V for Vengeance

by Dennis Wheatley

  Both Madeleine and Stefan knew that it was dangerous to comment upon the news in public places, as great numbers of Gestapo men had been drafted to Paris, and there were, in addition, innumerable French pro-Nazis who to curry favour with the administration were reporting criticisms of the régime. Yet, as Madeleine thought of the thousands of innocent people who must have been burnt to death or crushed beneath falling walls in this holocaust she could not refrain from saying under her breath: ‘The swine! The filthy swine! If there were a God in Heaven He would strike that fiend Hitler dead!’

  Kuporovitch shrugged. ‘Perhaps He will in His own good time.’

  She clasped her hands until the knuckles showed white. ‘Oh, Stefan! Why can’t we do something? There are hundreds of us to every one of them. If we were only determined enough and didn’t mind risking our own lives, we could overwhelm these beasts in a single night. They’re not human. There’s nothing honourable about them, as there has been about soldiers in past wars. They’re soulless vermin who ought to be exterminated. If I had the chance I wouldn’t hesitate to kill…’

  She suddenly broke off in quick alarm. The little priest was standing just beside her. She had not seen him move, yet there he was and placing his small brown hands on the table, he bent down to say very quietly: ‘My child, I hope that you will permit an old man to give you a word of warning. You might easily be arrested and thrown into a concentration camp if any ill-disposed person had overheard what you have just said.’

  As she had spoken hardly above a whisper she could not imagine how anyone at another table could possibly have caught her words, but he gave her a reassuring smile.

  ‘It is true that I only understood you because I am a lip-reader; yet quite a number of people have mastered that art, particularly detectives, so in these days when you talk in whispers in any public place you should guard your tongue.’

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful to you for your warning.’

  ‘Not at all, not at all;’ he suddenly stretched out a hand and, grasping the back of a chair from a nearby table, went on: ‘Have I your permission to join you for a moment?’

  Taking their consent for granted, he sat down and continued: ‘No one is actually facing any of us now, so if we speak softly we shall run no undue risk. You have ample reason for hating our enemies so bitterly?’

  Madeleine swallowed hard, sipped her Kirsch and said: ‘My fiancé was murdered by these fiends before my eyes on the very first day of the Occupation.’

  There was a short pause, and she heard him murmur: ‘I know it, my child. Poor Georges!’

  His words electrified her, and she turned to stare at him in amazement, but it was Kuporovitch who spoke. He had been quick to realise that this might be a trap and their uninvited guest a police-spy; so his voice, though low, was pregnant with menace as he said:

  ‘If you know of Mademoiselle’s tragedy, it is clear that you accosted us deliberately just now. Who are you?’

  ‘There is no cause for alarm,’ replied the little priest swiftly. ‘If I had meant to denounce you as anti-Nazis I could have done so without coming to your table. Georges Mercier was a friend of mine and we worked together.’ He turned back to Madeleine. ‘I wonder if you are aware why the Nazis shot him?’

  ‘It was because he was a member of the Deuxième Bureau,’ she whispered, ‘although I had no idea of that until he came to me for help, a few hours before he was murdered.’

  He nodded. ‘Georges was one of the most discreet of all our agents, but since he told you of his real work just before he died perhaps he also told you of his last orders?’

  ‘Yes. They were to remain in Paris, to ignore any armistice which might be entered into with the Germans, and to continue to operate against them until a proper peace was actually signed.’

  ‘That is so; and a few of us were more lucky than poor Georges, so we are still able to carry on the work for the true France which will yet survive this nightmare.’

  ‘Are you, too, then, a member of the Deuxième Bureau?’ Kuporovitch asked.

  ‘I was. In one sense I still am, although the Bureau itself was evacuated with the rest of the Government, so that it is now in Vichy, and it no longer has any official status in German-occupied France.’

