‘Stuff that’s come into our hands shows that right up to the Friday Kesselring was convinced that we meant to go into North Africa. He had his Air Force based on Sicily all ready to strike. If he had struck on the Saturday afternoon we must have lost scores of ships and thousands of men. But he didn’t. That night he had positive information from his boss, Goering, that the convoys would sail past southern Sicily and make their landings on the east coast of the island. He decided not to risk a single aircraft in a long range attack.
‘Instead he made his fellers spend the whole of Saturday tinkerin’ up aircraft that had been damaged or were out of commission. He gave orders that every plane that could be made to fly should go up on Sunday afternoon. He’d worked it out that our convoys would then be goin’ through the narrows between the tip of Sicily and Cape Bon. If they had it would have been a massacre. But they didn’t. On Saturday evening they sailed past Oran and Algiers, to keep him thinkin’ that he was right and would make his killing. Then, after dark, they turned back. Early on Sunday morning they went in to their true objectives, and left the enemy flat.’
Again Erika nodded. ‘I see,’ she said without a smile. ‘That was … What a clever thing to do.’
Sir Pellinore stroked up his white moustache, and remarked a shade reproachfully, ‘You don’t seem particularly interested, m’dear.’
‘Of course I am!’ she murmured. ‘It was a wonderful idea.’ Then she burst out: ‘But how can you expect me to think of anything but Gregory? From the moment I had your letter, telling me how he had helped that woman to escape, and of his awful intrigue with the Moldavian Colonel, I’ve been able to think of nothing else. It’s horrifying, terrible, to think what they may do to him.’
The old man raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Naturally you are upset. Knew you would be. You’re much too nice a gel not to be sorry for an old friend who’s made a mucker. But I understood from him after you last saw him that you had broken with him entirely. Does this mean that you still love him?’
‘Love him!’ she cried. ‘He is more to me than my life! I don’t care what he’s done! For him to have played the traitor seems utterly inconceivable. But if he has, I don’t care. I came down on the first train to beg you to arrange for me to be allowed to see him. He’s ill; not only physically but mentally. He must be if this awful charge is true. I mean to tell him that I am still his, now and for always; and that if he is sent to prison I’ll wait for him till he comes out.’
She burst into tears. Sir Pellinore stood up, came round from behind his desk and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t cry, my dear. Everything is going to be all right. Afraid I’ve led you up the garden path a bit. But I had to. Seemed to me that provokin’ you into a first-class emotional crisis was the best way to make you put the past behind you and think only of the future.’
Erika drew in a sharp breath. ‘Do you … do you mean that he won’t be sent to prison?’
‘He’s been in prison for the past week,’ Sir Pellinore smiled, ‘but they’re letting him out. Now, dry your tears, m’dear, and I’ll tell you the inner inside story of the great show I was telling you about just now.’
While Erika dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief the Baronet went back to his chair, and began:
‘After Gregory had decided that come hell or high water he meant to get the little Baroness out, he evolved a plan for doing the job which entailed giving away to the enemy some of our secrets. I didn’t like it. Damnably risky. Might have caused a ghastly mess if things had gone wrong. Still, seein’ that he was determined to get her out anyhow, and this scheme offered the only chance of saving him from landin’ himself in prison, I reluctantly agreed to help.
‘Getting her out of the Tower could be fixed. It was, and by me; but not till the very last day, and then only to a limited extent. One indiscretion could have blown the whole works. With the approval of the people at the top I roped in a friend of mine, a Colonel in M.I.5. He fixed things with the Governor of the Tower and the Officer of the Guard for the night. The sentries were given orders to watch for the launch. They were to make certain that the woman got away in it, then run in and grab the man. They were told nothing else.
‘Unfortunately Gregory put up too realistic a fight and got hurt. Anyhow he would have been arrested and clapped into jail. He had to be, and everything else about the escape had to be one hundred per cent genuine. Otherwise the Baroness might have suspected that things weren’t quite what they looked, or through a leak it might somehow or other have got through to the Germans that her escape was a put-up job. It was in order that the Moldavians should continue to be hoaxed that we’ve kept Gregory in the hospital at Brixton Prison. There was no avoidin’ dopin’ the two wardresses, but they are both being given a month’s leave on full pay. And although a few people may wonder why Gregory is allowed to go free, no one except a little handful of us will ever know the whole truth.
‘But gettin’ her out of the Tower was only half the job; and the easier half, at that. She had to be got out of the country. Not to Ireland or South America, but straight back to the Continent. And on a date that couldn’t be altered. That’s where Gregory excelled himself. He got hold of this Moldavian Colonel—feller called Kasdar, or some such outlandish name. Pretended he was potty about the Baroness and asked this feller’s help. It transpired that Kasdar could put her across in a Moldavian sea-going tug; and, of course, we could fix the Navy to let it through their patrols. But he wouldn’t play without some inducement. We’d expected that. It was to feed him that I got for Gregory those tit-bits of true information. God Almighty, what a game it was. My hair’s white already but it’s a marvel the lot didn’t drop out. Every move depended on perfect timing, and the worry of it nearly drove me to drink. Still, we managed to block the most important bits by stopping the diplomatic bags from November the 4th. That was all part of the plan. It forced Kasdar to use the Baroness as a courier. You see, as she was in the lock-up we couldn’t give her the stuff to take out with her. It had to be passed to her by this old friend of hers, the Moldavian; otherwise she would have smelt a rat.’
