boucher book oct28.pdf - Index of

Sanctuary 339
I turned to gape at the ghost of the villa—dirty dungarees, tattered tennis shoes,
blackened face and all.
“Why, you’re the ghost,” Dr. Palgrave observed, as one who notes an interesting
but insignificant fact.
“Brother, it’s you that’s slated to be the ghost if there’s any trouble.” There was
the sheen of steel in the figure’s hand—an efficient-looking blade about six inches
long that seemed to be all cutting edge.
I got it. “You’re a Commando,” I said.
He snorted. “You civilians don’t know from nothing. I’m a Commandoman.”
I was put in my place again. “But, look, boys. You talk English. You talk it kind of
funny—classylike—but tell me: Are you Americans?”
I nodded.
“Is that a relief! I didn’t do so good in French class; I was better at rough-andtumble.
And I guess I don’t need this either, brothers.” He sheathed the glinting six
inches. “But get this: You’ve got to hide me.”
“Why?” Dr. Palgrave asked imperturbably.
Blackened eyebrows lifted on the blackened face. The Commandoman jerked a
thumb at Palgrave. “ ‘Why?’ he says. Is he nuts?”
“He runs the joint,” I said. “I’m just here pretty much the way you are.”
“Look, brother,” he addressed Dr. Palgrave. “I got cut off from the Commando.
That patrol missed me by a flea’s eyelash and I ducked in here after they’d gone. But
they’ll be back. They always search twice; it’s a rule. And you’ve got to hide me.”
“Why?” Dr. Palgrave repeated.
“Why? You’re an American. Or are you?”
“I am, sir, a citizen of the world of science.”
The distant thud of returning footfalls was barely audible over the Barras
thumpings.
“Look.” The Commandoman’s hand rested on his sheath. “You listen to sense
or you listen to Betsey. It don’t make no matter if I get killed. What the hell, every
time you black your face you say to yourself, ‘Make-up for the last act.’ But I’m
the dope they made memorize the plans for sabotage at the works here. I’ve got to
get through to a certain Frenchman with that message. And if they get me there’s
always the chance I’ll crack under the games they play. So you’ve got to stall them
and hide me some way.”
The thudding steps were on the terrace now. I knew nothing of the house. I was
helpless, but I spoke pleadingly to my host. “Dr. Palgrave, these men, these friends
of yours, have declared war against citizens of your world of science as bitterly as
against Poles or Czechs. This Commandoman is fighting your own scientific battle.
You must—”
Dr. Palgrave indicated a small door across the room. “In there,” he said tersely.
Herr Oberst Heinz von Schwarzenau was with the squad this time. He plumped his
pudgy body into the most comfortable chair and came straight to the point. “My dear
Dr. Palgrave, I assure you that I regret inconveniencing you. But I fear that this charming,
if haunted, villa of yours is harboring a democratic dog of a Commandoman.”
Dr. Palgrave said nothing. He sat at his desk and fiddled nervously with some
gadgets in front of him. I spoke up. “Your men searched here once, Herr Oberst.”