  Madeleine was smiling now, and her eyes were bright with a strange elation, as she murmured: ‘But you’re carrying on in secret. How I wish that I, too, could do something—anything—to help strike a blow against these blond beasts who are defiling our whole world.’

  The little man nodded his silvery head. ‘I hoped that you would feel that way, and the time will come when the help of a stout-hearted girl like yourself may prove invaluable. But, first, we must build up a proper organisation and we shall need many like you.’

  ‘There must be thousands,’ Madeleine declared with conviction.

  ‘I’m sure there are,’ his shrewd dark eyes, set in many wrinkles, bored into hers; ‘but the difficulty is to find those thousands whom you can trust among the tens of thousands who are now untrustworthy because they can no longer see clearly. Pro-German propaganda has so distorted the views of the great mass of the people. They are weary of the war and all their sufferings, so they no longer have the ability to look very far into the future. Most of them even hope now that Britain will be speedily defeated, as their wishful thinking leads them to believe that would mean a new settlement which within a few months would enable them to resume their normal lives. I am an old man, and for many years it has been my business to probe as far as possible into the future; so I believe that I see clearly. In my view, France can never rise again, or ever know real freedom, until Hitler and all that he stands for are destroyed.’

  ‘You’re right,’ cut in Kuporovitch abruptly. ‘Even the defeat of Britain won’t materially alter your situation. As long as Hitler is the master the French people remain a race of slaves.’

  ‘Certainment! Therefore, it is for those of us who see the truth to preach a secret crusade. Wherever opportunity offers we must do so, among people whom we feel we can trust, but who at present do not realise the truth—or are fainthearted. We must be very, very careful, because we should do no good to our country once we were dead or in a concentration camp; but even in the smallest things we should leave nothing undone which will help to hamper the German war effort. In such ways each one of us can help to bring nearer the day of a British victory, which means our own release from what otherwise will be a lifelong captivity.’

  Madeleine thrilled to his softly spoken words. Here at last was the chance for which she had been waiting and longing all these weeks. There was a moment’s silence, then she asked: ‘How did you know who I was before you came to our table?’

  His small brown face lit up with a sudden smile. ‘I had often heard Georges speak of you as a girl of character. When I learned how he had been foully done to death in your apartment I put you down in my mind at once as a possible recruit for the organisation which I am forming.’

  ‘Why, then, did you not get in touch with me before?’

  ‘Unfortunately, many of my old colleagues have gone over to the enemy, so whenever I’m in Paris there is always the danger that I may be recognised and followed. I have only been in Paris three times since the collapse, and on the second I took steps to identify you, but I did not wish to risk compromising you by calling at your apartment. To-night, I happened to be in the Place de l’Opéra when you picked up your taxi, although I don’t suppose you noticed me. Once more my ability for lip-reading stood me in good stead. It was just the opportunity for which I had been waiting; I caught the address you gave the driver and followed you here.’

  Kuporovitch leaned forward. ‘Even so, you were taking a big risk, my friend, since you could have had no guarantee that my feelings against the Nazis were similar to Mademoiselle’s.’

  The little man smiled again. ‘I am not without my sources of information. I know that Mademoiselle has been nursing you in her apart
ment for many weeks, so it was hardly likely that you would betray her. Besides…’

  He broke off abruptly, as the Russian gave a low laugh. ‘You’re right about that, and you can count me as in this thing too. Thanks to Mademoiselle’s care, I’m now fit again and ready for anything. As an old soldier, I need no teaching how to handle arms or explosives. When the time comes you have only to tell me what to do and I will do it.’

  Their companion had been staring into a mirror opposite to him, and in it he could see a good portion of the restaurant, to which his back was turned. Leaning forward again, he began to speak in an even lower voice than before.

  ‘My friends, I warned you that we were playing a very dangerous game. I fear that even by speaking to you here I may have been the cause of bringing trouble upon you. I have just seen a man who used to work with me but has gone over to the enemy. Our eyes met in that mirror, and, in spite of my disguise, I’m certain that he knew me again. He is seated behind me, three tables away and a little to my left. He is wearing a suit of mustard-coloured check and has a heavy black moustache. You, Mademoiselle! Don’t let your eye rest on him, but glance casually round the room and tell me what he is doing now.’

