Codeword Golden Fleece

by Dennis Wheatley

  Meanwhile, the wider situation had begun to clarify. After an agonising wait of twenty-four hours France had followed Britain in declaring war on Germany. The Dominions had all pledged their unlimited support to Britain. All too belatedly, that grand old warrior, Winston Churchill, having warned his country of its impending peril for so long in vain, was taken into the Cabinet to fill his old post of First Lord of the Admiralty and Mr. Anthony Eden was rehabilitated by being given the Dominions Office. Italy, Turkey, Eire, Russia, Japan, Rumania and the United States had all in turn affirmed their neutrality; so, for the moment, the configuration was confined to the Polish and Franco-German fronts on land; but by the middle of the week the Royal Air Force had undertaken a spectacular raid against the German Fleet in its North Sea ports, and the Nazi U-boats had scored first blood in an unrestricted ‘sink at sight’ campaign by sending the great liner Athenia to the bottom with many hundred souls.

  Richard had passed his crisis and was now making good progress in the circumstances. Marie Lou remained almost constantly at his bedside, and Lucretia, in an endeavour to smother her anxiety about Jan, had thrown herself heart and soul into local A.R.P. work; so the Duke was perforce much alone.

  To everyone’s dismay the weather remained fine, and Warsaw woke each morning from its fitful sleep to skies of cloudless blue. The Polish roads were notoriously bad, and at this season the first autumn rains were due. Had they come as expected the armoured spearheads of the Nazis, which were penetrating ever deeper into the country and now appearing at most unexpected places many miles behind the theoretical front line, would have been halted, or at least materially slowed down; but all the masses said in the Polish churches for a change of weather proved unavailing, and the Nazis took full advantage of the cloudless nights to hurl down fire and ruin on the virtually undefended capital.

  The inhabitants stood up to it well, continuing to dig frantically during the daytime at the earthworks which were now being thrown up round the city, and spending half their nights rescuing air-raid casualties from the rapidly increasing areas of devastation. De Richleau and Borki went out after every raid with Lucretia, and it seemed that half the population was also in the streets; even old men like Jan’s butler and groom insisted on coming out to lend a hand with the casulaties whenever a nearby building was hit.

  On the 7th September the Germans occupied Cracow, the ancient capital of Poland, but even this breathtaking blow left the Poles’ confidence in ultimate victory unshaken and seemed to make them more determined than ever to fight on for every foot of their territory. De Richleau was horribly embarrassed by their pathetic belief that they had only to hang on long enough to receive succour from their Western Allies. Few of them knew anything about the limits from their bases at which air forces can safely operate, and they confidently expected that any night British fighters would appear to drive the Nazi murder planes from the skies. Many of them took comfort from the idea that the British Navy might force the Skagerrak and, entering the Baltic, land an Expeditionary Force on the North German coast, thus bringing speedy relief to the hard-pressed Polish armies. A rumour that the British had actually landed at Gdynia, where Polish troops were holding out, gained wide circulation.

  The Duke knew only too well how groundless were all these hopes. Poland was completely isolated, and her geographical situation made it impossible for her Allies to render her the least assistance. As he had realised from the beginning, it could be only, a matter of time before she was totally overwhelmed, and, knowing that, he was exceedingly anxious to get out of Warsaw while he could.

  He felt that General Mack could be counted out, since, having made no move against his kidnappers up to the present, he was unlikely to do so now. But Richard’s condition forbade any serious thought of travel and would continue to do so for some time to come.

  On Friday the 8th a sudden alarm ran through the city. A German motorised column had reached its outskirts. De Richleau knew without telling that the next few hours might provide the last chance he would have to leave the capital; but he racked his brains in vain for a solution to his problem. Even if he could have secured a berth for Richard on a hospital train, the business of getting him to it would have undone all the progress he had made in the past week, and almost certainly cause a relapse which might easily prove fatal during a long and exhausting journey. He dared not take such a risk for another week at least, and could seek meagre comfort only in the thought that, if the Germans did capture Warsaw, it would be some considerable time before their police were able to check up on everybody in the great metropolis.

