They Used Dark Forces

by Dennis Wheatley

  Gregory had been aware that at large farms in the more sparsely populated parts of Europe some families who had lived on them for generations still followed the ancient custom of feeding with their farm servants, and he noticed with interest that an empty space of several feet had been left between himself and the nearest labourer; for it was there that in mediaeval times would have reposed the dish of salt. Kuporovitch, of course, was below it, but had placed himself between two fresh-complexioned, if bovine, land girls.

  The food was plain but good and plentiful; the dishes with the best pieces being offered first at the top of the table. Willi filled his plate high with masses of meat and vegetables and gorged himself throughout the meal in silence. Khurrem von Altern barely touched her food but carried on a desultory conversation with Gregory about crops and the farm problems with which she was called on to deal.

  He later learned that her first name was Turkish for ‘Joyous’, but few appellations could have been less suited to her. In the present company she seemed particularly out of place, as she never even smiled, whereas at the other end of the table the clatter of knives and forks was constantly punctuated by giggles at some farmyard jest and bursts of uninhibited laughter. With the exception of Gregory, too, everyone else at the table was a Nordic, so Khurrem’s dark-complexioned face contrasted strangely with the apple cheeks, blue eyes and corn-coloured hair of the other women. Had she had black hair the contrast would have been even more strongly marked. That it was red Gregory put down to her having had a Circassian mother, but that in no way disguised the fact that she was an Asiatic.

  When they had finished eating, Willi bade them an abrupt ‘Good night’ and went up to bed. Khurrem apologised to Gregory that time had not allowed her to suggest that he might like a wash before the meal, then took him upstairs and showed him first an eighteen-foot-square bathroom which had an ancient bath in one corner, in another an unlit wood stove and in a third a small basin; then, some way down a gloomy corridor, the room he was to sleep in. There she left him.

  The furniture was in keeping with that downstairs, the principal item being a big, brass-headed double bed having only one blanket but two huge, square, down-filled cushions—such as were commonly seen in German houses in the last century—taking the place of an eiderdown. Dubiously he explored it to find, as he had expected, that instead of a spring mattress it had only a thin one of horsehair and below that a criss-cross of thin iron bands.

  Kuporovitch had already unpacked for him, so, having made certain that the suitcase containing the wireless was still locked, he collected his sponge bag and walked along to the bathroom for a cold wash. Twenty minutes later he went downstairs and joined Khurrem in the long, low sitting room.

  She had started a gramophone and was listening to a Beethoven symphony; so without remark he sat down opposite her. Once again she had a glass in her hand and by this time any normal woman must have shown signs of the amount of brandy she had drunk. That she did not he put down to the probability that she was an habitual ‘soak’.

  He thought it a little strange that, having consulted her father before agreeing to receive himself and Kuporovitch at Sassen, she had not yet presented them to him. But as she had said that the doctor was something of a recluse that would account for his taking his meals in solitude rather than in the communal dining hall; and it might be that he spent his evenings in study, so was averse to being disturbed.

  For the moment Gregory was amply satisfied with the progress he had made. To have spent a night at the Königin Augusta in Grimmen without arousing the least suspicion that they had entered Germany clandestinely, to have successfully made the most promising contact in the area that S.O.E. could suggest and found her willing to co-operate, to be established already as a welcome guest in the home of a deceased Prussian aristocrat and have a lead to a Nazi official who must know quite a bit about what was going on at Peenemünde, was considerably more than he could have reasonably hoped for in so short a time; so, as the shadows fell, he settled down to listen to the records Khurrem put on until it should be time to go to bed.

  But his experiences for that day were not yet over. Soon after darkness had fallen Khurrem suddenly got up, switched off the gramophone, stood as though listening for a moment, then said, ‘My father now wishes to see you and your companion.’