Sir Pellinore paused for a moment and Erika said, ‘But I don’t understand. You say this was true information that Gregory was giving to the Moldavian. Why did you want her to take it out?’
Sitting back, the old man gave a great guffaw of laughter. ‘My dear, that was the cream of the jest. The German Intelligence take a lot of foolin’. I believe our people did a grand job; but the only way to clinch the deal was to land a red-hot tip on Hitler personally. The Baroness tricked Gregory into bringing her here to spy for the Nazis. He tricked her by making her take out the stuff.
‘The neutrals aren’t all pro-Germans by a long chalk. We have plenty of them working for us, and we know quite a bit about what takes place on the other side. Yesterday we learned what happened last week. By the morning of the 6th the Baroness was back with her old pal Ribbentrop. He put her stuff slap on the house-painter’s desk. Hitler told Goering to get on to Kesselring and order the all-out attack for Sunday afternoon. The information Gregory gave Kasdar was dead right—except that to fit the Cover Plan he told him that D-Day was on the 9th instead of the 8th. Then he sold him the Cover Plan about our going into Sicily for the Baroness to take back to Berlin. It’s the greatest coup he’s ever pulled off.’
Erika was now crying with joy. Running round the big table-desk she threw her arms about Sir Pellinore’s neck, kissed him again and again, and stammered out her relief and happiness.
‘Steady on, m’dear,’ he said after a moment, ‘or you’ll have me trying’ to take you off Gregory yet. It’s time we had a glass of wine. You look as though you could do with a tonic.’ Leaning forward, he pressed the bell on his desk twice.
Two minutes later the door opened. The elderly housemaid came in carrying a magnum of Louis Roederer ’28 in an ice bucket. Behind her, framed in the doorway, stood Gregory. His head was bandaged, his left arm was in a sling, and he was pale
from loss of blood; but he was smiling.
He was looking at Erika and she at him. No words were needed. All the love they felt for one another was in their eyes.
Sir Pellinore too was smiling. Brushing up his white moustache he murmured to himself, ‘The greatest coup he has ever pulled off; and I haven’t pulled off a bad one myself.’
Footnotes
1 At the end of 1944 Hungary, all too belatedly, repudiated her alliance with Germany and offered to surrender to the Soviet Union. In revenge Hitler ordered the destruction of the capital and, before the Russians arrived, the Germans shelled and bombed into ruins a great part of the beautiful palaces on Buda hill. But many thousands of Hungarians saved their lives by sheltering from the bombardment in the caves referred to here.
2 The Author is most averse to inventing fictitious States in his books; but the necessity for doing so in this instance will become clear as the story unfolds.
A Note on the Author
DENNIS WHEATLEY
Dennis Wheatley (1897 – 1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world's best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.
Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.
His first book, The Forbidden Territory, became a bestseller overnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. During the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming's James Bond stories.
During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain.
Dennis Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.
Discover books by Dennis Wheatley published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/DennisWheatley
Duke de Richleau
The Forbidden Territory
The Devil Rides Out
The Golden Spaniard
Three Inquisitive People
Strange Conflict
Codeword Golden Fleece
The Second Seal
The Prisoner in the Mask
Vendetta in Spain
Dangerous Inheritance
Gateway to Hell
Gregory Sallust
Black August
Contraband
The Scarlet Impostor
Faked Passports
The Black Baroness
V for Vengeance
Come into My Parlour
The Island Where Time Stands Still
Traitors' Gate
They Used Dark Forces
The White Witch of the South Seas
Julian Day
The Quest of Julian Day
The Sword of Fate
Bill for the Use of a Body
Roger Brook
The Launching of Roger Brook
The Shadow of Tyburn Tree
The Rising Storm
The Man Who Killed the King
The Dark Secret of Josephine
The Rape of Venice
The Sultan's Daughter
The Wanton Princess
Evil in a Mask
The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware
The Irish Witch
Desperate Measures
Molly Fountain
To the Devil a Daughter
The Satanist
Lost World
They Found Atlantis
Uncharted Seas
The Man Who Missed the War
Espionage
Mayhem in Greece
The Eunuch of Stamboul
The Fabulous Valley
The Strange Story of Linda Lee
Such Power is Dangerous
The Secret War
Science Fiction
Sixty Days to Live
Star of Ill-Omen
Black Magic
The Haunting of Toby Jugg
The KA of Gifford Hillary
Unholy Crusade
Short Stories
Mediterranean Nights
Gunmen, Gallants and Ghosts
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP
First published in 1958 by Hutchinson & Co. Ltd.
Copyright © 1958 Dennis Wheatley
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The moral right of the author is asserted.
eISBN: 9781448212804
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Traitors' Gate Page 46
