'You,' said Raymond, 'will be the carrier of the suitcase. After the robbery it is arranged that the money, in a leather
suitcase, will be taken into the Metro station at Sevres Baby-
lone. You will be waiting on the platform - on the Direction Mairie D'Issy platform - at exactly ten-fifteen. The Metro
closes at eleven o'clock each morning so the operation must be
complete by that time. The money will be brought down from the platform by another of our members who will set it down
next to you. You will pick up the case and get into the third carriage of the train that will come in. On the train will be your colleague Dove. You will not speak to her. Just set the case down next to her and she will take it from the train at
Notre Dame des Champs which is two stations down the route.
You will remain on the train and change at Montparnasse
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Bienvenue for the train to Denfert-Rochereau, it can be either Direction Porte D'Orleans or Direction Nation. From Denfert-Rochereau you will return to here on foot. Later today you will be taken to the Metro so that you will know the route.'
'Sounds simple,' said Ormerod, relieved he did not have to take a direct part in the hold up.
'It sounds simple,' agreed Raymond. 'Perhaps it will be.'
The raid on the Rue de Babylone branch of the Paris Commerce Bank took place at ten o'clock the following day. It was a grey, drizzling morning with little in the streets but
bicycles, bicycle-taxis and a few horses and carts. Pedestrians,
weighed down it seemed by the weather and the times, walked
with faces averted. Cafes were open along the Rue de Baby-
lone, their lacklustre candlelight flickering in the dimness of the
day.
At nine fifty-five four men in overcoats and trilby hats left
four different cafes in the street and the adjoining Rue Sevres
and walked unhurriedly to the premises of the bank. They entered through doors at each side of the bank, pulled silk scarves up to their noses and produced guns.
Ten million francs in notes, worth then about £25,000, was
conveniently stacked in the office of the assistant manager who,
at the point of a gun, handed it over with an agreeable smile. The raid was completed within two minutes. Some people in the bank were not aware that it had happened.
On the platform of the Sevres Babylone Metro station at ten-fifteen Ormerod stood more nervously than he had ever
done during his lifetime's activity on the proper side of the law.
He wondered what his superintendent at Wandsworth might think if he knew that he was about to take delivery of a consignment of stolen banknotes. On the platform were thirty or
so waiting people, spread out along its length. Ormerod was
amazed to see Smales striding along towards him with a leather
suitcase. Smales obviously did not expect to see him either for
his expression abruptly altered, he halted and then moved hesi
tantly towards Ormerod again. He put the suitcase down next to Ormerod, never taking his eyes off his face. 'Hello Albert,' said the policeman. 'Partners in crime, eh?'
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Smales did not reply. He went hurriedly along the platform and out of the exit. The thought occurred to Ormerod that the
messenger was supposed to go by Metro in the other direction.
He shrugged and picked up the suitcase. A green train with 'Direction Mairie D'Issy' on its indicator board clattered through the tunnel. The third carriage came to a stop almost at Ormerod's feet. He glanced up and saw Marie Thérèse sitting tight-faced inside. He took the suitcase and stepped in casually.
There were a dozen other passengers in the compartment, including a fat German soldier curled in sleep, his face perspiring gently beneath his cap. He looked like a tired village
postmaster. Ormerod sat down and studied a poster showing a grinning blond German helping an old lady across the road. He
smiled speculatively at Marie Thérèse but she did not even look at him. At Notre Dame des Champs she stood up and, picking up the case, left the train.
Ormerod followed the instructions and changed at Mont-parnasse to get a train to Denfert-Rochereau where he left the station and walked casually to the apartment on the Rue des
Plantes. They had given him the key. He went to his bedroom,
patted the rabbit hutch, took off his shoes and lay down. He went at once to sleep.
It was two hours later when Marie Thérèse woke him with
her knocking on the door. She entered at once. He could see by
her face that something had gone wrong.
'Raymond wants you,' she said. 'It has failed. Come quickly.'
