Codeword Golden Fleece

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Yes—if only she does,’ de Richleau agreed. ‘I got on to the police in Warsaw about her this afternoon, but they could tell me nothing, and they are so busy with emergency measures that I fear they will prove of little help. However, I have no doubt you’re right about tonight seeing the end of the conferences here. The war is three days overdue already, and even Hitler will not be able to restrain those young blackguards of his in Danzig much longer. It is only a question now of whether he will pay Mack’s price for an easy victory, and to that von Geisenheim will have brought the answer.’

  For a little time they paced moodily up and down the terrace, then in due course went up to change for dinner.

  During the meal they were conscious of a suppressed excitement, yet nothing was said to indicate how the negotiations were proceeding, and the Duke guessed the reason. The full limit of Mack’s contemplated treachery was not known to his companions. To him alone would von Geisenheim give Hitler’s answer, and it was probable that the German had not yet done so.

  As soon as dinner was finished the two of them went out on to the terrace together. When they returned, after only a few minutes, Mack was smiling.

  Richard’s hazel eyes met the Duke’s grey ones. Their faces remained impassive, and they glanced with seeming casualness towards Marie Lou. Her face, too, was completely expressionless; but all three of them knew that the Polish pass had been sold.

  Mack suddenly addressed his officers: ‘Gentlemen! The Herr General has just told me that he wishes to leave again at first light for Berlin. One final session tonight should conclude our business. Let us go upstairs.’

  With von Geisenheim beside him he walked straight towards the broad staircase; his staff and Major Bauer quickly drank up their liqueurs and followed.

  Shortly afterwards, the rest of the party accompanied the Baroness up to her drawing-room. Somehow they managed to maintain an apparently normal conversation about trivialities, but all of them, except old Anna Lubieszow and the phlegmatic Baron, were secretly engaged in wondering what was going on in the big room across the landing, so it was not surprising that occasional short silences occurred.

  During one of them the sound of a car driving up to the front of the house could be heard quite clearly, and everyone looked round startled, wondering whom it could be. Two minutes later, Jan, now in the uniform of a Polish Air Force officer, came hurrying into the room.

  He laughed at their exclamations, kissed his aunt’s hand, was introduced to the Eatons, then gave the Duke a cheerful but puzzled look, as he said: ‘I expected that you would have left here days ago for Warsaw, sir?’

  ‘And I,’ replied the Duke coldly, ‘expected that you would have returned here days ago with my ward. Is Lucretia with you?’

  ‘Of course not. I—’

  ‘Then where the devil is she?’

  ‘But didn’t you get my message?’

  ‘Yes. To say that you were reporting to your unit and that she was returning by train.’

  Jan spread out his hands. ‘I am most sorry—terribly so. The line was very bad. Anna could not have heard properly what I said. I knew you had planned to leave here for England on Monday morning, and as I could not fly her back on the Sunday afternoon it looked as if you must be delayed a whole day. To avoid that I put her on the train for Warsaw and telephoned my housekeeper to expect her. My idea was that she could sleep there Sunday night and that you could pick her up in Warsaw on Monday.’

  ‘I see,’ murmured the Duke. ‘Your intentions were certainly of the best, Jan; but we have been terribly worried about her. And why, I wonder, as I failed to appear, has she not telephoned?’

  With a slightly uneasy smile, Jan shrugged his broad shoulders. He did not like to say in front of them that his own duties had taken him to Warsaw, where he had arrived only a few hours after Lucretia, and that they had since been hitting up the town together without giving a thought to the Duke. Instead, he said:

  ‘Believing that you knew where she was, I think she has been content to wait there until it suited you to pick her up.’

  Clotilde nodded her dark head. ‘That must be it. All your worries are over, Duke, and we have been alarmed for nothing. But you, Jan,’ she went on, shaking a reproving finger at her nephew, ‘you are a very naughty boy not to have made quite certain that Anna understood your plan. And now, tell us how it is that you have been able to get back here after all.’