  Without waiting for him to reply she went out into the hall, rang the hand bell for the old houseman and sent him to fetch Kuporovitch. Immediately the Russian joined them she threw open the front door and beckoned them to follow her. As they crossed the courtyard she satisfied their curiosity at her having left the house by saying:

  ‘We have not far to go; only a few hundred yards up the road to the old Castle in which the von Alterns lived before they built the Manor. The greater part of it is now a ruin. But my father likes solitude so we made a few rooms in it habitable for him and he is looked after there by his own servant.’

  The moon had not yet risen, but, as they advanced, they saw a little way off the road, silhouetted against the night sky, the jagged outline of a crumbling tower and below it a huddle of uneven roofs. Leaving the road, they followed a winding path through some tall bushes until they came out into a small clearing adjacent to one side of the ruin. The light was just sufficient for them to make out a low, arched doorway mid-way between two arrow slits. Stepping up to it, Khurrem grasped an iron bell-pull and jerked it down. A bell jangled hollowly somewhere inside the ancient ruin. Almost at once the heavy door swung open and a swarthy hunchback of uncertain age silently ushered them in.

  Without exchanging a word with him she led them down a dimly-lit stone-flagged passage and opened another heavy door on the right at its end. Momentarily they were dazzled, for the room into which they followed her was brightly lit by a big, solitary, incandescent mantle which, from its faint hissing, appeared to be powered by some form of gas.

  The burner stood on a large desk in the middle of the room. Behind it a man was sitting, but the bright light prevented his visitors from making out his features until he stood up and came forward. They then saw that he was tall and gaunt, looked to be in his late fifties and had a marked resemblance to Khurrem; but his hair was black flecked with grey, his nose more hooked but thinner, his complexion darker and his full mouth more sensual. His eyes were black and slightly hooded, but his smile was pleasant as Khurrem said, ‘Herren, this is my father, Dr. Ibrahim Malacou.’

  ‘Major Bodenstein.’ The doctor held out his hand to Gregory. ‘I congratulate you on your safe arrival here. In our unhappy country it is a great joy to welcome men like yourself and your friend Mr. Sabinov who have the courage to come to our assistance in outwitting the evil men in whose hands Germany’s future now lies.’

  When he had also shaken hands with Kuporovitch, and Gregory had made a suitable reply, he motioned them to chairs, then went on, ‘My daughter has told me that our report about the experimental work at Peenemünde reached those for whom it was intended and that as a result you have been sent to secure more detailed particulars. That will not be easy; but in your endeavours I hope to aid you. Although I live mainly as a recluse I have certain means which are not at the disposal of others by which I can smooth your path. For one thing I have a far larger-scale map of the areas in which you are interested than any you can possibly have seen and a careful study of it will certainly repay you.’

  As Dr. Malacou finished speaking he stood up and, turning, pointed to the wall behind him. Gregory had already noticed that, whereas the two sides of the room were lined with shelves of old books, the far one was blank except for two large maps. While Khurrem remained seated, Gregory and Kuporovitch joined her father in front of the maps as he went on:

  ‘That on the left is of the von Altern property; the one on the right delineates the northern half of the island of Usedom. On it you will see marked the fords by which the creek separating it from the mainland can be crossed at low water. One moment, though. I will adjust the light so that you can
see better.’

  While they remained standing within a foot of the wall he stepped back behind them. Next moment his voice rang out sharp and imperative.

  ‘Do not move! I have you covered. Put your hands up above your heads. I have dealt with spies before, so I shall not hesitate to shoot if you disobey me. Khurrem, they are certain to be armed. Relieve them of the temptation to play us any tricks by depriving them of their weapons.’

  4

  A Strange Interrogation

  Gregory and Kuporovitch knew that the doctor could have stepped back no more than two paces behind them. They were two to one and by whirling round there was a fair chance that one of them could grab his pistol and force it downwards, so that as he squeezed the trigger the bullet would go into the floor. Then, between them, they could swiftly have overcome him.

