At last the two men came into view: first, their heads; and then their uniforms, as they slowly climbed the stairs back to the Abbey. Two officers, Hearne could see, but that was as far as he could identify them at this distance with the tree shadows blotting out the steps as they did.
A high-pitched voice was saying “...fantastic. Pity you couldn’t have been here when the moon is full and the tide is phenomenal.”
“I can’t imagine it.” The voice was polite, but assured. Hearne’s eyes narrowed.
“The Reichsmarschall himself would like to take the whole place and set it up on the Rhine.”
“Not on his estate?” The sarcasm in the second voice ended in a laugh.
The high voice laughed, too, and turned the conversation. “Interesting what you’ve been telling me, but I assure you this place is as dead as its buildings. Have you seen its inmates? They are part of the Museum! Your—your friends have brought you on a hopeless hunt: there’s no game here for them. I’ve seen to that already. How long are you staying?”
“Until tomorrow. I must be back then.”
The men were almost level with Hearne now. His guess about the second voice had been right. It was Deichgräber, himself. The high voice belonged to an older man, a major, Hearne noted.
He was saying, “Are the others leaving with you?”
Deichgräber was answering, “No. They will probably stay longer.”
The high voice hardened. “I suppose they don’t trust our efficiency in these matters. How did you get mixed up with them? And what use is a woman in such things?”
“Headquarters,” Deichgräber said briefly in answer to the first question. But about Elise he made no reply.
The two men halted and turned to watch the sands once more.
“Pity you couldn’t have seen high tide at night-time,” the major said. And then, unexpectedly, “You might at least tell me what brought them here.”
“I assure you, Herr Major, that they only tell me as much as they’ve told you.”
“That English agent...he was caught on the mainland. Why do they come here? Had he friends here?”
For a moment Hearne’s heart had stopped. He didn’t hear Deichgräber’s reply. And then he realised that the major had used the past tense. Had he friends here? He thought of Dunwoodie, whom Duclos hadn’t seen for two weeks. Something which they had found when they had searched Dunwoodie or his room had directed Ehrlich to Mont Saint-Michel. That must be it. So Duclos had been right about Dunwoodie.
Hearne heard the major say with some bitterness, “I resent this intolerable interference.” He had started to climb the steps once more.
“What is it like at high tide?” was Deichgräber’s answer. The two voices faded with the footsteps. Hearne drew a deep breath as the major’s explanations blurred in the distance. Etienne touched his arm. Together they slipped from the cover of the bush and began the last part of their journey to the sea. Hearne looked back over his shoulder. The two figures were still climbing the staircase, their heads bent, their hands clasped behind their backs. It was a scene of touching peacefulness, with the war-like Germans indulging in the relaxation of a moonlight stroll and a chance for the practical major to mingle a few off-the-record remarks with his eulogies on nature.
Either the major’s eloquence was effective, or it was just one of those damnable pieces of luck, but Deichgräber halted suddenly and turned round for his last view. Even as Hearne caught Etienne and pulled him into the nearest shadow, the German’s arm stretched quickly toward the major, and pointed. The two men seemed to hesitate, and then Deichgräber was leading the major back down the rocky staircase. They were hurrying, but they were taking no special care to walk quietly. So perhaps Deichgräber hadn’t been sure that he had seen anything at all, or that there really was someone. And the major was obviously under the belief that his guest was suffering from a moonlight hallucination. Even at this distance the note of his voice was one of amused annoyance.
Hearne’s eyes looked despairingly towards St. Aubert’s Well, from shadow to shadow, to see where Etienne and he might slip unobserved away from the determined Deichgräber and the reluctant major. Or could present cover be trusted? Was it better to lie quietly here, or to crawl cautiously into further shadows? And what about the matter of time: could they afford to wait, for the tide wouldn’t? This was really Etienne’s problem; he knew the ground they would have to cover. The boy seemed to sense Hearne’s impatience. He motioned with his head and moved stealthily towards the next tree. By drawing nearer the steps, they could follow the almost continuous line of bushes which edged the staircase at this point. And so, mad as it seemed, they crawled through the undergrowth fringing the steps, while behind them the footsteps came nearer. Hearne judged by the desperate quickening in Etienne’s pace that he was trying to reach a hiding-place before the footsteps caught up with them.
