatever it cost you you had to get around to knowin' who an' what I was."
She said: "That is perhaps half the truth. The other half is that you are rather a strange and attractive man. I have liked you, Rene. I should have liked you in any event, but I do not suppose—if I tell the truth—that I would have been so good to yon unless it was necessary that I should find out about you. We do not like strangers here. Too often they come from the Gestapo." Berg grinned. He said: "Well, not me. I'm an American citizen." For some unknown reason he felt proud of the fact.
She said: "Yes? That is the only free country at peace at the moment. It must be nice to be American."' She picked up the beer mug. She looked at him. She said: "Here's to you, Rene." She drank some of the beer.
Berg threw his cigarette into the fire. He looked at his wristwatch. He said: "Well, maybe I'll go an' take a look at this sister of yours. The Feldwebel asked me to go along there."
She said: "You might not like it. It is not amusing for a man to see a woman beaten."
Berg said: "No? I've seen worse than that. So long, kid. I'll be seein' you."
He went out. The door banged behind him.
The landlord said: "If he talks...it is going to be very unpleasant. You have taken a very great risk, Ingrid."
She said sadly: "Maybe...I don't know. In these days one guesses at things."
She went back to the chair by the fire; sat looking into the embers.
Berg walked briskly down the road towards Skaalund. He was stopped at the crossroads where the woods ended by the German Gendarmerie patrol. They examined his pass; allowed him to proceed.
Berg thought to himself: These guys are goddam funny—these Norwegians. Are they funny guys? He turned the thought over and over in his mind.
He felt vaguely uncomfortable. A peculiar mental irk possessed him. He wondered what it was. It was rather as if he had drunk a glass of really bad hooch—as if his stomach was turning over. Actually, because inside Berg there was some peculiar feeling of pride, he was infuriated with himself because of Ingrid, although he did not care to admit the implication.
He said to himself: Are they goddam funny—these dames! A babe like Ingrid—good-looking a young kid—so she lays a guy because she wants to find out about him, not because she likes him. Berg, who had been in his own way fond of Ingrid, did not like this thought.
The mental process continued. He said to himself: But you got to have something sticking around here, being kicked around by these Heinies—and they're not so hot either—they're very tough—guys like Nielenberg. A babe like Ingrid is just sticking around ready to lay a guy so that they can find out about him!
He dismissed the thought from his mind because it was not pleasant. He began to think about what she had said to him. So they were all in the underground—this poor puny hidden thing that was trying to fight the might of the German Army. He remembered what she had said. They were all in it except perhaps for a little scum. Berg began to think about all the people he had met in Skaalund. He wondered which of them were in the movement, and which few constituted the little scum. He shrugged his shoulders. You just didn't know!
Anyway, these Norwegians had had it. They had lost and if you lost there was nothing to be done about it. They were living on day-dreams; believing that the British would come back. Berg, who knew very little about the British, thought such a process was not very possible. He had heard about the British invasion of Norway—a handful of not very well-trained troops, inadequately supported by artillery, with no aircraft, who had put up some sort of show and been kicked out again by the organized might of the German Army. He began to think about the British. They were odd too. They weren't unlike the Norwegians. They might even come back. Berg remembered somebody telling him that the English always lost every battle except the last. But it seemed to him that the last battle had been fought.
The Germans were on the up-and-up. His own country—America—was wise enough to keep out of it. He had heard the stories about Roosevelt sending over stores, food and ships. Well, maybe that was a gesture from one country to another. It didn't mean a thing.
He turned out of the main street down to the left. At the bottom on the right side at an angle he could see the windows of the Gendarmerie headquarters. A despatch rider was outside, sitting across his motor-cycle, lighting a cigarette. At the top of the stone steps Berg could see the figure of the Gendarmerie sentry, his rifle with the bayonet fixed held lightly in his hand, the two stick grenades tied on the left side of his belt. He was laughing and saying something to the despatch rider.
Berg thought: They're easy, these guys. They've got everything all set. They know what they're doing. They've got organization. He thought of Scansci in the old days. He'd had a good organization too. The thought occurred to Berg suddenly that the Scansci organization had slipped a little. He shrugged his shoulders. Maybe one day the organization of these Jerries would slip. Maybe! But he did not think so.
He approached the entrance. The sentry stiffened. His rifle came up. Berg heard the safety catch go off. Simultaneously, from a window which was half-opened, with a dark blind behind it, there came the sound of a whimper—a moan. It was a woman's voice.