  Had they been amateurs, or the doctor a different type of man, they might have taken that chance. But both of them were old hands with firearms. Ample experience had taught them that in the hands of a resolute man only a split second is needed to blaze off with a weapon; and Malacou’s command, given in harsh, heavily accented German, left no doubt in their minds that he would shoot without the slightest hesitation. Slowly they both raised their hands.

  Swift glances to their rear had shown them that the doctor’s brown, ascetic face, capped by its mass of dark, grey-flecked hair, was now menacing and the glint in his black eyes showed that he would stand no nonsense. Nevertheless, Gregory still hoped to get out of the trap into which they had fallen.

  Khurrem could not remove the small automatic that he was carrying tucked into his left armpit without undoing his tunic. While her hands were occupied he meant to grab her and swing her round so that she made a shield for his body. He would then only have to drag her sideways so that both of them were between her father and Kuporovitch. His friend could be counted on not to lose a second in pulling out his pistol and, while the doctor would not dare to risk shooting Khurrem, shoot him.

  Next moment his hopes were dashed. Malacou’s harsh voice came again. ‘Attempt nothing while Khurrem searches you. If one of you lays a hand on her I will instantly shoot the other.’

  With silent fury Gregory realised that they were checkmated. Before lunch that day he had had every reason to fear that he had fallen into a trap; but Khurrem having turned out to be a Turkish woman instead of a Jewess had swiftly exploded the theory he had built up that Frau von Altern had been caught out by the Nazis and another woman substituted for her.

  That she was the real Frau von Altern he now had no doubt. The natural way in which Willi von Altern and the servants had behaved towards her was ample evidence of that. No. The trap in which they had been caught was not one that had been hastily arranged because his letter had been delivered to the local Gestapo, leading them to suspect that a secret agent was trying to get into touch with a woman they had already arrested. It was a long-term, carefully thought-out plan.

  In recent months the activities at Peenemünde had increased so greatly that the Nazis must have realised that news of them would have reached the Allies. They would then have reasoned that an agent would be sent over to endeavour to obtain fuller particulars. Instead of waiting for an agent to arrive unknown to them, and perhaps succeed in his mission, they must have decided to entice one over. Khurrem’s husband had been a Nazi and no doubt she had shared his political convictions; but being of foreign origin she had made excellent bait for the trap. They would only have had to tell her what to put in the message she had sent to Sweden and await results.

  As Gregory visualised the full extent of those results he was almost tempted to swing round and make a fight for it. The Gestapo would count on the agent arriving equipped with a wireless. Having caught their man they would torture him until he gave away the code with which he had been furnished. When the messages were received in London it would be thought that they were being sent by him and, as long as they continued to come in, no other agent would be sent out. But the messages would come from the Gestapo, giving false information that the scientists at Peenemünde had met with unforeseen difficulties; so the work there was making little progress, while in reality it was being pressed forward with the utmost vigour to bring wholesale death and destruction in Britain.

  While these thoughts were rushing through Gregory’s mind, Khurrem had taken his gun and had run her hands over his body to make certain that he had no other weapons concealed on him. As she stepped across to Kuporovitch, Gregory groaned inwardly, for a further deduction had occurred to him.

  The man who had brought Khurrem’s message to the British Embassy in Stockholm, whether he had been a Pole or only posing as one, must have been an agent of the Gestapo. His death in a car crash shortly afterwards had evidently been reported as a precaution against any attempt to trace and question him further; and, as all Gestapo operations outside Germany came under Foreign Department UA-1, this cunning plan to protect the secrets of Peenemünde must have been hatched by its Chief, Herr Gruppenführer Grauber.

  Gregory was a brave man, but he blanched at the thought. The snare had not been laid for him personally, for Grauber could not possibly have known that he would be the agent sent; but now that agent had been caught he very soon would know, and his delight would be unbounded.