He sat up sleepily and replaced his shoes. He walked into the
main room of the apartment. They were all there except Smales.
On the floor, its lid mockingly open, was the suitcase that Or
merod had taken at the Sevres Babylone Station. It contained wads of torn-up pages from old Paris telephone directories. Ormerod whistled.
He looked around. I perceive that our friend Smales is
absent,' he said. 'And where Smales is, that is where the loot is.
Right?'
'Almost correct,' said Raymond. 'Between the time we left
the bank and the time the case was delivered to you, Smales
managed to make a switch. He escaped with the money.'
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Ormerod looked around. They looked so perplexed, so
innocent, so hurt. He wondered, not for the first time, how they
would fare as resistance fighters. He sniffed. 'Well you wanted a criminal mind,' he said, 'and you got one. That's Smales all over.'
'There is a further development,' said Raymond quietly.
'What's that?'
'We have just heard from a contact who listens on the Paris
telephone for us ... We have information that Smales has been
picked up by the French Police and they have handed him over
to the Germans.'
Ormerod felt himself go pale. 'Oh,' he said. Then slowly, 'Then in that case we had better get him back quick. It won't take Smales long to do a deal. Then we're all in the shit'
Albert Smales had deposited his gun and all but twenty
thousand of the ten million francs from the bank raid in the
left-luggage bureau at the Gare du Nord. He felt happy and triumphant at the ease with which the ruse had been carried out. He was still congratulating himself on his craft when he was picked up by the French police in the suburb of Clichy that same afternoon.
Because he spoke little French and, when he was searched,
the twenty thousand francs were discovered and two rounds of
ammunition for a Walther pistol, the French police immedi
ately handed him over to the German
Feldgendarmerie,
the
military police.
At four o'clock that day Provost Lieutenant Huber, after
questioning Smales at the
Feldgendarmerie
office in the Avenue
de la Porte de Clichy, telephoned the
Abwehr,
German military intelligence, and spoke to SS Captain Ernst Heller.
'So, you have an English soldier? What significance is that?'
demanded Captain Heller. Provost Lieutenant Huber, on the other end of the phone, blinked. He was cautious of the Gestapo, even at telephone distance.
'It is that we think he might have been mixing in interesting company in Paris,' he said with deference. 'He must have been
sheltered and fed by somebody since he came here. He had twenty thousand francs on him.'
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'How old is the man?'
'Twenty-three.'
'Probably sheltered by a woman,' said Heller. He was becoming impatient. He himself had an appointment with a woman. 'What interest is he to us? Send him back to the prison camp.'
He was about to put the receiver down when the provost
lieutenant said, 'When he was picked up in Clichy he had two
rounds of ammunition on him.'
'So? He is a soldier.'
"The ammunition is German. For a Walther,' said the lieu
tenant. He enjoyed saying that. He heard a pause at the other end.
'All right,' sighed Heller. 'I still don't think it is important
but I suppose we'd better have him over here for interrogation.
But don't make it official. We don't want the Geneva Red Cross
and all that crap coming down on us for transgressing their beautiful convention.'
'He is in civilian clothes,' said the lieutenant, feeling better
now. 'I don't see how the Geneva Convention applies. Or the Hague Convention. Or any convention. He could be shot as a spy.'
'AH right,' said Heller. 'Send him over. This evening. I've got
an important and busy afternoon. Make it seven o'clock. And
don't lose him on the way.' The thought stayed with him. 'Per
haps we will send an escort. Yes, I think that will be better.'
'As you wish,' said the lieutenant. He wondered who had
conquered France, the army or the Gestapo. 'We will expect your people just before seven.'
He put the phone down and walked along the corridor from his office to a detention room. Smales was sitting grimly at a
table, guarded by a sergeant wearing the brass breastplate of the
Feldgendarmerie,
He did not bother to look up when Lieutenant Huber walked in. 'How did you get to Paris?' Huber said.