  ‘He left his table just after you began to speak,’ replied Madeleine, ‘and has gone over the telephone box near the door.’

  ‘It is as I feared,’ their small friend said, but he kept his voice low and unhurried. ‘Some minutes at least must elapse before he can get the police here, but he may try to waylay me as I go out. If there’s trouble the police will pull you in for questioning, because he has seen you talking to me. You will say that I’m a complete stranger to you and that I planted myself at your table uninvited. While I was here I questioned you persistently on your reactions to the news of the bombing of London. That will fit in with the sort of thing that they think I might be doing—just getting a cross-section of opinion by accosting strangers wherever the opportunity offers. You can add that you resented my planting myself here, but were too polite to pack me off about my business. Such a story will avoid your entering into long explanations and having to tell any lies, in some of which you might be tripped up. Stick to that, and it’s almost certain that the police will release you after an hour or two.’

  ‘He has got his number and is speaking now,’ Madeleine interrupted anxiously.

  ‘Merci, mademoiselle. It is time for me to go then; but there’s one thing that I must ask you both. If you’re to be of the maximum help to me later on, it is important that the police should not get your names on their books as suspects; you had better give false names and addresses. If you’re found out you can always say that you did so because you were scared. Later, I will send you instructions, and you must trust anyone that comes to you who says that they have a special devotion to St. Denis, the patron Saint of France. Now, be of good courage and don’t worry about me. I am very capable of looking after myself.’

  He stood up then, and Madeleine watched him, her hands clasped tightly under the table, as he collected his black wide-brimmed hat, paid his bill, smiled good-night to them, and walked with an aged, slightly shambling gait towards the door.

  Kuporovitch could not see the doorway without turning round, but he knew that he must restrain his curiosity. Pouring himself and Madeleine another ration of Kirsch, he lifted his glass and smiled across at her. ‘It’s been a grand evening so far. May it end well for all of us; but, in case things go wrong, I’d like you to know, Madeleine, that I love you more than any woman I’ve ever met. Give me the tip when the fireworks are about to start.’

  5

  Transportation to Death

  Madeleine’s hand was trembling slightly as she raised her glass in reply.

  ‘I’ve known that you love me for a long time, Stefan, but let’s not talk of that now. Oh, God! I do hope that he succeeds in getting away.’

  Kuporovitch’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘Excitement makes you even more beautiful. The flush upon your cheeks now is superb, and for myself the very thought of going into action again is as good as a magnum of champagne. But, tell me, since I dare not turn round, how is the little fellow getting on? Has he reached the door yet?’

  Madeleine had been holding her breath and she released it sharply.

  ‘The detective has just stopped him. He bars his path, They are talking together.’

  In an agony of suspense she watched the two men at the far end of the long barn-like room. Actually, they exchanged perhaps no more than half a dozen quick short sentences, but that conversation seemed to her to go on interminably. Suddenly she gasped and lifted her hands in front of her face.

  The detective had attempted to seize the little priest by the shoulder. Evidently their friend had been prepared for such a move and was already covering his interrogator with a pistol concealed beneath his cassock. Two shots rang out in quick succession. The detective’s eyes opened to their fullest extent and began to roll in their sockets. He clutched his stomach with both hands, let out a quavering wail and slumped to the floor. Instantly, half the people in the restaurant came to their feet; a babel of excited shouting arose and everyone craned their necks to see what was happening.

  At the very moment of the shooting two uniformed policemen had appeared in the doorway. They rushed forward to seize the little priest. Quick as a cat he eluded them, dodging swiftly between tables. A German officer made a grab at him as he sped by; another pulled his automatic from its holster and took aim. Springing up, Kuporovitch grabbed the glass carafe containing the huge pear from the nearby ledge. Lifting it high above his head, he heaved it with all his force right across the room into the midst of the group of Germans.