Berg thought casually: I reckon that's Hilde—Ingrid's sister. I reckon Nielenberg is getting to work on her. He stopped and lit a cigarette. Then he took his pass out of his pocket, went towards the stone steps. The despatch rider looked at him inquiringly as he passed the front of his motor-cycle with its subdued headlight.
Berg held out his pass towards the sentry. He said: "Herr Feldwebel Nielenberg?"
The sentry looked at him; then he motioned him to go inside.
Berg walked towards the door at the far end of the stone passage. He knocked, pushed it open, put his head round the corner. The room was the office of the Oberleutnant, which Nielenberg was using in his superior's absence. There were three people in the room. Nielenberg, the collar and top buttons of his tunic undone, sat on the desk facing the other two.
The man and the woman were seated in high straight-backed chairs with their arms pulled backwards over the tops of the chairs and tied to the cross-bar at the back. Each ankle was tied to a leg of the chair.
Berg looked at the two. Furthest from him was the man. He looked dazed and there was a bruise on his head. His head was sunk forward. Berg thought he was a good type. He had a thin face with a good jaw. His eyes were half-closed, but Berg could not tell whether this was through tiredness or whether the man was shamming semi-consciousness.
In the other chair was the woman Hilde. She was fair, and her hair, which Berg thought might be beautiful when it was dressed, hung down to her shoulders. Her face was oval and very white. A thin stream of blood was running from one corner of her mouth down her chin, dripping down to the rough frieze coat she wore. Across her face was a red weal.
Nielenberg looked at Berg's head as it protruded through the opening of the door. He said: "Come in, my friend. This might be very interesting. And close the door behind you. You will find some beer in the cupboard in the corner."
Berg entered the room. He noticed that Nielenberg carried in his right hand a thin rubber quirt. Quite obviously, he had slashed the girl across the face with this. Berg looked at her again. Her eyes were filled with tears; she was biting her lips in an endeavour to keep them back.
Nielenberg said: "All these damned Norwegians are the same. They all think they are very strong and very brave. They all think that none of them is going to talk. Eventually, we find some way of making them talk. The devil of it is it sometimes takes a long time and I do not want it to take a long time—not on this occasion." He grinned at Berg. He said: "And you might give me a mug of beer too."
Berg opened the cupboard; took out two mugs and the large stone jar of beer. He filled the two mugs, brought one to Nielenberg.
Nielenberg went over to the man. He stood over him, the rubber quirt in his right hand, the beer mug in his left.
He said: "You do not look very well, my English friend. You do not look very well because you made a very bad landing. You look to me as if you came down head first. This may help to revive you."
He threw the mug of beer into the man's face, passed the rubber quirt into his left hand, drew back his right fist and struck the man between the eyes. The force of the blow was so great that the chair heeled over sideways and crashed to the ground.
No sound came from the man. He lay there on his side, his arms still fastened over the back of the chair, in a most grotesque position. Nielenberg leaned over, seized the chair, yanked it upright. He came back to the desk.
Berg picked up the mug. He said: "I thought you wanted some beer. You'd better have some more." He poured out another mug. He sat down on the side of the desk opposite Nielenberg. He drank his beer; lit a cigarette.
Nielenberg said: "These two are going to talk before the Oberleutnant comes back. I would like very much to have my report all ready for him when he arrives."
Berg said: "So the boss is comin' back, hey? Maybe he'll have some news about my papers when he comes."
Nielenberg said: "Perhaps...and perhaps not. In any event he will have more important things to think about if I can make these swine talk."
He finished his beer; passed the mug back to Berg. Berg refilled both mugs.
He asked: "What's goin' on around here? What's all this about?"
Nielenberg laughed. He said: "These people think they have a chance of making some sort of what you call a comeback. This one—" he motioned to the man "—is an Englishman. We've heard about him. He's been dropped a dozen times before. They are dropped by plane. They organize what they call resistance and underground movements—stupid little organizations which never achieve anything. The woman is Norwegian. Also she thinks she is very tough. We shall see in a minute."
Berg said: "When does the boss come back?"
The Feldwebel thought for a moment; then he said: "If the despatch rider is right he should be here by a quarter to ten." He looked at his wrist-watch. "That gives me twenty-five minutes." He grinned. "Now let us analyze the twenty-five minutes. Five minutes to make this woman talk, three minutes to dictate the report, ten minutes for it to be typed, and I will meet the Oberleutnant at the landing strip and present it to him."
