Codeword Golden Fleece

by Dennis Wheatley

  Richard and Marie Lou were waiting impatiently to hear the outcome of the interview with Teleuescu, and had ordered dinner to be served upstairs in the sitting-room of their suite, so that the invalid could be made comfortable on a sofa and enjoy it with them. Lucretia had excused herself from joining them, so, having given her a sleeping draught at ten o’clock. Marie Lou had left her; and when the others arrived with their good news the rest of the party were able to give free rein to their elation.

  It was no small triumph to have virtually achieved, in the short space of eighteen days, the tremendous task they had set themselves on Britain’s entry into the war—no less than dealing what should in time prove a mortal blow at Hitler’s war economy. Teleuescu had been much too definite in his promise to secure the Rumanian Prime Minister’s signature on the following day for them to have any serious doubts of his ability to do so. That he had opened the matter with the Germans at all was regrettable, but there was no reason whatever to suppose that the enemy had any idea that anyone outside the official staff of the British Legation was concerned in it; and by now they were probably scratching their bristly pates as to how best to break the bad news to Berlin.

  All they could do was to report their failure and take such measures as they could to step up the oil traffic by rail during the coming months. By the time it leaked out that the deal had been engineered by private enterprise, the new controllers of the Danube barges would be out of the country and well on their way to England. If ever there were grounds for a celebration they certainly existed in the completion of this great coup, and, temporarily putting poor Jan and Lucretia out of their minds, Marie Lou and her guests did ample justice to the excellent dinner and fine wines that the hotel provided.

  It was nearly two o’clock in the morning before they separated—early for Bucharest, but they were not yet used to such late hours. As de Richleau undressed, he thought again of the man in the soft hat who had stepped from the car outside Teleuescu’s mansion just as they had been leaving. He had seen that little gesture with the cigar somewhere before, but where he could not think. However, his own face must also have been in shadow except for a few seconds, so it was unlikely that he had been recognised; and, even if he had, there was nothing by which the German could connect him with Operation—Golden Fleece.

  Getting into bed, he read for a little, and for the twentieth time, a few passages of that wonderful book of Joan Grant’s, Winged Pharaoh, a copy of which always travelled with him. Then he put out the light.

  Except on very rare occasions the Duke always slept soundly but lightly, and tonight was no exception. The usual noises of the street or of people passing in the hotel corridor outside his room did not disturb his rest, but a small noise close at hand was quite enough to rouse him. The window some ten feet from his bed creaked slightly as though it were being opened wider. Instantly the Duke was wide awake, and, slipping his hand beneath his pillow, closed his fingers round the butt of his automatic.

  The window creaked again, and there came the muffled sound of the curtains which hid it billowing out slightly as they were caught by a sudden draught. De Richleau drew his gun from under the pillow and, while remaining almost motionless, levelled it at the place from which the sounds came. As he did so, something clicked in his brain. It may be that while he slept his consciousness had been on a higher plane and brought back to his waking memory the answer to the question that had been puzzling him when he went to bed. He knew now the identity of the man in the soft hat who had jerked the ash from his cigar. It was Herr General Count von Geisenheim.

  13

  Midnight Visitors

  The Duke lay very still and waited. Someone was climbing in at the window now. He caught the faint scrape of a boot as it was drawn across the sill, and wondered who his stealthy visitor by night would prove to be. That it was a hotel thief or burglar was the most probable explanation, and before his memory had been revived by sleep de Richleau would have accepted that.

  But now the thought of von Geisenheim had become like a nagging pain of which he could not rid himself. Had the German General recognised him from some trick of gesture such as that by which he had betrayed himself? Would he associate the three men he had seen getting into the car outside Teleuescu’s house with the barge deal? Not in the ordinary way, perhaps, because Teleuescu might have been transacting any one of a score of different business projects with them, or they might have been making a social call, perhaps not even on the Rumanian magnate himself but on some member of his family. Yet, if von Geisenheim had recognised the man who had held him up at Lubieszow, that quick brain of his was capable of forming some very swift conclusions.

  There was a faint whisper at the window now, as a second uninvited visitor climbed inside. De Richleau raised his gun a little, and the thoughts racing through his mind about von Geisenheim sped on. The Germans knew that Teleuescu was thinking of disposing of his majority holdings in the barge combine to someone, and who could that someone be if not the British? And, if the British did not wish their Legation to appear openly in the matter what better agent could they select to act for them than that widely travelled and most knowledgeable man, Monseigneur le Duc de Richleau, whose personal prestige all over Europe was such that even kings would speak with him on the same terms as they would to a properly accredited plenipotentiary extraordinaire?

  Yes, that was it, de Richleau decided. Von Geisenheim had spotted him and lost no time in acting on his shrewd assessment of the situation. That one of the men now stealthily fumbling with the curtain was the General himself the Duke did not think likely for a moment. Von Geisenheim would never undertake such a mission in person. But there were his agents whom von Geisenheim, no doubt believing that the Duke already had the signed option in his possession, had sent to procure the deed. ‘Well, they will be disappointed,’ thought de Richleau. ‘What is more, they will look extremely foolish in a few minutes’ time when I hand them over to the hotel detective at the point of my gun.’

