Traitors' Gate gs-7

by Dennis Wheatley

  'I expected as much. This side of the palace is being watched as well; a knife grinder first thing this morning and later a crippled beggar who is selling matches. When you went out I take it you used your car. Did you drive yourself or have Mario drive you?'

  'Mario drove me all three times. I wanted to keep my mind free to think about things, and not have to be bothered with parking.'

  'Did anyone attempt to stop you?'

  'Oh no, there was nothing of that sort.'

  Gregory gave a sigh of relief. 'Thank God for that. It means they are far less likely to now they are used to seeing the car come out with you in it driven by Mario. You've made me much more confident about my chances of passing as him when twilight has fallen.'

  'He is going over the car now filling her up and seeing that she is in apple-pie order for a long run.'

  'Good! My sweet, you think of everything. You've done a wonderful job.'

  She smiled a little wanly and stood up. 'I've got to get you out somehow, and myself; otherwise, as soon as Grauber gets some extra backing from Berlin, it is going to be very unhealthy round here for both of us.'

  'You're dead right about that.' He put an arm about her. 'But after your long day, you're all in, darling. Lie down and rest for a bit on the bed.'

  Turning her head she gave him a quick kiss, but pulled away before he could return it. 'No. I still have to pack. And when I do next lie on your bed it is going to be for twenty-four hours without a break.'

  Catching her arm he jerked her back, held her tightly to him for a moment and gave her a long fierce kiss. As he released her he laughed, 'So you shall, my pet; and that is an earnest of what I'll do to you. If you want a real rest we'd better shut ourselves up for a week as the Spanish peasants do on their honeymoons. I'm told they spend the last twenty-four hours sleeping.'

  'Darling!' she gasped, when she could get her breath. 'I'm a fool to admit it, because as soon as we've left Hungary you'll be all I've got; but I'm crazy about you.'

  Her words sobered him a little, but he did not show it. Giving her a swift pat on her small behind, he said, 'Get your packing done as quickly as you can, then come back to me. We must have a meal before we start, so let's have it together up here, and while we are eating we can fix up final details.'

  She agreed and left him. He then made another attempt to settle down to one of the books. This time, by using considerable concentration, he managed to keep his mind on a novel by Gilbert Frankau called Three Englishmen. After he had been reading for about an hour and a half, Pipi came in carrying a chauffeur's topcoat and a suitcase containing the rest of Mario's uniform. Unpacking the case, he suggested that Gregory should see how the uniform fitted, then pack in the case such of the Baron's things as he wished to take with him.

  The uniform proved a little tight across the shoulders and slack round the hips, but as he and Mario were much of a height it was otherwise not a bad fit. There was a tin of talcum powder in the bathroom, so he used some of it to make grey the hair above his ears. Then he went through the wardrobe and chest of drawers again, selected the most useful of the Baron's clothes and packed them into the suitcase.

  He had only just finished when Pipi returned with cocktails, and ten minutes later Sabine, having changed her summer frock for a suit of light travelling tweeds, joined him. Now that she could relax, and her mind was no longer occupied with matters it was essential that she should see to, her spirits had fallen to a low ebb. She did not actually reproach Gregory for being the cause of a complete upheaval in her life, but it was clear that she was greatly worried and distressed at having to abandon a position which gave her security, interest and carefree pleasure for a very uncertain future. In the circumstances he could not do less than promise to take care of her, while thrusting into the back of his mind the infernally difficult problem of how he could manage to do so.

  After a couple of Martinis she cheered up a little; then Pipi brought in their early dinner on a wheeled tray. She apologized for the meal being cold but said that the kitchen staff were still in ignorance of his presence in the house and had been told that she was dining out; so Magda and Pipi had had to scrounge food for them from the larder. Gregory refrained from remarking that, even so, it was a feast compared with anything that could have been got in a London hotel after three years of war, and did ample justice to the smoked ham, cold duck and foie gras. A bottle of champagne followed by a good ration of very old Baratsch put good heart into them, and they were both feeling fairly optimistic when, soon after eight o'clock, they went downstairs to set out on their hazardous journey.