Smales looked up wearily. Huber thought what a curious face
he had. He had also been crying. In his life Smales had been
in the custody of the police at various times. This time he knew
it was serious.
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'I got a train,' he said. 'I told you before, didn't I? I lifted some money from the hospital and got on the train to Paris.'
'Why did you leave the hospital?'
'Didn't like the food.'
He regretted the remark. The German struck him across the face with his hand. 'I am asking polite questions,' he said. 'I want polite answers.'
'I just wanted to get to Paris,' said Smales, his eyes bloodshot. 'I've always been a bit of an operator in England ...'
'What does that mean - operator?'
'Well, I've done a bit of villainy ... in trouble with the police. That sort of thing.'
'Thievery,' said the lieutenant. He looked pleased he knew the word. 'Stealing.'
'Yes,' said Smales with a strangely embarrassed smile. 'That sort of thing. I knew there was a black market in Paris and I reckoned it would get bigger as time went on. I thought I'd get here and see what the chances were. It's easier to hide anyway. I reckon with a bit of luck you could make a fortune here.' He glanced at Huber as if thinking they might go into partnership.
'Where did the ammunition come from? It is German ammunition.'
'From the hospital at Bagnoles. I told you that. I nicked it when I nicked the money.'
'Where is the gun?'
'I haven't got a gun. Just the rounds.'
'Where have you been hiding in Paris?'
Smales looked frightened. 'All around. A night here, a night there. A couple of prossies, you know, tarts, they put me up for a week or so. I thought I might run them too. The prossies. That's going to be very big business.'
Huber smiled deftly. I am afraid you are going to be out of business, as you might say, for a long time.'
'What's going to happen to me?' asked Smales. 'I'm a British soldier, remember.'
'You are going to a hotel to stay for a while.'
Smales was unintelligent enough to smile. Then he saw Huber's expression. 'What hotel?' he asked.
'Hotel Lutetia,' answered Huber. The guarding policeman
225
looked up at Smales with something like pity. 'It is an office of
the Gestapo.'
At that moment Smales made the decision he had known he
was going to have to make. It was going to be necessary to come to an agreement with them.
At five o'clock the telephone rang in the apartment on the Rue
des Plantes. It rang once, stopped, rang again, stopped and then
sounded a third time. Raymond waited. Now he picked it up and merely gave his name. He did not say anything further
until the end of the message. The speaker was in a hurry. Ray
mond let him continue and at the conclusion quickly said:
'Merci, au revoir,'
before putting the receiver down.
Jean Le Blanc had returned from the Unoccupied Zone only ten minutes before and was sitting noisily drinking coffee. Marie Thérèse was there also, looking anxiously at Raymond.
She had just come in with Le Blanc.
'Smales,' said Raymond grimly. 'He is with the
Feldgendar-
merie
at the Avenue de la Porte de Clichy. They are taking him to the
Abwehr
tonight at seven. We will have to move quickly.
We three and the Englishman will have to do it.'
Le Blanc looked up with his dull eyes over the top of the coffee cup, 'Do we need the Englishman?' he said. 'So far he has not been of great value. Englishmen never are.'
'It is because of Smales,' said Raymond. 'I made a promise he could have Smales.'
'Madness,' growled Le Blanc. 'Absolute madness. What chance has he got of doing anything with Smales, anyway?
Where can he take him? Back to his police station in London? It is a fantasy. While Smales lives, we are all in danger.'
I promised the Englishman he could take Smales. If it is possible. I want to keep that promise,' said Raymond. 'The important thing is to prevent him getting to the Hotel Lutetia.'
'They will soon make him talk there,' sniffed Le Blanc. 'What
route? Did the contact know?'
'We must act very quickly, as soon as possible after he leaves the
Feldgendarmerie
post in the Avenue de la Porte de Clichy.
He will be in a Gestapo car with a two-man escort. They do not know what they have captured yet. They do not realize