  One—or both—of them was through the curtains and now advancing cautiously towards the Duke’s bed. He had been waiting for that in order to be able to cover them before they could get away, and, in any case, make certain of seeing their faces.

  Suddenly sitting up in bed, he stretched out his left hand and switched on the bedside light.

  The two intruders were caught right in the open, with the Duke’s gun aimed at them. They made no attempt to run for it, but neither did they put their hands up in token of surrender. One was slightly in advance of the other.

  The leader was a dapper little man with smooth black hair brushed straight back above a good forehead; his face was bronzed and his chin determined; he looked as though he might be a cavalry captain, and the likeness was accentuated because he was wearing a blue shirt without any coat over it, a pair of well-cut breeches and brown riding-boots. His companion was dressed in the same manner. He was younger, taller, and a fair, good-looking young stripling.

  From their costume the Duke knew that they were two members of the Rumanian Iron Guard. ‘So I was wrong about my visitors being von Geisenheim’s people,’ he was thinking. ‘But what the devil do these fellows want with me? Perhaps, though, von Geisenheim has sent them to pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him? Anyhow, we shall soon see.’

  The dark man took another step forward.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ snapped de Richleau, raising his gun a little.

  The man advanced no further, but he waved the pistol aside with a faintly contemptuous gesture, as he broke into rapid French. ‘You can put that thing away. We have not come here to harm you or to rob you.’

  ‘If he is speaking the truth they are not after the option, then,’ thought the Duke. Aloud he said with a shade of sarcasm: ‘I am glad to hear it. In that case, perhaps you will tell me why you have broken into my room like a couple of thieves while you supposed me to be asleep?’

  ‘We wanted to talk to you undisturbed and to offer you a lit
tle advice, which for your own sake we hope you will take. But I wish you would stop pointing that gun at me; you might let it off by mistake.’

  ‘That is unlikely,’ replied the Duke coldly, ‘as I have had long experience in the handling of firearms. I see no reason, either, why I should lay it down, seeing that the two of you have automatics strapped to your waists. However, if you will both put your hands well home in your breeches pockets I will lower my gun-barrel so that it rests on the bed.’

  They both complied with de Richleau’s suggestion, and he went on: ‘Now, perhaps you would like to give the advice which you have put yourselves in some peril to offer me?’

  ‘It is,’ said the dark man, ‘to leave Rumania.’

  ‘And what if that doesn’t happen to suit me at the moment?’

  ‘It has got to suit you, because to certain important people you and your friends are now persona non grata here.’

  ‘And who may these important people be?’

  ‘It is unnecessary for me to name them. You must know from our uniforms that we are members of the Iron Guard. Our leaders have decreed that you should leave the country.’

  ‘Your leaders have no official status, and I and my friends can place ourselves under the protection of our respective Legations.’

  The dark man shrugged. ‘If you think that will do you any good you must be very ill-informed about the present state of affairs in Bucharest. Our organisation may still be an unofficial one, but our powers enable us to dictate the actions of most private individuals at will. The Legations you mention are always picketed, and from now on the members of your party will be prevented from entering them. You will not be able to communicate with them by telephone or messenger either, as the operators on the exchange here have been told that they are not to put any more outside calls through for you, and the staff will “lose” any letters or notes that you may send.’

  ‘I congratulate you,’ said the Duke, ‘upon the perfection of your organisation. What happens if we still refuse to go?’

  ‘You would soon find cause to regret your decision. I have come here with an invitation and a warning. The invitation is for you to call at Cook’s Travel Bureau at ten o’clock this morning. You have only to state your name, and reservations will be handed to you on the express that leaves Bucharest at midday for Turkey. You will hand in your passport and those of the three men and two ladies who are accompanying you. They will all be visa’ed for Turkey and returned to you on the train. An ambulance will be outside the hotel at eleven-thirty to take your invalid friend to the station, and you will accompany him in it. You have no need to bother about money, as your tickets, etc., will all be paid out of the funds of the Iron Guard.’

  ‘Most handsome,’ murmured de Richleau. ‘And now let me hear the warning.’

  ‘From the moment you leave this room until the train steams out of the station you will be under constant surveillance. If you attempt to reach your Legation, or, in fact, if you diverge at all from the direct route to Cook’s Bureau and back, you will meet with an accident. What sort of accident I cannot for the moment say, but it may possibly be a fatal one. If any of your friends leave the hotel at all, until it is time to go to the station, they, too, will meet with accidents. Finally, if you fail to accept this invitation to leave Bucharest on the midday train, there will be trouble here tonight. Again, I cannot yet say precisely what kind of trouble, but a fire might break out in your suite, or a criminal wanted by the police might try to take refuge here. In any case, during the excitement you and several of your friends would get very seriously hurt. Have I made myself plain?’

  ‘Absolutely so. Either we all leave on the midday train without attempting to communicate with our friends, or you will put a gang of young hooligans on to beat us up tonight.’

  ‘We are not young hooligans but patriots who have the true interests of Rumania at heart. Apart from that, you are quite correct in your assessment of the situation.’

