V for Vengeance

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Tell me,’ she whispered, ‘who is it that is after you? Why are you on the run?’

  Having gulped the brandy he drew a deep breath, set down his glass and took her small hands firmly in his.

  ‘Listen, Madeleine,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It’s a long story—no time to go into details now. You know what is happening—what has happened—to our poor France. Some day perhaps we shall know whom to blame. At present we can only guess that many of our Generals have proved hopelessly incompetent and that many of our politicians have betrayed their trust. No one knows anything for certain, only that France has sustained an overwhelming defeat and now lies at the mercy of the enemy.’

  ‘But the Army,’ she breathed; ‘it is still intact. Paris was only surrendered to save it from devastation. You cannot mean that the war is over and that we have already suffered final defeat?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. The Army will not fight. It did not do so yesterday or the day before, so why should it fight tomorrow? I don’t understand it—no one does—but some extraordinary paralysis seems to have gripped all our soldiers. They just marched back and back, giving ground the moment the Germans appeared before them. They were so bemused that they did not even trouble to blow up the roads, which might have halted the advance of the Germans’ tanks. Nine-tenths of our men have not yet fired a single shot, but they are already a hopeless rabble whose only thought is further retreat. In a few days at most it will be over. We must face it, dear heart; for the time being France is finished.’

  ‘But, Georges, this is too terrible! I—I simply can’t believe it!’

  ‘Nor I. Yet my own eyes and ears tell me that it is the awful truth, and I have been caught up in the débâcle. In such a catastrophe one man’s life does not count for much, and if it were not for you, with France enslaved I think I’d almost sooner be dead.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘In any case, I will be if the Germans get me.’

  Her eyes grew wide with terror. ‘But, Georges, what have you done? You are not even a soldier, but a Civil Servant. What have you done that the Germans should want to kill you?’

  He was smiling now, right into her eyes, and he held her twitching hands firmly.

  ‘I have deceived you, chérie, I confess it; but I know that you’ll forgive me when I tell you that it was my duty to do so. I’ve always led you to believe that I was a clerk in the Ministry of the Interior. You’ll remember it was at a dance for the employees of the Ministry that your father introduced us, only a few weeks before he died. When the war came you weren’t very proud of me, were you? In one way you were glad that I had a safe job which gave me exemption and kept me out of danger, but there were times when you felt that a man of thirty ought to have been in uniform, and you would have liked your fiancé to be a soldier. Eh?’

  ‘Oh, perhaps; but what does that matter now?’ Madeleine knew that he had guessed her feelings rightly. It was that almost unconscious feeling that he should not have skulked behind his Civil Service job while France was in peril which in recent months had made her feelings towards him a little less warm than they had been before the war, and caused her to contemplate, just at odd moments, entering into a flirtation with some other attractive man. But she knew now that she could never have thought of anyone but Georges seriously. Gripping his hands again, she murmured:

  ‘Please! Don’t let’s talk about the past. You’re in danger, and I love you. Oh, Georges, I love you so!’

  ‘Chérie, forgive me! I don’t blame you for what you thought, and theoretically, at least, I was a clerk in the Ministry of the Interior. But I haven’t been sitting at a desk in the Préfecture at Rouen, as you believed, all through the war. My work has taken me to many places, and that is why I have never been able to get back to Paris on leave. The fact is that I am a member of the Deuxième Bureau.’

  ‘The Secret Police!’ she breathed.

  ‘Yes—in the anti-espionage section, and I have had much to do with the catching and shooting of numerous Nazi spies.’

  ‘But surely the Germans would not shoot you because of that? You were only doing your duty.’

  He shrugged. ‘Some of us know too much about the Boche to be healthy. Besides, if our poor France is to be crushed beneath the conqueror’s heel it is men like myself who will organise resistance until she shall be free again. We understand underground methods, and therefore we are much more dangerous than any ordinary patriot. The Gestapo know that, so they will leave nothing undone to hunt us down and kill us.’

