They Used Dark Forces (74 page)

‘Wait! Listen! You can't do this! You must have loved Erika once and she is still your wife.'

Von Osterberg nodded and said bitterly, ‘Yes, she is my wife and I once thought her the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But ours was a marriage of convenience. She accepted me only to please her dying father and resuscitate the family name after she had been prostituting herself to the millionaire Hugo Falkenstein. She made a bargain with me that I was never to enjoy her but she was to be free discreetly to sleep with anyone she liked. In exchange I was to have the prestige of being the husband of the most beautiful woman in Germany and she would supply me with all the money I needed for my scientific experiments. But she did not keep her bargain. She ran away to England with you, and as an enemy of her country the Nazis confiscated the great fortune that Falkenstein had left her, leaving me nearly penniless. For that, and for having dragged my name in the mud by betraying her country, I've nursed a growing hatred for her for years. She is a heartless, treacherous bitch and deserves to die.'

He passed his tongue over his dry lips, then went on with a sneer. ‘No doubt you would have liked me to die so that you could marry her. But it is going to be the other way about. By killing her I'll gain my freedom. Then when I find Sabine Tuzolto I'll be free to marry her. She was my mistress; the most wonderful mistress I've ever had, and although that did not last we are still good friends. After all, I am von Osterberg, and my family is older than the Hohenzollerns. A little Hungarian Baroness, however beautiful, is not likely to reject such a match.'

‘You poor fool.' Gregory gave a harsh laugh. ‘The only
reason Sabine ever became your mistress was because Ribbentrop set her to spy on you. When I was hiding here she spoke of you with contempt as a poor old once-a-weeker. She wouldn't have you as a gift.'

‘You lie!' yelled von Osterberg, his face going crimson with mortification and fury. ‘Not one word of that is true.' In his surge of rage he ran down the last few steps of the stairs and levelled his gun. From the glare in his eyes it was evident that he was about to press the trigger.

Gregory stiffened, realising that for him the end had come. But at that moment Malacou hurled himself forward. The Sten gun belched flame and the cellar echoed to its thunder. As the bullets buried themselves in Malacou's body he gave a gasp but by a last effort of will he seized the barrel of the gun before slumping to the ground at the Count's feet.

It was Gregory's opportunity. He seized upon it. With a cry of triumph he hurled himself at the Count. His arms were outstretched, his fingers spread wide. In another moment they would have closed on the neck of the older, weaker man in a strangler's grasp and borne him down. But the wine had made the stone floor of the cellar horribly slippery. Gregory's feet slid from under him and he fell backward with a loud splash, measuring his length beside the table. By the time he had regained his feet von Osterberg had wrenched the gun barrel from Malacou's dying grasp, kicked him in the face and had the gun pointing again at Gregory.

Malacou moaned, shuddered and lay still. He had said only a few hours before that he had nothing left to live for and was ready to die, and he had given his life to save a man whom, however different their standards of conduct, he had regarded as his friend. But his sacrifice had been in vain. Erika still stood with drooping shoulders facing the wall and Gregory, now dripping with the spilt wine, was still covered by von Osterberg's murderous weapon.

Wiping the muck from his face with a shaky hand, Gregory said hoarsely, ‘There! You've killed a man; and one who never did you any harm. You'll have to answer for that in the hereafter. Isn't that enough to have on your conscience?'

‘No,' replied the Count quietly. ‘The fool got himself killed
only because he threw himself in the way. Although I suppose I would have had to eliminate him later. Otherwise, as he was a friend of yours he might have played me some trick. Now we've talked enough. Turn round and face the wall.'

At that moment they all caught the sound of light footsteps on the upper stairs. For a second Gregory hoped that the sound would distract von Osterberg so that he could spring upon him. But the Count did not turn his head. Keeping Gregory covered he snarled, ‘Stay where you are.'

Looking up over his head, Gregory saw Sabine come into view. Her hair was disordered and she was dirty and bedraggled. As she took in the scene below her in the cellar her face showed her amazement, and she gasped:

‘Kurt! Gregory! Whatever is going on down there?'

Still not looking round, the Count, recognising her voice, cried, ‘Sabine! You're safe! Thank God! Where have you been?'

At the sound of Sabine's voice Erika had turned round. Her face and Gregory's both showed their unutterable relief. Sabine's arrival at the last minute of the eleventh hour spelt their reprieve. Both were convinced that the Count would not commit a double murder under the eyes of the woman he had said he loved. In breathless silence they listened as Sabine stammered:

‘Trudi and I … we tried to get away. We left in the car the day before yesterday … But when I had driven about three miles we saw some Russians. We … we turned off the road and hid in a wood. This morning we made another attempt to get through but were held up by a group of men in German uniforms. They weren't Germans but French or, perhaps, Belgians. Anyway, these swine were set on having my car. They hauled Trudi and me out and … I suppose we were lucky that they were so desperately anxious to get away in it. They threw poor Trudi and me into a ditch, piled into the car and drove off. About an hour after we had pulled ourselves together we saw another lot of Russians, so we ran into a garden and hid ourselves in a bombed-out house there until this evening. As soon as it was dark we decided that the best thing to do was to make our way back here.'

‘Where is Trudi now?' asked von Osterberg abruptly.