  To assist the illusion that she was being driven out to dinner Sabine did not wear a hat, and had had her sable coat laid on the floor in the back of the car. Instead of it she put on over her tweeds an exotic cape of white ostrich feathers. For the same reason such luggage as they were taking had all been stowed in the boot, with the exception of a pigskin beauty box containing her jewels, which she was carrying herself and could be hidden under the rug she would have over her knees.

  The garage was a part of the old stables occupying the whole of the left side of the courtyard, but it could be reached from the main block of the house by an interior passage. Pipi and Magda escorted them to it and Mario was already there giving a last loving polish to the bonnet of the Mercedes. Gregory had driven many cars so he had no doubts about his ability to handle it; but after thanking Mario for his help with the pass, port and uniform he got the Italian to give him a thorough run over its dashboard and the engine. Pipi meanwhile went out to reconnoitre the street and returned to say that it was as quiet as usual at that hour. Gregory ran the engine for a few minutes to get it thoroughly warmed up, Sabine got into the back, the goodbyes were said and 'good luck' called in low voices by the faithful servants. At Gregory's signal Mario pulled up the roller shutter at the exit end of the bay. With a gentle purr the car moved forward, turned and headed for the entrance to the courtyard.

  It was a fine warm night. In the distance someone was playing a tizmberlum and the ping a ping ping of its notes came clearly over the air. That and the voice of a woman calling a dog were the only sounds that disturbed the respectable evening hush of this rich residential quarter.

  A light over the archway to the street showed that the pavement artist who had occupied a pitch opposite to it all day was now gone. As Gregory cleared the arch, out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a man on the nearside of the road tinkering with a motorcycle. In Hungary, as in England, the unusual custom is followed of driving on the left of the road; so Sabine's car had its steering wheel on the right. Gregory was therefore on the side nearest to the motorcyclist, and it was that window of the car which was lowered.

  He was about to turn left, down the hill, but before he had time to look in that direction the man had grasped the handlebars of his machine and begun to waggle them. For a moment the beam of the headlight flickered wildly along the side of the Mercedes, then the man got it focused and Gregory's profile was caught in a blinding glare. Next second a tall blond man sprang out of the nearby telephone kiosk. Thrusting a whistle into his mouth, he blew a piercing blast.

  The Kidnappers

  Chapter 16

  'The balloon was up. Nothing could have shown more certainly that Gregory had been recognized. Tensing his muscles he swung the car round the corner. To his relief the way ahead was clear. He put his foot down on the accelerator. Cornering had carried his head out of the beam of light, but it now shone on the back of the car and its reflection in the windscreen momentarily dazzled him. Swinging round in her seat behind him Sabine swiftly pulled down the blind of the back window.

  The dazzle ceased, but Gregory gave a mental groan. A hundred yards down the hill a big lorry was emerging from a side turning. He would have bet his last shilling that it had been lying in wait in the side street, and the whistle had been a signal to bring it on the scene. If he were right and its function was to block the road, at his present speed
a head-on crash was inevitable. Taking his foot off the accelerator he put on the brake and for a few seconds kept his apprehensive gaze glued to the lorry. It turned neither to right nor left. Running straight across the road it brought up with a jerk, its fore wheels coming to rest against the curb of the opposite pavement. The road was too narrow for him to pass behind the lorry, and he could not turn into the street from which it had come by mounting the pavement because a lamppost barred the way.

  There was only one thing for it. He must try the opposite direction. With a screech of tyres, he brought the car to a halt, threw the gear lever into reverse and began to back in a wild zigzag up the hill. Owing to the narrowness of the street he could turn the car only by backing into the entrance of the courtyard from which he had just emerged. He had nearly made it when the man who had sprung out of the telephone kiosk came rushing at the car. Springing on to its footboard, he seized Gregory by the arm. Gregory tore his arm away. But the violent jerk upon it had wrenched the wheel round too far. There came a crash, a jolt and the car stopped dead. It had just missed clearing the nearest pillar of the archway. To back it further was now impossible, and it had not been backed far enough to make the three-quarter turn needed to drive it up the hill.