  On the Saturday the news was better. The enemy penetration of the outer suburbs on the previous day proved to have been made only by a flying column, which had far outdistanced its supporting forces, and, after a sharp action, it had been forced to withdraw. But, on that afternoon, this was more than offset for the Lubieszow household by tidings which plunged all its members into the deepest gloom.

  Food was now becoming short, because the farmers and vegetable growers of the surrounding countryside were no longer bringing their produce into the capital; so Borki had now relieved the cook of the job of securing adequate supplies. On returning from one of his forays, he told them sadly that he had run into an officer who had belonged to Jan’s old squadron. Their aircraft had been terribly hammered on the ground by a raiding squadron of Boches, Jan’s plane had escaped, so he had gone up in it at once to attack the still circling enemy and had accounted for two of their bombers; but a formation of their fighters had suddenly appeared on the scene, and he had been shot down in flames.

  The blinds of the mansion were pulled down, and the gargantuan major-domo went out, weeping like a child, to the ancient church that stood on the corner of the street, to order masses for the repose of his beloved master’s soul. Marie Lou had the appalling job of breaking the news to poor Lucretia, who fainted for the first time in her life on hearing it. When she regained consciousness they put her to bed, and soon afterwards she was granted the merciful relief of tears. For an hour she sobbed out her heart, then when her paroxysms eased Marie Lou gave her some veronal and had a bed made up in her room, deciding to remain with Lucretia for the night in case the effects of the drug wore off prematurely.

  Thrown on his own resources, the Duke dined alone, in state. He drank some very old Madeira before dinner, a bottle of Grand Eschavaux 1923 with it, and nearly half a litre of Green and Yellow Chartreuse mixed in equal proportions afterwards. He was not drinking in any endeavour to cheer himself up, as he knew that was hopeless; but he also knew from long experience that the best way of ensuring sound sleep at a time of great distress was to get slightly tight, and that being his intention it would have seemed absurd to him to do so on anything but the best liquor available.

  Solemnly staring at each glass of these magnificent potions as they succeeded one another, he thought of the merry-faced, open hearted Polish airman who had met such an untimely end. Poor Jan, who so loved to sing, would sing no more. But, if he had shot two of those Nazi swine down, he had not died in vain; and he had met his end courageously, as all brave men would hope to do if they were fated to die while still young, in defence of his country. To be burnt alive in the flaming wreckage of an aircraft was an awful death; but the agony, searing as it must have been, would soon have been over. Lucretia would suffer more. She had to live on, haunted for months to come by gnawing memories and a hopeless yearning for what-might-have-been. This, too, was the second tragedy that had come to cast a blight upon her youth. Would she ever get over it, or would she become soured, bitter and old before her time?

  As the clock chimed midnight the Duke carefully replaced the corks in the bottles and went up to bed. He was not drunk, but the potent spirit was having its effect and giving free rein to certain of his natural qualities. His hatred of the Germans, who had brought about this disaster, was stimulated to a degree which made him determined to deal with them, wherever he might encounter them in the war, w
ith absolute ruthlessness; and it would have gone hard with any Teuton had one materialised at that moment in the passage.

  While he was undressing the air-raid sirens sounded, so he slipped on robe and went along to Lucretia’s room. She was still sleeping under the influence of the drug she had been given, but Marie Lou was awake and now, torn between two loyalties, begged the Duke to go in to Richard. Having sent the night nurse down to the cellars, he sat with Richard until the raid was over, by which time he felt quiet sleepy and was glad to make his way to bed.

  On the Sunday morning it was just a week since Britain had entered the war. News came through that the enemy had occupied Lodz, the largest city in the south and the Manchester of Poland, so it was clear that the favourite pincer movement of the German General Staff was now showing results.

