‘Die Wildvogel missen beimkehren.’

At the same moment I heard steps and the door opened on the far side, I stepped back towards the stove, and fingered the pistol in my pocket.

A man entered, a man with a scholar’s stoop, an unkempt beard, and large sleepy dark eyes.  At the sight of me he pulled up and his whole body grew taut.  It was the Portuguese Jew, whose back I had last seen at the smithy door in Skye, and who by the mercy of God had never seen my face.

I stopped fingering my pistol, for I had an inspiration.  Before he could utter a word I got in first.

‘Die Vogelein schwei igem im Walde,’ I said.

His face broke into a pleasant smile, and he replied: 

‘Warte nur, balde rubest du auch.’

‘Ach,’ he said in German, holding out his hand, ’you have come this way, when we thought you would go by Modane.  I welcome you, for I know your exploits.  You are Conradi, who did so nobly in Italy?’

I bowed.  ‘Yes, I am Conradi,’ I said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Col of the Swallows

He pointed to the slip on the table.

‘You have seen the orders?’

I nodded.

’The long day’s work is over.  You must rejoice, for your part has been the hardest, I think.  Some day you will tell me about it?’

The man’s face was honest and kindly, rather like that of the engineer Gaudian, whom two years before I had met in Germany.  But his eyes fascinated me, for they were the eyes of the dreamer and fanatic, who would not desist from his quest while life lasted.  I thought that Ivery had chosen well in his colleague.

‘My task is not done yet,’ I said.  ‘I came here to see Chelius.’

‘He will be back tomorrow evening.’

’Too late.  I must see him at once.  He has gone to Italy, and I must overtake him.’

‘You know your duty best,’ he said gravely.

’But you must help me.  I must catch him at Santa Chiara, for it is a business of life and death.  Is there a car to be had?’

‘There is mine.  But there is no chauffeur.  Chelius took him.’

’I can drive myself and I know the road.  But I have no pass to cross the frontier.’

‘That is easily supplied,’ he said, smiling.

In one bookcase there was a shelf of dummy books.  He unlocked this and revealed a small cupboard, whence he took a tin dispatch-box.  From some papers he selected one, which seemed to be already signed.

‘Name?’ he asked.

‘Call me Hans Gruber of Brieg,’ I said.  ’I travel to pick up my master, who is in the timber trade.’

‘And your return?’

‘I will come back by my old road,’ I said mysteriously; and if he knew what I meant it was more than I did myself.

He completed the paper and handed it to me.  ’This will take you through the frontier posts.  And now for the car.  The servants will be in bed, for they have been preparing for a long journey, but I will myself show it you.  There is enough petrol on board to take you to Rome.’