Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07

by The Second Seal

  In his mind’s eye, ever since Colonel Nicolai had spoken the previous evening of the avalanche of fire and steel that was now descending on France, he had seen images of burning farmsteads and shattered towns, and beyond the bawdy pictures he could see them still. For an instant he visualized another Joan of Arc arising once more to lead France to victory against great odds, although he knew that even her faith would have been powerless against Krupp guns. Then, in the same vein of romantic fantasy, he saw himself on his way through Aix-la-Chapelle, planting under German Main Headquarters a bomb of such as yet undiscovered power that it would blow the Kaiser, and everyone engaged in directing the hideous battle, to hell.

  The thought recalled to him General Hoffmann’s remark, that when he arrived at Main Headquarters it was certain that he would be asked for all the information he could give about the situation in East Prussia. He had never had any intention of going there, but, all the same, he began to speculate on what he would have said, had circumstances similar to those which had forced him to come to Wartenburg compelled him to deliver von Hötzendorf’s letter. General von Moltke would naturally have been kept informed of the main outlines of the battle, but a staff officer would certainly be in a position to colour the General’s impression about future prospects on a front from which he had just arrived.

  Influenced by his proximity to the Russo-German battle, his first thought was that he would paint the picture as optimistically as possible, so as to restore the General’s confidence in the 8th Army; with the object that, should it meet with further reverses and appeal for help, its appeals would be less likely to receive prompt attention, and thus it would be more likely to sustain a serious defeat.

  But in a second he saw the larger map, and realized that to adopt such a course would be to throw away a God-given opportunity. The picture should be painted black—black as pitch. Thus, if Hindenburg asked for reinforcements, he would be much more likely to get them.

  The Russians were strong enough to look after themselves. Even if another entire German Army was sent against them, they could already match it in manpower. In another week or so, when their Asiatic formations reached the line, they would again have an enormous superiority. And, in the worst event, they could surrender territory without the least danger of collapse.

  France had no reserves to draw upon. France had no territory she could afford to give. Germany was now fully mobilized and every one of her divisions fit for battle were in the field. Anything sent to East Prussia would have to be taken from the Western Front. Russia could take on another half dozen Army Corps and still maintain an unbroken line of battle. But for France the withdrawal of even a single German division might mean the difference between defeat and salvation.

  Lanzi was chuckling in his beard at a picture of the devil doing curious things with the point of his tail to a lovely young witch, at the moment that De Richleau reached his decision. He knew, in one of those sudden flashes that brooks no argument, that he was not going to slip tamely over the border into Holland. He was going to deliver von Hötzendorf’s letter at Main Headquarters and influence von Moltke as far as he possibly could.

  At dinner he was unusually silent. He had no sooner taken his decision than a serious obstacle to his achieving his object had occurred to him. He was not going to Aix-la-Chapelle alone: he was to be accompanied by Ludendorff’s staff officer, Major Tauber. The Major was much more likely than he was to be questioned about the East Prussian front. Moreover, he would give a true picture of the new confidence that the arrival of Hindenburgh and Ludendorff had inspired.

  The Major, to whom De Richleau had just been introduced, was seated some way down the table. In the usual German manner, he had first cut up all the food on his plate and was now using the fork to shovel it into his mouth with an ugly greed that suggested he had had nothing to eat for a fortnight. He was a squat, corpulent man, with a thick neck, little piggy eyes and a shaven head. The Duke decided that, somehow or other, he must be got rid of en route.

  After the meal, Lanzi and De Richleau talked for a while over coffee and brandy with their hosts in the ante-room. Soon after ten o’clock Captain Fleischmann left them to see their baggage on to the train, and they began to make their farewells. When they had exchanged stiff hand-shakes and bows with the officers present, Major Tauber said he thought it time for them to be going, and led the way across the main hall to the back of the house, as the quickest method of getting to the railway siding. Just as they were about to leave by the back door, Colonel Nicolai emerged from a side corridor and addressed the Duke:

  “Ah! Herr Oberste Graf; I’m so glad I’ve managed to catch you. I’ve a letter for one of my colleagues at Main Headquarters, and I’d be very grateful if you would take it with you.”