They could hear the words now. “...assure you...Captain Deichgräber... It would have been seen by my sentries from the Abbey walls. They are constantly on watch. And how do you suppose that anyone could get here? The ramparts on the east, and the rocks on the west are well guarded, too. Where was it you saw this shadow?”
The footsteps halted. “Just over there.”
“Can’t see a thing,” the major grumbled. “Shadows everywhere. Remember how you admired the shadows playing over the sands?”
“I saw something.” Deicbgräber was obdurate.
“I assure you, the sentries—”
“There should be searchlights.”
“There are.” The major’s voice tightened. “There are, when the danger is real, such as at high tide when boats might slip in to help someone to escape. At present, no one would venture on these sands. All that searchlights do is to make this a perfect beacon to guide English planes.” He obviously didn’t like this interference, and interference by a junior officer, at that. Deichgräber’s officiousness was going to be a useful ally to the man and the boy who had now reached the last of the bushes. Before them the rocky ground dipped suddenly, and they could see the wet sand gleaming darkly. Using the outline of the bush to blot out their movements, they slipped cautiously in turn over the edge of rock. Etienne’s arm steadied Hearne and encouraged him. This sudden dip in the ground would shield them from the men behind; unless, of course, the two Germans were to retrace their steps right down to St. Aubert’s Well. The stone platform on which it stood was just below this hiding-place. From the well, the Germans could look back up the hill and see them.
“I trust you are satisfied?” the major said at last, breaking the silence which had become oppressive. There was a cold sweat on Hearne’s brow. His tensed muscles cramped under the strain of crouching.
Deichgräber’s voice was deferential but determined. “With your permission, Major, I shall continue my walk to the Chapel.”
There was a silence.
Hearne suddenly realised that if Etienne didn’t know much German, then the strain must be doubled for him. He clapped the boy’s shoulder gently, reassuringly. That might have been a smile in reply through the blackness of the shadow. Hearne was wondering if he dared shift his weight on to the other knee, when the major answered.
“Very well,” he said stiffly. “Report to me in my quarters in half an hour.” The voice was as controlled as a refrigerator. The reprimand was not lost on the younger man. There was a clicking of heels, and probably an efficient salute to match, as he acknowledged it. Then they heard the major’s footsteps climbing away from them. Still Deichgräber hadn’t moved. Hearne imagined him standing half angry, half worried, looking at the wooded, rocking slope around him with impatience and distaste.
It was then that Etienne’s hand grasped Hearne’s arm again. This time Hearne followed unbelievingly as the boy led him forwards, and obliquely away from the steps. But there was nothing else Hearne could do except follow. The boy was far from stupid. He couldn’t have thought that Deichgräber’s steps synchronised with the ma
jor’s. There was only one pair of footsteps climbing towards the Abbey: that was obvious to anyone who listened well. And Etienne was a good listener. Hearne had had that proved to him tonight.
Even as Deichgräber started to descend the staircase, Etienne reached his goal. It was a deep, narrow fissure, a slit through the plunging rocks of the cliff. Hearne’s hands rested against the cold granite walls which rose above his head on either side of him. His feet fumbled cautiously for the roughly hewn steps. At least there was no more crouching. Etienne’s arm was the guide. He would pull Hearne’s shirt gently for each step forward; for each pause, his hand would press against Hearne’s chest. The seeing eye, Hearne thought grimly, and stepped and paused and stepped obediently. That blasted ditch-digger couldn’t see them, anyway. The only danger now was that he could hear them, and that accounted for the slowness of their descent. Cautiously they worked their way down through the cleft, originated by nature, improved by man. Deichgräber’s footsteps, quieter and more cautious now that he was alone, had passed well to the left of them. He should be almost at the little stone house built over the well. Yes, he must be there: his footsteps no longer grated against the stairs.