‘She's gone down to the boathouse. I sent her on ahead and told her that if the launch were still there she was to wait for me until I found out if I could possibly get down into the cellar and collect some supplies. The launch is our last chance of escaping from the Russians. But what are you doing pointing that gun at Gregory? And that dead man on the floor. I just don't understand.'

Still keeping Gregory covered, the Count moved round from the bottom of the stairs so that his back was against a wall and he could now see Sabine. With a grim laugh he replied:

‘Don't you, my dear. It's plain enough. Between them this man and woman made my life a misery until you came into it. I mean to kill them; then we'll set off in the launch.'

Sabine's big, dark eyes went round with horror. ‘You can't!' she burst out. ‘Kurt, you can't! Gregory is an old friend of mine. When I was a prisoner in London he saved my life.'

‘He is an English spy. He stole my wife and she has brought dishonour on my name. By the grace of God I found them both here. You keep out of this. When I've shot them we'll get away.'

‘Kurt! For God's sake, listen!' Sabine cried. ‘Of course he is an Englishman, but don't you realise that if only we can get past the Russians he will be able to save us both? If we can reach the British they may make us prisoners but they won't kill us. He'll see to it that we're treated decently. He is the friend of one of the most powerful men in England. As soon as he can he'll arrange for us to be released. Won't you, Gregory?'

‘Indeed I will,' replied Gregory promptly. ‘The
Herr Graf
has everything to gain by doing as you say. I've only to let Sir Pellinore know that it was due to you and him that Erika and I got away and he'll see to everything, including an ample supply of money for you both to live on till things settle down again. I give you my word on that.'

Giving a quick glance at Sabine, von Osterberg shook his head. ‘No! To this man and my traitor wife I'll be beholden for
nothing. They are going to die here. We'll take our chance about what happens afterwards.'

‘You are mad!' Sabine shouted at him. ‘Mad!' Then opening her bag she fumbled in it. After a moment her hand emerged clutching a tiny automatic. She pointed it at von Osterberg's head and gasped, ‘To escape with them is the only thing to do. If you can't see that so much the worse for you. Drop that gun or I'll shoot!'

Again the hopes of Gregory and Erika rose with a bound. The Count had his back to the wall and was facing Gregory. Erika was on his left staring at him with distended eyes. Sabine was to his right, still on the stairs and a little above him. Without exposing himself to attack by Gregory he could not turn and cover her, so she had command of the situation.

Yet he would not be baulked of his vengeance. Apparently convinced that Sabine would not carry out her threat he again aimed his weapon at Gregory's heart while shouting to her, ‘Don't act the fool, girl.'

At that moment, she fired her pistol. But the bullet missed and thudded into the table. Erika threw herself forward and grasped her husband round the legs. He staggered but did not fall. Sabine fired again, but the lurch he had given saved him. The bullet sang past his ear.

Gregory was still fully exposed to the muzzle of the Sten gun. For a fraction of a second his life hung in the balance. As the gun spat flame he leapt aside. At the same instant Erika thrust up her hand and knocked the barrel of the gun in the opposite direction. This time Gregory did not slip and, as he moved, he grasped by the neck the hock bottle from which he and Malacou had been drinking.

His spring brought him to within four feet of von Osterberg. Before the Count could traverse the gun to fire another burst Gregory brought the bottle crashing down on his head. It shattered into flying fragments on the place where the bone had been fractured when he had attempted to commit suicide. Without a sound he dropped the Sten gun and fell dead.

For a moment there was utter silence while the three survivors stared at one another. Then Erika got to her feet and Sabine came down the last few stairs. Utterly overcome by
strain and emotion, although the two women had met only briefly once before and then as rivals they fell sobbing into one another's arms.

Gregory hoisted Malacou's body on to one of the beds. Erika and Sabine between them got von Osterberg's on to the other. Gregory and Erika knelt down on the wine-washed floor and said a prayer for Malacou's soul. Sabine said one for that of the Count. Then they went up the stairs and out into the night.

When passing Potsdam, as they had expected, they were challenged, but standing up in the launch Gregory shouted in Russian the phrase that Stalin had so often used in his broadcasts, ‘Death to the Hitlerite bandits,' and they were allowed to pass. They landed next morning about eight miles below Potsdam, near Schwielow, at the far end of the Havel lake. Two evenings later they met British tanks, manned by men some of whom had fought their way gloriously three thousand miles from Cairo to Sicily, half-way up Italy, then from Normandy via Brussels into the heart of Germany.

There followed another anxious day before Gregory could get a telegram sent to Sir Pellinore. After that everything went swiftly and smoothly. Gregory, Erika, Sabine and Trudi were flown back to England in an R.A.F. aircraft. In London that night they saw the lights at last go up, signifying that the war with Germany was over.

On June 6th, the first anniversary of D-Day, Erika again became a bride. From his mansion in Carlton House Terrace, where everything that money could then buy had been provided for the wedding reception, Sir Pellinore escorted her to church and gave her away to become the beloved wife of her beloved Gregory.

A Note on the Author

DENNIS WHEATLEY

Dennis Wheatley (1897 – 1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world's best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.

Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.

His first book,
The Forbidden Territory
, became a bestseller overnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. During the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming's James Bond stories.

During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain.

Dennis Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.