They Used Dark Forces

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by Dennis Wheatley


  Normally, being a chronic invalid, she rarely left her room; but it was assumed that, frightened by the roar overhead of the returning aircraft, and the firing of an anti-aircraft battery stationed not far away, she had thought she would be safer on the ground floor of the farm or, perhaps, had gone down to make herself a cup of coffee, but had tripped at the top of the stairs and fallen to her death.

  Recalling what Khurrem had told him about Hauff’s designs on herself and the Sassen estate, Gregory thought it by no means improbable that the Sturmbahnführer had suddenly decided that the raid provided a good opportunity for him to rid himself of his unwanted wife. However, Kuporovitch went on to say that but for Hauff they might by now be in the clutches of the Gestapo.

  On the third day after the raid the wireless had been found in Gregory’s boat, with the anticipated results. A description of them both had been issued and a big reward offered for their capture. Oberführer Langbahn had arrived at the Manor with a carload of his S.D. thugs and everyone there had had to submit to hours of questioning.

  The farm people could say only that they had had no reason whatever to suspect that Major Bodenstein was not a genuine Rhinelander or his servant a simple pro-German hilfsfreiwilliger from some part of Czechoslovakia. Willi stated that owing to his war injuries his memory had become extremely faulty but he could recall nothing suspicious about the two men. Malacou had sworn that Gregory had shown all the symptoms of a man afflicted with heart trouble, Khurrem had declared that he must have undoubtedly known her late husband when he was Military Attaché in Turkey as otherwise he could not possibly have imposed upon her; and all concerned indignantly repudiated the suggestion that they had knowingly harboured enemies of the Reich.

  Nevertheless, the angry Oberführer would have had them carted off to a concentration camp had not Hauff been present and seen his plan for marrying Khurrem about to be ruined. He had swiftly intervened and pleaded with his superior. Knowing Khurrem so well, and of her father’s voluntary work at the clinic, he was able to vouch for their patriotism and his offer to be personally accountable for their future activities had been accepted.

  No-one on the farm, of course, had the least reason to suspect that Gregory and Kuporovitch had returned to Sassen and were living in the ruin; so they could now consider themselves safe there until Gregory was fit enough to leave.

  When he asked Kuporovitch if he had any idea when that might be possible the Russian sadly shook his head. ‘Alas, my poor friend, it will be many weeks; perhaps months. Every day Malacou comes up here to see you and dress your wounds. He does so always at times when he knows you to be unconscious from the dope he gives you. But his report on you fills me with distress. The tree-trunk that struck you down fractured your left thigh and it is a compound fracture. He thinks that there is little chance of your regaining the full use of that leg until after Christmas.’

  Gregory gave a heavy sigh. ‘I suppose I’m lucky to be alive; and that I am is certainly due to your courage and loyalty, Stefan. But Christmas is four months off; so you mustn’t remain here all that time. Malacou will look after me; so you’ve no need to worry that you won’t be leaving me in good hands. You must return to England and give them the good news of what our bombers did to Peenemünde.’

  Kuporovitch laughed. ‘You are becoming delirious again, dear friend. Reconnaissance ‘planes will tell them that better than I could; and wild horses could not drag me from your side. Come now, it is time for me to give you another injection and so relieve your pain.’

  It was their first long conversation and it had taken a lot out of Gregory. For some days past the acute pain that had caused him to groan with every movement had subsided to a dull ache, but it was nagging at him badly now, so he submitted without argument.

  The next day Malacou came up to see him during one of his spells of full consciousness. For a while they talked of the raid and the events that had followed it. Then Gregory asked the doctor about his prospects.

  Malacou replied gravely, ‘Your leg was completely crushed; so it will be a long time before you can get about again. Most fortunately there was no indication of gangrene setting in, so the question of trying to save your life by amputation did not arise. You are over the worst now and should soon be able to consider yourself convalescent. But you must be very patient and put your faith in me.

