boucher book oct28.pdf - Index of

340 Anthony Boucher
He glared at the men, and there was terror beneath their impassivity. “They did
so. They searched badly. A loyal peasant has informed us, after only the slightest
persuasion, that he saw the pig-dog enter this house.”
I shrugged. “Dr. Palgrave and I have been sitting here, drinking our … coffee,
and talking about the ghost. The only interruption was your searching squad.” Dr.
Palgrave still said nothing.
“So? I begin to understand now the purpose of that ghost legend. How
was the ghost described? Black-faced and clad in dirty dungarees and tattered
tennis shoes? So if a servant should see one of these Commando devils here he
might think only, ‘Aha! The ghost.’ Most ingenious. Most ingenious. We have caught
a glimpse of this man, and how well he would serve as your ghost—
And you, Dr. Palgrave. I had thought you so faithful an adherent of the New Order.”
Dr. Palgrave’s fingers twitched at gadgets. You know me, colonel,” he said,
almost pitifully. “Can you imagine me a participant in a plot to give sanctuary to
Commandos?”
“Frankly, no.” The colonel smiled. “But once before in my life I misjudged a
man. It can happen; I admit it. That one died slowly, and when he died he was no
longer a man—” He chuckled. “But I could think of a more appropriate emasculation
for you, dear doctor. If you do not reveal to us the hiding place of this Commando
dog—I no longer trust the searching abilities of these dolts—I shall take
great personal pleasure in slowly and thoroughly smashing every piece of scientific
apparatus in this villa.”
Dr. Palgrave started to his feet with a little choking gurgle of “No—”
“But, yes, I assure you. I shall give you fifteen seconds, dear doctor, to make up
your mind. Then I shall proceed happily to the task of demolition. I tolerated your
eccentric researches while they amused me and you were faithful. Now the devil
take them.”
“Fifteen seconds—”
Colonel von Schwarzenau glanced up from his wrist watch. “Five are gone.”
The Barras thumping rose crescendo in the silence. If our Commandoman escaped,
that lethal humming might stop forever. If he were taken—
“Ten are gone,” the colonel announced.
Dr. Palgrave rapped nervously on his desk. He toyed with dials and verniers. He
plucked at his lower lip.
“Fiftee—”
Silently, Dr. Palgrave rose and pointed to the small door. I started from my
chair, then sank back as the armed squad passed me. I could do nothing. There was
ashen dread on Dr. Palgrave’s face, and a grin of ugly self-satisfaction on that of the
colonel. The corporal jerked open the door.
A stranger stepped out. He was a good-looking young man with a curly red
beard, faultlessly dressed in Savile Row white flannels, a subtly figured white shirt,
and a professionally arranged ascot. His skin glowed with clean health.
Colonel Heinz von Schwarzenau stared speechlessly. The corporal peered into
the room and made a flabbergasted announcement in German to the effect that
there were no facilities there for washing or changing clothes, nor any sign of the