Etienne seemed to pay little attention to the German now. Their journey through the cleft in the short cliff was almost over; the rocky walls on either side of them rose higher as they neared the shore level. Hearne found it difficult not to think what happened if a fat man had to make his escape through this narrow passage. He would probably come out corrugated, if at all. But at last he felt softness under his feet, and Hearne knew he had reached the foot of the cliff. In front of them, and to either side of them, stretched the miles of flat sand; stretching like a sheet of watered silk under the perfect sky. Too perfect, thought Hearne. A few nice deep banks of thick cloud would have been a help. These little puffs of smoke up there might be highly ornamental, but they only served to float chasing shadows on the brownish sand. Still, even a few shadows were not to be despised. And the moon was young enough not to illuminate the whole place in efficient flood-lighting. “But just where do we go from here?” Hearne said to himself. They must reach solid ground again before day-break: apart from the matter of light, there was also the tide to guard against.
Etienne kicked off the thin leather shoes from his feet. Their lack of heels and toe-caps made them look like a sort of slipper, but they had carried him easily and lightly over the worst ground. It was surprising how securely they had clung to his feet like a torero’s shoes, stamping, running, side-stepping on the arena. Hearne, sitting on an outcrop of rock, resting his cramped back against a dank wall of cliff, followed Etienne’s example. He flinched as his feet sank into the sand, for here it was thick and moist, and, without the sun to give it surface warmth, it was as cold as...as cold as... He finished tying his boots carefully together, and draped them by the laces round his neck. As cold as a grave, he decided grimly, and rolled his trousers up under his knees as Etienne had done.
The boy stood with his back pressed against the cliff. He nodded as Hearne finished, and pointed to the left. They moved, keeping close to the shadow of the rocky precipice. There was no need to worry about the sound of their steps here. The sand deadened all noise. Once they skirted this northern shore and slipped round to the west side of the island, they would be safer, for at present it would be heavily in shadow. By the time the moon, or what there was of one, sailed over to that side of the Mont, they should be safely on the mainland.
From where they stood now, it was about half a mile to the causeway and entrance to Mont Saint-Michel. And from there it was just over another mile to the flat shore of the bay. Hearne remembered the little river which flowed into the Bay of Mont Saint-Michel, just to the west of the Mont itself. Now that the tide was out, it was only a thin line of shallow pools, a skeleton river spreading forlornly towards the sea between banks of sand. He believed he could now guess Etienne’s plan. They were to reach this ghost river at the north-west corner of the island, and, by following its course to the mainland from which it flowed, they could use its banks of sand as cover. It was shallow cover certainly, but still it was cover. The danger would now not be so much from the sentries on the ramparts as from the wet sand. That was why Etienne was going barefoot. That way, even if they stepped into a quicksand, they would have a chance. With boots there would be no chance at all. And that, too, was why Etienne was starting their journey at once; that was why he wasn’t going to wait under the northern cliffs until Deichgräber had returned to report to the major. For high tide would come again in all its terrifying speed about half-past four. These seven miles of sand which stretched out to sea would be swiftly covered by the rush of waters, and the channel of the river-bed would be hidden, and the sea would sweep up the river into the mainland as far as six miles deep.
Hearne looked at his watch. Yes, there was no time to waste. The distance which they had covered from Pléhec’s restaurant to this point was not much over a mile, perhaps even less. They had taken one hour and three-quarters to reach here. It was a record of caution. He looked at the dark, thin-faced boy beside him, so silent and calculating. It seemed incredible that anyone so young as this should have such patience and restraint. War was a hard schoolmaster.