  De Richleau was one of those fortunate people who never suffer from hangovers and only feel a little sleepy in the afternoon after a night of heavy drinking; so when he went up to see Lucretia he was almost ashamed of feeling so alert and well. To his great relief he found her quite normal, apart from a natural reluctance to talk very much, but he realised that they were far from being out of the wood yet, and that she might well fall a victim to delayed shock in a few days’ time. Both of them avoided the subject of Jan, and after an hour’s desultory conversation de Richleau left her to go and sit with Richard for a while, as the latter was now strong enough to talk, provided he did not overdo it.

  After lunch the Duke went into the still darkened library and, putting his feet up on the sofa, settled himself for a nap. He had drifted off and was faintly snoring when he was roused by Borki, who suddenly burst into the room.

  The huge Falstaffian figure stood for a moment bulking in the doorway. He was trembling like jelly and so agitated that he could not speak. His mouth was open, and his little goatee beard bobbed up and down; but the words simply would not come.

  ‘What is it?’ the Duke rapped out, wide awake in an instant and fearing that some further terrible calamity had befallen them. ‘Speak, man, can’t you?’

  ‘The master!’ gasped Borki. ‘He’s safe! He’s here!’

  ‘Thank God!’ de Richleau cried, jumping to his feet. ‘But where? Where is he?’

  ‘It was true about his crashing in his plane. He has burns, but they are not bad ones. He has gone straight up to the Condesa.’

  ‘Hell!’ exclaimed the Duke. ‘Don’t you realise, you idiot, that this second shock so soon after the first might kill her!’ And, pushing the fat man aside, he hurried from the room.

  But lack of preparation for the merciful dispensation had fortunately done Lucretia no harm. The Duke found her radiant and starry-eyed, forgetful of her undressed hair and lack of make-up, as she clasped Jan’s hands; while he sat perched on the side of her bed, dusty and unshaven, but vividly recounting his adventures.

  Surprise attacks delivered before the Poles even knew that the war was on had wiped out so high a proportion of their first-line air force that Jan’s squadron had been ordered to the front, and he had joined it there soon after its arrival. He had participated in a number of air-fights and shot down several enemy aircraft—three for certain. Then, two days ago, just before dawn, while most of them were sleeping from sheer exhaustion, the Luftwaffe had caught them. Nearly all their aircraft had been burnt out on the ground. Jan had gone up alone and got two Heinkels, but a few minutes later some of their fighters had got him. Only his long experience as a test pilot who had survived many crashes had saved him. He had escaped with some painful burns on his legs and a wrenched left ankle. But he had chased the enemy bombers some way and been shot down miles to the west of his own aerodrome. A quarter of an hour after his crash he had been captured.

  He swore that his despair was such that only the thought of Lucretia had prevented him from flinging himself on to the Nazi tommy-guns as the Germans ran up. Now he vowed a thousand candles to St. Casimir, to whom he had a special devotion, for having saved him from such folly. The enemy had already taken more prisoners than they could cope with efficiently, and were, moreover, far more concerned with maintaining the speed of their advance than guarding their captives. In consequence, Jan had remained in their hands barely two hours, an easy opportunity for escape having presented itself before his captors had been able to spare an escort to take him back to a cage.

  At a farm where he had sought shelter an old couple had given him their only horse without the slightest hesitation; and despite the pain of his burns, he had ridden across country most of the previous night until he had again reached Polish-held territory. Early next morning he had fallen in with a Polish Air Headquarters that had lost touch with all its squadrons. The senior officer had decided that night that the only thing left for him and his staff to do was to fall back on Warsaw in the hope of participating in the defence of the capital. Jan had been given a lift in one of their cars and reported to the Ministry immediately on his arrival. As he was in no condition to be reposted to a fighting unit, he had been temporarily attached to the Ministry for special duty and told to bring his car there at ten o’clock that night.

  ‘Oh!’ Lucretia gave a little cry at this point in his recital. ‘Does that mean you are being sent off again to the front at once—but as a ground officer this time?’

  ‘No.’ His smile was reassuring, but his blue eyes were sad. ‘In some ways I only wish it did. But it’s no good concealing the truth. In fact, apart from wanting to see you, it’s the main reason for my coming here this afternoon. Tonight the Polish Government is leaving Warsaw.’