  To have fallen into the clutches of the Gestapo was bad enough, but soon to be at the mercy of his most deadly enemy did not bear thinking about. Yet he could not prevent his thoughts racing on. Unless a merciful Providence enabled him to escape, within twenty-four hours or less he would once again be brought face to face with that pitiless sadist. Into his mind there flashed a picture of a gorilla-like figure, made doubly sinister by having the mincing gait and airs of an affected woman. He could even visualise the glint of triumph in Grauber’s solitary eye. The other he had smashed in with the butt of a pistol. Grauber had sworn that he should sooner or later pay for that by being kept alive in agony for months and allowed to die only by inches.

  Khurrem had disarmed Kuporovitch and Gregory’s nightmare imaginings were cut short by Malacou saying in a quieter voice, ‘You may now turn round and lower your hands.’

  As they did so, he motioned with the big automatic he was holding towards two chairs at opposite sides of the room, both of which were well away from his desk, and added, ‘Be seated, Meine Herren. My interrogation of you may take some time.’

  Swivelling round his own chair he sat down in it, looked across at Gregory and went on, ‘I will begin with you. What is your real name?’

  ‘I have nothing to say,’ replied Gregory firmly.

  Malacou shrugged. ‘You are wasting my time. I have means to make you talk; or, anyway, provide answers to my questions. Tell me at least one thing. Have you ever been hypnotised?’

  Gregory gave him an uneasy look, then shook his head.

  ‘Then you would not prove an easy subject. I could, of course, put you under if I summoned my man, had him and Khurrem tie you up, then held your eyes open. And that is what I shall do if you attempt to resist the measures I am about to take. But I have no wish to spend half the night subduing your will to mine. It will be much quicker and more pleasant for us all if you quietly accept Khurrem as your mouthpiece.’

  Extremely puzzled, Gregory stared at Khurrem as she came towards him, then went behind his chair and placed both her hands on his head. He knew that hypnotism was accepted by the medical profession and now used by a number of practitioners for relieving pain and for other legitimate purposes. But he did not suppose for one moment that by hypnotising a third party Malacou could get anything out of him and it was evident that that was what the doctor now intended to attempt. Swiftly Gregory decided that to let him try was obviously more sensible than to allow himself to be tied up; since, as long as his limbs were free, there was always the chance that his captor’s vigilance might relax and give him an opportunity to turn the tables.

  Malacou transferred his pistol to his left hand, rested it on his thigh and, lookin
g steadily over Gregory’s head at Khurrem, made a few slow passes with his right. After barely a minute she said in a dreamy voice, ‘You may proceed, Master. I am with him.’

  Transferring his gaze to Gregory, the doctor asked, ‘What is your name?’

  Gregory kept his mouth tightly shut but, automatically, in his mind he saw his usual signature on a cheque. Khurrem’s low voice came again. ‘It is a little difficult to read. Geoffrey, I think. No, Gregory. And his surname is—but how strange. It is that of the Roman historian, Sallust.’

  Utterly amazed, Gregory jerked his head from beneath her hands; but Malacou raised his pistol and rapped out, ‘Don’t move! Remember that I can force these answers from you by having you tied up.’

  With a sharp intake of breath, Gregory sat back. Once bound, even if he could resist the doctor’s hypnotic powers, he would not be able to prevent Khurrem from again placing her hands on his head and, it seemed, extracting a certain amount of information from him. His only defence was to try to make his mind a blank.

  As Khurrem’s fingertips again pressed down on his forehead, Malacou waited for a moment, then asked, ‘Where were you three nights ago at this hour?’

  In spite of himself a picture formed in Gregory’s mind. He jerked his thoughts from it and, visualising a brick wall, strove to concentrate on that; but in vain. In flashes his mind persisted in reverting to the original scene, as Khurrem began to speak in a monotonous tone:

  ‘He resists, but uselessly. It was a warm night and he was sitting in a garden. Seated beside him there is a fair woman. She is very beautiful with a strong resemblance to Marlene Dietrich. She must know that he is about to leave her for, although she smiles bravely, her eyes are red. With them there is another couple; the man Sabinov and a small, dark woman. She is younger than the other, also good-looking and wearing a nurse’s uniform.’