The Second Seal

by Dennis Wheatley

“Why, through that swine, Redl, of course.”

  “You must forgive my ignorance, but——”

  “D’you mean to tell me that you’ve never heard of Alfred Redl?” The Count’s eyes showed astonishment, but after a moment he went on: “Oh well, perhaps we managed to hush the scandal up better than we thought. From 1900 to 1905 Redl was head of the K.S. From then on until less than fifteen months ago he was Chief of Staff to the VIIIth Army Corps which has its H.Q. in Prague. For over ten years he was in the pay of the Russians, and during that time he sold darned near every military secret we’ve got.”

  “Good God! It sounds fantastic.”

  “Well, it’s a fact. In the course of a few years he took hundreds of thousand of kronen off the Russians. Everyone thought he had private means, but he hadn’t—it all came from the Czar’s secret intelligence funds. He lived like a Prince: had a house in Vienna, another in Prague, four autos, and after his death they found a hundred and sixty dozen bottles of champagne in his cellar. He not only sold our plans, and every sort of information about railway capacities, weapons, methods of training and war organisation, but betrayed all our best agents, many of who were his personal friends, and succeeded in protecting the Russian agents who were spying on us. You see, in his position as Chief of the K.S. everything connected with secret intelligence passed through his hands, so he could sell it if he wished, or suppress it and prevent it going any further if that suited him better.”

  Temporarily, de Richleau forgot that he was at the moment in the position of a spy himself, and said: “What an unmitigated scoundrel! But as you know all about his activities, I take it he was caught in the end?”

  “Yes. Major Ronge got him. Clever fellow, Ronge.”

  At the name, de Richleau suppressed a guilty start; but the Chief of Staff tipped another dash of Kümmel into his coffee and went on reminiscently: “Some years after Ronge succeeded Redl at the K.S., he had the idea of establishing a secret censorship on suspicious-looking letters posted in frontier towns. Early in March, 1913, two envelopes came in postmarked from a place in East Prussia, and addressed Opera Ball 13, Poste Restante, G.P.O. Vienna. When opened, it was found that one contained bank-notes to the value of six thousand kronen and the other eight thousand, but nothing else. Ronge had a push button fitted up on the postal clerk’s desk, which connected with the Police headquarters across the square and rang a bell there. Two detectives were put on to wait until someone claimed the letters; then the clerk would push the button, the bell would ring, and they would run over to see who the claimant was. For weeks those poor devils sat waiting for the bell to ring. But it didn’t, and naturally they tried to get Ronge to chuck the matter up. He wouldn’t though. Ronge is a very persistent fellow. Once he gets his teeth into a thing, he never lets go.”

  “Yes,” murmured the Duke uncomfortably. “I am sure he must be.”

  “Anyway, on the eighty-third day—it was a Saturday afternoon towards the end of May—the bell did ring. By that time the detectives had got slack. One was out getting himself a coffee and the other was washing his hands. By the time they reached the post office ‘Opera 13’ had claimed his letters and gone. But by an extraordinary stroke of luck they happened to get hold of the taxi driver who had driven him off, and they traced him to the Hotel Klosmer. Even then it might have been one of half a dozen men who had driven up to the hotel in the past half-hour. But in the taxi they had found the grey suède sheath of a pocket knife, and by that they managed to identify him. You can imagine how flabbergasted they must have been when they learned that he was Colonel Redl, the ex-Chief of the K.S.”

  “What happened?” asked de Richleau, his hand now steady as he lit a cigarette.

  “Our C.-in-C. was informed. He nearly had a fit. They say he aged ten years in an hour. He could realise better than anyone else the colossal damage we had sustained. He was faced with the fact that all his work—the work of a lifetime—was in the hands of the enemy. Redl knew all about his masterpiece—Plan III for our invasion of Serbia, the finest staff study he had ever done. Since the Russians had that, it was a certainty they had passed it on to the Serbs.”