  ‘But nobody knows you were in our Secret Service. Even I didn’t know, so how could they possibly find that out?’

  He frowned. ‘There’s a fair chance that by assuming another identity I may be able to keep under cover. But I’ve got to work quickly. You see, by this time the Gestapo will have taken over at the Sûreté. There are hundreds of files there connecting me with various cases in the past, and it’s most unlikely that they’ll all have been destroyed or removed in the last few days during the evacuation. The Germans will lose no time in going through them, and they may be on their way to my old home now in the hope of catching me there, or trying to find out where I’ve got to.’

  ‘That’s why you came here?’

  ‘Yes, I had to get out of our Headquarters at Rouen at a moment’s notice. The Germans were already entering the town. I have only the clothes that I stand up in and very little money. I want you to telephone—not from here, but from a call-box. Ring up Uncle Luc and ask him to pack up the clothes and things which are likely to be of most use to me in two suitcases, then to deposit them at the Gare de Lyon and bring the cloakroom checks to me here.’

  ‘You’re going to leave Paris?’ she asked.

  ‘No. My orders are to remain here in hiding, but to carry on the fight against the Nazis by every means in my power unless a formal peace is agreed between the Allied and German Governments.’

  ‘But I thought you said that within a few days now the French Army will be compelled to—to surrender?’

  ‘I fear so, chérie. But that does not mean the final triumph of our enemies. The Norwegian and Dutch Governments have already established themselves in London for the purpose of continuing the war with all their resources outside Europe, and, although the French Army in France may be forced to lay down its arms, we shall still have our Empire and our Fleet. Paul Reynaud seems to be a man of courage, and he will almost certainly transfer his Government to North Africa with the intention of carrying on the struggle from there. In any case, my Chief’s last orders, which reached me in code early this morning, were to ignore any armistice which might be agreed in France and to work underground against the enemy as long as they remain in Paris. But we must not delay. Every moment is precious. Slip out now and telephone for me, while I have a wash and try to make myself a little more presentable.’

  Kissing him swiftly she stood up. Without bothering to get her hat she went on to the landing and ran downstairs.

  The nearest call-box was round the corner about two hundred yards away. The street was quite deserted, as upon this grim evening of the occupation the citizens of Paris who had remained had locked their doors and were gathered gloomily within their own homes, lest by their very presence in the streets they should seem to be paying homage to their conquerors.

  Georges’ Uncle Luc was the Mayor of Batignolles, and Madeleine wondered if at this time of emergency he would be at the Town Hall; but she decided first to try his own home. The telephone was still working, although on a restricted service; it was over twenty minutes before she could get through. When she did it was Uncle Luc’s house-keeper who answered, and the poor woman was in a great state of distress. A party of Germans had arrived at the house about a quarter of an hour before. They had spent some ten minutes questioning Monsieur le Maire and had driven off, taking him with them. Madeleine thanked her, endeavoured to reassure her fears, and hanging up fled back down the street towards her own apartment.

  When she reached it Georges was just coming o
ut of the bathroom, his dark hair now smooth, his clothes brushed, and looking much more like his normal cheerful self than when he had first arrived.

  Breathless from running up the stairs, Madeleine panted out her news, and Georges’ face immediately became grave.

  He was not greatly attached to his uncle and only rented a room in his house for convenience as a permanent place to keep his most cherished belongings and to sleep in on his occasional visits to Paris. There had, in fact, been a certain coldness between them for some time past, on account of a divergence of their political opinions.

  ‘I don’t think the old boy will come to any harm,’ he said after a moment, ‘because he’s a member of the Croix de Fer, and the Nazis are sure to endeavour to establish good relations with our Fascists, as they’re the most likely people to give them the co-operation they will need to keep order in Paris. It’s a possibility that they’re pulling in all the mayors as a temporary measure, or to give them their instructions collectively. On the other hand, there’s just a chance that the Nazis went to Batignolles in the hope of finding me there, and that they’ve taken Uncle Luc off to question him.’