  10

  The Man-Hunt

  ‘What! Abandoning the capital?’ exclaimed the Duke.

  ‘Yes. Somehow, this time last week, none of us thought in our wildest dreams that anything so terrible could possibly happen. But if the Government remains here much longer the city may be surrounded; then, sooner or later, it would be captured. The idea of leaving is repugnant to us all, but at least it will ensure the continuation of the fight under proper leadership when the new headquarters have been established in the south.’

  ‘That’s where you’re going, then?’ Lucretia said quickly.

  Jan nodded. ‘Yes. They were hard at it burning all but their most important papers when I left the Ministry. It is to take some of the essential files that are being evacuated to a place of safety that I’ve been ordered to report there with my car this evening. The back of it will be as full of files as we can cram it, but there will be room in front for you, and I want to take you with me.’ He glanced swiftly at the others, and added: ‘I thought the rest of you could take Mack’s car and follow us.’

  Marie Lou shook her head. ‘I only wish we could. Richard is making very good progress, but I dare not chance moving him yet.’

  ‘It’s a big car. Couldn’t you rig up a stretcher-bed for him in the back? There would still be ample room for you two, if I take Lucretia with me?’

  ‘No, Jan. I daren’t risk it. The jolting would be certain to affect him too seriously.’

  Jan fumbled nervously with a cigarette, and Lucretia gave him a light. ‘Look here,’ he said, after pulling heavily on it for a moment. ‘I don’t want to be an alarmist, but if the capital does fall you must remember that you are not neutrals. These swinish Germans hate you English almost as much as they do us Poles. Of course, they can’t arrest everyone in Warsaw, but the odds are that as foreigners here you will be singled out for special attention. They may send you to one of their ghastly concentration camps.’

  ‘Yes. But Richard’s too ill to be moved, so I don’t think they’ll bother about him, or prevent my staying here to nurse him. For Greyeyes it’s different, and I agree with you about the danger he would be in. He must leave with you tonight, and if you haven’t got room for him he can go in the Mercédès.’

  De Richleau put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Thank you for the thought, my little Princess, but I’m reasonably capable of looking after myself. My grey hairs will for once prove my fir
st line of defence. Jan will, I feel sure, give me a line of introduction to his tutor. Tomorrow I shall present it, ask him to give me a bed under an assumed name and, posing as Swiss, begin to haunt the museums. No one will interfere with a stooping old archaeologist, and they won’t even bother much if he has temporarily mislaid his papers.’

  Marie Lou took his hand and kissed it. ‘Dear Greyeyes. I know it is no good starting an argument with you. I’d only get the worst of it.’

  ‘You sensible child.’ The Duke smiled down at her and turned to Jan, saying: ‘Lucretia must certainly go with you, since you are now the proper person to protect her. But can you give us any idea how long Warsaw is likely to hold out?’

  Jan shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘No one can say for certain.’

  ‘Let us not mince matters. I really mean, is the departure of the Government indicative of the imminent abandonment of the capital to the enemy, or is it the intention of the army to leave a sufficient garrison here to withstand a siege?’

  ‘I don’t honestly know.’ Jan had suddenly become ill-at-ease and was evidently ashamed of the part his Government was playing. ‘I believe it is being left to the discretion of the Burgomaster, but I only heard that as a rumour. He may decide to declare Warsaw an open city in order to spare the inhabitants and save its buildings from further devastation. On the other hand, many badly mauled but still battleworthy divisions have fallen back on the capital these last few days; the High Command have not one tenth of the transport needed to deploy them else where, even if they wished to, and I’m certain they will make a fight for it unless they are ordered to lay down their arms.’

  Realising that Jan had given them all the information he could, de Richleau pressed him no further; but it was clear to him now that the Polish Government was finished. It had lost all control over the situation, and wherever it might establish its new head quarters, with the great industrial region of Southern Poland already in the hands of the enemy, and the capital soon to be isolated, it was most unlikely that it would be able to exercise any material influence on future events.