I was speechless. But no speech from me was necessary. Dr. Palgrave’s remark was answered by a new voice, a fresh crude voice with a vivid Americanism I hadn’t heard in years of self-exile.
“Shut up, you guys,” it said, “and stay shut. Fermy le butch or cuppy le gorge, get me?”
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 seemeci 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.”
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