  “Of course,” replied De Richleau, holding out his hand. “Where is it?”

  Nicolai jerked his head in the direction of a partly open door just down the passage from which he had come, and said, “In there. I haven’t had time to address an envelope for it yet, but if you’ll come with me I won’t keep you a minute.”

  Taking De Richleau’s consent for granted, the tall, dark Colonel turned on his heel. With a nod to Lanzi and Tauber, the Duke murmured: “Please don’t wait for me. I can easily catch you up.” Then, as they went out into the darkness, he walked down the corridor and followed Nicolai into the room.

  A few weeks before it had been the gun-room of the manor, but it had since been converted into a small office. In one corner there was a porcelain stove, and near it stood a thin, sandy-haired man dressed in rather flashy civilian clothes.

  As De Richleau stepped through the door, Colonel Nicolai closed it behind him and said in a sharp voice to the civilian:

  “Are you sure now that this is the man on your records?”

  The thin man nodded. “Jawohl, Herr Oberste. I never forget a face. He’s the one I saw come out of the Carlton Club in London.”

  CHAPTER XXIV - A VERY TIGHT CORNER

  For a moment there was dead silence in the small room. The Duke’s first reaction was one of amazement. It was barely twenty-four hours since Colonel Nicolai had raised the question of the De Richleau title. That he should have remained unconvinced by the explanation given him and started inquiries was quite understandable. The staggering thing was that he should have been able, in so short a time, to produce an agent who could definitely identify the suspect as the De Richleau who had been in London.

  The Duke was standing between the two Germans. He was facing the fair civilian in the flashy suit, and Colonel Nicolai was behind him. As he stared at the fair man, it flashed upon him that, even if he had been seen in London the previous April, it was no proof whatever that he was a spy. If he played his cards skilfully he might still bluff his way out of this highly dangerous situation. Showing swift indignation, he exclaimed:

  “Really! I see no reason for this absurd piece of drama.”

  “You will soon!” The Colonel’s voice came from behind him. “Stay where you are and keep facing that way.”

  “But I never told you that I had not been in London. I have all my clothes made there.”

  “Do you still maintain that it was your cousin who was seen coming out of the Carlton Club with General Sir Henry Wilson, Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust and Sir Bindon Blackers?”

  “It might have been. He is very like me.”

  “And yet you admit that you were in London last April?”

  De Richleau saw that he had blundered, and he quickly made the best of it. But he dared not tell a flat lie as he believed he had been followed from Victoria to Ostend, and they might be able to produce a man who had shadowed him on the Orient Express. He said:

  “I was there for a few days; but my cousin may have been there at the same time. Anyhow, I did not visit the Carlton Club, so this gentleman is mistaken in supposing that he saw me come out of it.”

  The fair man shook his head. “That is quite impossible. Once I have seen a face I never
forget it.”

  “All right then,” the Duke shrugged. “Let us suppose for a minute that you are correct. Supposing that for private reasons I did not choose immediately to admit to having lunched at the Club with General Wilson and these other gentlemen. What crime do you impute to me for having done so while Europe was still at peace?”

  “None,” replied the Colonel. “But it goes a long way to establishing for us that it is on behalf of the British Secret Service you have been working.”

  “What nonsense! You have not an atom of proof to support this wild theory.”

  “I think you would be surprised how much we know about you.”