  ‘He doesn’t know that you’re here, though,’ said Madeleine, striving to reassure herself; ‘and even if he did he wouldn’t give you away, would he?’

  ‘Not deliberately; but he has no idea that I work for the Deuxième Bureau, and the Germans wouldn’t be fools enough to tell him that if they caught me they meant to kill me. They’ll probably put up a plausible yarn about wanting to see me on some formality, and the old boy might fall for that. If so, he’d give them certain addresses where they might look for me; and this one among them. I’ll have to throw overboard any idea of recovering my clothes and just drift round as I am until I can get others. In any case, it isn’t safe for me to stay here any longer.’

  Going up to him she put her arms round his neck and exclaimed: ‘Oh, my darling! I’ve seen you only for such a little time! But of course you must go if there’s the least chance that they might come here—and go at once. At once!’

  For a moment they remained embraced while he kissed her very tenderly; then she said: ‘You’ll manage to let me hear from you, won’t you? You must, chéri. I shall be half-crazy with anxiety.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll do my best, but you mustn’t worry if you don’t hear for a few days.’

  ‘Perhaps, later on, I can help you in your work?’

  ‘I don’t want to involve you in that. It will be dangerous.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  His quick smile came again. ‘To hear you say that comforts me more than anything that anyone could say on this tragic day. It seems almost as though our poor France has been like a man afflicted with blindness who is stricken down by some brutal unseen enemy; yet, thank God, there are still some of her children who can see clearly. Those of us who can must never waver in our faith, and whatever the cost to ourselves fight on until France is once more free.’

  ‘I will fight with you, Georges,’ she smiled up at him. ‘You know that, don’t you? To the bitter end—if need be.’

  He stooped his head and kissed her, then letting her go he moved towards the door.

  ‘Wait!’ she called after him. ‘You said that you had very little money. I have some here. Wait, and I will get it.’

  She had just remembered that, in addition to the nursing fees and a handsome present which Gregory had given her, she had the mille notes which he had thrust into her hands to ensure Kuporovitch a decent burial. Hurrying into her bedroom she got her bag, and she had no hesitation in taking the notes, as well as her own money, from it. In times like these the living were infinitely more important than the dead, and she felt too that Gregory himself would approve her action.

  As she came back into the sitting-room she saw Georges’ face intent with listening, and a second later she caught the tread of heavy feet upon the stairs. Halted in her tracks, she stood there, grasping the banknotes in her hand, her mouth half-open. The door-bell rang.

  Georges swiftly waved her away and drew an automatic from a holster that was strapped under his left armpit. The bell rang again; then a voice came:

  ‘Madeleine! Are you home? It is Luc Ferrière.’

  With a gasp of relief she started forward to open the door, but Georges grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her back. In her relief at learning that it was his uncle she had forgotten that Uncle Luc had been taken from his house by the Germans and so might not be alone.

  For a moment there was a deathly silence, then outside a gruff voice muttered something. The sound of shuffling steps came clearly, then a thud as a heavy boot crashed against the lock of the door; the wood splintered, and it flew wide open.

  A group of black-uniformed German S.S. men stood there; with them was Uncle Luc. One of the men pushed him inside, and the rest made to follow.

  ‘Stand back!’ shouted Georges. ‘Stand back, or I fire!’

  Uncle Luc was a tall, fair man with a narrow head; he wore a bowler hat and pince-nez. He waved his hands vaguely in protest.

  ‘Georges, my boy: please do not do anything foolish. Put away that gun. It is not permitted for French citizens to carry arms any more in Paris; but do not be afraid. The officer here and his men only wish to question you.’

  The blood had drained from Madeleine’s face. She, stared at the elderly mayor for a second. Suddenly she burst out:

  ‘You brought them here! How could you? How could you?’

  He shrugged and waved his hands again. ‘Ma chère Madeleine, please do not excite yourself. There is no cause for that. They do not mean to do Georges any harm.’