  ‘May I know why your leaders are so anxious to have us out of the country?’

  ‘That is not my affair. I am simply acting under orders; but you must have been up to something, and, if you search your own mind, I have no doubt that you will be able to find some perfectly good reason.’

  As the Duke had not mixed himself up in politics during his short stay in the Rumanian capital, he felt convinced that there could be only one reason. Von Geisenheim had recognised him, and the German Legation had asked the Iron Guard to get his party out of the way as quickly and quietly as possible. A hint from the Germans that the Duke and his friends were trying to stop the oil traffic going up the Danube would have been quite enough to ensure the Iron Guard’s immediate co-operation.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I will discuss the matter with my friends over breakfast. And now, if you have nothing further to say, I will go to sleep again.’

  ‘You agree to depart?’

  ‘I did not say so. I will talk over the matter with my friends.’

  ‘You will all be very ill-advised if you ignore the warning I have given you, as you will get no second one.’

  ‘We shall see about that,’ de Richleau shrugged. ‘By the by, you might as well leave by the door. In fact, since you can intimidate the hotel staff into becoming your accomplices, I don’t see why you bothered to come in by the window.’

  A darting smile illumined the dark man’s face. ‘We assumed that your door would be locked, and we thought you might be armed. If we had had to break in, you would have been ready for us with your gun, and we had no wish to be shot before we could explain the object of our visit. The fire-escape below your window presented a better chance of getting into your room while you were still asleep. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but we were acting under instructions.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ replied the Duke politely, as the other turned towards the door and, accompanied by his silent companion, let himself out.

  Seeing that it was only a quarter past five, de Richleau read a few more passages from Winged Pharaoh, then put out the light and went to sleep again.

  He woke at eight and spoke to Simon on the house telephone, asking him and Rex to breakfast. When they had joined him and Marie Lou, and Richard had hobbled from his bedroom to the sofa, the Duke gave them all a cynically humorous account of the visit he had received from the two Iron Guards.

  ‘Don’t see anything to laugh at,’ commented Simon when the recital was completed.

  ‘Neither do I, really,’ rejoined the Duke mildly. ‘It’s the memory of their faces when I switched on the light that makes me regard the affair with undue lightness. They were actually extremely businesslike young men, and there’s no doubt that their organisation is an exceedingly powerful one.’

  ‘What filthy luck,’ said Marie Lou, ‘that they should have insisted on our going on the midday train, at the very hour you were going to collect the Golden Fleece from Teleuescu!’

  ‘They’re not the only guys who can come and go by a fire-escape,’ Rex grunted. ‘Soon as we’ve finished breakfast I’ll slip out that way and get to Teleuescu somehow. I’ll find out at what hour the Prime Minister is signing, and, if it’s too late for him to get the thing to us by hand, ask him to send it direct to Sir Reginald at the Legation.’

  ‘Better ask him to do that in any case,’ supplemented Simon. ‘Even if he could get it to us, it doesn’t look as though we’d stand much chance of getting it to the Legation now.’

  ‘No,’ said the Duke firmly. ‘This is not just a question of eluding a handful of the enemy for a matter of half an hour. The Iron Guard has hundreds of members and is extremely well organised. You may be quite sure that they will picket the back of the hotel as well as the front. Our suites make very comfortable cells, but for all practical purposes we are now under arrest in them. These people are not in the least afraid of the police and have already got away with murder in open daylight on a number of occasions. If any of us attempted to leave by the fire-escape, we sh
ould be shot before we had covered a hundred yards. I fear that, in this case, discretion is quite definitely the better part of valour. I see nothing for it but to put as pleasant a face as possible on it and knuckle under.’

  ‘What, leave without the option!’ exclaimed Richard. ‘We’ve never yet walked out of a game with our tails between our legs.’

  ‘He who fights and runs away…’ quoted the Duke. ‘Honestly, Richard, those young blackguards will think up some devilry for us tonight that will cost us pretty dear if we don’t accept their so-called invitation; and we dare not risk a shooting affray with you still crocked up and the two girls to think of.’

  ‘Um. Always have hated these shooting parties,’ Simon agreed. ‘Still, must be something we can do. How about sending the banker’s draft to Sir Reginald via Cook’s? Ask him to collect the Golden Fleece from Teleuescu for us?’

  ‘Yes. I thought of that.’ De Richleau sprinkled a lavish helping of sugar from the castor on to the slice of cantaloup which he had just fetched from the sideboard. ‘We’ll get out something pretty non-committal but clear enough for him to understand, in a minute.’

  When they had finished eating they composed the note and enclosed the banker’s draft in it; after which the men went off to bath and dress, while Marie Lou went along the corridor to warn Lucretia that they were leaving and help her to pack.

  At a quarter to ten de Richleau left the hotel and was soon walking down the sunny Calea Victoriei in its most congested part, where it twists and bends and becomes as narrow as Bond Street. He had already identified his escort: one middle-aged man, who was walking just ahead of him but kept glancing round, apparently at nothing, and two youths looking like students, who were walking abreast, a few paces in his rear.