Francis was only once the subject of an investigation while working for the Stationer circuit. This was on a train when the German authorities came through the carriages asking passengers for their papers. Francis had both British and French identity cards, and carried a letter of safe conduct that identified him as a foreigner living in France. It was this he showed the Germans and that made them suspicious, and when the train pulled into the station at Lyons they handed Francis over to the French police. He had been able to hide his forged French card from the Germans by placing it in between the pages of the newspaper he had been reading, and he managed to retrieve it and hand it over to the policeman. Francis believed it to be an excellent forgery and it obviously was, as the French officer could find no fault with it and immediately released him.
Jacqueline had made arrangements for her brother to stay with the Nerault family at 37 rue Blatin in Clermont-Ferrand that evening. The Neraults’ home was a large apartment in an elegant building five storeys high, with shuttered windows and fancy wrought-iron balconies, close to a busy crossroads. She herself had lived there for some months after her arrival from England. She had told him that she would meet his train and take him to rue Blatin herself, so after his release he went back to the station and hopped on another train for Clermont-Ferrand. He had no more problems during the journey and Jacqueline was waiting for him at the station. As they always were with agents seeking refuge, the Neraults were very welcoming and gave Francis a comfortable bed and a feeling of security at being in a family home once more.
By September he was gaining confidence in his ability and felt that he was, at last, doing something worthwhile – something of which he could be proud; he felt better about himself than he had done for a long while. After having completed another successful mission late one afternoon he was looking forward to meeting up with Jacqueline the following evening. When he went to bed, he slept very well. So well, in fact, that it was ten o’clock the next morning before a loud noise woke him. When he realized what it was, he was terrified but he managed to slip noiselessly out of his bed, creep across the floor and lock the bedroom door. The sound that had interrupted his slumber was of a Gestapo raid. If caught, he knew he would not be able to escape.7
On the other side of his bedroom door he could hear several loud voices barking out orders in German. Doors were banging, and drawers and cupboards were being opened, followed by the sound of things being flung on the floor. In between the strident, guttural tones of the Germans were the quieter voices of his hosts. He didn’t understand the Germans and couldn’t hear what the Neraults were saying, but he knew he had to get out immediately. But how? He couldn’t think how to do it without giving away his presence in the apartment. He dressed quickly and put what few belongings he had into his small bag, all the while trying to calm himself and consider what would be his best course of action. The room had a window but there was no way he could make his escape through it. He quickly had to admit to himself that the only way he would survive would be by going through the apartment’s front door and out into the street below. It was a terrifying thought but he had no other choice. So, hardly daring to breathe, he waited until he sensed that the Germans had moved into another room across the hall. Then he carefully turned the key in the lock of his bedroom door and, pushing it open a fraction, peered into the hallway. It was empty. Before his courage failed him, he crept across the floor, opened the outer front door, and made his way down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could, praying that he wouldn’t meet any Germans on the stairway or outside on the street. He reached the courtyard at the back of the apartment block, and then cautiously made his way through the arch and into the street, only pausing for breath when he was well away from the building.
He had never been so frightened in his entire life and couldn’t stop shaking. Over and over again he thought about the kind family who had offered hospitality to so many people without a thought for their own safety, in the knowledge that they could soon be taken away by their German captors and might never be seen again. He wondered if the Neraults’ teenage daughter, Colette, had been at home at the time, or the couple’s small son, Jean. Thoughts of the boy made him shake anew, for he realized that if he had been caught the Germans might have arrested his wife, Thérèse, and two-year-old son, Jack, as well. He loved them both dearly but didn’t think that he would be able to withstand German interrogation or torture, and suffered agonies thinking that his actions could have condemned them.
Then he remembered that he was supposed to meet his sister at the apartment that evening and he began to panic once more. He didn’t know where she was and couldn’t warn her not to come. In fact, in his panic, he couldn’t think of anyone that he could contact to tell what had happened. Finally, he resolved to return to rue Blatin and wait for Jacqueline to arrive so that he could warn her.
Retracing his steps, Francis eventually found himself outside the apartment building again. He watched it from a discreet distance, and from the comings and goings of other residents concluded that the Gestapo had left. By nightfall he had steeled himself enough to enter the building and search the flat to see if anything important had been left behind. He found nothing except the wreckage of the family’s home and belongings, and hoped that they had managed to destroy anything incriminating before the Gestapo had broken into the apartment. He met the concierge and had a few words with her. She confirmed that there had been five Gestapo men in the raiding party, and that M. and Mme Nerault and their daughter had all been at home and had been arrested and taken away. She did not know where they were being kept or what had happened to the boy.
Francis left and again positioned himself outside so as to be able to see Jacqueline before she entered the building. Twelve hours after the raid had begun he was horrified to see the Germans arrive yet again and go back into the apartment. They remained there for four agonizing hours while Francis kept watch for his sister’s arrival.8 She didn’t turn up and by the time the Germans left again at two o’clock the next morning he realized that she must have found out about the raid. Exhausted, he hid in an outhouse, where he remained for the rest of the night. In the morning, having had a little rest and feeling slightly calmer, he managed to contact Jacqueline.
With the terror of the Gestapo raid haunting him, Francis began once more to suffer badly from his nerves. The self-confidence that had been growing with every mission he had successfully completed vanished and he shrank inside himself all over again. Then came the news via Maria, the concierge of the Nerault family’s apartment block, that she had received a letter, written in German supposedly by a family friend, to say that M. Nerault was in Germany, and that he was well and able to receive food parcels. Soon afterwards a card arrived from Mme Nerault and Colette, also saying that they were in a camp in Germany but giving no actual location. Whether or not these were genuinely from the family was unknown, but Maria chose to believe that they were and consoled herself with the thought that at least they had not been shot. This proved to be of no comfort to Francis, who still tortured himself with thoughts of what had happened to them, and what might have happened to his wife and son if he too had been caught. He was sure that Thérèse and Jack would have been targeted because his wife knew about his undercover role.
Despite Jacqueline’s best efforts she could not help her brother. He was so tense and worried that he couldn’t function effectively and, much as he wanted to, was no longer able to undertake any courier missions. Jacqueline was so concerned that she enlisted the help of Maurice Southgate. He was sympathetic towards Francis and did not want to lose his services as, until this setback, he had been a most reliable and trustworthy courier. He contacted Baker Street with a request that Francis be sent to London for training and to enable him to receive some medical help for his bad nerves. He stressed that he was sure that, given the right treatment, Francis would regain his self-confidence and be able to resume his courier work. Then he, Jacqueline and Francis waited to hear what London would decide.
Back in England,