  ‘Oh, how—how could you!’ she repeated, choking on her words as her terrified glance took in the armed Germans grouped in the tiny hall and Georges standing tense with his pistol levelled. But the Mayor of Batignolles seemed to have no appreciation of the heinousness of his act, and replied quite calmly:

  ‘They called at my house in search of him, and they insisted that I should take them to various places where he might be. No one is more conscious than myself of the unpleasantness of such duties, but in my official position I had no option.’

  ‘So you’ve already gone over to the enemy,’ Georges’ voice held a bitter sneer. ‘I thought you would, but not quite so soon or so openly.’

  ‘My boy, you are overwrought by our misfortunes and have lost your sense of proportion.’ Uncle Luc drew himself up and went on with unctuous pomposity: ‘We have defended our country to the best of our ability. That we have suffered defeat is no fault of ours, and it behoves us all now to cooperate with the invader for the sake of keeping order. We must accept our defeat with calm and dignity. Yes, calm and dignity—that must be our watchword in this tragic hour. Come, Georges, be sensible and put down that pistol.’

  The German officer, a Schwartz Korps major, was standing just behind Luc Ferrière. He was a blue-chinned, knobbly-faced man, and in his hand he held an automatic, but he addressed Georges in stilted French politely and even in a friendly tone.

  ‘Monsieur, the advice which your uncle gives you is excellent. I beg of you not to make our duty more unpleasant than it need be. My orders are to bring you in for questioning. If you will come with us you will have nothing to fear. Put your weapon on the table behind you, please.’

  Madeleine’s heart was beating so fast that her breath came in little gasps. What would Georges do? He had said so definitely that if the Germans once caught him they would shoot him. Knowing that, would he surrender and allow himself to be taken away, or would he make a fight for his life here and now? If he did, how could she help him? The four S.S. men were all armed and one of them had a tommy-gun resting on his hip.

  ‘Come now,’ said the major. ‘We waste time.’

  Georges moved his pistol slightly to cover the man who held the tommy-gun, since the officer was partly protected by the fact that he was standing just behind Uncle Luc.

  The major spoke again: ‘I do not wish
to take harsh measures, but I shall have to do so if you refuse to obey me.’

  ‘If you only want to question me you can do so here,’ Georges said abruptly.

  ‘That will not do,’ the officer signed to his men, and the fellow with the tommy-gun took a step forward.

  ‘Halt, or I fire!’ cried Georges, and his voice now rang with menacing determination.

  There was a moment of tense silence, then it was broken by Madame Lavallière’s shrill tones as she cried from her bedroom:

  ‘What is it, Madeleine? What is happening out there?’

  Instinctively they all looked towards her bedroom door, and at that instant Madeleine had an inspiration. From the kitchen window of the apartment the wire cables of a small goods lift ran down into a courtyard in the centre of the block. If Georges could only get to the window and climb out of it while she flung herself in the path of the Germans he might be able to swarm down the cables and get away before they could reach the window to shoot at him. She had no means of conveying her plan to Georges in detail, but he knew the geography of the apartment well, and she felt certain that a hint would be enough. Turning, she sprang forward, and grasping the handle of the kitchen door, flung it wide open.

  Madame Lavallière’s voice came again.

  ‘Madeleine! Madeleine! Why do you not come? What is going on out there?’

  Her cries were half-drowned by an order shouted in German by the major. His men raised their weapons and came rushing forward. The tommy-gun began to spit fire and suddenly a deafening series of explosions shook the room.

  Georges fired twice, hitting the man with the tommy-gun. He gave a stifled curse, stumbled and fell. Dodging round the table, Georges leapt backwards and reached the kitchen door. He had hardly done so when there was a second crash of shots, as the other S.S. men, firing over their fallen companions, let fly at him with their automatics.

  The reports were deafening. Blue smoke eddied from the barrels of the guns, and for a moment Madeleine could see nothing clearly. Georges’ pistol cracked again, but he had now fallen back against the jamb of the door, and she knew that he was badly wounded. Slowly he slid to the floor, but his hand still gripped his gun, and he made one last effort to raise it.