  Gregory made a desperate grab at the gear lever, to pull it out of reverse so that he could run forward again. But the tall blond man was still on the footboard and again grasped his arm. As they strove together Gregory recognized him as one of the young Gestapo men who had come to collect Grauber from the police station on the previous night. It was he, Gregory realized now, who must have been the eyes of the ambush and in the glare of the motorcycle headlight spotted that Mario had been replaced by the British Agent that the Herr Gruppenführer was after.

  Drawing back his left fist Gregory smashed it into the Nazi's face. The man gave a yell, let go the arm to which he was clinging and slipped off the running board. For a moment Gregory again had both hands free. But it was too late now to put the car into gear and run her forward. Another car had pulled up only twenty feet away, sideways on, right in front of her bonnet.

  As the Nazi staggered away, his hand held to his bleeding nose, the helmeted motorcyclist ran in, grasped the handle of the car door and dragged it open. As he did so, several more men tumbled out of the car in front. Gregory saw that, if he remained in the Mercedes, within a few moments he would be trapped there.

  Sabine had already thrown open the back door on his side of the car and was scrambling out. Having got Gregory's door open, the motorcyclist flung himself at him to drag him from his seat. But he had already swung round in a move to spring out himself. Shooting out his right foot he caught the man a good kick in the stomach. Clutching at his middle he gave a gasp and doubled up. As his helmeted head came forward Gregory kicked again and this time got him in the face. Still winded he could get out only a choking moan, then he fell over sideways.

  Thrusting himself from the car, Gregory jumped across the prostrate body. Sabine was now twenty feet inside the archway. As she ran she was shouting at the top of her voice, 'Help! Police! Help!'

  Gregory turned to follow her, but his path was barred by the blond Nazi whose nose he had flattened. Blood was streaming from it and tears were running from his eyes. Yet in spite of the injury he had received, he was still a formidable antagonist. He stood a good six feet two and had the shoulders of a professional boxer. As Gregory took a stride towards him he suddenly pulled from the top of his trousers a long rubber truncheon.

  Gregory's hand instinctively went to the side pocket in which he was carrying his small automatic. A split second later it flashed into his mind that he dare not use it. If he shot one of these people it would give Grauber just the excuse he needed to insist on the Hungarian police taking immediate action. As things were, if he could get back to the house, he should still be safe for a few hours at least; but if the Nazis could say that he had killed, or near killed, a man, within a quarter of an hour the police would be on their way to arrest him. And once back in prison, Grauber would see to it that he came out again only to be taken on a warrant of extradition to Germany. To go in unarmed against a young giant wielding a rubber truncheon was to ask for trouble, but Gregory had no alternative. Only by getting through the archway could he save himself, and the sound of running footsteps in his rear told him that at any moment the men who had arrived by car would be upon him from behind.

  On a sudden impulse he resorted to a ruse which he hoped would give him a temporary advantage. In what almost amounted to one movement he grasped his chauffeur's cap by its peak and flung it from his head into the Nazi's face. Hurling himself forward he followed it up with a blow aimed to land on the Nazi's chin while the cap momentarily blocked out his view of what was coming. Only two paces separated them. The trick should have worked but Sabine, in her haste to get out of the car, had dragged the car rug with her. It had dropped to the ground as she ran towards the archway. Gregory's right foot now caught in a fold of it. He tripped. His impetus was too great for him to save himself. His blow landed short, on the Nazi's chest, and with his feet still tangled in the rug, he went down hard on his knees.

  Under the impact the tall thug staggered back. The cap had hit its target but as it fell from his face he saw Gregory kneeling in front of him. With a yell of joy at this chance to take vengeance for his crushed nose he raised the rubber truncheon on high. With a swish it came down in a knockout swipe directed at the top of Gregory's head. He had just time to jerk his head aside and throw up his left arm. The truncheon struck it with a dull thud. For a moment he thought the bone had been smashed. The pain was agonising.