  ‘Owing to my studies of the Microcosm, the human body is, to me, an open book. I need no X-rays to inform me of the exact extent of your injuries; and how, in relation to the Macrocosm, the most favourable influences may be brought to bear on their alleviation. Each part of the body comes under the influence of one of the signs of the Zodiac. The thighs are the province of Sagittarius—the Archer—and by correlating the hours in which I treat you with those when that sign is in the ascendant we shall ensure your full recovery.

  ‘But I must warn you of one thing. I have never practised more than minor surgery, so I could not undertake to operate upon you. Yet there is no way of restoring your leg to near normal except by an operation. It would, too, have to be a major one, as your femur is fractured in several places. It should be reset by an expert and strengthened with plating; but, placed as we are, there is no competent surgeon whom I could call in without the certainty that it would lead to you and all of us being arrested by the Gestapo.’

  Having contemplated this most unpleasant piece of information for a few seconds, Gregory asked, ‘When my leg has healed will it hamper me very much in getting about?’

  ‘I fear it will. For many weeks it will bear no weight; so you will have to use crutches. Later, well …’ Malacou sighed, ‘… it would be no kindness to give you false hopes about the future. You will always have a limp—and a bad one. Your left leg will be three or four inches shorter than your right. Still worse, it will be twisted with the knee turned a little outward. These distortions will, in due course, affect your spine, so that when standing up you will be bent forward and sideways.’

  Gregory gave a sudden bitter laugh. ‘So I’m to become a human crab, eh?’

  The doctor nodded. ‘I’ll not dispute your comparison. But, remember, you are very lucky to be alive.’

  ‘So I gather. And I certainly agree that to call in a German sawbones would be asking for all of us to be lined up opposite a firing-squad—or worse. Well, there it is. I suppose I’ll have to make up my mind to becoming an unsightly cripple.’

  They fell silent for a moment, then Malacou said, ‘One other thing. For the past eleven days I’ve been drugging you very heavily so that you should remain unconscious when I dressed your wound. But now you are over the worst I must reduce the size of the injections. That means I shall have to cause you considerable suffering; unless, that is, you are willing to agree to my putting you under hypnosis.’

  Gregory considered the suggestion for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘Thanks, Doctor, but I’ve always had a prejudice against surrendering my will to anyone, so I think I’ll put up with the pain.’

  Malacou shrugged. ‘Just as you wish. But think it over. Hypnosis is now recognised by the medical profession as perfectly legitimate treatment; and the less you suffer the quicker your recovery will be. You can always change your mind.’

  Kuporovitch rarely left Gregory’s side and had stood silently by listening to the conversation. When the doctor had gone the Russian did his best to console his friend for the sentence that had been passed upon him. But there was little he could say to lighten Gregory’s gloom.

  On the three days that followed the injections were reduced; so that on the fourth, when Malacou dressed Gregory’s wound, he was not fully under. With the further reduction of the drug he remained conscious through those gruelling sessions, and woke each day to spend hours dreading them. But in other respects he steadily gained ground. The hunchback Tarik was an excellent cook and, tempted by the attractive little dishes he produced, Gregory’s appetite greatly improved. He also became able to talk without each breath he drew hurting and, for
short periods, he managed to take his mind off his wretched situation by reading for a while books that the doctor brought him.

  It was on September 7th that Kuporovitch sprang a sudden unwelcome surprise on him. That evening the Russian said, ‘Dear friend, I have been thinking. Now that three weeks have elapsed since your calamity there is no longer any fear of your having a relapse. While your life was in danger you know well that nothing would have induced me to leave you. But you will have to remain here for a long time yet. You are safe here and well looked after. Others will perform for you the small services that are all you now require; so would you think very badly of me if I attempted to make my way home?’

  ‘Of course not, Stefan,’ Gregory replied, endeavouring to force a smile. ‘No-one could have a more loyal friend. Had you not stuck to me on that ghastly night I’d be a rotting corpse by now. The hunchback will do all the chores that you’ve been doing and I’ve lots to read. Naturally, I’ll miss you terribly; but it would be absurd for you to remain here kicking your heels for another three months or more. Of course you must go home. In a way I’m glad you have decided to, because it’s three weeks since we’ve been able to communicate with London, and Erika and Madeleine, not to mention dear old Pellinore, must be getting very worried about not hearing from us. Have you thought of any plan yet for getting out of this damned country?’

