Pursuit of Passy Page 25

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  The following morning about eleven o'clock d'Angelay walked quickly into my room and shut the door. I saw immediately from his manner that something was wrong.

  “Monsieur,” he said, “we must be very quick now. The Boche are here and they are searching the whole hospital.”

  “Hellfire!” I exclaimed. “Where do you want me to hide?”

  “Here,” he said. “Remain in bed. Leave it to me.”

  The door opened quietly again and the tall nurse came in with a tray which she set down on the foot of the bed. She moved very quickly yet without any suggestion of haste.

  d'Angelay took a hypodermic from the tray and seized my arm while the nurse dabbed a little spirit on the skin.

  “Now,” said the little doctor briskly, “I'm giving you an injection which will affect your heart and pulse. After this you must lie quite still and not make a single move whatever happens. Leave it all to me and we may be able to bluff them.”

  I nodded and he jabbed in the needle, replaced the hypodermic on the tray and he and the nurse seized gauze and bandages and started to bandage the whole of my head, arms and chest. My face was completely covered leaving only a small slit for my nose and mouth and I couldn't see at all. They worked rapidly and finally laid me down again and covered me up.

  I felt d'Angelay bend over me. “Remember,” he whispered. “Absolute silence.”

  I moved my head slightly in acknowledgment, and then the door closed behind them.

  For what seemed an age I lay in darkness, straining my ears to catch the slightest sound that would announce the arrival of the enemy but all I heard was the normal sounds of the hospital, of people moving along the corridors and the chatter of birds outside the open window.

  After perhaps half an hour I heard the sounds that I had been dreading. Footsteps approached in the corridor outside, one or two doors were opened and closed again, and then the tramp of feet paused outside my door and it was thrown open. Several people came in and moved round the room. Two of them stopped by my bed. I could hear their breathing.

  A deep voice said in atrocious French. “Who is this?”

  The other man standing over me was d'Angelay. He replied evenly. “We don't know. He is a badly burned French airman, but he had no papers that could identify him.” He dropped his voice. “The man's condition is very weak. I don't think—” he paused significantly.

  There was a long silence. I sensed that I was the object of keen scrutiny. My heart was giving a dull thud-thud, and inside my bandages a cold trickle of sweat ran down my cheek.

  The German spoke again. There was a curt note of suspicion in his voice.

  “When was this man brought in?”

  Another voice, a Frenchman apparently, answered from the direction of the door.

  “I can't say, monsieur, but probably in the last day or two because I haven't seen him before.”

  d'Angelay broke in quickly. “Pardon, mon colonel, but this man has been here for ten days now. He arrived from Rheims before the Armistice.”

  “Did he?” said the other voice. “I don't remember seeing him before, but then things are in such chaos…”

  The German interrupted. “Please remove these bandages.”

  d'Angelay answered quietly. “I am afraid that is impossible monsieur. The man is only just recovering from the shock of his dressings yesterday. I dare not disturb him again now.”

  “I am sorry, monsieur, but my orders are to examine all the patients in this hospital. Several Germans were killed the other night by two British agents who managed to escape. We think they may be wounded and being sheltered in the town and I must satisfy myself that they are not in this hospital.”

  Silence. Then d'Angelay's voice, “I beg your pardon, monsieur, but this man cannot possibly be the person you want. He has been lying here for ten days now in such a weak condition that once or twice we have thought he couldn't last another day. I dare not disturb him just now.”

  “Do you refuse my orders?” said the German coldly. “I am quite prepared to enforce them if necessary and I tell you for the last time, I wish to see this man whatever the result.”

  “And I, monsieur, refuse to take a step that may kill him.”

  There was a tense silence for a moment. I could picture the two men, French and German, glaring angrily at each other across my bed.

  The voice by the door intervened in conciliatory tones. “Captain d'Angelay would be very pleased to do as you wish, monsieur, but you understand that it is a point of honour with him not to do anything which would cause this man further injury. Surely the matter is not so urgent—this man cannot possibly be the person you are seeking and if you come back in a few days we can let you see him without doing him injury—if he's still alive.”

  d'Angelay broke in quickly. “That is quite right, mon colonel. In a few days it will be different. Look, monsieur, you can see for yourself how weak the man is. Feel his pulse.”

  A hand grasped my wrist and held it for a minute. I understood now the reason for the injection.

  The grip on my wrist relaxed again.

  “Very well,” said the German. “Under the circumstances I am prepared to take your word for it, but as this man has no papers I must see him as soon as his condition allows.”

  “Very good, monsieur,” said the doctor and the little procession filed out of my room again. I lay down, still listening intently as the footsteps receded down the passage.

  I didn't like that German's final remark. He would be coming back again.