His pasty complexion and a quite noticeable paunch gave the impression that physically he was not formidable, but they were deceptive; his broad shoulders gave him the strength of a bull, his long arms the grip of an orangoutang and, in spite of the smallness of his feet, he could move with the swiftness of a cat. Usually, however, for strong arm measures he relied on a member of his harem—a selection of blond young S.S. men as brutal and perverted as himself—one or more of whom generally travelled with him. His small, light eyes had been set close together, but since November ’39 he had had only one. Gregory had bashed out the other with the butt of a pistol. Its socket now held a glass imitation and, as it did not swivel with the other, the unnerving thought leapt to the mind that the Gestapo Chief was capable of looking two ways at once. Through his Department, U.A.-1, he controlled by far the greater part of Germany’s secret agents outside the Fatherland—the exceptions being the old military organisation under Admiral Canaris and a small service run by the Foreign Office to provide Ribbentrop with special information.