  ‘No,’ Kuporovitch shook his head, ‘I wished to obtain your agreement first; then I thought we might talk it over with Malacou.’

  ‘You’re right. He’s a wily old bird. I’m sure he will produce some good ideas that will help you to evade trouble on your journey.’

  For some while they discussed the project, then Kuporovitch settled Gregory down for the night, undressed and got into the bed that had been fixed up for him in one corner of the room.

  Now that Gregory was being given only a sedative at night, when its first effect had worn off he was subject to long periods of wakefulness. That night he lay awake for hours, thinking of Kuporovitch’s imminent departure. He knew well enough that it was quite one thing to display high courage, exceptional endurance and devotion to a comrade during periods of emergency; and quite another to continue for weeks on end, cooped up, bored to tears and sticking it only because that seemed to be the right thing to do. So he felt that he could not blame his friend for leaving him, but he knew that when the lovable and ever-cheerful Russian had gone a desperate loneliness would be added to his other miseries.

  Next day, when Malacou came to dress Gregory’s wound, Kuporovitch told the doctor of his decision. Instantly the tall, dark-faced master of the ruin swung round upon the Russian. His black eyes flashed, his big, hooked nose stood out like an eagle’s beak as he thrust forward his head and his full red lips trembled with anger.

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ he declared harshly. ‘You must be mad even to think of such a thing. Do you wish to have us all stripped and bleeding in one of the Gestapo torture chambers? Three months here has made your German fairly fluent. But you could never pass as a German. And the papers you brought with you are now your death warrant. You’d not get twenty miles before you were halted and asked to give an account of yourself. Within a matter of hours they would be flogging you with their steel rods and pulling out your toe-nails. No-one can stand up to that sort of thing. Despite yourself, you would give us all away. No! No! You will put this crazy idea out of your head and remain here looking after our invalid.’

  It had already occurred to Gregory that if Kuporovitch were caught he might bring disaster on them all, but he had not wished to appear to be taking advantage of mentioning such a possibility as a means of dissuading his friend from leaving him. Now he remained silent; but he could not help feeling a reaction of selfish pleasure when the Russian looked uncomfortably at the ground and muttered:

  ‘Pardon me. I had not thought of that. I see now that I must abandon the idea.’

  The next three days were uneventful. Sweating and moaning, Gregory submitted to the doctor’s ministrations. Kuporovitch continued to bring up his meals, wash him and perform the functions of a nurse. For the rest of the time he sat on his own bed in the corner, talking a little, reading a little and apparently resigned at having had to give up his project of trying to get home.

  On the morning of Saturday the 11th, Gregory awoke about seven o’clock and saw that Kuporovitch’s bed was empty. To that he paid no special heed, assuming that his friend had left the room for some normal purpose. Ten minutes later Malacou burst in, gave one look at the Russian’s empty bed, then lifted his hands, wrung them and wailed:

  ‘I knew it! The moment I awoke, I knew it! He is gone! He is not downstairs; he is not here! Iblis defend us from this madman. He will be caught! He will betray us. What are we to do? Oh, what are we to do?’

  For the first time since they had met Gregory found himself regarding Malacou with a faint contempt. He felt no doubt that the doctor was right and that during the night Kuporovitch, ignoring the danger into which he might bring them, had slipped away. But nothing could now bring him back. The doctor’s loss of control seemed lamentable and his outburst entirely futile.

  As Gregory lay looking up at the suddenly haggard face of the occultist he felt a little sorry for him, but he was far more grieved for a different reason. He took it hard that his friend had not told him of his secret intention; nor even left a written message near his pillow, bidding him good-bye.