  ‘That was sheer luck,’ he grinned, ‘and this is only a flying visit. Owing to the non-aggression pact between Russia and Germany, many of our air force dispositions have had to be changed. We can no longer afford to leave our eastern frontier altogether unguarded, and a number of our best Reserve Squadrons are being sent there. Mine is one of them, and as I was motoring to my new station I thought I would break my journey here for the night.’

  ‘Forgive me, Madame,’ the Duke addressed Clotilde, ‘but I would like to get through to Lucretia, and I’m sure Jan could help me by getting his own Warsaw number and asking for her to be brought to the telephone.’

  ‘But certainly!’ the Baroness and Jan agreed almost simultaneously, and the two men left the room.

  On the way downstairs Jan said quickly: ‘You’ve no need at all to worry about her. As a matter of fact, I’ve come straight from Warsaw, and she was in grand form when we lunched together just before I set out.’

  De Richleau gave him a sharp glance. ‘Am I to conclude that the story of your being called up last week is actually a fairy tale, or is it that you have been neglecting your duties to entertain my ward?’

  ‘Neither,’ replied Jan, a little stiffly. ‘I had to report to the local headquarters in Cracow on Sunday, and I had no idea that I should be ordered to the Central Depot in Warsaw until some hours after Lucretia had left. We Poles are not the people to neglect our duty at a time like this; but once I got to Warsaw I was simply waiting to be posted, so I was able to devote myself to showing Lucretia the city with a perfectly clear conscience.’

  ‘I fear I deserved that,’ de Richleau admitted with a smile. ‘I’m sorry, Jan, and I’m very glad that you were able to give Lucretia such a pleasant time. It’s a great relief to know that she is safe, though, and as there is almost certain to be a long delay in getting through to Warsaw we won’t bother to telephone now. I really do expect to leave here tomorrow morning, so I should be with her again later in the day.’

  ‘I’d like to telephone all the same; just to—er—wish her good-night. But, you know, Lucretia thought that you might decide to stay on here a few days longer. That’s why she wasn’t at all worried when you did not turn up.’

  ‘Did she give any reason why I might stay on?’ de Richleau probed with assumed casualness.

  ‘No, and it was none of my business, so I did not press her.’

  The Duke hesitated only for a second. He thought that Mack would keep his word and allow the Eatons and himself to leave the following day, but he was by no means certain of that. The arch-traitor might well believe that they had guessed too much and go back on his promise. Now that the Duke knew the final outcome of the secret talks the urgency of getting home to report in person had increased a thousandfold. Whatever Mack might intend, the Duke meant to leave within the next twenty-four hours. If Mack did prove obstructive, and it came to making a bolt for it, Jan, who was unquestionably a honest fellow, might become a very valuable ally to the escapers. As these thoughts flashed through his brain, the Duke said:

  ‘It’s rather a long story, Jan, and I would prefer not to talk about it in the house. Put in your Warsaw call and while we are waiting for it to come through we will take a stroll in the garden.’

  While Jan was talking to the exchange, the Duke considered carefully just how much he should tell him. He felt that the whole story would be far too strong meat for a fanatically patriotic Polish airman, and he did not wish Jan to put a spark to the powder magazine by some premature and ill-advised action; so when they were well away from the house he t
alked for a little of the obvious importance of the secret conference with the Germans, and then disclosed the fact that Mack had placed Baron Lubieszow’s English guests under arrest and was detaining them against their will.

  Had he been able to foresee the frightful repercussions which were to result from his disclosure before he was an hour older, he would never have made it; but beneath Jan’s cheerful, easy manner there lurked a highly explosive nature, and Polish traditions meant much more to him than his career or personal safety.

  Having listened with growing astonishment and impatience to what the Duke had to say, he suddenly burst out:

  ‘But this is fantastic—unthinkable! You and your friends are our guests. Naturally, you are free to go whenever you wish. My uncle cannot possibly be aware of this conversation you had with Mack. He would never agree to such an outrageous abuse of hospitality by one of his guests towards another.’

  ‘I am sure the Baron doesn’t approve of what is going on,’ murmured the Duke, ‘but all the same I am quite certain that he knows about it.’

  ‘Have you spoken to him about it yourself?’

  ‘No, I was reluctant to embarrass him.’

