The Irish Witch rb-11

by Dennis Wheatley

  'As I thought,' sneered the Prussian. 'You are a dog of a Frenchman, trying to get across the river to your swinish countrymen.'

  While he had been speaking a sergeant had taken from the portmanteau the soiled but still bright scarlet uniform of the Coldstream Guards, in which Charles had been captured. The Captain stared at it for a moment, then said, 'That is not a French uniform. Surely it is English. How comes it here ?'

  'It is mine,' declared Charles in his excellent German. ‘I am a British officer.'

  'If that be so, what are you doing in the company of this French spawn of hell?'

  Charles smiled. 'I am his prisoner, Herr Kapitan, or was until you appeared on the scene and rescued me. I am travelling with him only because he had captured me and, in exchange for my life, I gave him my parole.'

  For a moment Roger was quite shocked that Charles should have so brazenly gone over to the enemy. But then he saw the sense of it. Not to have claimed immunity as an ally of the Prussians would have been absurd, and had their positions been reversed it was what he would have done himself.

  The third uniform was obviously Dopet's and, as he could speak only a few words of German, he was swiftly identified as Roger's servant. A soldier mounted the box in his place and he was ordered into the coach. Roger was told to change back into his civilian coat and the three uniforms were repacked in the portmanteaux. The Cap­tain then put his Lieutenant in charge of the prisoners and despatched them in the coach with a small escort up the road.

  After about a mile it emerged from the pine woods to some open farmlands, on the far side of which was a fair-sized farmhouse. The coach pulled up in front of it. The prisoners were ordered out and marched inside. In a room on the right of the entrance an adjutant was sitting at a table on which there was a litter of papers. The Lieutenant reported to him and the prisoners were brought it.

  Roger now had a choice. He could swear that he was in fact a British secret agent, and hope that Charles's testimony would convince them that he was speaking the truth; or admit that he was a French officer. But he feared that if he took the former course it was more likely that Charles's testimony in his favour would make the Prus­sians believe that Charles was a liar and also a Frenchman in disguise. In consequence, when questioned by the adjutant, he decided that it would be better to ensure at least Charles's continued freedom by maintaining his own supposed role and by giving his high rank in hope of good treatment.

  To have been caught like this when so nearly out of the wood was utterly infuriating, but he endeavoured to con­sole himself with the thought that it was unlikely that he would remain a prisoner for very long. The Emperor's army had been shattered. It would prove impossible for even him to raise another of even a third the size of the forces now arrayed against him. North, south, east and west, he was menaced and surrounded by bitter enemies who were determined to put an end his career as a whole­sale murderer. Either he must save all that remained to him of his Empire by agreeing to an humiliating peace in the near future, or be completely crushed soon after the New Year. So, in either case, Roger felt that he could count on being restored to liberty within a few months at most.

  He had only just given particulars of himself to the adjutant when a babble of guttural German voices sounded in the narrow hall of the farmhouse. A Colonel put his head round the door and looked in. The adjutant cried to him joyfully.

  'Herr Oberst, we have just taken an important prisoner. No less than Colonel Comte de Breuc, a Commander of the Legion of Honour and one of Napoleon's A.D.C.s.'

  The Colonel turned and spoke to his companions out­side. Next moment they came pressing into the room, led by a burly figure with a grey, walrus moustache, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting jacket, wearing a floppy, peaked cap and smoking a meerschaum pipe. Roger recognised him at once from descriptions he had had, as Blucher.

  At that date the veteran was seventy-one. He was a rough, illiterate man who had the sense to realise his shortcomings as a strategist and rely for planning on his brilliant Chief-of-Staff, Gneisenau; but he was a fearless, ferocious leader and, in spite of his age, still seething with fiery energy. The previous May he had put up a magni­ficent resistance against great odds at the battle of Lutzen. Later at Katezbach, he had defeated Marshal Macdonald, captured eighteen thousand prisoners and over one hundred guns. It was he who had delivered the most telling assault on Leipzig and had been made a Field Marshal for it.

  For a moment he regarded Roger with interest. Then the excited voice of a young Uhlan officer in the back­ground suddenly cut the silence, 'Breuc, did you say? The Comte de Breuc ?'

  The adjutant looked in his direction and replied, 'Yes, von Zeiten, this is the Comte de Breuc.,'

  'Gott im Himmel, ’ cried the Uhlan. ‘It is the murderer! It was he who foully did to death his wife and my uncle, von Haugwitz, at Schloss Langenstein in 1810.'

  Roger swung round to face him and retorted hotly. 'That is a lie. I was accused of their deaths, but was inno­cent.'

  Young von Zeiten pushed his way to the front of the group and thrust out an accusing arm. 'I recognise you now. I was in court when you were tried and con­demned to death.'

  'Why, then, is he still alive?' asked Blucher gruffly.

  'His sentence, Herr Feldmarschall, was commuted to ten years' imprisonment. But he escaped after a few months.'

  Roger had not yet recovered from the shock of once more being identified as the man found guilty of the double death at Schloss Langenstein. His brain was whirl­ing, but not so confused that he could not guess the awful fate that now threatened him. Next moment the doom he dreaded was pronounced by Blucher.

  'Then send him back to Berlin to complete his sentence.'

  As the Fieldmarshal turned away, Roger stared at the ring of hostile faces, rendered speechless by this terrible blow that Fate had dealt him. Whether, in a few months' time Napoleon agreed to an humiliating peace or was utterly crushed and dethroned could now make no dif­ference to him. Instead of regaining his freedom, his lot was to suffer imprisonment among enemy criminals for all that remained of the best years of his life.

  19

  The House with the Red Shield

  Blucher and his staff left the room. The guard was sum­moned to take charge of Roger and Dopet. As the former was led away he was careful not to look at Charles. He knew how distressed the boy must be, and for him to have shown sympathy for his supposed enemy might have aroused the Prussians' suspicions that he was not, after all, a British officer. To Roger it was at least some compensa­tion that he had saved the life of his beloved Georgina's son, and that Charles was still free to rejoin her as soon as he was able to do so.

  From the hallway Dopet was pushed out of the farm­house toward some tents in a nearby field; but Roger was taken downstairs and locked up in a cellar which still contained two flitches of bacon hanging from the ceiling and a few sacks of meal in a corner.

  The cellar was lit only by a small, iron grille near the ceiling. In the dim light Roger sat down on one of the sacks and ruefully contemplated his misfortune. To have to face years in prison without hope of remission was in itself one of the most terrible things that could befall a man; but in his case it would prove even more insufferable than simply confinement and being debarred from all life's pleasures. This he knew only too well after having spent three months in a prison outside Berlin. There he had been in the position of a solitary Frenchman among Germans. Such had been the hatred of the Prussians of all classes for the French as despoilers of their country that the other convicts had done everything they could to make his lot more miserable. Although regulations decreed silence when exercising in the yards, they always ex­changed the news that came through the prison grapevine, and talked in whispers. But Roger had been denied even this small relaxation, because they had sent him to Coven­try. That had also prevented him securing assistance to attempt an escape which might have been arranged with careful planning by a group, but was impossible for him unaided. And h
e had no doubt at all that, once he was back in a Prussian state prison, he would be treated by his fellow convicts as he had been before.

  After about two hours a sergeant and two troopers came for him. They then escorted him upstairs and out of the farmhouse to the coach in which he had arrived, which was waiting outside the door. The sergeant, a big man with a walrus moustache, a mane of yellow hair and bright blue eyes, produced a length of cord, tied one end of it round his left wrist and the other round Roger's right. They then got into the coach. The two troopers mounted on to the box. One took the reins, shook them and the coach moved off.

  When they had covered a mile or so they came to a sign­post and Roger saw from it that they were taking the road to Frankfurt. That surprised him, as he had imagined that stronghold of the French to be still in their hands and that they would have strong outposts ringing the city for some miles round. But as the coach rolled on, the only soldiers to be seen were occasional troops of Uhlans, Prussian grenadiers and convoys supplying Blucher's army.

  The December afternoon had been drawing, in when they started, and by the time they had covered the fifteen miles to the city it was fully dusk. The coach pulled up at an indifferent-looking inn a few hundred yards past the splendid Gothic Staathaus. With Roger still tied to him the sergeant showed the landlord a billeting order and parleyed with him for a few minutes, then Roger was taken upstairs to a room on the second floor.

  Having untied the cord attached to their wrists the sergeant, who spoke a little French, made it clear that if Roger attempted to escape he had orders to shoot him, and that during the night one of his men would sleep in the passage on a palliasse outside the door. Then he locked Roger in.

  Going to the window, Roger parted the worn curtains and looked out. The room was at the back of the house and below him lay the stable yard. A man carrying a lan­tern was watering a horse down there, and by its light Roger could faintly make out the outline of the buildings round the yard. Up there on the second floor he was at least twenty-five feet from the ground, but the roof of the lowest floor projected about two feet from the wall of the building. By hanging from the window sill his toes would have been only about five feet from that projection. Even in full health and not crippled, to risk a drop on to such a narrow ledge would have been extremely hazardous. As it was, still weak from his recent illness and with his right leg as yet barely able to take his weight, he realised that to attempt the drop would be madness. He would certainly break his leg as it hit the ledge and, on falling from it, probably his neck.

  With a sigh he turned away and sat down on the edge of the bed. Looking out of the window had brought home to him acutely that, in any attempt to escape, he must not

  count on using even moderate strength; his only hope lay . in outwitting his escort.

  Presently a tray was brought in to him by one of the troopers. On it there were two brodchen filled with leberwurst, a piece of apfelstrudel and a mug of cheap draught wine. Slowly he ate his supper, pondering pos­sible ways to fool the yellow-haired sergeant, but could think of none.

  There was no heating in the room, so it was bitterly cold. Having examined the bedclothes he found they were far from clean, as might be expected in a second-rate inn. To sleep between them in only his underclothes would be to invite the attention of bed-bugs and probably lice. So he shook them all out, lay down fully dressed, then piled them on top of himself for warmth.

  Having snuffed the solitary candle that the landlord had lit before leaving him in the room, he thought for a while of Georgina and wondered if he would ever see her again. Then he thought of poor little Mary, whom he had deserted to come on this ill-fated mission. He now felt that he had treated her unduly harshly for having interfered in his affairs. But they had made it up before parting, and he could only hope that she would find some way of making a not too unhappy life for herself when Charles got home and told her that her husband was in prison, with little hope of returning home for years to come.

  After a while he began to wonder how the war was going, as for a long time past he had heard only vague rumours about it. That the French had been driven from Frankfurt showed them to be in very poor shape. But he thought it probable that they still held Mainz, as the barrier of the broad Rhine would prove a serious obstacle for any considerable force; and the dynamic Blucher's headquarters being on the right bank seemed a certain indication that the French were holding the left in strength. He was still vaguely speculating on how long the war would continue when he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  He was roused by a persistent tapping, occurring at brief intervals. As his mind cleared, he realised that it came from the window. Thrusting the blankets from him, he limped quickly over to it and pulled aside the curtain. It was pitch dark below, but outlined against the star-lit winter sky were the head and shoulders of a man.

  With sudden hope leaping in his heart, Roger strove to get the window open. It had probably been shut for years and resisted all his efforts. He dared not break the glass, for fear that the noise would rouse the soldier who was sleeping outside his door. Now desperate at the knowledge that the chance of escape was so near, yet still barred to him, he racked his brains frantically for a means of prising the window up. A possibility flashed into his mind. Hurrying back to the bedside table, he picked up the tray on which his supper had been brought, shot the con­tents on to the bed and recrossed the room with it. The tray was oblong, about fourteen inches by twenty-four and made of iron with plain, thin edges. Holding it by the sides, he jammed one of the narrow ends into the crack between the frame of the window and the sill. Using all his force he managed to insert it far enough to grip; then, using it as a lever, heaved back on it. The wood groaned and gave a trifle, so that the tray came free. Thrusting it in again, Roger repeated the process. With a sigh of relief he felt a rush of cold air as the window opened a good inch. Eager hands from outside grasped and heaved it up.

  'Charles, bless you!' Roger whispered.

  'Dam'me, I thought you'd never hear ray tapping,' Charles replied with a low laugh. 'Come now, can you manage to follow me down this ladder ?'

  'Yes,' Roger nodded. 'I'll be all right.' Then, as Charles descended a few rungs to make way for him, he scrambled over the window sill out into the dark night.

  When they reached the yard Charles murmured, 'Had I not had the luck to find this ladder, God knows how I could have got to you. But if we leave it where it is it will be seen by anyone coming to the stables and give pre­mature warning of your escape.'

  Taking the ladder away from the wall they carried it into the shed where Charles had come upon it, then he said, 'Now we must find you a horse. Soon after you were taken from Blucher's H.Q., I made off with a mare on which to follow you, but...'

  'Charles,' Roger interrupted him. 'You have performed a feat that does you the greatest credit. I'm truly proud of you, as your dear mother will be when I tell her of this night's work, and prodigiously grateful. You can scarce imagine the horrors you have saved me from and, crippled as I am, my chances of escaping were next to nil. Speak­ing of which, though I can mount a horse, I'm not yet capable of riding either fast or far. I gravely doubt me if we could keep a lead for long, once they send mounted men in pursuit of me.'

  'What alternative have we but to attempt that?'

  'To lie low here in Frankfurt until my leg is again sufficiently strong to stand up to a hard day's riding. Our problem is to find trustworthy people who would be will­ing to hide us. I know of only one, and him I have not seen for many years. Even to reveal our identities to him will prove a gamble; but I judge it to be a risk worth taking.'

  'Who is he?' Charles asked as they moved out into the deserted street.

  'He is a Jew, and it is all of eighteen years since I had dealings with him. It was in September '95, a year or so after the fall of Robespierre. A reaction against the Terrorists had set in, and it was thought possible that one of the Republican Generals might be induced to bring about a Re
storation, as did General Monk in the case of your ancestor King Charles II.'

  Roger had already turned in the direction of the Staathaus and, as they walked along together, he went on, 'It was decided that, for our purpose, the best bet was a very able General named Pichegru. At that time he was com­manding an army with his headquarters at Mannheim, and in the same theatre General Jourdan was command­ing another on the north bank of the Necker. They were some distance apart, but both operating against two Austrian armies, commanded by Generals Wurmser and Clerfayt, and a third force of Royalist Frenchmen under the Prince de Conde.

  'The mission on which Mr. Pitt sent me was, first to see the Prince and obtain from him a signed promise that Pichegru should be made a Duke and receive numerous other benefits including a large sum of money, then take it to Pichegru and endeavour to persuade him, in ex­change, to lead his army on Paris instead of against the Austrians.

  'I succeeded in getting Pichegru's agreement, but for one thing. He required an assurance that when he arrived outside Paris with his army, the bulk of the population in the capital would not be opposed to a Restoration. The only way to make certain of that was for me to go there and find out.

  'That I was willing to do, but time was a vital factor.

  It had already been agreed by Jourdan and Pichegru that the latter should make a dash on Heidelberg. By joining forces there they would have been in a position to defeat the two Austrian armies one after the other. To bring about an end to the war was the main inducement for the Parisians to welcome a change of Government, so if the Austrians were defeated and sued for peace, Pichegru would have no case to call for a Restoration.

  'As England was providing the money to bribe Piche­gru, I had been entrusted with an open order on the British Treasury. To gain the time needed to save the " situation I offered to pay Pichegru a million francs if he would postpone his march to join up with General Jour­dan, and so save the Austrians from defeat’