  The weighty bottle crashed right in the centre of the table among the crockery and glasses. The officer with the gun fired, but the flying missile had upset his aim and, instead of finding its intended mark, the bullet struck the shoulder of a peroxide blonde who was fraternising with another German officer some tables away.

  The whole restaurant was now in a state of pandemonium. The blonde girl began to scream hysterically. With a speed and agility more in keeping with a young athlete than a man of his years, the priest reached the far end of the restaurant and sprang upon an empty table. The two policemen were half-way down the room, excitedly waving their batons as they charged towards him. Kuporovitch rushed forward to try to intercept them, but they were on the far side of several tables, and by the time he reached the lane they had taken he was too late.

  The priest turned for an instant and fired at the officer who had shot at him. The bullet hit the German fair and square in the middle of the mouth. He crashed back on to the table among his companions, choking horribly and streaming with blood.

  Kuporovitch was now forcing his way through a struggling mass of people who had panicked and were rushing towards the door from fear that in the mêlée they might get shot. Madeleine turned to shout encouragement after the Russian. Two more shots crashed out, fired by another German. They were followed by the tinkling of smashed panes of glass in one half of a window at the far end of the room. As Madeleine swung round she saw that the curtains had been wrenched back; the little priest had made good his escape through the open half of the window.

  While one of the policemen scrambled through in pursuit the other jumped on to the table and began to blow his whistle. Between shrill blasts he yelled excited orders that no one was to leave the room. More police soon appeared upon the scene and some semblance of order was restored.

  The Nazi who had been terribly wounded in the face and the French detective were removed in an ambulance. The senior German officer present then began a violent harangue to the French police, demanding the arrest of everyone in sight, with a view to wholesale reprisals for the wounding of his junior. An inspector sought to placate him by a hurried assurance that everybody should be taken into custody, and ten minutes later police vans arrived, into which all the French diners, the proprietor and his waiters, were herded.

 
Kuporovitch, having rejoined Madeleine, had not let the grass grow under his feet. By steady and almost uninterrupted drinking he had finished the entire bottle of Kirsch and was well on his way into a bottle of cognac which he had removed from a nearby table after the diner who had been seated at it had fled in panic. His capacity for liquor being immense he was by no means drunk, but now extremely cheerful. As they bumped their way down the hill in the prison van he told Madeleine, with the glee of a wicked child who is not deliberately dishonest, that so far he had had an absolutely magnificent evening which had cost him nothing, as in the excitement nobody had asked him to pay his bill.

  The next few hours, however, proved anything but amusing. First, on arriving at the Sûreté-Générale, the names and addresses of all the people who had been brought in were taken. Madeleine, bearing in mind the instructions she had received, gavea hers as Antoinette Mirabeau, of 47 Rue Meslay, this being the name and address of a cousin of hers whom she knew had left Paris at the time of the evacuation. The girl had been on the telephone, so the address could easily be checked up. Kuporovitch was in no position to fake such an alias, so he gave his name as Ivan Smernov and said he was a White Russian who had lived in Belgium for a number of years, but had come to Paris at the time of the invasion. He added that, like many refugees, he had no permanent address but moved from one lodging-house to another, or on fine nights slept out in the open according to the state of his funds.

  The yarn was a thin one, but it was the best that he could think of at the moment, and at that time there were still thousands of homeless people who had come from the north drifting about in Paris. If he had been arrested in the street it might quite well have passed, but it was hardly likely that a homeless refugee would have been dining in an expensive restaurant, and the inspector obviously regarded the answer with suspicion.

  One by one the little mob of people who had been brought in were released, as it was obvious that none of them had any connection with the priest and the shooting that had occurred. At last only Madeleine and Stefan were left, and their anxieties were by no means lessened when, instead of being sent through the door after the others, they were taken upstairs.