  The Nazi was raising his truncheon for a second strike. In utter desperation Gregory flung his good arm round his opponent's legs and, head first, threw his weight against them. They seemed as firmly planted as stanchions, but suddenly they jerked in an attempt to break the grip, the heavy body above them rocked, toppled and came crashing to the ground.

  Gregory staggered to his feet. His brief conflict with the blond giant had occupied no more than twenty seconds; yet that had been enough for the men from the car to close in. There were three of them. Before Gregory could kick his feet free from the car rug all three were striking or grabbing at him.

  Sabine had halted in the middle of the courtyard. She was still shouting, 'Help! Police! Help!' On the opposite side of the street windows were being thrown up and heads appearing at them. People were calling to one another asking the cause of the commotion. Several passers-by had stopped and were forming the nucleus of a crowd out in the middle of the roadway. There were no police among them and Gregory felt certain that none would show up. Grauber's top man in Budapest would have fixed the local Police Chief or, if he was not amenable to pressure, each individual policeman would, as he went on duty, have been bribed or threatened sufficiently to keep him out of the Szinhay Utcza should he hear any trouble going on there.

  But help was arriving from another quarter. Sabine's cries had brought her porter to the door of the lodge he occupied on the left-hand side of the archway. He was a big, bearded fellow, and emerged in his shirtsleeves with an S shaped pipe he had been smoking, while listening to the radio, still dangling from his mouth. Sabine shouted something to him in Hungarian. He dashed back into his lodge to reappear a moment later without his pipe but armed with a stout wooden club.

  Meanwhile Gregory was waging a hopeless battle. The blow from the truncheon on his left forearm had rendered it almost useless. With his right fist he continued to strike out at the blurred white faces that ringed him in. The blond Nazi had picked himself up, so had the motorcyclist. It was now five to one. He managed to get his back against the body of the Mercedes, but he was struck, kicked, clawed and, within a few minutes, thrown to the ground.

  It was at that moment that Sabine's porter entered the fray. Laying about him with his club, he fractured the arm of the motorcyclist and broke the head of one of the other men. But, with his rubber truncheon, the tall Naz
i caught him a blow on the side of the head that sent him reeling into the gutter. The other two men hauled Gregory to his feet and dragged him towards their car.

  The driver had reversed it so that it now pointed up hill. Jamming on the brakes he got out, opened the rear door so that Gregory could be pushed inside, then ran forward to lend a hand in hauling him towards it. The porter was up again and battling with the tall Nazi. The club and truncheon smacked together like two short singlesticks, first to one side then to the other. Both men were well above average in weight and strength. The Hungarian was a lot older but the young Nazi had already had a severe handling. The odds looked about even until the German suddenly stepped back, ran in and kicked his antagonist in the crutch. With a roar like that of a wounded bull, the porter fell to the ground, then lay there squirming.

  Gregory was still fighting the men sent to kidnap him. Using his weight, he cast himself first in one direction, then, in another. With his elbows he gave sudden savage jabs. Arching his back he splayed his feet wide apart. Every inch of the way he strove to trip, wind, or overthrow one of the three who were lugging him towards the car. He knew that if they once got him into it that would be the beginning of the end of him. Yet, strive as he might, panting and cursing, foot by foot they pulled and pushed him out into the road.

  Suddenly he was hit a terrific blow in the small of the back. His feet lost their grip on the cobbles and he was pitched violently forward, dragging his captors with him. Next moment, one after another, they jerked him towards them, then let go their holds on his limbs and garments. In the same few seconds the whole group staggered apart under a deluge of water. Gregory found himself with his head actually inside the car and his hands on the bodywork to prevent his falling into it. But he was no longer held by hostile hands. Straightening himself, he swung about. Only then did he realize what had happened.