  The Duke nodded. He knew now how Dimitriyevitch had got the information for that remarkably fine ‘appreciation of Austria’s intentions in the event of war’ that he had been given to read in Belgrade.

  “By that time,” the Count went on, “the detectives had got red-hot evidence against Redl. While they were shadowing him, he had torn up some papers and thrown the bits away. When pieced together they proved his guilt conclusively. That night the C.-in-C. sent four officers to him. He was given a pistol and invited to commit suicide, which, of course, he did. But, even then, the extent of his treachery was not fully realised. That only emerged when Ronge broke open the cupboards, desks and safe at his house in Prague. They were crammed with records of the stuff he had sold to the Russians. And you know as well as I do that, if a plan falls into the hands of the enemy, it discloses the mind of the Commander who has made it. One can alter plans in detail, but not their main conception. That’s what worries me: the thought that, owing to Redl’s treachery, that shrewd old fox, Nicholas, must have a darned good idea what we intend to do.”

  De Richleau made suitable comments, expressing anxiety and distress; and he was more than ever amazed that von Hötzendorf should be proceeding with his offensive. But he felt that, in spite of its unnerving moments, the lunch might prove a very profitable one, as, if his suggestion that he should be sent on a mission to von Prittwitz was adopted, it would offer him the perfect means of getting away.

  As soon as he had the opportunity to think the idea over, he saw that it possessed all sorts of possibilities. To start with, it would no longer be necessary for him to get himself captured by the Russians and have to go half round Europe to reach home. Dressed as an Austrian officer, he could travel anywhere in Germany. There would be nothing to stop him heading for the Dutch frontier. It should not be difficult to slip over it, then cross from the Hook to Harwich. And if he could get through in the course of the next week, he should be able to render a considerable service to the allied cause by bringing with him red-hot information about Austria’s plans.

  On the last count he had no scruples whatever. He had promised both Count Tisza and Ilona that he would not make any use of such information as he had come by in Vienna, and he had every intention of keeping those promises. Further, he had promised Adam Grünne that, while he was with Ilona Theresa’s Hussars, he would regard himself as a loyal soldier of the Emperor. He had done so, but was no longer with them. He was under no moral obligation to von Hötzendorf. In fact, although unwittingly, it was the General who had placed his life in jeopardy. If he was caught now, he would undoubtedly be treated as a spy, and, since fate had once more thrust him into the position of one, he felt that it would have been disloyal to his country to refrain from making the most of the unique opportunities he was being given. Had he had the least doubt on the matter, it would have been dissipated by Major Ronge’s treatment of him. The Major had first prevented him from getting home, by hitting before the bell went and imprisoning him merely on suspicion, then endeavoured to confine him to Vienna by invisible barriers. Now, his position was similar to that of a prisoner of war who has succeeded in getting himself smuggled out of a barbed wire cage. While escaping through enemy country, it is the duty of such a prisoner to bring back all the information that he can; and de Richleau fully intended to do so.

  With this in mind, he spent the afternoon going through a number of Colonel Pacher’s papers, ostensibly to equip himself with the knowledge necessary to become a useful assistant; but actually to gather as many facts as he could carry off in his mind. Among other things, he found that von Hötzendorf intended to employ 648 infantry battalions in his offensive. As it was to be on a front of only 150 miles, that meant a thousand men to every quarter of a mile, with forty-eight thousand to spare.

  Since there seemed to the Duke every reason to s
uppose that, within a week, the Russians would prove capable of bringing up an equal number of battalions, it looked as if every hill, wood, field and hedge across a strip of country as long as from London to Manchester must, almost simultaneously, be the scene of charges, counter-charges and bloody encounters. By comparison, the greatest battles of Napoleonic times would be dwarfed into insignificance, and those in which he had taken part himself appear no more than skirmishes. As a trained staff officer, he estimated that the Austrian field dressing stations and hospitals should be prepared to receive not less than one hundred thousand casualties before the end of the month. And the thought appalled him.

  Those figures were conservative, as they took no account of the hundreds of Sapper Companies necessary to bridge rivers and streams during the advance, of the Artillerymen required to serve the five thousand guns, or of the eighty thousand Cavalry that were already probing for the enemy. But about the latter most disturbing rumours were now percolating back to Headquarters.

  It appeared that the padding in the standard Austrian service saddle had been made too thick for its prolonged use in hot weather. Forced marches under the August sun had resulted in such a high percentage of the horses getting galled backs that many units had become temporarily incapacitated. In some cases the dashing officers who had set out so gaily ten days before, as though about to participate in a glorified hunt, were now even reported to be ignominiously trudging the dirty roads as their troopers led their useless mounts back on foot.

  That night more bad news came in. A major battle was now raging on the Jadar, and Potiorek’s 5th Army had been so severely mauled that it looked as though it must inevitably suffer a serious reverse. A Division composed mainly of Czechs—who had no stomach for fighting Austria’s wars—had stupidly been given the key position of the whole battlefield. They had been completely routed and taken to their heels, thus exposing the entire centre of the front to collapse. In this emergency Potiorek had called upon the 2nd Army to convert its demonstration into a full scale offensive against the Serbian flank. Realising some immediate action to be the only hope of saving his superior from complete defeat, the Commander of the 2nd Army had thrown in his IVth Corps, and was now frantically wiring to know if he was to continue the action, or pull it out in order to bring it north next day and leave Potiorek to his fate. Meanwhile Potiorek was imploring the Emperor to let him engage the whole of the 2nd Army in the south.

  After a spate of angry telegrams, von Hötzendorf’s insistence that the 2nd Army should entrain for the north was agreed to in principle; but to his fury he was compelled to consent to its IVth Corps being left behind until Potiorek could get up his roving 6th Army and close the broken front of the 5th.

  Everyone at Supreme Headquarters, except the Duke, was naturally much depressed by these tidings of the first big battle of the war, and no good news came in from von Prittwitz to offset them. To von Hötzendorf’s repeated appeals that he should at least make a demonstration in force into Poland towards Syedlets, the German only replied that his intelligence reported two Russian armies to be advancing against him, so until the situation clarified he could do nothing.

  On hearing this, de Richleau again broached the project of his being sent to endeavour to secure von Prittwitz’s co-operation—this time to Colonel Pacher. Like General Count Bellegarde, the Colonel thought it a promising idea, but proved reluctant to approach von Hötzendorf on it that night as he was in such an evil temper.

  Next morning found the Duke a very worried man. Forty-eight hours had now elapsed since he had left Vienna, and for a good part of that time it seemed certain that Major Ronge’s sleuths would have been trying to locate him. He thought it unlikely that they would succeed in tracing him through their own efforts for some time to come, but his danger now increased with every hour that he remained at Supreme Headquarters.

  It was his titles and connections that had given him such unrivalled opportunities for espionage; but they could also prove a menace to his safety. The greater part of three months in Vienna had made him a well known figure in society there. He realised that scores of people he had never met must know him by sight. Przemysl was already crammed with officers, and half a dozen trains had followed that of the C.-in-C., bringing the additional staffs that always congregate round a main Headquarters—vets, doctors, nurses, railway experts, paymasters, provost-marshals, padres, war-correspondents and camera men. It needed only one of them to recognise him, mention his presence there in a letter to Vienna, and for its recipient to noise the matter abroad, so that the K.S. got hold of it, for his goose to be cooked. A telegram from Ronge would arrive, as a result of which he would find himself facing a court martial on a capital charge.

  For that reason he had intended to clear out the previous night at latest, and had been tempted into remaining only by the prospect of his suggestion that he should be sent as an envoy to East Prussia being accepted. The advantages of departing openly in a staff car that had been placed at his disposal, over trying to steal one, were enormous; but, when he got up that morning, he decided that if his scheme did not mature that day, it would be too big a risk to remain longer, and he must make a moonlight flitting the coming night.

  The morning passed without incident; so did most of the afternoon, and he was beginning to contemplate seriously his hundred mile dash towards the Russian lines when, at five o’clock, the C.-in-C. sent for him. He had hardly saluted the grim little figure before he was told, to his great delight, that his proposal had found favour. But his elation was short lived. Two minutes later he learned that the mission was not to be given to him. He was only to accompany Colonel Baron Ungash-Wallersee upon it.

  “The Baron is one of the Archduke’s people,” said von Hötzendorf. his grey eyes showing his annoyance, “and His Highness insists that he shall head the mission. But he’s a born fool. That’s why I am sending you with him.”

  De Richleau’s brain proceeded to revolve at top speed, as he began to assess how the presence of this unwelcome companion would affect his own plans. In any case he would have had to set out for East Prussia but, at the first suitable opportunity, he had intended to give his chauffeur fresh instructions to drive him straight across Germany to Aix-la-Chapelle. He had selected his destination because it not only lay close to the Dutch border, but also happened to be the Kaiser’s war head quarters, which would provide a perfect explanation for the change of direction in the mind of his military driver.

  Now, that simple, direct and comfortable method of reaching neutral Holland was out of the question. Instead, he was faced with three alternatives. One, he could steal the car at the first chance that offered, and make off in it: two, he could desert the Baron en route and trust to other means of transport for getting away: three, he could accompany the Baron to von Prittwitz’s H.Q. and produce some excuse for leaving the Baron there.

  Courses one and two both presented the problem of whether he dared risk a dash across Germany as a fugitive, or had better revert to his old plan of endeavouring to reach the Russian lines. In both, the Baron would set up a hue and cry after him within an hour or two of his disappearance, and if he stole the car it would probably be identified and stopped by the military police before he had covered fifty miles. If he left without the car, he would still be in Austrian uniform, so easily identifiable in Germany, and the German police network was so efficient that his chances of getting through to Holland would be far from good. To head for Russia while still in the Austrian battle zone, therefore, seemed to offer the best prospect: but that meant taking the long road home, and for the past twenty-four hours he had become increasingly set on taking the short one, if by any possible means he could do so. Course three still offered that, although it meant going round via East Prussia, so he decided to take it.

  While these swift thoughts had been passing through his mind, von Hötzendorf had been explaining the objects of the mission in detail. The Duke waited until he had finished, then, with his own secret plan
still in view, said deferentially:

  “Permit me to make a suggestion, Excellency. General von Prittwitz has so far proved most unresponsive to our appeals. Has not the time come when you would be fully justified in going over his head and putting the matter direct to General von Moltke?”

  “I have already,” replied the General. “But von Moltke’s replies are equally unsatisfactory. He says that Germany’s major plan demands the deployment of six-sevenths of the total German forces in France and Belgium, with the object of the swift annihilation of the French army by overwhelming odds. Until that has been achieved, he can spare nothing further for the eastern front. He is even urging me to take the weight off von Prittwitz by adhering to our original plan of launching our offensive due north, which I am reluctant to do if the Germans are unable to carry out their part of the plan by coming to meet us.”

  “In that case, Excellency, I feel more strongly than ever that von Prittwitz should be by-passed in favour of direct negotiations with von Moltke. Could you not propose a bargain on the lines that, if he will order von Prittwitz to deploy half his forces southward into Poland, you will strike northward to meet him. But, failing that, you must adopt a more cautious policy and strike east?”

  Von Hötzendorf considered for a moment, then he said: “In any case, I do not wish to postpone the launching of the offensive after the 22nd, but I shall keep its direction open until the last possible moment. To-day is the 18th. By the 20th von Prittwitz may have dealt with the Russian threat to his northern flank, and be in a position to wheel south. Therefore, it would be best to confer with him first. But I agree that, should he still refuse us his assistance, it would be worth attempting to get von Moltke to order him to do so.”

  “Then your Excellency desires that, after Colonel Baron Ungash-Wallersee and I have conferred with General von Prittwitz, we should, if necessary, proceed to German Main Headquarters at Aix-la-Chapelle?”