down the lane. He came quietly but he carried a torch. I had no time to get to you or to get away before he saw the taxicab. I hid behind it. He called out. I did not answer. I heard him mumbling to himself. He stepped out into the lane again and I heard him calling. He is coming down—they are coming here—two of them. They are S.S. men! Ach, mein Herr!”
The gift of swift thought had helped Charles Mildenhall through more than one crisis of his life.
“Come inside and get behind the door, Fritz,” he ordered. “Don’t close it. Leave it open. We’ll deal with these men.”
“I have a revolver—in the car,” Fritz stammered.
“Leave it there,” Charles answered. “I have one in my pocket!”
CHAPTER XV
The intruders displayed none of Fritz’s hesitation. They pushed the door noisily open and stood staring about them. They were both hefty fellows, one in a well-worn German S.S. uniform, the other in a newer outfit of the same type with the Swastika prominently displayed. They had only one rather poor torch between them carried by the Austrian.
“What are you men doing in this place?” the latter asked suspiciously.
Charles was on the point of answering him when Blute gripped his arm.
“Let me deal with this,” he begged, speaking in English. “I know how to handle these fellows better than you would. Besides, I want you to keep out of it as much as you can.”
“It’s too late to think of that,” Charles replied. “Still, go ahead, my friend. If you have an idea how to deal with this situation you’re welcome. Anything short of murder—don’t forget that.”
“Turn on the lights!” the bigger man shouted. “I want to see what sort of place we’re in.”
“There are no lights, Herr Gestapo,” Blute answered. “You’ll have to do as well as you can with your torch. What do you want here, anyway? This is private property.”
The German took the torch away from his companion and inspected the place as far as he could. His language became blasphemous.
“What in hell is a place like this for—stone walls—stone roof—stone floor and not a light?”
“It’s a prison/’ Blute explained.
“A prison for whom?” the Austrian asked contemptuously.
“You, if you don’t behave yourself,” was the quick response. “Now, put your hands up—both of you—quick!”
Blute drew a clumsy, old-fashioned revolver from his pocket and held it out. The weapon which Charles had been hiding behind his back also appeared. It was a highly modern, beautifully polished affair.
“Put your revolver away,” Blute told him. “I could hit their eyeballs if I wanted to from here. They aren’t armed, you see. They’ve got nothing but those steel whips with knobs at the end—wicked weapons but no good except at close quarters.”
“Do you know we are Gestapo?” the German shouted. “You’ll go to prison for this!”
“And you’ll go to hell, if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” Blute retorted. “Want some plain talk or a bullet, you two?”
“Proceed with the plain talk,” the Austrian demanded. “Put your revolver down. We are not armed.”
“So I see, but I will keep my revolver in my hand. I earned my living once as a trick shot on the stage. I could put a bullet in either of you any place I chose within a couple of millimetres. And, while I’m about it, get this into your brains if you’ve got any—we’ve been working here for some time and we’re not going to be disturbed. There are two things you can do. You’d better stand still and listen to them. If you make the slightest attempt to escape you are dead men and I can promise we can hide your bodies in this building in such a way that they will never be found until the rats have eaten the flesh off your bones.”
“They’ll be taking a dislike to you presently,” Charles muttered sotto voce.
“You leave me alone,” Blute whispered. “I know the breed. Now then, you fellows,” he went on, “you may put your hands down. I’m not afraid of your rushing in. You want to know what we are. We’re thieves. This place has been empty for years, there isn’t a soul living anywhere near and we’ve used it for a hiding place. We’ve still got some loot here to carry away. It will take us two or three days. Until we’ve taken it right away you’ll stay where you are.
“What, in this place?” the German called out.
“In this place,” Blute repeated. “And you can be thankful you’re not down in one of the cellars with a bullet through your forehead.”
The Austrian coughed. His small eyes were glazed with fear.
“I think we’d better come to an arrangement,” he suggested. “I’m an S.S. man all right—so is my friend—but we all have to live. If we were free we would arrest you. As we are not, we will not be so silly as to try. Make it worth our while and we’ll clear out.”
“There’s another Austrian alive,” Blute observed with a grin, “whose word I wouldn’t trust for five minutes. I fancy you two are about the same kidney. There may be something coming to you afterwards if you behave yourselves, but I wouldn’t trust either of you further than I could see you. Come on—I’m not much of a talker—no more is my friend. We like things to happen. Take your choice. Are you going to obey us or are you going to share the contents of this revolver of mine?”
“You’ve got us,” the German said sulkily. “We’ll do as you say, provided there’s no killing.”
“There’ll be no killing unless you ask for it. You came here of your own choice—you’ll leave when we choose.”
“When will that be?” the Austrian asked uneasily.
“Possibly in either four or five days.”
The stream of blasphemy from the German left him for a moment incapable of coherent speech. The Austrian kept his head and temper.
“What do we live on for those four days?” he demanded.
“Sausages, beef, rolls, butter, coffee, beer and brandy,” was the prompt response.
“Where do they come from?” the German growled.
“You will be provided with food—just as much as you can eat,” Blute promised, “and drink—just as much as you can put away—provided you make no attempt to communicate with anyone outside.”
There was a cunning gleam in the big man’s eye. It was easy to guess at the thought behind it. Blute flashed his torch upon him.
“By whatever means these things are brought to you,” he said, “it will be in