  The remark was extremely disquieting, but De Richleau met it with a determined effort to overawe his captors and gain control of the situation. With sudden biting sarcasm, he said:

  “Then, if you know so much, it is a pity you did not take the trouble to find out a little more before you allowed your imagination to run away with you. To end this farce it seems that I must disclose a matter that my Government would greatly prefer should remain secret. It is quite true that I lunched in London with General Wilson last April. And I will tell you why. Not because I have the remotest connection with the British Secret Service, but because the Austrian Government asked me to see him and his friends on a highly confidential matter. Now! You have no possible right to detain me here, and as the personal representative of General von Hötzendorf I demand my immediate release.”

  That was a good card—a very good card—as Colonel Nicolai had already admitted that he had no proof of the reason why the Duke had lunched at the Carlton Club. But, unfortunately for De Richleau, it was not quite good enough. The Colonel held a higher card, and, with a short, harsh laugh, he played it:

  “Perhaps you will explain then, why you did not mention your secret activities on behalf of the Austrian Government to Major Ronge when he had you in prison?”

  De Richleau remained perfectly still; but he could feel his muscles tighten and a pulse in his throat began to hammer furiously.

  They had got him, then. Nicolai had not only made inquiries of his associates in the Foreign Intelligence Department, he had also got in touch with the Austrian K.S. The cat was out of the bag. Up to a moment ago the Secret Intelligence Chief had been only playing with him, and trying to get a line on his activities in London before letting him know that they already had enough against him to have him shot whenever they wished.

  A spate of regrets seethed through his brain. If he had had the strength of mind to ignore Ilona’s plea to stay on in Vienna, he would have been back in England weeks ago. If he had not gone to say good-bye to Count Tisza, he would not have given his parole to remain still longer. If he had ignored von Hötzendorf s order to report at the Arsenal and, instead, disappeared, there was quite a good chance that he would have succeeded in evading Ronge’s police. If he had boldly left Przemysl on the long road home through Russia, he could have been in St. Petersburg by this time. If only he had had the sense to see the red light when Nicolai had questioned him about his title, he could easily have got away last night, secured a civilian suit, and by now be safely in a train on his way to Holland.

  It seemed to him in that black moment that he had let slip one golden opportunity after another through sheer weakness and stupidity. He forgot that at the time there had been sound reasons for every decision he had taken, and that had he acted otherwise he might be in an Austrian fortress, have been shot while crossing the battle-line into Russia, or already have been arrested by the German police as a deserter.

  But those regrets were no more than flickers of thought that lit his mind for an instant, then were gone. Realizing their futility, he doused them in a second, and faced up to the fact that once he allowed himself to be disarmed his chance of escaping with his life would not be worth a brass farthing. He must either fight now—or die.

  Like all officers on active service, he was wearing a pistol at his belt, but the army pattern holster was not designed for quick drawing. Its leather flap had a button-hole in it that fastened down over a mushroom-headed brass stud. Nevertheless, his movement was extraordinarily rapid. With a jerk his hand flew up, his thumb and forefinger grasped the tongue of the flap and tore it back. At the same instant he side-stepped and swung his body half round. But his next movement was forestalled by Nicolai. As the gun butt was exposed, the Colonel’s hand shot out from behind him, grasped it, and dragged the weapon from its holster.

  Completing his turn, De Richleau struck the Colonel a savage backhander with his clenched fist. It caught Nicolai on the side of his face. He was thrown off his balance and fell heavily against the door. But the fair man was standing only two yards away. Launching himself forward, he flung himself at the Duke’s legs in a rugby tackle.

  De Richleau in turn was caught off balance. He struck downwards with his left at the man’s blond head, but the force of the impact against his legs caused the upper part of his body to jerk forward. Next second he was sprawling across the German’s shoulders.

  Rolling over on to the floor, he jerked his knees up, then suddenly gave a violent kick with both feet. The action not only broke the German’s hold on his legs; it sent him catapulting across the floor to land up with a crash against the stove. But De Richleau was left lying flat on his back.