  9

  Devil’s Work in the Ruin

  For some minutes Malacou continued to wring his hands and lament, crying:

  ‘That accursed Russian will betray us. I know it! I know it! Those black fiends will come and drag us all to the slaughter. They’ll strip us of our clothes and hang us up by our testicles. They’ll shave Khurrem’s head and thrust a red-hot poker into her. Oh, woe is me; woe is me! Was it not enough that I should be born one of the afflicted race? Have I not forsworn Jehovah? Where have I left the Path that this chastisement should come upon me?’

  Lifting himself painfully into a sitting position, Gregory shouted:

  ‘Stop that! Pull yourself together, man! It will be time enough to start squealing when the Gestapo use their rubber truncheons on you. They’ve not got us yet.’

  Malacou abruptly ceased his wailing, stared at him and muttered, ‘You are right. The thought of abandoning all the aids to my work here breaks my heart. But I must make preparations to leave Sassen at the earliest possible moment. If I can reach Poland I’ll have little to fear. I still have many friends there who will aid me. These Nazi swine cannot know that I lived there before the war. I still own a house in the town of Ostroleka, north-east of Warsaw. In the country districts many thousands of Jews have been left their liberty, because the Germans cannot afford to deprive themselves of the produce they grow; and my Turkish passport will protect me from molestation.’

  Gregory’s heart gave a sudden lurch. Obviously Malacou would not jeopardise his flight by taking with him a stretcher case and at that a man whom the Gestapo must still be hunting high and low. After a moment he asked, ‘Do you then intend to abandon me?’

  The doctor hunched his shoulders and spread out his hands. ‘What else can I do? After all, it is you who have brought this terrible situation upon Khurrem and myself.’

  ‘That is not true!’ Gregory snapped back. ‘You brought it on yourself by having Khurrem send that message about Peenemünde to Sweden.’

  ‘Well, perhaps. But I must have been temporarily out of my wits to do so. I succumbed to the temptation to strike a blow against the tormentors of my race, and see where it has landed me.’

  ‘Damn it, man! How can you stand there now and bleat to me that the risk you must have known you were taking was not worth while? Between us we have succeeded beyond our wildest hopes. Tens of thousands of your people have died without the chance to avenge themselves on a single Nazi. If we have to give our lives that’s a small price to pay for the destruction of Peenemünde.’


  ‘But I do not want to die,’ Malacou wailed, beginning to wring his hands again. ‘I have work to do; work of great importance. That I must leave you here distresses me greatly. But why should I stay here to be tortured and murdered with you when I still have a chance to escape?’

  As Gregory could not yet even move from his bed he needed no telling that his only possible chance of saving his own life lay in persuading the doctor to remain at Sassen. If Malacou left it was certain that he would take Tarik, as well as Khurrem, with him. That meant that if Kuporovitch succeeded in getting away and the Nazis did not arrive to find the long-sought Major Bodenstein abandoned there, he would suffer a lingering death from thirst and starvation. He wondered grimly how Kuporovitch would feel about it if he ever learned the terrible fate that had overtaken his friend as a result of his decision to try to get back to England. Knowing that he was fighting for his life, Gregory racked his wits for a way to make Malacou change his mind. Suddenly one came to him and he said:

  ‘If you leave me here you are going to die anyhow. I’ll see to that. By telling me of your plan to go to Poland you’ve played into my hands. Directly the Gestapo boys get here I’ll tell them where you’ve gone.’

  Malacou’s dark face paled. ‘No! No!’ he gasped. ‘You wouldn’t do that. Think of all I have done for you.’

  ‘What you’ve done won’t cut much ice if you leave me here to die of starvation.’

  A sudden evil gleam showed in the doctor’s black eyes and he shook his head. ‘You forget that you are at my mercy. I’d have no difficulty in seeing to it that you were dead before the Nazis got here.’

  At this checkmating of his threat Gregory drew in a sharp breath. Then he exclaimed, ‘So you’d go to those lengths, eh? To save yourself you’d even murder a man who is your ally?’

  For a moment Malacou continued to glower at him, then he muttered, ‘To do so will save you from torture; and, as you hold this threat over me, I see no alternative.’

 

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