From the rocks above them came no sound of footsteps. The German must be standing quite still beside the well, searching this side of the island with his eyes. Hearne suddenly wondered if a direct path led from the well down to the shore. If there was one, they’d have to pass its mouth, and that wouldn’t be a pleasant two minutes. If there was one... There was.
They saw it after they had gone less than fifty paces. Etienne’s speed slackened, and he stood with his head slightly tilted to one side as if to hear better that way. His eyes flickered impatiently. From where they stood in the safe shelter of the rocks at the mouth of the path, they could see along the first ten feet. The track must curve round towards the terrace on which the little stone building was built over the spring, for they couldn’t see St. Aubert’s Well from here. If they couldn’t see, they probably couldn’t be seen. The man and the boy listened. But nothing stirred. It was uncanny: they had heard no footsteps climbing back to the Abbey on the hill. But at last Etienne seemed satisfied. His hand flicked impatiently towards the other side of the path. Hurry, it seemed to say: hurry! Without further delay, or even a glance up at the path, he had slipped across its entrance. Hearne followed as quickly. They seemed a ghost and its shadow.
No one had been on the path. That Hearne had verified. The danger point was passed. Their speed increased. Three hundred feet ahead of them was the north-west promontory of the island with a chapel on its rocks. Three hundred feet, one hundred yards, and they would be on the darkened west side of the Mont. The sand was firm enough so far, and the walking was easy. But farther out from the rocks, the sand’s colour changed in light and dark patches; and even on its apparent flatness there must have been hollows, for the inches of water which still lay in them spread like black shadows. Hearne was wondering which were the danger spots, the dry or the wet sand... He thought he remembered something about wet sand, but it was only a vague memory. If it were true, then the journey back to the mainland under cover of the flat banks of that stream would be no picnic. It would be a hopeless attempt without Etienne as guide. Even as Hearne worried to himself, the sand’s consistency changed under his feet. It became a soft rubber sponge, letting his weight sink for a good six inches into it, oozing quickly over his instep and round his ankles. It wasn’t a quicksand: it was just a hint of what they would have to deal with if Etienne were to lead them into one. But it wasn’t pleasant. Hearne stepped carefully, so that the half-sucking, half-sobbing sounds, when he drew each foot out from the semi-liquid surface, would be minimised. Again their pace slowed. Etienne gave one of his rare smiles, and pointed to the stretch of sands to their right. He emphasised the direction by shaking his hand warningly and then pointing it quickly downwards. The gesture was explicit enough.
br /> He would be glad when he got out of this, Hearne thought. It was the highest piece of under-statement which he had ever committed. If anyone could have listened in to his emotions at that point, they would have heard one long, despairing groan. He tried not to look at that smooth, treacherous surface. Ten feet away. Much too near for his idea of comfort. Perhaps it was only imagination on his part, but he really felt that the give of the sand under his feet had increased. It swallowed more than his ankles now. Then suddenly it had become firm again, and Hearne breathed more naturally. But Etienne still motioned towards their right, still shook his hand, still pointed downwards. He was a nice boy, but Hearne wished he would stop the hand effects. After all, that idea didn’t need to be driven home twice. He kept rigidly behind Etienne, almost treading on his heels. If the boy had been afraid that Hearne would step out to the side to walk abreast, then he had won his point.
They were almost at the promontory. Thirty feet, or less, still to go. Then these cliffs to their left would swing round almost at right angles to face the west. They could already see the shallow pools which traced the course of the stream.
And then, from the shadows of a jutting rock, stepped Deichgräber. He had a gun in his hand, a smile on his lips.
“Up!” he said. “Up!”
They raised their hands above their heads, Etienne still holding his shoes.
“Drop them!”
Etienne did. They landed at his feet.
Deichgräber’s smile changed. He had half recognised Hearne. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and then he said triumphantly, “My friend on the farm! Well, now! Corlay is the name, I believe?”
Hearne tried to make his voice sound natural, even amused. “Captain Deichgräber, of course. Well, now we can take our hands down.”