  Nicolai had recovered himself. Still standing by the door, he clicked a bullet up into the chamber of the Duke’s pistol, then levelled it at him. Before De Richleau could even raise his shoulders, the Colonel snapped:

  “Do you surrender? Or do you want me to save myself a lot of trouble by putting a bullet through your head?”

  His cheek was a bright red from the blow he had received: his black eyes were angry. It was very clear that he was not to be trifled with, and meant what he said. De Richleau lifted his hands a little, palms outward, sat up, and slowly got to his feet.

  With his left hand Nicolai turned the key in the lock, stepped away from the door, and motioned the Duke towards it. “Stand over there. Any more tricks, and you know what to expect, you dirty traitor.”

  The Duke did as he was bid, but he did not keep his hands up. Instead, he employed them in beating the dust from the floor off his tunic and breeches; then quite naturally lowered them as he said: “You must know by now that I am not an Austrian, so you have no right to call me a traitor.”

  The civilian had picked himself up with muttered curses, and moved round behind a kitchen table which was in use as an impromptu desk. Nicolai joined him there, laid down the pistol, took up a thin sheaf of papers, and replied: “Yes, we know that. You are a pig of an Englishman. I have it all on this file.”

  Glancing down at the top sheet, he went on quickly: “These are particulars about you, brought by Herr Steinhauer when I summoned him from Berlin to-day. You were pointed out to him in London as a dangerous adventurer. Owing to the company you were in, it was thought probable that you were being employed in some form of secret work. Agent E. 7 was put on to shadow you. He reported a visit by you to the offices of the Committee of Imperial Defence. E. 5 was then put on to aid him. E. 7 reported a second visit to the same office, but that night he bungled matters and was roughly handled by you. Next morning E. 5 followed you to Victoria Station. He telephoned that your baggage was labelled for Belgrade. A telegram was dispatched to Ostend. J. 3 picked you up there and boarded the same train. But you gave him the slip at Munich. A general call was put out to locate you, but during the following week no report came in of any person answering your description having registered at an hotel in Germany. Agents in Serbia were instructed to keep a look out for you. N. 2 reported on 15th May that you had, after all, gone to Belgrade. The case was not graded as a high priority, and the department then being satisfied that you were not operating in Germany, it was closed.”

  De Richleau was watching his captors like a lynx. Colonel Nicolai had his eyes on the papers he was holding, but Herr Steinhauer had his fixed on the prisoner in an unwinking stare.
The Colonel had laid the gun down on the table, but either he or Steinhauer could grab it up before the Duke could get within a yard of it, and Nicolai had another pistol in the holster at his belt. To attempt to rush them at the moment would have been to invite a bullet.

  Turning to another sheet, Nicolai continued: “Here is Major Ronge’s reply to a telegram from me. Evidently he considers you of sufficient importance not to spare words. The gist of it is that you are known to have carried out espionage in Belgrade and suspected of doing so in Vienna. He says you admitted British nationality, but passed yourself off as an Austrian, imposing on many highly placed persons, including the Archduchess Ilona Theresa, the Minister-President of Hungary, and Prince Thurn und Taxis, in whose regiment you succeeded in obtaining a commission. On the 4th of August Major Ronge arrested you as an enemy alien, but not being able to charge you with any specific crime was compelled to agree to your temporary release under pressure from the Archduchess. You were released from prison on August the 12th and disappeared from Vienna on the 16th. All efforts to trace you failed, but he adds that you should be regarded as both resourceful and dangerous. He asks that you should be held in close arrest and returned under strong escort to him in Vienna.”

  For a moment the Duke saw a glimmer of hope on his horizon. If he were sent back to Vienna there would almost certainly occur some opportunity for him to escape during the journey. But a second later that promise of reprieve was shattered by Nicolai. His cheekbone was still aching from De Richleau’s blow, and he said with vicious pleasure:

  “However, that would be a quite unnecessary waste of time and troops for an escort. We are fully capable of settling your business without the assistance of Major Ronge.” Then he turned to a third paper, and went on: