Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (76 page)

“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:

“Here we have Austro-Hungarian
Supreme Headquarters’ reply to my inquiry there. You were appointed to the
Operations branch of the Commander-in-Chief’s staff on August 16th, and served
in that capacity until being entrusted with a special mission to this
Headquarters on the evening of the 18th. Both there and here, you must have
learned military secrets of the first importance. That is your death warrant.
Have you anything to say?”

“Not much,” replied the
Duke. Standing there with his back against the door, he now looked the very
picture of dejection, as he added miserably, “But I find your conclusions a
little shattering to the nerves. If you permit, I will smoke a cigarette.”

Without waiting for a
reply, he undid the top button of his tunic and slipped his hand inside it.
Next moment he drew out, not a cigarette case, but the miniature automatic that
he had been carrying under his armpit ever since he had joined von Hötzendorf’s
staff.

“Achtung!”
he snapped, instantly straightening himself and taking a pace forward. “One
move from either of you and I shoot to kill. This little toy is as deadly at
eight feet as a rifle. You know that I can’t afford to take any chances now my
own neck is in the noose. You’ll do exactly what I tell you, unless you wish to
die here in this room. Put your hands up!”