  ‘Then you have no proof at all that he is a party to Mack’s disgraceful behaviour. I will speak to my uncle at once, and Mack shall be forced to apologise.’

  Jan had already turned back towards the house, and the Duke, who now had some difficulty in keeping up with the young Pole’s impetuous pace, said quickly: ‘Listen, my friend. I would much rather that you did not make a scene about this. If Mack goes back on his promise to let us go tomorrow, well—we can discuss the matter again. But, as long as the conference has been in progress, he has no doubt felt that he had adequate grounds for detaining us.’

  ‘I disagree entirely. What grounds could he have? Britain and Poland are allies. Why should he object to your Government learning that he has been holding talks with the Germans in an eleventh-hour attempt to avert war? No one but a lunatic could want war, with all the misery that it brings. What could he have said to them at these conferences that he would be unwilling that the British Government should know? Obviously nothing. Therefore, his prohibition on your departure is not only a flagrant breach of courtesy, but also entirely pointless.’

  ‘True enough! True enough!’ de Richleau agreed a little breathlessly, as he wondered what on earth would have happened had he told this volcanic young man the whole truth about General Mack and his nefarious machinations.

  As they emerged from a screen of flowering shrubs they saw that the big lounge on the ground floor, which had been in semi-darkness when they left it, was now a blaze of light. On drawing nearer, they could hear the babel of many voices, and when they entered it through the terrace window they saw that the whole house-party had now gathered in the long, antler-hung room.

  The last meeting of the conference was over, the Baroness had come down from her sanctum to join her military guests, and the Baron had ordered up champagne that a toast might be drunk on the successful conclusion of the negotiations; the black-clad butler and his more colourfully garbed henchmen, who still wore the local, gaily embroidered costume, were already handing round trays of tall-stemmed glasses.

  Without a second’s hesitation Jan walked straight up to the Baron. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve chosen an awkward moment, Uncle,’ he said firmly; ‘but for the honour of our family the matter permits of no delay. Are you aware that—er—General Mack has so far forgotten himself as to tell your English guests that they may not leave without his permission?’

  The poor, slow-witted Baron began uncomfortably: ‘My dear boy, I was most upset. I—er—well, I protested myself, but—er—reasons of State …’ he broke off miserably with an appealing look towards his wife.

  A sudden hush had fallen on the whole assembly. The Baroness stepped forward, and her voice, which she strove to keep calm and pleasant, came clearly to every listening ear.

  ‘My dear Jan, control yourself, please. There is nothing to get excited about. General Mack simply asked the Duke and his friends not to leave until the conference was over.’

  ‘It was not a request but an order,’ Jan stormed. ‘As a member of the family. I demand that he should apologise at once.’

  Mack had paled slightly at this unwelcome scene. His natural instinct was to pacify the outraged dignity of his troublesome countryman, but he dared not display such weakness before the Germans. His dark eyes glistening, he snapped:

  ‘You forget yourself! You must be quite well aware who I am. How dare you question the wisdom of my decisions?’

  ‘I know who you are, and I don’t give a damn!’ retorted Jan. ‘As a Polish nobleman, I refuse to stand by and see Polish hospitality shamed before our English allies.’

  The room was now so silent that as the lame Major Bauer clumped forward, his game leg dragging slightly, each footfall of his heavy boots rang hollowly upon the polished parquet. Advancing to within a foot of Jan, he said with studied insolence:

  ‘Your—English allies!’ and spat contemptuously on the floor.

  The blood drained from Jan’s cheeks. He would have hit the German but for the fact that he, too, was Poland’s guest. With an effort he turned to the Baron and cried:

  ‘Uncle! How can you permit this? For God’s sake tell His Excellency, the Minister, and his German friends to go and cheapen themselves elsewhere.’

  Before the Baron had a chance to reply, Major Bauer, his coarse face lit up with fanatical excitement, spoke again:

  ‘Dumbkopff! You question the right of your superior to give orders as a Polish Cabinet Minister, eh? All right! Let me tell you! He is something a thousand times greater than that now. He has today been appointed Grossgauleiter of Poland.’

  Jan’s eyes seemed to start from his head. He raised a hand as though to ward off a blow, and gasped: ‘I don’t believe it! No Pole would ever surrender Poland’s independence without a fight.’

  In that tense moment General Mack caught the expressions on the faces of his staff. That of the elderly, very senior officer to whom they always referred as ‘Colonel’ was calm, but with a faintly cynical twist of the lips. The rest showed either amazement or anger. Mack saw that, if he were to retain his authority, he must take a bold line, and, banging his fist on a nearby table, he cried:

  ‘Listen! I have entered into certain undertakings for the sake of humanity. War is unavoidable. We all know that. I have simply arranged that, so far as Poland is concerned, the war shall be short.’

  ‘By God! You’ve betrayed us then!’ Jan almost screamed ‘You’ve sold us to the Nazis before we’ve had a chance to fire a shot! You filthy traitor! I’ll kill you for this, if it’s the last thing I ever do!’

  ‘Not sold you, but saved you!’ Bauer shouted. ‘Don’t you understand? Your forces will put up a token resistance only, and your casualties will be few. Then, immediately they lay down their arms our glorious Fuehrer has consented to do Poland the honour of permitting her to become a Protectorate of the Reich.’

  His eyes gleaming with frenzied ardour, the Nazi Major ended his pronouncement by shooting up his right arm to its fullest extent, bawling: ‘Heil Hitler!’

  Losing all control, Jan hit him a resounding slap across the face.

  Marie Lou was standing between Richard and the Duke, right opposite the broad staircase and near the main doorway of the lounge, which led out into the front hall. As, wide-eyed with apprehension, she surveyed the scene, she realised that every face now portrayed fear, anger, or excitement, except for two—those of de Richleau and von Geisenheim. Their faces remained grey masks, betraying nothing.

  She saw Bauer, his cheek still white with the imprint of the blow and his features distorted with rage, wrench an automatic from his pocket.

  She saw that von Geisenheim had already produced a pistol and was holding it levelled as steady as a rock; but she could not tell from where she stood if it were aimed at Jan or at Bauer’s back.

  She saw
Jan grasp the butt of the heavy-calibre service weapon at his belt and tug it out.

  At the same moment, out of the corner of her eye, she saw de Richleau’s right hand suddenly flick up the double row of electric light switches at his elbow, which controlled the lighting of the room.

  The Duke beat the guns by the fraction of a second. The room was plunged in darkness the flicker of an eyelid before the shooting started.

  6

  The Hold-up

  Richard flung himself in front of Marie Lou; the Duke grabbed her arm and pulled her back through the doorway.

  Two shots rang out almost simultaneously. The flashes from the guns stabbed the darkness, each for an instant revealing the scene in the long room by a startling contrast of highlights and shadows.

  Mack was disclosed half-crouching behind the heavy refectory table. Bauer was standing squarely, his chin and the hand which held the gun thrust aggressively forward. Jan had side-stepped and seemed to have collided with Anna Lubieszow, who had evidently run towards him. De Richleau glimpsed her face. It was that of a mother who sees her only child in danger, and he remembered then that this poor relation of the Lubieszows was Jan’s spinster aunt.

  Neither shot had, apparently, taken effect; but other weapons were about to be brought into play. Mack’s staff were closing round him, evidently determined to protect their Chief from Jan’s threatened attack, and several of them had produced pistols.

  Bauer fired again. Anna Lubieszow screamed. De Richleau shouted: ‘Run for it, Jan! Run for it or they’ll kill you!’ Then came a burst of shots.

  Marie Lou, even hemmed in as she was between Richard and the Duke and pressed back in the doorway, could glimpse enough by the light of the recurrent flashes to see Bauer fling up an arm before he crashed headlong to the floor, and Jan leap over his body in a dash towards the French windows; but she did not see Anna, after a few faltering steps, collapse limply in a nearby chair.

  “Stop him!’ yelled Mack, and two of his officers sprang forward in pursuit of Jan. Richard knocked over a chair, which slithered across the parquet, catching the nearest officer sideways as he ran. Darkness blacked out his fall, but they heard the sharp snap of one of the chair-legs and the heavy bump of his body.